Aristotle

by George Grote

II.

Aristotle distributes good things into three classes — the admirable or worshipful — the praiseworthy — the potential.

1. Good — as an End: that which is worthy of being honoured and venerated in itself and from its own nature, without regard to anything ulterior: that which comes up to our idea of perfection.

2. Good — as a means: that which is good, not on its own account nor in its own nature, but on account of certain ulterior consequences which flow from it.

3. Good — as a means, but not a certain and constant means: that which produces generally, but not always, ulterior consequences finally good: that which, in order to produce consequences in themselves good, requires to be coupled with certain concomitant conditions.

1. Happiness belongs to the first of these classes: it is put along with the divine, the better, soul, intellect, the more ancient, the principle, the cause, &c. (Mag. Moral. i. 2). Such objects as these, we contemplate with awe and reverence.

2. Virtue belongs to the second of the classes: it is good from the acts to which it gives birth, and from the end (happiness) which those acts, when sufficiently long continued, tend to produce.

3. Wealth, power, beauty, strength, &c., belong to the third class: these are generally good because under most circumstances they tend to produce happiness: but they may be quite otherwise, if a man’s mind be so defectively trained as to dispose him to abuse them.

It is remarkable that this classification is not formally laid down and explained, but is assumed as already well known and familiar, in the Nicom. Ethics, i. 12: whereas it is formally stated and explained in the Magna Moralia, i. 2.

Praise, according to Aristotle, “does not belong to the best things, but only to the second-best. The Gods are to be macarised, not praised:� the praise of the Gods must have reference to ourselves, and must be taken in comparison with ourselves and our acts and capacities: and this is ridiculously degrading, when we apply it to the majesty of the Gods. In like manner the most divine and perfect men deserve to be macarised rather than praised. “No man praises happiness, as he praises justice, but macarises (blesses) it as something more divine and better.�

Happiness is to be numbered amongst the perfect and worshipful objects — it is the ἀρχὴ for the sake of which all of us do everything: and we consider the principle and the cause of all good things to be something divine and venerable (i. 12).

Since then Happiness is the action of the soul conformably to perfect virtue, it is necessary to examine what human virtue is: and this is the most essential mark to which the true politician will direct his attention (i. 13).

There are two parts of the soul — the rational and the irrational. Whether these two are divisible in fact, like the parts of the body, or whether they are inseparable in fact, and merely susceptible of being separately dealt with in reasoning, like the concavity and convexity of a circle, is a matter not necessary to be examined in the present treatise. Aristotle speaks as if he considered this as really a doubtful point.

Of the irrational soul, one branch is, the nutritive and vegetative faculty, common to man with animals and plants. The virtue of this faculty is not special to man, but common to the vegetable and animal world: it is in fact most energetic during sleep, at the period when all virtue special to man is for the time dormant (i. 13).

But the irrational soul has also another branch, the appetites, desires, and passions: which are quite distinct from reason, but may either resist reason, or obey it, as the case may happen. It may thus in a certain sense be said to partake of reason, which the vegetative and nutritive faculty does not in any way. The virtue of this department of the soul consists in its due obedience to reason, as to the voice of a parent (i. 13).

Human virtue, then, distributes itself into two grand divisions — 1. The virtue of the rational soul, or Intellectual Virtue. 2. The virtue of the semi-rational soul, or Ethical Virtue.

Perhaps the word Excellence more exactly corresponds to ἀρετὴ, than Virtue.

Intellectual excellence is both generated and augmented by teaching and experience. Ethical excellence by practical training. The excellence is not natural to us: but we are susceptible of being trained, and the training creates it. By training, according as it is either good or bad, all excellence is either created or destroyed: just as a man becomes a good or a bad musician, according as he has been subjected to a good or a bad mode of practice.

It is by doing the same thing many times that we acquire at last the habit of doing it — “For what things we have to learn to do, these we learn by doing� (ii. 1): according as the things we are trained to do are good or bad, we acquire good habits or bad habits. By building we become builders, by playing on the harp we become harpers — good or indifferent, according to the way in which we have practised. All legislators wish and attempt to make their citizens good, by means of certain habits: some succeed in the attempt, others fail: and this is the difference between a good and a bad government. It is by being trained to do acts of justice and courage that we become at last just and courageous — “In one word, habits are generated by (a succession of) like operations: for this reason it is the character of the operations performed which we ought chiefly to attend to: for according to the difference of these will be the habits which ensue. It is therefore not a matter of slight difference whether immediately from our earliest years we are ethised in one way or in another — it makes a prodigious difference — or rather, it makes the whole difference� (ii. 1).

Uniform perseverance in action, then, creates a habit: but of what nature is the required action to be? In every department of our nature, where any good result is to be produced, we may be disappointed of our result by two sorts of error: either an excess or on the side of defect. To work or eat too much, or too little, prevents the good effects of training upon the health and strength: so with regard to temperance, courage and the other virtues — the man who is trained to fear everything and the man who is trained to fear nothing, will alike fail in acquiring the genuine habit of courage. The acquisition of the habit makes the performance of the action easy: by a course of abstinent acts, we acquire the habit of temperance: and having acquired this habit, we can with the greater ease perform the act of abstinence (ii. 2).

The symptom which indicates that the habit has been perfectly acquired, is the facility or satisfaction with which the act comes to be performed (ii. 3). The man who abstains from bodily pleasures, and who performs this contentedly (αὐτῷ τούτῳ χαίρων), is the temperate man: the man who does the same thing but reluctantly and with vexation (ἀχθόνιμος) is intemperate: the like with courage. Ethical excellence, or ethical badness, has reference to our pleasures and pains: whenever we do any thing mean, or shrink from any thing honourable, it is some pleasure or some pain which determines our conduct: for which reason Plato rightly prescribes that the young shall be educated even from the earliest moment so as to give a proper direction to their pleasures and pains (ii. 3). By often pursuing pleasure and pain under circumstances in which we ought not to do so, we contract bad habits, by a law similar to that which under a good education would have imparted to us good habits. Ethical virtue then consists in such a disposition of our pleasures and pains as leads to performance of the best actions. Some persons have defined it to consist in apathy and imperturbability of mind: but this definition is erroneous: the mind ought to be affected under proper circumstances (ii. 3). (This seems to be the same doctrine which was afterwards preached by the Stoic school.)

There are three ingredients which determine our choice, the honourable — the expedient — the agreeable: and as many which occasion our rejection — the base — the inexpedient — the painful or vexatious. In respect to all these three the good man judges rightly, the wicked man wrongly, and especially in regard to the latter. Pleasure and pain are familiar to us from our earliest childhood, and are ineffaceable from human nature: all men measure and classify actions (κανονίζομεν τὰς πράξεις) by pleasure and pain: some men to a greater degree, others to a less degree.

All ethical excellence, and all the political science, turns upon pleasure and pain (ii. 3).

A man becomes just and temperate by doing just and temperate actions, thus by degrees acquiring the habit. But how (it is asked) can this be true? for if a man performs just and temperate actions, he must already start by being just and temperate.

The objection is not well founded. A man may do just and temperate actions, and yet not be just and temperate. If he does them, knowing what he does, intending what he does, and intending to do the acts for their own sake, then indeed he is just and temperate, but not otherwise. The productions of art carry their own merit along with them: a work of art is excellent or defective, whatever be the state of mind of the person who has executed it. But the acts of a man cannot be said to be justly or temperately done, unless there be a certain state of mind accompanying their performance by the doer: they may indeed be called just and temperate acts, meaning thereby that they are such as a just and temperate man would do, but the man who does them does not necessarily deserve these epithets. It is only by frequent doing of acts of this class that a man can acquire the habit of performing them intentionally and for themselves, in which consists the just and temperate character. To know what such acts are, is little or nothing: you must obey the precepts, just as you follow the prescriptions of a physician. Many men think erroneously that philosophy will teach them to be virtuous, without any course of action adopted by themselves (ii. 4).

Aristotle classifies the phenomena of the soul (the non-rational soul) into three — Passions — Capacities or Faculties — States. The first are the occasional affections — anger, fear, envy, joy, aversion — “in short, everything that is accompanied by pleasure or painâ€� (ii. 5). The second are, the capacities of being moved by such affections — the affective faculties, if one may so call them (ib. So Eth. Eudem. ii. 2). The third are, those habits according to which we are said to be well or ill disposed towards this or that particular affection: to be disposed to violent anger or violent fear, is a bad habit. Virtues and vices are neither affections, nor faculties, but habits, either good or bad. This is the genus to which the virtues belong (τῷ γένει — Eth. Nic. ii. 5). Virtue is that habit from the possession of which a man is called good, and by which he performs well his appropriate function (ii. 6). It consists in a certain medium between two extremes, the one of excess, the other of defect — a medium not positive and absolute, but variable and having reference to each particular person and each particular case — neither exceeding nor falling short of what is proper (ii. 6). All ethical virtue aims at the attainment of this middle point in respect to our affections and actions — to exhibit each on the proper occasions, in the proper degree, towards the proper persons, &c. This middle point is but one, but errors on both sides of it are numberless: it must be determined by reason and by the judgment of the prudent man (ii. 6).

Virtue therefore, according to its essence and generic definition (κατὰ μὲν τὴν οὐσίαν, καὶ τὸν λόγον τὸν τί ἠν εἶναι λέγοντα), is a certain mediocrity.

But there are some actions and some affections which do not admit of mediocrity, and which imply at once in their names evil and culpability (ii. 6) — such as impudence, envy, theft, &c. Each of these names implies in its meaning a certain excess and defect, and does not admit of mediocrity: just as temperance and courage imply in their meaning the idea of mediocrity, and exclude both excess and defect.

Aristotle then proceeds to apply his general doctrine — that virtue or excellence consists in a medium between two extremes, both defects — to various different virtues. He again insists upon the extreme difficulty of determining where this requisite medium is, in each individual instance: either excess or defect is the easy and natural course. In finding and adhering to the middle point consists the well, the rare, the praiseworthy, the honourable (ii. 9). The extremes, though both wrong, are not always equally wrong: that which is the most wrong ought at any rate to be avoided: and we ought to be specially on our guard against the seductions of pleasure (ib.), since our natural inclinations carry us in that direction.

Aristotle so often speaks of the propriety of following nature, and produces nature so constantly as an authority and an arbiter, that it seems surprising to find him saying — “We must be on our guard with reference to the things whereto we ourselves are prone. For some of us are by nature disposed towards some things, others towards others.� — “But we must drag ourselves away in the opposite direction� (ii. 9).

There is a singular passage in the same chapter with respect to our moral judgments. After having forcibly insisted on the extreme difficulty of hitting the proper medium point of virtue, he says that a man who commits only small errors on one side or on the other side of this point, is not censured, but only he who greatly deviates from it — he then proceeds — “But it is not easy to define in general language at what point a man becomes deserving of censure: nor indeed is it easy to do this with regard to any other matter of perception. Questions of this sort depend upon the circumstances of the particular case, and the judgment upon each resides in our perception� (ii. 9).

The first five chapters, of the third Book of the Ethics, are devoted to an examination of various notions involved in our ideas of virtue and vice — Voluntary and Involuntary — ἑκούσιον καὶ ἀκούσιον — Ignorance — ἄγνοια — Choice or resolution, consequent upon previous deliberation — προαίρεσις.

Those actions are involuntary, which are done either by compulsion, or through ignorance. An action is done by compulsion when the proximate cause of it (or beginning — ἀρχὴ) is something foreign to the will of the agent — the agent himself neither concurring nor contributing. Actions done from the fear of greater evils are of a mixed character, as where a navigator in a storm throws his goods overboard to preserve the ship. Such actions as this, taken as a class, and apart from particular circumstances, are what no one would do voluntarily: but in the particular circumstances of the supposed case, the action is done voluntarily. Every action is voluntary, wherein the beginning of organic motion is, the will of the agent (iii. 1).

Men are praised if under such painful circumstances they make a right choice — if they voluntarily undergo what is painful or dishonourable for the purpose of accomplishing some great and glorious result (ib.): they are censured, if they shrink from this course, or if they submit to the evil without some sufficient end. If a man is induced to do what is unbecoming by the threat of evils surpassing human endurance, he is spoken of with forbearance: though there are some crimes of such magnitude as cannot be excused even by the greatest possible apprehension of evil, such as death and torture. In such trying circumstances, it is difficult to make a right choice, and still more difficult to adhere to the choice when it is made.

What is done through ignorance, can never be said to be done voluntarily: if the agent shall be afterwards grieved and repentant for what he has done, it is involuntary. If he be not repentant, though he cannot be said to have done the deed voluntarily, yet neither ought it to be called involuntary.

A distinction however is to be taken in regard to ignorance, considered as a ground for calling the action involuntary, and for excusing the agent. A man drunk or in a violent passion, misbehaves, ignorantly but not through ignorance: that is, ignorance is not the cause of his misbehaviour, but drunkenness or rage. In like manner, every depraved person may be ignorant of his true interest, or the rule which he ought to follow, but this sort of ignorance does not render his behaviour involuntary, nor entitle him to any indulgence. It must be ignorance with regard to some particular circumstance connected with the special action which he is committing — ignorance of the person with whom, or the instrument with which, or the subject matter in regard to which he is dealing. Ignorance of this special kind, if it be accompanied with subsequent sorrow and repentance, constitutes an action involuntary, and forms a reasonable ground for indulgence (iii. 1).

A voluntary action, then, is that of which the beginning is in the agent — he knowing the particular circumstances under which he is acting. Some persons have treated actions, performed through passion or through desire, as involuntary; but this is an error. If this were true, neither children nor animals would be capable of voluntary action. Besides, it is proper, on some occasions, to follow the dictates both of anger and of desire: and we cannot be said to act involuntarily in these cases when we do exactly what we ought to do. Moreover sins from passions and sins from bad reasoning are alike voluntary or alike involuntary: both of them ought to be avoided: and the nonrational affections are just as much a part of human nature as reason is (iii. 1).

Having explained the proper meaning of voluntary and involuntary as applied to actions, Aristotle proceeds to define προαίρεσις (deliberate choice); which is most intimately connected with excellence, and which indeed affords a better test of disposition than actions themselves can do (iii. 2).

All premeditated choice is voluntary, but all voluntary action is not preconcerted. Children and animals are capable of voluntary action, but not of preconcerted action: sudden deeds, too, are voluntary, but not preconcerted. Premeditated choice is different from desire — from passion — from wishing — and from opinion. Desire and passion are common to animals, who are nevertheless incapable of deliberate preference. The incontinent man acts from desire, but not from deliberate preference: the continent man acts from deliberate preference, but not from desire. Nor is premeditated choice the same as wishing: for we often wish for what is notoriously impracticable or unattainable, but we do not deliberately prefer any such thing: moreover we wish for the end, but we deliberately choose the means conducting to the end. We wish to be happy: but it cannot with propriety be said that we deliberately choose to be happy. Deliberate choice has reference to what it is or seems in our own power to achieve.

Again, deliberate choice is not to be regarded as a simple modification of opinion. Opinions extend to everything: deliberate choice belongs exclusively to matters within our grasp. Opinion is either true or false: deliberate choice is either good or evil. We are good or bad, according to the turn which our deliberate choice takes: not according to our opinions. We deliberately choose to seek something or to avoid something, and our choice is praised when it falls upon what is proper: the points upon which we form an opinion are, what such or such a thing is, whom it will benefit, and how: and our opinion is praised when it happens to be true. It often occurs, too, that men who form the truest opinions are not the best in their deliberate preferences. Opinion may precede or accompany every deliberate choice, but still the latter is something distinct in itself. It is in fact a determination of the will, preceded by deliberate counsel, and thus including or presupposing the employment of reason (iii. 2). It is an appetency, determined by previous counsel, of some matter within our means, either really or seemingly, to accomplish — βουλευτικὴ ὅρεξις τῶν ἐφ’ ἡμῖν (iii. 3).

It seems from the language of Aristotle that the various explanations of Προαίρεσις which he has canvassed and shown to be inadmissible, had all been advanced by various contemporary philosophers.

Προαίρεσις, or deliberate preference, includes the idea of deliberation. A reasonable man does not deliberate upon all matters — he does not deliberate respecting mathematical or physical truths, or respecting natural events altogether out of his reach, or respecting matters of pure accident, or even respecting matters of human design carried on by distant foreign nations. He only deliberates respecting matters which are more or less within his own agency and control: respecting matters which are not certain, but of doubtful issue. He does not deliberate about the end, but about the means towards the end: the end itself is commonly assumed, just as the physician assumes the necessity of establishing good health and the orator that of persuading his hearers. If there be more than one way of accomplishing the end, he deliberates by which out of these several means he can achieve it best and most easily: proceeding from the end itself first to the proximate cause of that end, then to the cause immediately preceding that cause, and so backwards until he arrives at the primary cause, which is either an action of his own, within his own means, or something requiring implements and assistance beyond his power to procure. This is a process of analysis, similar to that which is pursued by geometricians in seeking the way of solving a problem: they assume the figure with the required conditions to be constructed: they then take it to pieces, following back the consequences of each separate condition which it has been assumed to possess. If by this way of proceeding they arrive at some known truth, their problem is solved; if they arrive at some known untruth, the problem is insoluble. That step which is last arrived at in the analysis, is the first in the order of production (iii. 3). When a man in carrying back mentally this deliberative analysis arrives at something manifestly impracticable, he desists from farther deliberation: if he arrives at something within his power to perform, he begins action accordingly. The subject of deliberation, and the subject of deliberate preference, are the same, but the latter represents the process as accomplished and the result of deliberation decided.

We take counsel and deliberation (as has been said), not about the end, but about the means or the best means towards the end assumed. We wish for the end (ἡ βούλησις τοῦ τέλους ἔστι — iii. 4). Our wish is for good, real or apparent: whether for the one or the other, is a disputed question. Speaking generally, and without reference to peculiar idiosyncrasies, the real good or the good is the object of human wishes: speaking with reference to any particular individual, it is his own supposed or apparent good. On this matter, the virtuous man is the proper judge and standard of reference: that which is really good appears good to him. Each particular disposition has its own peculiar sentiment both of what is honourable and of what is agreeable (iii. 4): the principal excellence of the virtuous man is, that he in every variety of circumstances perceives what is truly and genuinely good; whereas to most men, pleasure proves a deception, and appears to be good, not being so in reality.

Both virtue and vice consists in deliberate preference, of one or of another course of action. Both therefore are voluntary and in our own power: both equally so. It is not possible to refer virtuous conduct or vicious conduct to any other beginning except to ourselves: the man is the cause of his own actions, as he is the father of his own children. It is upon this assumption that all legal reward and punishment is founded: it is intended for purposes of encouragement and prevention, but it would be absurd to think either of encouraging or preventing what is involuntary, such as the appetite of hunger and thirst. A man is punished for ignorance, when he is himself the cause of his own ignorance, or when by reasonable pains he might have acquired the requisite knowledge. Every man above the limit of absolute fatuity (κομιδῇ ἀναισθήτου) must know that any constant repetition of acts tends to form a habit: if then by repetition of acts he allows himself to form a bad habit, it is his own fault. When once the bad habit is formed, it is true that he cannot at once get rid of it: but the formation of such a habit originally was not the less imputable to himself (iii. 5). Defects of body also which we bring upon ourselves by our own negligence or intemperance, bring upon us censure: if they are constitutional and unavoidable, we are pitied for them. Some persons seem to have contended at that time, that no man could justly be made responsible for his bad conduct: because (they said) the end which he proposed to himself was good or bad according to his natural disposition, not according to any selection of his own. Aristotle seems to be somewhat perplexed by this argument: nevertheless he maintains, that whatever influence we may allow to original and uncontrollable nature, still the formation of our habits is more or less under our own concurrent control; and therefore the end which we propose to ourselves being dependent upon those habits, is also in part at least dependent upon ourselves (iii. 5) — our virtues and our vices are both voluntary.

The first five chapters of the third Book (in which Aristotle examines the nature of τὸ ἑκούσιον, τὸ ἀκούσιον, προαίρεσις, βούλησις, &c.) ought perhaps to constitute a Book by themselves. They are among the most valuable parts of the Ethics. He has now established certain points with regard to our virtues generally.

1. They are mediocrities (μεσότητες).

2. They are habits, generated by particular actions often repeated.

3. When generated, they have a specific influence of their own in facilitating the performance of actions of the same class.

4. They are in our own power originally, and voluntary.

5. They are under the direction of right reason.

It is to be observed that our actions are voluntary from the beginning to the end — the last of a number of repeated actions is no less voluntary than the first. But our habits are voluntary only at the beginning — they cease to be voluntary after a certain time — but the permanent effect left by each separate repetition of the action is inappreciable (iii. 5).

Aristotle then proceeds to an analysis of the separate virtues — Courage, Temperance, Liberality, Magnificence, Magnanimity, Gentleness, Frankness, Simplicity, Elegant playfulness, Justice, Equity, &c. He endeavours to show that each of these is a certain mediocrity — excess lying on one side of it, defect on the other.

There are various passages of Aristotle which appear almost identical with the moral doctrine subsequently maintained by the Stoic school: for example — iii. 6 — “In like manner he ought not to fear penury, nor sickness, nor in any way such things as arise not from moral baseness nor are dependent on himself.�

The courageous man is afraid of things such as it befits a man to fear, but of no others: and even these he will make head against on proper occasions, when reason commands and for the sake of honour, which is the end of virtue (iii. 7). To fear nothing, or too little, is rashness or insanity: to fear too much, is timidity: the courageous man is the mean between the two, who fears what he ought, when he ought, as he ought, and with the right views and purposes (ib.). The μοιχὸς (adulterer) exposes himself often to great dangers for the purpose of gratifying his passion: but Aristotle does not hold this to be courage. Neither does he thus denominate men who affront danger from passion, or from the thirst of revenge, or from a sanguine temperament — there must be deliberate preference and a proper motive, to constitute courage — the motive of honour (iii. 8).

The end of courage (says Aristotle) is in itself pleasant, but it is put out of sight by the circumstances around it: just as the prize for which the pugilist contends is in itself pleasurable, but being of small moment and encompassed with painful accessories, it appears to carry with it no pleasure whatever. Fatigue, and wounds and death are painful to the courageous man — death is indeed more painful to him, inasmuch as his life is of more value: but still he voluntarily and knowingly affronts these pains for the sake of honour.

This is painful: “but pleasure is not to be anticipated in the exercise of all the different virtues, except in so far as the attainment of the end is concerned� (iii. 9).

(This is perfectly true: but it contradicts decidedly the remark which Aristotle had made before in his first Book (i. 8) respecting the inherent pleasure of virtuous agency.)

Courage and Temperance are the virtues of the instincts (τῶν ἀλόγων μερῶν — iii. 10). Temperance is the observance of a rational medium with respect to the pleasures of eating, drinking, and sex. Aristotle seems to be inconsistent when he makes it to belong to those pleasures in which animals generally partake (iii. 10); for other animals do not relish intoxicating liquors: unless indeed these are considered as ranking under drink generally. The temperate man desires these pleasures as he ought, when he ought, within the limits of what is honourable, and having a proper reference to the amount of his own pecuniary means: just as right reason prescribes (iii. 11). To pursue them more, is excess: to pursue them less, is defect. There is however, in estimating excess and defect, a certain tacit reference to the average dispositions of the many.

“Wherefore the desires of the temperate man ought to harmonize with reason; for the aim of both is the honourable. And the temperate man desires what he ought, and as he ought, and when: and this too is the order of reason� (iii. 12).

All virtuous acts are to be on account of the honourable — thus Aristotle says that the donations of the ἄσωτος (prodigal) are not to be called liberal — “Neither are their gifts liberal, for they are not honourable, nor on account of this, nor as they ought to beâ€� (iv. 1). Again about the μεγαλοπρεπὴς or magnificent man — “Now the magnificent man will expend such things on account of the honourable; for this is a condition shared in by all the virtues: and still he will do so pleasantly and lavishlyâ€� (iv. 2). On the contrary, the βάναυσος or vulgar man, who differs from the magnificent man in the way of ὑπερβολὴ or excess, is said to spend — “Not for the sake of the honourable, but for the purpose of making a display of his wealthâ€� (iv. 2).

With respect to those epithets which imply praise or blame, there is always a tacit comparison with some assumed standard. Thus with regard to the φιλότιμος (lover of honour), Aristotle observes — “It is evident that, as the term ‘lover of such and such things’ is used in various senses, we do not always apply ‘lover of honour’ to express the same thing; but when we praise, we praise that ambition which is more than most men’s, and blame that which is greater than it ought to beâ€� (iv. 4).

In the fifth Book, Aristotle proceeds to explain wherein consist Justice and Injustice.

These words are used in two senses — a larger sense and a narrower sense.

In the larger sense, just behaviour is equivalent to the observance of law, generally: unjust behaviour is equivalent to the violation of law generally. But the law either actually does command, or may be understood to command, that we should perform towards others the acts belonging to each separate head of virtue: it either actually prohibits, or may be understood to prohibit, us from performing towards others any of the acts belonging to each separate head of vice. In this larger sense, therefore, justice is synonymous generally with perfect virtue — injustice, with perfect wickedness: there is only this difference, that just or unjust are expressions applied to behaviour in so far as it affects other persons besides the agent: whereas virtuous or wicked are expressions applied simply to the agent without connoting any such ulterior reference to other persons. Just or unjust, is necessarily towards somebody else: and this reference is implied distinctly in the term. Virtuous and vicious do not in the force of the term connote any such relations, but are employed with reference to the agent simply — “This justice then is perfect virtue; yet not absolutely, but with reference to one’s neighbour. — In one sense we call those things just that are productive and preservative of happiness and its parts to the political communion� (v. 1).

Justice in this sense, is the very fulness of virtue, because it denotes the actual exercise of virtuous behaviour towards others: “there are many who behave virtuously in regard to their own personal affairs, but who are incapable of doing so in what regards others� (ib.). For this reason, justice has been called by some the good of another and not our own — justice alone of all the virtues, because it necessarily has reference to another: the just man does what is for the interest of some one else, either the magistrate, or the community (v. 1).

Justice in the narrower sense, is that mode of behaviour whereby a man, in his dealings with others, aims at taking to himself his fair share and no more of the common objects of desire: and willingly consents to endure his fair share of the common hardships. Injustice is the opposite — that by which a man tries to appropriate more than his fair share of the objects of desire, while he tries to escape his fair share of the objects of aversion. To aim at this unfair distribution of the benefits of the society, either in one’s own favour or in favour of any one else, is injustice in the narrow sense (v. 2).

Justice in this narrower sense is divided into two branches — 1. Distributive Justice. 2. Corrective Justice.

Distributive Justice has reference to those occasions on which positive benefits are to be distributed among the members of the community, wealth and honours, &c. (v. 2). In this case, the share of each citizen is to be a share not absolutely of equality, but one proportional to his personal worth (ἀξίαν): and it is in the estimation of this personal worth that quarrels and dissension arise.

Corrective Justice has reference to the individual dealings, or individual behaviour, between man and man: either to the dealings implying mutual consent and contract, as purchase, sale, loan, hire, suretyship, deposit, &c.: or such as imply no such mutual consent, — such as are on the contrary proceedings either by fraud or by force — as theft, adultery, perjury, poisoning, assassination, robbery, beating, mutilation, murder, defamation, &c.

In regard to transactions of this nature, the citizens are considered as being all upon a par — no account is taken of the difference between them in point of individual worth. Each man is considered as entitled to an equal share of good and evil: and if in any dealings between man and man, one man shall attempt to increase his own share of good or to diminish his own share of evil at the expense of another man, corrective justice will interpose and re-establish the equality thus improperly disturbed. He who has been made to lose or to suffer unduly, must be compensated and replaced in his former position: he who has gained unduly, must be mulcted or made to suffer, so as to be thrown back to the point from which he started. The judge, who represents this corrective justice, is a kind of mediator, and the point which he seeks to attain in directing redress, is the middle point between gain and loss — so that neither shall the aggressive party be a gainer, nor the suffering party a loser — “So that justice is a mean between a sort of gain and loss in voluntary things, — it is the having the same after as before� (v. 4). Aristotle admits that the words gain and loss are not strictly applicable to many of the transactions which come within the scope of interference from corrective justice — that they properly belong to voluntary contracts, and are strained in order to apply them to acts of aggression, &c. (ib.).

The Pythagoreans held the doctrine that justice universally speaking consisted in simple retaliation — in rendering to another the precise dealing which that other had first given. This definition will not suit either for distributive justice or corrective justice: the treatment so prescribed would be sometimes more, sometimes less, than justice: not to mention that acts deserve to be treated differently according as they are intentional or unintentional. But the doctrine is to a certain extent true in regard to the dealings between man and man (ἐν ταῖς ἀλλακτικαῖς κοινωνίαις) — if it be applied in the way of general analogy and not with any regard to exact similarity — it is of importance that the man who has been well treated, and the man who has been illtreated, should each show his sense of the proceeding by returning the like usage: “for by proportionate requital the State is held togetherâ€� (v. 5). The whole business of exchange and barter, of division of labour and occupation, — the co-existence of those distinct and heterogeneous ingredients which are requisite to constitute the political communion — the supply of the most essential wants of the citizens — is all founded upon the continuance and the expectation of this assured requital for acts done. Money is introduced as an indispensable instrument for facilitating this constant traffic: it affords a common measure for estimating the value of every service — “And thus if there were no possibility of retaliation, there would be no communionâ€� (v. 5).

Justice is thus a mediocrity — or consists in a just medium — between two extremes, but not in the same way as the other virtues. The just man is one who awards both to himself and to every one else the proper and rightful share both of benefit and burthen. Injustice, on the contrary, consists in the excess or defect which lie on one side or the other of this medium point (v. 5).

Distributive justice is said by Aristotle to deal with individuals according to geometrical ratio; corrective justice, according to arithmetical proportion. Justice, strictly and properly so called, is political justice: that reciprocity of right and obligation which prevails between free and equal citizens in a community, or between citizens who, if not positively equal, yet stand in an assured and definite ratio one to the other (v. 6). This relation is defined and maintained by law, and by judges and magistrates to administer the law. Political justice implies a state of law — a community of persons qualified by nature to obey and sustain the law — and a definite arrangement between the citizens in respect to the alternation of command and obedience — “For this is, as we have said (ἦν), according to law, and among those who can naturally have law; those, namely, as we have said (ἦσαν), who have an equality of ruling and being ruled.â€� As the law arises out of the necessity of preventing injustice, or of hindering any individual from appropriating more than his fair share of good things, so it is felt that any person invested with sovereign authority may and will commit this injustice. Reason therefore is understood to hold the sovereign authority, and the archon acts only as the guardian of the reciprocal rights and obligations — of the constitutional equality — between the various citizens: undertaking a troublesome duty and paid for his trouble by honour and respect (v. 6).

The relation which subsists between master and slave, or father and son, is not properly speaking that of justice, though it is somewhat analogous. Both the slave, and the non-adult son, are as it were parts of the master and father: there can therefore be no injustice on his part towards them, since no one deliberately intends to hurt a part of himself. Between husband and wife there subsists a sort of justice — household justice (τὸ οἰκονομικὸν δίκαιον) — but this too is different from political justice (v. 6).

Political justice is in part natural — in part conventional. That which is natural is everywhere the same: that which is conventional is different in different countries, and takes its origin altogether from positive and special institution. Some persons think that all political justice is thus conventional, and none natural: because they see that rights and obligations (τὰ δίκαια) are everywhere changeable, and nowhere exhibit that permanence and invariability which mark the properties of natural objects. “This is true to a certain extent, but not wholly true: probably among the Gods it is not true at all: but with us that which is natural is in part variable, though not in every case: yet there is a real distinction between what is natural and what is not natural. Both natural justice and conventional justice, are thus alike contingent and variable: but there is a clear mode of distinguishing between the two, applicable not only to the case of justice but to other cases in which the like distinction is to be taken. For by nature the right hand is the stronger: but nevertheless it may happen that there are ambidextrous men. — And in like manner those rules of justice which are not natural, but of human establishment, are not the same everywhere: nor indeed does the same mode of government prevail everywhere, though there is but one mode of government which is everywhere agreeable to nature — the best of allâ€� (v. 7).

(The commentary of Andronicus upon this passage is clearer and more instructive than the passage of Aristotle itself: and it is remarkable as a distinct announcement of the principle of utility. “Since both natural justice, and conventional justice, are changeable, in the way just stated, how are we to distinguish the one of these fluctuating institutions from the other? The distinction is plain. Each special precept of justice is to be examined on its own ground to ascertain whether it be for the advantage of all that it should be maintained unaltered, or whether the subversion of it would occasion mischief. If this be found to be the fact, the precept in question belongs to natural justice: if it be otherwise, to conventional justice� (Andronic. Rh. v. c. 10).

The just, and the unjust, being thus defined, a man who does, willingly and knowingly, either the one or the other, acts justly or unjustly: if he does it unwillingly or unknowingly, he neither acts justly nor unjustly, except by accident — that is, he does what is not essentially and in its own nature unjust, but is only so by accident (v. 8). Injustice will thus have been done, but no unjust act will have been committed, if the act be done involuntarily. The man who restores a deposit unwillingly and from fear of danger to himself, does not act justly, though he does what by accident is just: the man who, anxious to restore the deposit, is prevented by positive superior force from doing so, does not act unjustly, although he does what by accident is unjust. When a man does mischief, it is either done contrary to all reasonable expectation, in such manner that neither he nor any one else could have anticipated from his act the mischief which has actually ensued from it (παραλόγως), and in this case it is a pure misfortune (ἀτύχημα): or he does it without intention or foreknowledge, yet under circumstances in which mischief might have been foreseen, and ought to have been foreseen; in this case it is a fault (ἁμάρτημα): or he does it intentionally and with foreknowledge, yet without any previous deliberation, through anger, or some violent momentary impulse; in this case it is an unjust act (ἀδίκημα), but the agent is not necessarily an unjust or wicked man for having done it: or he does it with intention and deliberate choice, and in this case he is an unjust and wicked man.

The man who does a just thing, or an unjust thing, is not necessarily a just or an unjust man. Whether he be so or not, depends upon the state of his mind and intention at the time (v. 8).

Equity, τὸ ἐπιεικὲς, is not at variance with justice, but is an improvement upon justice. It is a correction and supplement to the inevitable imperfections in the definitions of legal justice. The law wishes to comprehend all cases, but fails in doing so: the words of its enactment do not fully and exactly express its real intentions, but either something more or something less. When the lawgiver speaks in general terms, a particular case may happen which falls within the rule as he lays it down, but which he would not have wished to comprehend if he had known how to avoid it. It is then becoming conduct in the individual to whose advantage the law in this special case turns, that he should refrain from profiting by his position, and that he should act as the legislator himself would wish, if consulted on the special case. The general rules laid down by the legislator are of necessity more or less defective: in fact, the only reason why everything is not determined by law, is, that there are some matters respecting which it is impossible to frame a law (v. 10). Such is the conduct of the equitable man — “the man who refrains from pushing his legal rights to the extreme, to the injury of others, but who foregoes the advantage of his position, although the law is in his favourâ€� (ὁ μὴ ἀκριβοδίκαιος ἐπὶ χεῖρον, ἀλλ’ ἐλαττωτικὸς, καίπερ ἔχων τὸν νόμον βοηθόν).

A man may hurt himself, but he cannot act unjustly towards himself. No injustice can be done to a man except against his own consent. Suicide is by implication forbidden by the law: to commit suicide is wrong, because a man in so doing acts unjustly towards the city, not towards himself, which is impossible (v. 12).

To act unjustly — and to be the object of unjust dealing by others — are both bad: but which is the worst? It is the least of the two evils to be the object of unjust dealing by others. Both are bad, because in the one case a man gets more than his share, in the other less than his share: in both cases the just medium is departed from. To act unjustly is blameable, and implies wickedness: to be the object of unjust dealing by others is not blameable, and implies no wickedness: the latter is therefore in itself the least evil, although by accident it may perhaps turn out to be the greater evil of the two. In the same manner a pleurisy is in itself a greater evil than a trip and a stumble: but by accident it may turn out that the latter is the greater evil of the two, if it should occur at the moment when a man is running away from the enemy, so as to cause his being taken prisoner and slain.

The question here raised by Aristotle — which is the greater evil — to act unjustly or to be the object of unjust dealing — had been before raised by Plato in the Gorgias. Aristotle follows out his theory about virtue, whereby he makes it consist in the observance of a medium point. The man that acts unjustly sins on one side of this point, the object of unjust dealing misses it on the other side: the one is comparable to a man who eats or works too much for his health, the other to a man who eats or works too little. The question is one which could hardly arise, according to the view taken by modern ethical writers of the principles of moral science. The two things compared are not in point of fact commensurable. Looking at the question from the point of view of the moralist, the person injured has incurred no moral guilt, but has suffered more or less of misfortune: the unjust agent on the contrary has suffered no misfortune — perhaps he has reaped benefit — but at any rate he has incurred moral guilt. Society on the whole is a decided loser by the act: but the wrong done implies the suffering inflicted: the act is considered and called wrong because it does inflict suffering, and for no other reason. It seems an inadmissible question therefore, to ask which of the two is the greater evil — the suffering undergone by A — or the wrong by which B occasioned that suffering: at least so far as society is concerned.

But the ancient moralists, in instituting this comparison, seem to have looked, not at society, but at the two individuals — the wrong doer and the wrong sufferer — and to have looked at them too from a point of view of their own. If we take the feelings of these two parties themselves as the standard by which to judge, the sentence must be obviously contrary to the opinion delivered by Aristotle: the sufferer, according to his own feeling, is worse off than he was before: the doer is better off. And it is for this reason that the act forms a proper ground for judicial punishment or redress. But the moralist estimates the condition of the two men by a standard of his own, not by the feelings which they themselves entertain. He decides for himself that a virtuous frame of mind is the primary and essential ingredient of individual happiness — a wicked frame of mind the grand source of misery: and by this test he tries the comparative happiness of every man. The man who manifests evidence of a guilty frame of mind is decidedly worse off than he who has only suffered an unmerited misfortune.

[CHAPTER XIV.]

POLITICA.

The scheme of government proposed by Aristotle, in the two last books of his Politics, as representing his own ideas of something like perfection, is evidently founded upon the Republic of Plato: from whom he differs in the important circumstance of not admitting either community of property or community of wives and children.

Each of these philosophers recognises one separate class of inhabitants, relieved from all private toil and all money-getting employments, and constituting exclusively the citizens of the commonwealth. This small class is in effect the city — the commonwealth: the remaining inhabitants are not a part of the commonwealth, they are only appendages to it — indispensable indeed, but still appendages, in the same manner as slaves or cattle (vii. 8). In the Republic of Plato this narrow aristocracy are not allowed to possess private property or separate families, but form one inseparable brotherhood. In the scheme of Aristotle, this aristocracy form a distinct caste of private families each with its separate property. The whole territory of the State belongs to them, and is tilled by dependent cultivators, by whom the produce is made over and apportioned under certain restrictions. A certain section of the territory is understood to be the common property of the body of citizens (i.e. of the aristocracy), and the produce of it is handed over by the cultivators into a common stock, partly to supply the public tables at which all the citizens with their wives and families are subsisted, partly to defray the cost of religious solemnities. The remaining portion of the territory is possessed in separate properties by individual citizens, who consume the produce as they please (vii. 9): each citizen having two distinct lots of land assigned to him, one near the outskirts of the territory, the other near the centre. This latter regulation also had been adopted by Plato in the treatise de Legibus, and it is surprising to observe that Aristotle himself had censured it, in his criticisms on that treatise, as incompatible with a judicious and careful economy (ii. 3. 8). The syssitia or public tables are also adopted by Plato, in conformity with the institutions actually existing in his time in Crete and elsewhere.

The dependent cultivators, in Aristotle’s scheme, ought to be slaves, not united together by any bond of common language or common country (vii. 9, 9): if this cannot be, they ought to be a race of subdued foreigners, degraded into periœci, deprived of all use of arms, and confined to the task of labouring in the field. Those slaves who till the common land are to be considered as the property of the collective body of citizens: the slaves on land belonging to individual citizens, are the property of those citizens.

When we consider the scanty proportion of inhabitants whom Aristotle and Plato include in the benefits of their community, it will at once appear how amazingly their task as political theorists is simplified. Their commonwealth is really an aristocracy on a very narrow scale. The great mass of the inhabitants are thrust out altogether from all security and good government, and are placed without reserve at the disposal of the small body of armed citizens.

There is but one precaution on which Aristotle and Plato rely for ensuring good treatment from the citizens towards their inferiors: and that is, the finished and elaborate education which the citizens are to receive. Men so educated, according to these philosophers, will behave as perfectly in the relation of superior to inferior, as in that of equal to equal — of citizen to citizen.

This supposition would doubtless prove true, to a certain extent, though far short of that extent which would be requisite to assure the complete comfort of the inferior. But even if it were true to the fullest extent, it would be far from satisfying the demands of a benevolent theorist. For though the inferior should meet with kindness and protection from his superior, still his mind must be kept in a degradation suitable to his position. He must be deprived of all moral and intellectual culture: he must be prevented from imbibing any ideas of his own dignity: he must be content to receive whatever is awarded, to endure whatever treatment is vouchsafed, without for an instant imagining that he has a right to benefits or that suffering is wrongfully inflicted upon him. Both Plato and Aristotle acknowledge the inevitable depravation and moral abasement of all the inhabitants excepting their favoured class. Neither of them seems solicitous either to disguise or to mitigate it.

But if they are thus indifferent about the moral condition of the mass, they are in the highest degree exact and careful respecting that of their select citizens. This is their grand and primary object, towards which the whole force of their intellect, and the full fertility of their ingenious imagination, is directed. Their plans of education are most elaborate and comprehensive: aiming at every branch of moral and intellectual improvement, and seeking to raise the whole man to a state of perfection, both physical and mental. You would imagine that they were framing a scheme of public education, not a political constitution: so wholly are their thoughts engrossed with the training and culture of their citizens. It is in this respect that their ideas are truly instructive.

Viewed with reference to the general body of inhabitants in a State, nothing can be more defective than the plans of both these great philosophers. Assuming that their objects were completely attained, the mass of the people would receive nothing more than that degree of physical comfort and mild usage which can be made to consist with subjection and with the extortion of compulsory labour.

Viewed with reference to the special class recognized as citizens, the plans of both are to a high degree admirable. A better provision is made for the virtue as well as for the happiness of this particular class than has ever been devised by any other political projector. The intimate manner in which Aristotle connects virtue with happiness, is above all remarkable. He in fact defines happiness to consist in the active exertion and perfected habit of virtue (ἀρετῆς ἐνέργεια καὶ χρῆσίς τις τέλειος — vi. 9. 3.): and it is upon this disposition that he founds the necessity of excluding the mass of inhabitants from the citizenship. For the purpose to be accomplished by the political union, is, the assuring of happiness to every individual citizen, which is to be effected by implanting habits of virtue in every citizen. Whoever therefore is incapable of acquiring habits of virtue, is disqualified from becoming a citizen. But every man whose life is spent in laborious avocations, whether of husbandry, of trade, or of manufacture, becomes thereby incapable of acquiring habits of virtue, and cannot therefore be admitted to the citizenship. No man can be capable of the requisite mental culture and tuition, who is not exempted from the necessity of toil, enabled to devote his whole time to the acquisition of virtuous habits, and subjected from his infancy to a severe and systematic training. The exclusion of the bulk of the people from civil rights is thus founded, in the mind of Aristotle, on the lofty idea which he forms of individual human perfection, which he conceives to be absolutely unattainable unless it be made the sole object of a man’s life. But then he takes especial care that the education of his citizens shall be really such as to compel them to acquire that virtue on which alone their pre-eminence is built. If he exempts them from manual or money-getting labours, he imposes upon them an endless series of painful restraints and vexatious duties for the purpose of forming and maintaining their perfection of character. He allows no luxury or self-indulgence, no misappropriation of time, no ostentatious display of wealth or station. The life of his select citizens would be such as to provoke little envy or jealousy, among men of the ordinary stamp. Its hard work and its strict discipline would appear repulsive rather than inviting: and the pre-eminence of strong and able men, submitting to such continued schooling, would appear well deserved and hardly earned.

Oligarchical reasoners in modern times employ the bad part of Aristotle’s principle without the good. They represent the rich and great as alone capable of reaching a degree of virtue consistent with the full enjoyment of political privileges: but then they take no precautions, as Aristotle does, that the men so preferred shall really answer to this exalted character. They leave the rich and great to their own self-indulgence and indolent propensities, without training them by any systematic process to habits of superior virtue. So that the select citizens on this plan are at the least no better, if indeed they are not worse, than the remaining community, while their unbounded indulgences excite either undue envy or undue admiration, among the excluded multitude. The select citizens of Aristotle are both better and wiser than the rest of their community: while they are at the same time so hemmed in and circumscribed by severe regulations, that nothing except the perfection of their character can appear worthy either of envy or admiration. Though therefore these oligarchical reasoners concur with Aristotle in sacrificing the bulk of the community to the pre-eminence of a narrow class, they fail of accomplishing the end for which alone he pretends to justify such a sacrifice — the formation of a few citizens of complete and unrivalled virtue.

The arrangements made by Aristotle for the good government of his aristocratical citizens among themselves, are founded upon principles of the most perfect equality. He would have them only limited in number, for in his opinion, personal and familiar acquaintance among them all is essentially requisite to good government (vii. 4. 7). The principal offices of the State are all to be held by the aged citizens: the military duties are to be fulfilled by the younger citizens. The city altogether, with the territory appertaining to it, must be large enough to be αὐτάρκης: but it must not be so extensive as to destroy personal intimacy among the citizens. A very large body are, in Aristotle’s view, incapable of discipline or regularity.

To produce a virtuous citizen, nature, habit, and reason must coincide. They ought to be endued with virtues qualifying them both for occupation and for leisure: with courage, self-denial (καρτερία), and fortitude, to maintain their independence: with justice and temperance, to restrain them from abusing the means of enjoyment provided for them: and with philosophy or the love of contemplative wisdom and science, in order to banish ennui, and render the hours of leisure agreeable to them (vii. 13. 17). They are to be taught that their hours of leisure are of greater worth and dignity than their hours of occupation. Occupation is to be submitted to for the sake of the quiet enjoyment of leisure, just as war is made for the sake of procuring peace, and useful and necessary employments undertaken for the sake of those which are honourable (vii. 13. 8). Aristotle greatly censures (see vii. 2. 5) (as indeed Plato had done before him) the institutions of Lacedæmon, as being directed exclusively to create excellent warriors, and to enable the nation to rule over foreigners. This (he says) is not only not the right end, but is an end absolutely pernicious and culpable. To maintain a forcible sovereignty over free and equal foreigners, is unjust and immoral: and if the minds of the citizens be corrupted with this collective ambition and love of power, it is probable that some individual citizen, taught by the education of the State to consider power as the first of all earthly ends, will find an opportunity to aggrandize himself by force or fraud, and to establish a tyranny over his countrymen themselves (viii. 13. 13). The Lacedæmonians conducted themselves well and flourished under their institutions, so long as they were carrying on war for the enlargement of their dominion: but they were incapable of tasting or profiting by peace: they were not educated by their legislator so as to be able to turn leisure to account (αἴτιος δ’ ὁ νομοθέτης, οὐ παιδεύσας δύνασθαι σχολάζειν — vii. 13. 15).

The education of the citizen is to commence with the body: next the irrational portion of the soul is to be brought under discipline — that is, the will and the appetites, the concupiscent and irascible passions: thirdly, the rational portion of the soul is to be cultivated and developed. The habitual desires are to be so moulded and tutored as to prepare them for the sovereignty of reason, when the time shall arrive for bringing reason into action (vii. 13. 23). They are to learn nothing until five years old (vii. 15. 4), their diversions are to be carefully prepared and presented to them, consisting generally of a mimicry of subsequent serious occupations (vii. 15. 15): and all the fables and tales which they hear recited are to be such as to pave the way for moral discipline (ib.); all under the superintendence of the Pædonom. No obscene or licentious talk is to be tolerated in the city (vii. 15. 7), nor any indecent painting or statue, except in the temples of some particular Deities. No youth is permitted to witness the recitation either of iambics or of comedy (vii. 15. 9), until he attains the age which qualifies him to sit at the public tables. Immense stress is laid by the philosopher on the turn of ideas to which the tender minds of youth become accustomed, and on the earliest combinations of sounds or of visible objects which meet their senses (vii. 15. 10). Πρὸς πάσας δυνάμεις καὶ τέχνας ἐστιν ἃ δεῖ προπαιδεύεσθαι καὶ προεθίζεσθαι πρὸς τὰς ἑκάστων ἐργασίας, ὥστε δῆλον ὅτι καὶ πρὸς τὰς τῆς ἀρετῆς πράξεις (viii. 1. 2).

All the citizens in Aristotle’s republic are to be educated according to one common system: each being regarded as belonging to the commonwealth more than to his own parents. This was the practice at Lacedæmon, and Aristotle greatly eulogizes it (viii. 1. 3).

Aristotle does not approve of extreme and violent bodily training, such as would bring the body into the condition of an athlete: nor does he even sanction the gymnastic labours imposed by the Lacedæmonian system, which had the effect of rendering the Spartans “brutal of soul,â€� for the purpose of exalting their courage (οἱ Λάκωνες — θηριώδεις ἀπεργάζονται τοῖς πόνοις, ὡς τοῦτο μάλιστα πρὸς ἀνδρείαν σύμφερον). He remarks, first, that courage is not the single or exclusive end to be aimed at in a civil education: next, that a savage and brutal soul is less compatible with exalted courage than a gentle soul, trained so as to be exquisitely sensible to the feelings of shame and honour (viii. 3. 3-5). The most sanguinary and unfeeling among the barbarous tribes, he remarks, were very far from being the most courageous. A man trained on the Lacedæmonian system, in bodily exercises alone, destitute even of the most indispensable mental culture (see below), was a real βάναυσος — useful only for one branch of political duties, and even for that less useful than if he had been trained in a different manner.

Up to the age of 14, Aristotle prescribes (ἥβη means 14 years of age — see vii. 15. 11) that boys shall be trained in gentle and regular exercises, without any severe or forced labour. From 14 to 17 they are to be instructed in various branches of knowledge: after 17, they are to be put to harder bodily labour and to be nourished with a special and peculiar diet (ἀναγκοφαγίαις). For how long this is to continue, is not stated. But Aristotle insists on the necessity of not giving them at the same time intellectual instruction and bodily training, for the one of these, he says, counteracts and frustrates the other (viii. 4. 2-3).

The Lacedæmonians made music no part of their education: Isocrat. Panathen. Or. xii. p. 375, B.; they did not even learn ‘letters’ (γράμματα), but they are said to have been good judges of music (viii. 4. 6). Aristotle himself however seems to think it next to impossible that men who have not learned music can be good judges (viii. 6. 1).

Aristotle admits that music may be usefully learnt as an innocent pleasure and relaxation: but he chiefly considers it as desirable on account of its moral effects, on the dispositions and affections. A right turn of the pleasurable and painful emotions is, in his opinion, essential to virtue: particular strains and particular rhythms are naturally associated with particular dispositions of mind: by early teaching, those strains and those rhythms which are associated with temperate and laudable dispositions may be made more agreeable to a youth than any others. He will like best those which he hears earliest, and which he finds universally commended and relished by those about him. A relish for the ὁμοιώματα of virtuous dispositions will tend to increase in him the love of virtue itself (viii. 6. 5. 8).

Aristotle enjoins that the youth be taught to execute music instrumentally and vocally, because it is only in this way that they can acquire a good taste or judgment in music: besides which, it is necessary to furnish boys with some occupation, to absorb their restless energies, and there is none more suitable than music. Some persons alleged that the teaching music as a manual art was banausic and degrading, lowering the citizen down to the station of a hired professional singer. Aristotle meets this objection by providing that youths shall be instructed in the musical art, but only with the view of correcting and cultivating their taste: they are to be forbidden from making any use of their musical acquisitions, in riper years, in actual playing or singing (viii. 6. 3). Aristotle observes, that music more difficult of execution had been recently introduced into the agones, and had found its way from the agones into the ordinary education. He decidedly disapproves and excludes it (viii. 6. 4). He forbids both the flute and the harp, and every other instrument requiring much art to play upon it: especially the flute, which he considers as not ethical, but orgiastical — calculated to excite violent and momentary emotions. The flute obtained a footing in Greece after the Persian invasion; in Athens at that time it became especially fashionable; but was discontinued afterwards (Plutarch alleges, through the influence of Alcibiades).

The suggestions of Aristotle for the education of his citizens are far less copious and circumstantial than those of Plato in his Republic. He delivers no plan of study, no arrangement of sciences to be successively communicated, no reasons for preferring or rejecting. We do not know what it was precisely which Aristotle comprehended in the term “philosophy,� intended by him to be taught to his citizens as an aid for the proper employment of their leisure. It must probably have included the moral, political, and metaphysical sciences, as they were then known — those sciences to which his own voluminous works relate.

By means of the public table, supplied from the produce of the public lands, Aristotle provides for the full subsistence of every citizen. Yet he is well aware that the citizens will be likely to increase in numbers too rapidly, and he suggests very efficient precautions against it. No child at all deformed or imperfect in frame is to be brought up: children beyond a convenient number, if born, are to be exposed: but should the law of the State forbid such a practice, care must be taken to forestall consciousness and life in them, and to prevent their birth by ἄμβλωσις (vii. 14. 10).

Aristotle establishes two agora in his city: one situated near to the harbour, adapted to the buying, selling, and storing of goods, under the surveillance of the agoranomus: the other called the free agora, situated in the upper parts of the city, set apart for the amusement and conversation of the citizens, and never defiled by the introduction of any commodities for sale. No artisan or husbandman is ever to enter the latter unless by special order from the authorities. The temples of the Gods, the residences of the various boards of government functionaries, the gymnasia of the older citizens, are all to be erected in this free agora (vii. 11). The Thessalian cities had an agora of this description where no traffic or common occupations were permitted.

The moral tendency of Aristotle’s reflections is almost always useful and elevating. The intimate union which he formally recognizes and perpetually proclaims between happiness and virtue, is salutary and instructive: and his ideas of what virtue is, are perfectly just, so far as relates to the conduct of his citizens towards each other: though they are miserably defective as regards obligation towards non-citizens. He always assigns the proper pre-eminence to wisdom and virtue: he never overvalues the advantages of riches, nor deems them entitled on their own account, to any reverence or submission: he allows no title to the obedience of mankind, except that which arises from superior power and disposition to serve them. Superior power and station, as he considers them, involve a series of troubles — some obligations which render them objects of desire only to men of virtue and beneficence. What is more rare and more creditable still, he treats all views of conquest and aggrandizement by a State as immoral and injurious, even to the conquerors themselves.