Nicomachean Ethics

by Aristotle
translated by W. D. Ross
Book I Book II Book III Book IV Book V Book VI Book VII Book VIII Book IX Book X



SINCE virtue is concerned with passions and actions, and on
voluntary passions and actions praise and blame are bestowed, on those
that are involuntary pardon, and sometimes also pity, to distinguish
the voluntary and the involuntary is presumably necessary for those
who are studying the nature of virtue, and useful also for legislators
with a view to the assigning both of honours and of punishments. Those
things, then, are thought-involuntary, which take place under
compulsion or owing to ignorance; and that is compulsory of which
the moving principle is outside, being a principle in which nothing is
contributed by the person who is acting or is feeling the passion,
e.g. if he were to be carried somewhere by a wind, or by men who had
him in their power.
But with regard to the things that are done from fear of greater
evils or for some noble object (e.g. if a tyrant were to order one
to do something base, having one's parents and children in his
power, and if one did the action they were to be saved, but
otherwise would be put to death), it may be debated whether such
actions are involuntary or voluntary. Something of the sort happens
also with regard to the throwing of goods overboard in a storm; for in
the abstract no one throws goods away voluntarily, but on condition of
its securing the safety of himself and his crew any sensible man
does so. Such actions, then, are mixed, but are more like voluntary
actions; for they are worthy of choice at the time when they are done,
and the end of an action is relative to the occasion. Both the
terms, then, 'voluntary' and 'involuntary', must be used with
reference to the moment of action. Now the man acts voluntarily; for
the principle that moves the instrumental parts of the body in such
actions is in him, and the things of which the moving principle is
in a man himself are in his power to do or not to do. Such actions,
therefore, are voluntary, but in the abstract perhaps involuntary; for
no one would choose any such act in itself.
For such actions men are sometimes even praised, when they endure
something base or painful in return for great and noble objects
gained; in the opposite case they are blamed, since to endure the
greatest indignities for no noble end or for a trifling end is the
mark of an inferior person. On some actions praise indeed is not
bestowed, but pardon is, when one does what he ought not under
pressure which overstrains human nature and which no one could
withstand. But some acts, perhaps, we cannot be forced to do, but
ought rather to face death after the most fearful sufferings; for
the things that 'forced' Euripides Alcmaeon to slay his mother seem
absurd. It is difficult sometimes to determine what should be chosen
at what cost, and what should be endured in return for what gain,
and yet more difficult to abide by our decisions; for as a rule what
is expected is painful, and what we are forced to do is base, whence
praise and blame are bestowed on those who have been compelled or have
What sort of acts, then, should be called compulsory? We answer that
without qualification actions are so when the cause is in the external
circumstances and the agent contributes nothing. But the things that
in themselves are involuntary, but now and in return for these gains
are worthy of choice, and whose moving principle is in the agent,
are in themselves involuntary, but now and in return for these gains
voluntary. They are more like voluntary acts; for actions are in the
class of particulars, and the particular acts here are voluntary. What
sort of things are to be chosen, and in return for what, it is not
easy to state; for there are many differences in the particular cases.
But if some one were to say that pleasant and noble objects have a
compelling power, forcing us from without, all acts would be for him
compulsory; for it is for these objects that all men do everything
they do. And those who act under compulsion and unwillingly act with
pain, but those who do acts for their pleasantness and nobility do
them with pleasure; it is absurd to make external circumstances
responsible, and not oneself, as being easily caught by such
attractions, and to make oneself responsible for noble acts but the
pleasant objects responsible for base acts. The compulsory, then,
seems to be that whose moving principle is outside, the person
compelled contributing nothing.
Everything that is done by reason of ignorance is not voluntary;
it is only what produces pain and repentance that is involuntary.
For the man who has done something owing to ignorance, and feels not
the least vexation at his action, has not acted voluntarily, since
he did not know what he was doing, nor yet involuntarily, since he
is not pained. Of people, then, who act by reason of ignorance he
who repents is thought an involuntary agent, and the man who does
not repent may, since he is different, be called a not voluntary
agent; for, since he differs from the other, it is better that he
should have a name of his own.
Acting by reason of ignorance seems also to be different from acting
in ignorance; for the man who is drunk or in a rage is thought to
act as a result not of ignorance but of one of the causes mentioned,
yet not knowingly but in ignorance.
Now every wicked man is ignorant of what he ought to do and what
he ought to abstain from, and it is by reason of error of this kind
that men become unjust and in general bad; but the term
'involuntary' tends to be used not if a man is ignorant of what is
to his advantage- for it is not mistaken purpose that causes
involuntary action (it leads rather to wickedness), nor ignorance of
the universal (for that men are blamed), but ignorance of particulars,
i.e. of the circumstances of the action and the objects with which
it is concerned. For it is on these that both pity and pardon
depend, since the person who is ignorant of any of these acts
Perhaps it is just as well, therefore, to determine their nature and
number. A man may be ignorant, then, of who he is, what he is doing,
what or whom he is acting on, and sometimes also what (e.g. what
instrument) he is doing it with, and to what end (e.g. he may think
his act will conduce to some one's safety), and how he is doing it
(e.g. whether gently or violently). Now of all of these no one could
be ignorant unless he were mad, and evidently also he could not be
ignorant of the agent; for how could he not know himself? But of
what he is doing a man might be ignorant, as for instance people say
'it slipped out of their mouths as they were speaking', or 'they did
not know it was a secret', as Aeschylus said of the mysteries, or a
man might say he 'let it go off when he merely wanted to show its
working', as the man did with the catapult. Again, one might think
one's son was an enemy, as Merope did, or that a pointed spear had a
button on it, or that a stone was pumicestone; or one might give a man
a draught to save him, and really kill him; or one might want to touch
a man, as people do in sparring, and really wound him. The ignorance
may relate, then, to any of these things, i.e. of the circumstances of
the action, and the man who was ignorant of any of these is thought to
have acted involuntarily, and especially if he was ignorant on the
most important points; and these are thought to be the circumstances
of the action and its end. Further, the doing of an act that is called
involuntary in virtue of ignorance of this sort must be painful and
involve repentance.
Since that which is done under compulsion or by reason of
ignorance is involuntary, the voluntary would seem to be that of which
the moving principle is in the agent himself, he being aware of the
particular circumstances of the action. Presumably acts done by reason
of anger or appetite are not rightly called involuntary. For in the
first place, on that showing none of the other animals will act
voluntarily, nor will children; and secondly, is it meant that we do
not do voluntarily any of the acts that are due to appetite or
anger, or that we do the noble acts voluntarily and the base acts
involuntarily? Is not this absurd, when one and the same thing is
the cause? But it would surely be odd to describe as involuntary the
things one ought to desire; and we ought both to be angry at certain
things and to have an appetite for certain things, e.g. for health and
for learning. Also what is involuntary is thought to be painful, but
what is in accordance with appetite is thought to be pleasant.
Again, what is the difference in respect of involuntariness between
errors committed upon calculation and those committed in anger? Both
are to be avoided, but the irrational passions are thought not less
human than reason is, and therefore also the actions which proceed
from anger or appetite are the man's actions. It would be odd, then,
to treat them as involuntary.

Both the voluntary and the involuntary having been delimited, we
must next discuss choice; for it is thought to be most closely bound
up with virtue and to discriminate characters better than actions do.
Choice, then, seems to be voluntary, but not the same thing as the
voluntary; the latter extends more widely. For both children and the
lower animals share in voluntary action, but not in choice, and acts
done on the spur of the moment we describe as voluntary, but not as
Those who say it is appetite or anger or wish or a kind of opinion
do not seem to be right. For choice is not common to irrational
creatures as well, but appetite and anger are. Again, the
incontinent man acts with appetite, but not with choice; while the
continent man on the contrary acts with choice, but not with appetite.
Again, appetite is contrary to choice, but not appetite to appetite.
Again, appetite relates to the pleasant and the painful, choice
neither to the painful nor to the pleasant.
Still less is it anger; for acts due to anger are thought to be less
than any others objects of choice.
But neither is it wish, though it seems near to it; for choice
cannot relate to impossibles, and if any one said he chose them he
would be thought silly; but there may be a wish even for
impossibles, e.g. for immortality. And wish may relate to things
that could in no way be brought about by one's own efforts, e.g.
that a particular actor or athlete should win in a competition; but no
one chooses such things, but only the things that he thinks could be
brought about by his own efforts. Again, wish relates rather to the
end, choice to the means; for instance, we wish to be healthy, but
we choose the acts which will make us healthy, and we wish to be happy
and say we do, but we cannot well say we choose to be so; for, in
general, choice seems to relate to the things that are in our own
For this reason, too, it cannot be opinion; for opinion is thought
to relate to all kinds of things, no less to eternal things and
impossible things than to things in our own power; and it is
distinguished by its falsity or truth, not by its badness or goodness,
while choice is distinguished rather by these.
Now with opinion in general perhaps no one even says it is
identical. But it is not identical even with any kind of opinion;
for by choosing what is good or bad we are men of a certain character,
which we are not by holding certain opinions. And we choose to get
or avoid something good or bad, but we have opinions about what a
thing is or whom it is good for or how it is good for him; we can
hardly be said to opine to get or avoid anything. And choice is
praised for being related to the right object rather than for being
rightly related to it, opinion for being truly related to its
object. And we choose what we best know to be good, but we opine
what we do not quite know; and it is not the same people that are
thought to make the best choices and to have the best opinions, but
some are thought to have fairly good opinions, but by reason of vice
to choose what they should not. If opinion precedes choice or
accompanies it, that makes no difference; for it is not this that we
are considering, but whether it is identical with some kind of
What, then, or what kind of thing is it, since it is none of the
things we have mentioned? It seems to be voluntary, but not all that
is voluntary to be an object of choice. Is it, then, what has been
decided on by previous deliberation? At any rate choice involves a
rational principle and thought. Even the name seems to suggest that it
is what is chosen before other things.

Do we deliberate about everything, and is everything a possible
subject of deliberation, or is deliberation impossible about some
things? We ought presumably to call not what a fool or a madman
would deliberate about, but what a sensible man would deliberate
about, a subject of deliberation. Now about eternal things no one
deliberates, e.g. about the material universe or the
incommensurability of the diagonal and the side of a square. But no
more do we deliberate about the things that involve movement but
always happen in the same way, whether of necessity or by nature or
from any other cause, e.g. the solstices and the risings of the stars;
nor about things that happen now in one way, now in another, e.g.
droughts and rains; nor about chance events, like the finding of
treasure. But we do not deliberate even about all human affairs; for
instance, no Spartan deliberates about the best constitution for the
Scythians. For none of these things can be brought about by our own
We deliberate about things that are in our power and can be done;
and these are in fact what is left. For nature, necessity, and
chance are thought to be causes, and also reason and everything that
depends on man. Now every class of men deliberates about the things
that can be done by their own efforts. And in the case of exact and
self-contained sciences there is no deliberation, e.g. about the
letters of the alphabet (for we have no doubt how they should be
written); but the things that are brought about by our own efforts,
but not always in the same way, are the things about which we
deliberate, e.g. questions of medical treatment or of money-making.
And we do so more in the case of the art of navigation than in that of
gymnastics, inasmuch as it has been less exactly worked out, and again
about other things in the same ratio, and more also in the case of the
arts than in that of the sciences; for we have more doubt about the
former. Deliberation is concerned with things that happen in a certain
way for the most part, but in which the event is obscure, and with
things in which it is indeterminate. We call in others to aid us in
deliberation on important questions, distrusting ourselves as not
being equal to deciding.
We deliberate not about ends but about means. For a doctor does
not deliberate whether he shall heal, nor an orator whether he shall
persuade, nor a statesman whether he shall produce law and order,
nor does any one else deliberate about his end. They assume the end
and consider how and by what means it is to be attained; and if it
seems to be produced by several means they consider by which it is
most easily and best produced, while if it is achieved by one only
they consider how it will be achieved by this and by what means this
will be achieved, till they come to the first cause, which in the
order of discovery is last. For the person who deliberates seems to
investigate and analyse in the way described as though he were
analysing a geometrical construction (not all investigation appears to
be deliberation- for instance mathematical investigations- but all
deliberation is investigation), and what is last in the order of
analysis seems to be first in the order of becoming. And if we come on
an impossibility, we give up the search, e.g. if we need money and
this cannot be got; but if a thing appears possible we try to do it.
By 'possible' things I mean things that might be brought about by
our own efforts; and these in a sense include things that can be
brought about by the efforts of our friends, since the moving
principle is in ourselves. The subject of investigation is sometimes
the instruments, sometimes the use of them; and similarly in the other
cases- sometimes the means, sometimes the mode of using it or the
means of bringing it about. It seems, then, as has been said, that man
is a moving principle of actions; now deliberation is about the things
to be done by the agent himself, and actions are for the sake of
things other than themselves. For the end cannot be a subject of
deliberation, but only the means; nor indeed can the particular
facts be a subject of it, as whether this is bread or has been baked
as it should; for these are matters of perception. If we are to be
always deliberating, we shall have to go on to infinity.
The same thing is deliberated upon and is chosen, except that the
object of choice is already determinate, since it is that which has
been decided upon as a result of deliberation that is the object of
choice. For every one ceases to inquire how he is to act when he has
brought the moving principle back to himself and to the ruling part of
himself; for this is what chooses. This is plain also from the ancient
constitutions, which Homer represented; for the kings announced
their choices to the people. The object of choice being one of the
things in our own power which is desired after deliberation, choice
will be deliberate desire of things in our own power; for when we have
decided as a result of deliberation, we desire in accordance with
our deliberation.
We may take it, then, that we have described choice in outline,
and stated the nature of its objects and the fact that it is concerned
with means.

That wish is for the end has already been stated; some think it is
for the good, others for the apparent good. Now those who say that the
good is the object of wish must admit in consequence that that which
the man who does not choose aright wishes for is not an object of wish
(for if it is to be so, it must also be good; but it was, if it so
happened, bad); while those who say the apparent good is the object of
wish must admit that there is no natural object of wish, but only what
seems good to each man. Now different things appear good to
different people, and, if it so happens, even contrary things.
If these consequences are unpleasing, are we to say that
absolutely and in truth the good is the object of wish, but for each
person the apparent good; that that which is in truth an object of
wish is an object of wish to the good man, while any chance thing
may be so the bad man, as in the case of bodies also the things that
are in truth wholesome are wholesome for bodies which are in good
condition, while for those that are diseased other things are
wholesome- or bitter or sweet or hot or heavy, and so on; since the
good man judges each class of things rightly, and in each the truth
appears to him? For each state of character has its own ideas of the
noble and the pleasant, and perhaps the good man differs from others
most by seeing the truth in each class of things, being as it were the
norm and measure of them. In most things the error seems to be due
to pleasure; for it appears a good when it is not. We therefore choose
the pleasant as a good, and avoid pain as an evil.

The end, then, being what we wish for, the means what we
deliberate about and choose, actions concerning means must be
according to choice and voluntary. Now the exercise of the virtues
is concerned with means. Therefore virtue also is in our own power,
and so too vice. For where it is in our power to act it is also in our
power not to act, and vice versa; so that, if to act, where this is
noble, is in our power, not to act, which will be base, will also be
in our power, and if not to act, where this is noble, is in our power,
to act, which will be base, will also be in our power. Now if it is in
our power to do noble or base acts, and likewise in our power not to
do them, and this was what being good or bad meant, then it is in
our power to be virtuous or vicious.
The saying that 'no one is voluntarily wicked nor involuntarily
happy' seems to be partly false and partly true; for no one is
involuntarily happy, but wickedness is voluntary. Or else we shall
have to dispute what has just been said, at any rate, and deny that
man is a moving principle or begetter of his actions as of children.
But if these facts are evident and we cannot refer actions to moving
principles other than those in ourselves, the acts whose moving
principles are in us must themselves also be in our power and
Witness seems to be borne to this both by individuals in their
private capacity and by legislators themselves; for these punish and
take vengeance on those who do wicked acts (unless they have acted
under compulsion or as a result of ignorance for which they are not
themselves responsible), while they honour those who do noble acts, as
though they meant to encourage the latter and deter the former. But no
one is encouraged to do the things that are neither in our power nor
voluntary; it is assumed that there is no gain in being persuaded
not to be hot or in pain or hungry or the like, since we shall
experience these feelings none the less. Indeed, we punish a man for
his very ignorance, if he is thought responsible for the ignorance, as
when penalties are doubled in the case of drunkenness; for the
moving principle is in the man himself, since he had the power of
not getting drunk and his getting drunk was the cause of his
ignorance. And we punish those who are ignorant of anything in the
laws that they ought to know and that is not difficult, and so too
in the case of anything else that they are thought to be ignorant of
through carelessness; we assume that it is in their power not to be
ignorant, since they have the power of taking care.
But perhaps a man is the kind of man not to take care. Still they
are themselves by their slack lives responsible for becoming men of
that kind, and men make themselves responsible for being unjust or
self-indulgent, in the one case by cheating and in the other by
spending their time in drinking bouts and the like; for it is
activities exercised on particular objects that make the corresponding
character. This is plain from the case of people training for any
contest or action; they practise the activity the whole time. Now
not to know that it is from the exercise of activities on particular
objects that states of character are produced is the mark of a
thoroughly senseless person. Again, it is irrational to suppose that a
man who acts unjustly does not wish to be unjust or a man who acts
self-indulgently to be self-indulgent. But if without being ignorant a
man does the things which will make him unjust, he will be unjust
voluntarily. Yet it does not follow that if he wishes he will cease to
be unjust and will be just. For neither does the man who is ill become
well on those terms. We may suppose a case in which he is ill
voluntarily, through living incontinently and disobeying his
doctors. In that case it was then open to him not to be ill, but not
now, when he has thrown away his chance, just as when you have let a
stone go it is too late to recover it; but yet it was in your power to
throw it, since the moving principle was in you. So, too, to the
unjust and to the self-indulgent man it was open at the beginning
not to become men of this kind, and so they are unjust and
selfindulgent voluntarily; but now that they have become so it is
not possible for them not to be so.
But not only are the vices of the soul voluntary, but those of the
body also for some men, whom we accordingly blame; while no one blames
those who are ugly by nature, we blame those who are so owing to
want of exercise and care. So it is, too, with respect to weakness and
infirmity; no one would reproach a man blind from birth or by
disease or from a blow, but rather pity him, while every one would
blame a man who was blind from drunkenness or some other form of
self-indulgence. Of vices of the body, then, those in our own power
are blamed, those not in our power are not. And if this be so, in
the other cases also the vices that are blamed must be in our own
Now some one may say that all men desire the apparent good, but have
no control over the appearance, but the end appears to each man in a
form answering to his character. We reply that if each man is
somehow responsible for his state of mind, he will also be himself
somehow responsible for the appearance; but if not, no one is
responsible for his own evildoing, but every one does evil acts
through ignorance of the end, thinking that by these he will get
what is best, and the aiming at the end is not self-chosen but one
must be born with an eye, as it were, by which to judge rightly and
choose what is truly good, and he is well endowed by nature who is
well endowed with this. For it is what is greatest and most noble, and
what we cannot get or learn from another, but must have just such as
it was when given us at birth, and to be well and nobly endowed with
this will be perfect and true excellence of natural endowment. If this
is true, then, how will virtue be more voluntary than vice? To both
men alike, the good and the bad, the end appears and is fixed by
nature or however it may be, and it is by referring everything else to
this that men do whatever they do.
Whether, then, it is not by nature that the end appears to each
man such as it does appear, but something also depends on him, or
the end is natural but because the good man adopts the means
voluntarily virtue is voluntary, vice also will be none the less
voluntary; for in the case of the bad man there is equally present
that which depends on himself in his actions even if not in his end.
If, then, as is asserted, the virtues are voluntary (for we are
ourselves somehow partly responsible for our states of character,
and it is by being persons of a certain kind that we assume the end to
be so and so), the vices also will be voluntary; for the same is
true of them.
With regard to the virtues in general we have stated their genus
in outline, viz. that they are means and that they are states of
character, and that they tend, and by their own nature, to the doing
of the acts by which they are produced, and that they are in our power
and voluntary, and act as the right rule prescribes. But actions and
states of character are not voluntary in the same way; for we are
masters of our actions from the beginning right to the end, if we know
the particular facts, but though we control the beginning of our
states of character the gradual progress is not obvious any more
than it is in illnesses; because it was in our power, however, to
act in this way or not in this way, therefore the states are
Let us take up the several virtues, however, and say which they
are and what sort of things they are concerned with and how they are
concerned with them; at the same time it will become plain how many
they are. And first let us speak of courage.

That it is a mean with regard to feelings of fear and confidence has
already been made evident; and plainly the things we fear are terrible
things, and these are, to speak without qualification, evils; for
which reason people even define fear as expectation of evil. Now we
fear all evils, e.g. disgrace, poverty, disease, friendlessness,
death, but the brave man is not thought to be concerned with all;
for to fear some things is even right and noble, and it is base not to
fear them- e.g. disgrace; he who fears this is good and modest, and
he who does not is shameless. He is, however, by some people called
brave, by a transference of the word to a new meaning; for he has in
him something which is like the brave man, since the brave man also is
a fearless person. Poverty and disease we perhaps ought not to fear,
nor in general the things that do not proceed from vice and are not
due to a man himself. But not even the man who is fearless of these is
brave. Yet we apply the word to him also in virtue of a similarity;
for some who in the dangers of war are cowards are liberal and are
confident in face of the loss of money. Nor is a man a coward if he
fears insult to his wife and children or envy or anything of the kind;
nor brave if he is confident when he is about to be flogged. With what
sort of terrible things, then, is the brave man concerned? Surely with
the greatest; for no one is more likely than he to stand his ground
against what is awe-inspiring. Now death is the most terrible of all
things; for it is the end, and nothing is thought to be any longer
either good or bad for the dead. But the brave man would not seem to
be concerned even with death in all circumstances, e.g. at sea or in
disease. In what circumstances, then? Surely in the noblest. Now
such deaths are those in battle; for these take place in the
greatest and noblest danger. And these are correspondingly honoured in
city-states and at the courts of monarchs. Properly, then, he will
be called brave who is fearless in face of a noble death, and of all
emergencies that involve death; and the emergencies of war are in
the highest degree of this kind. Yet at sea also, and in disease,
the brave man is fearless, but not in the same way as the seaman;
for he has given up hope of safety, and is disliking the thought of
death in this shape, while they are hopeful because of their
experience. At the same time, we show courage in situations where
there is the opportunity of showing prowess or where death is noble;
but in these forms of death neither of these conditions is fulfilled.

What is terrible is not the same for all men; but we say there are
things terrible even beyond human strength. These, then, are terrible
to every one- at least to every sensible man; but the terrible
things that are not beyond human strength differ in magnitude and
degree, and so too do the things that inspire confidence. Now the
brave man is as dauntless as man may be. Therefore, while he will fear
even the things that are not beyond human strength, he will face
them as he ought and as the rule directs, for honour's sake; for
this is the end of virtue. But it is possible to fear these more, or
less, and again to fear things that are not terrible as if they
were. Of the faults that are committed one consists in fearing what
one should not, another in fearing as we should not, another in
fearing when we should not, and so on; and so too with respect to
the things that inspire confidence. The man, then, who faces and who
fears the right things and from the right motive, in the right way and
from the right time, and who feels confidence under the
corresponding conditions, is brave; for the brave man feels and acts
according to the merits of the case and in whatever way the rule
directs. Now the end of every activity is conformity to the
corresponding state of character. This is true, therefore, of the
brave man as well as of others. But courage is noble. Therefore the
end also is noble; for each thing is defined by its end. Therefore
it is for a noble end that the brave man endures and acts as courage
Of those who go to excess he who exceeds in fearlessness has no name
(we have said previously that many states of character have no names),
but he would be a sort of madman or insensible person if he feared
nothing, neither earthquakes nor the waves, as they say the Celts do
not; while the man who exceeds in confidence about what really is
terrible is rash. The rash man, however, is also thought to be
boastful and only a pretender to courage; at all events, as the
brave man is with regard to what is terrible, so the rash man wishes
to appear; and so he imitates him in situations where he can. Hence
also most of them are a mixture of rashness and cowardice; for,
while in these situations they display confidence, they do not hold
their ground against what is really terrible. The man who exceeds in
fear is a coward; for he fears both what he ought not and as he
ought not, and all the similar characterizations attach to him. He
is lacking also in confidence; but he is more conspicuous for his
excess of fear in painful situations. The coward, then, is a
despairing sort of person; for he fears everything. The brave man,
on the other hand, has the opposite disposition; for confidence is the
mark of a hopeful disposition. The coward, the rash man, and the brave
man, then, are concerned with the same objects but are differently
disposed towards them; for the first two exceed and fall short,
while the third holds the middle, which is the right, position; and
rash men are precipitate, and wish for dangers beforehand but draw
back when they are in them, while brave men are keen in the moment
of action, but quiet beforehand.
As we have said, then, courage is a mean with respect to things that
inspire confidence or fear, in the circumstances that have been
stated; and it chooses or endures things because it is noble to do so,
or because it is base not to do so. But to die to escape from
poverty or love or anything painful is not the mark of a brave man,
but rather of a coward; for it is softness to fly from what is
troublesome, and such a man endures death not because it is noble
but to fly from evil.

Courage, then, is something of this sort, but the name is also
applied to five other kinds.
First comes the courage of the citizen-soldier; for this is most
like true courage. Citizen-soldiers seem to face dangers because of
the penalties imposed by the laws and the reproaches they would
otherwise incur, and because of the honours they win by such action;
and therefore those peoples seem to be bravest among whom cowards
are held in dishonour and brave men in honour. This is the kind of
courage that Homer depicts, e.g. in Diomede and in Hector:
First will Polydamas be to heap reproach on me then; and

For Hector one day 'mid the Trojans shall utter his vaulting
Afraid was Tydeides, and fled from my face.

This kind of courage is most like to that which we described
earlier, because it is due to virtue; for it is due to shame and to
desire of a noble object (i.e. honour) and avoidance of disgrace,
which is ignoble. One might rank in the same class even those who
are compelled by their rulers; but they are inferior, inasmuch as they
do what they do not from shame but from fear, and to avoid not what is
disgraceful but what is painful; for their masters compel them, as
Hector does:

But if I shall spy any dastard that cowers far from the fight,
Vainly will such an one hope to escape from the dogs.

And those who give them their posts, and beat them if they
retreat, do the same, and so do those who draw them up with trenches
or something of the sort behind them; all of these apply compulsion.
But one ought to be brave not under compulsion but because it is noble
to be so.
(2) Experience with regard to particular facts is also thought to be
courage; this is indeed the reason why Socrates thought courage was
knowledge. Other people exhibit this quality in other dangers, and
professional soldiers exhibit it in the dangers of war; for there seem
to be many empty alarms in war, of which these have had the most
comprehensive experience; therefore they seem brave, because the
others do not know the nature of the facts. Again, their experience
makes them most capable in attack and in defence, since they can use
their arms and have the kind that are likely to be best both for
attack and for defence; therefore they fight like armed men against
unarmed or like trained athletes against amateurs; for in such
contests too it is not the bravest men that fight best, but those
who are strongest and have their bodies in the best condition.
Professional soldiers turn cowards, however, when the danger puts
too great a strain on them and they are inferior in numbers and
equipment; for they are the first to fly, while citizen-forces die
at their posts, as in fact happened at the temple of Hermes. For to
the latter flight is disgraceful and death is preferable to safety
on those terms; while the former from the very beginning faced the
danger on the assumption that they were stronger, and when they know
the facts they fly, fearing death more than disgrace; but the brave
man is not that sort of person.
(3) Passion also is sometimes reckoned as courage; those who act
from passion, like wild beasts rushing at those who have wounded them,
are thought to be brave, because brave men also are passionate; for
passion above all things is eager to rush on danger, and hence Homer's
'put strength into his passion' and 'aroused their spirit and
passion and 'hard he breathed panting' and 'his blood boiled'. For all
such expressions seem to indicate the stirring and onset of passion.
Now brave men act for honour's sake, but passion aids them; while wild
beasts act under the influence of pain; for they attack because they
have been wounded or because they are afraid, since if they are in a
forest they do not come near one. Thus they are not brave because,
driven by pain and passion, they rush on danger without foreseeing any
of the perils, since at that rate even asses would be brave when
they are hungry; for blows will not drive them from their food; and
lust also makes adulterers do many daring things. (Those creatures are
not brave, then, which are driven on to danger by pain or passion.)
The 'courage' that is due to passion seems to be the most natural, and
to be courage if choice and motive be added.
Men, then, as well as beasts, suffer pain when they are angry, and
are pleased when they exact their revenge; those who fight for these
reasons, however, are pugnacious but not brave; for they do not act
for honour's sake nor as the rule directs, but from strength of
feeling; they have, however, something akin to courage.
(4) Nor are sanguine people brave; for they are confident in danger
only because they have conquered often and against many foes. Yet they
closely resemble brave men, because both are confident; but brave
men are confident for the reasons stated earlier, while these are so
because they think they are the strongest and can suffer nothing.
(Drunken men also behave in this way; they become sanguine). When
their adventures do not succeed, however, they run away; but it was
the mark of a brave man to face things that are, and seem, terrible
for a man, because it is noble to do so and disgraceful not to do
so. Hence also it is thought the mark of a braver man to be fearless
and undisturbed in sudden alarms than to be so in those that are
foreseen; for it must have proceeded more from a state of character,
because less from preparation; acts that are foreseen may be chosen by
calculation and rule, but sudden actions must be in accordance with
one's state of character.
(5) People who are ignorant of the danger also appear brave, and
they are not far removed from those of a sanguine temper, but are
inferior inasmuch as they have no self-reliance while these have.
Hence also the sanguine hold their ground for a time; but those who
have been deceived about the facts fly if they know or suspect that
these are different from what they supposed, as happened to the
Argives when they fell in with the Spartans and took them for
We have, then, described the character both of brave men and of
those who are thought to be brave.

Though courage is concerned with feelings of confidence and of fear,
it is not concerned with both alike, but more with the things that
inspire fear; for he who is undisturbed in face of these and bears
himself as he should towards these is more truly brave than the man
who does so towards the things that inspire confidence. It is for
facing what is painful, then, as has been said, that men are called
brave. Hence also courage involves pain, and is justly praised; for it
is harder to face what is painful than to abstain from what is
Yet the end which courage sets before it would seem to be
pleasant, but to be concealed by the attending circumstances, as
happens also in athletic contests; for the end at which boxers aim
is pleasant- the crown and the honours- but the blows they take are
distressing to flesh and blood, and painful, and so is their whole
exertion; and because the blows and the exertions are many the end,
which is but small, appears to have nothing pleasant in it. And so, if
the case of courage is similar, death and wounds will be painful to
the brave man and against his will, but he will face them because it
is noble to do so or because it is base not to do so. And the more
he is possessed of virtue in its entirety and the happier he is, the
more he will be pained at the thought of death; for life is best worth
living for such a man, and he is knowingly losing the greatest
goods, and this is painful. But he is none the less brave, and perhaps
all the more so, because he chooses noble deeds of war at that cost.
It is not the case, then, with all the virtues that the exercise of
them is pleasant, except in so far as it reaches its end. But it is
quite possible that the best soldiers may be not men of this sort
but those who are less brave but have no other good; for these are
ready to face danger, and they sell their life for trifling gains.
So much, then, for courage; it is not difficult to grasp its
nature in outline, at any rate, from what has been said.

After courage let us speak of temperance; for these seem to be the
virtues of the irrational parts. We have said that temperance is a
mean with regard to pleasures (for it is less, and not in the same
way, concerned with pains); self-indulgence also is manifested in
the same sphere. Now, therefore, let us determine with what sort of
pleasures they are concerned. We may assume the distinction between
bodily pleasures and those of the soul, such as love of honour and
love of learning; for the lover of each of these delights in that of
which he is a lover, the body being in no way affected, but rather the
mind; but men who are concerned with such pleasures are called neither
temperate nor self-indulgent. Nor, again, are those who are
concerned with the other pleasures that are not bodily; for those
who are fond of hearing and telling stories and who spend their days
on anything that turns up are called gossips, but not
self-indulgent, nor are those who are pained at the loss of money or
of friends.
Temperance must be concerned with bodily pleasures, but not all even
of these; for those who delight in objects of vision, such as
colours and shapes and painting, are called neither temperate nor
self-indulgent; yet it would seem possible to delight even in these
either as one should or to excess or to a deficient degree.
And so too is it with objects of hearing; no one calls those who
delight extravagantly in music or acting self-indulgent, nor those who
do so as they ought temperate.
Nor do we apply these names to those who delight in odour, unless it
be incidentally; we do not call those self-indulgent who delight in
the odour of apples or roses or incense, but rather those who
delight in the odour of unguents or of dainty dishes; for
self-indulgent people delight in these because these remind them of
the objects of their appetite. And one may see even other people, when
they are hungry, delighting in the smell of food; but to delight in
this kind of thing is the mark of the self-indulgent man; for these
are objects of appetite to him.
Nor is there in animals other than man any pleasure connected with
these senses, except incidentally. For dogs do not delight in the
scent of hares, but in the eating of them, but the scent told them the
hares were there; nor does the lion delight in the lowing of the ox,
but in eating it; but he perceived by the lowing that it was near, and
therefore appears to delight in the lowing; and similarly he does
not delight because he sees 'a stag or a wild goat', but because he is
going to make a meal of it. Temperance and self-indulgence, however,
are concerned with the kind of pleasures that the other animals
share in, which therefore appear slavish and brutish; these are
touch and taste. But even of taste they appear to make little or no
use; for the business of taste is the discriminating of flavours,
which is done by winetasters and people who season dishes; but they
hardly take pleasure in making these discriminations, or at least
self-indulgent people do not, but in the actual enjoyment, which in
all cases comes through touch, both in the case of food and in that of
drink and in that of sexual intercourse. This is why a certain
gourmand prayed that his throat might become longer than a crane's,
implying that it was the contact that he took pleasure in. Thus the
sense with which self-indulgence is connected is the most widely
shared of the senses; and self-indulgence would seem to be justly a
matter of reproach, because it attaches to us not as men but as
animals. To delight in such things, then, and to love them above all
others, is brutish. For even of the pleasures of touch the most
liberal have been eliminated, e.g. those produced in the gymnasium
by rubbing and by the consequent heat; for the contact
characteristic of the self-indulgent man does not affect the whole
body but only certain parts.

Of the appetites some seem to be common, others to be peculiar to
individuals and acquired; e.g. the appetite for food is natural, since
every one who is without it craves for food or drink, and sometimes
for both, and for love also (as Homer says) if he is young and
lusty; but not every one craves for this or that kind of nourishment
or love, nor for the same things. Hence such craving appears to be our
very own. Yet it has of course something natural about it; for
different things are pleasant to different kinds of people, and
some things are more pleasant to every one than chance objects. Now in
the natural appetites few go wrong, and only in one direction, that of
excess; for to eat or drink whatever offers itself till one is
surfeited is to exceed the natural amount, since natural appetite is
the replenishment of one's deficiency. Hence these people are called
belly-gods, this implying that they fill their belly beyond what is
right. It is people of entirely slavish character that become like
this. But with regard to the pleasures peculiar to individuals many
people go wrong and in many ways. For while the people who are 'fond
of so and so' are so called because they delight either in the wrong
things, or more than most people do, or in the wrong way, the
self-indulgent exceed in all three ways; they both delight in some
things that they ought not to delight in (since they are hateful), and
if one ought to delight in some of the things they delight in, they do
so more than one ought and than most men do.
Plainly, then, excess with regard to pleasures is self-indulgence
and is culpable; with regard to pains one is not, as in the case of
courage, called temperate for facing them or self-indulgent for not
doing so, but the selfindulgent man is so called because he is
pained more than he ought at not getting pleasant things (even his
pain being caused by pleasure), and the temperate man is so called
because he is not pained at the absence of what is pleasant and at his
abstinence from it.
The self-indulgent man, then, craves for all pleasant things or
those that are most pleasant, and is led by his appetite to choose
these at the cost of everything else; hence he is pained both when
he fails to get them and when he is merely craving for them (for
appetite involves pain); but it seems absurd to be pained for the sake
of pleasure. People who fall short with regard to pleasures and
delight in them less than they should are hardly found; for such
insensibility is not human. Even the other animals distinguish
different kinds of food and enjoy some and not others; and if there is
any one who finds nothing pleasant and nothing more attractive than
anything else, he must be something quite different from a man; this
sort of person has not received a name because he hardly occurs. The
temperate man occupies a middle position with regard to these objects.
For he neither enjoys the things that the self-indulgent man enjoys
most-but rather dislikes them-nor in general the things that he should
not, nor anything of this sort to excess, nor does he feel pain or
craving when they are absent, or does so only to a moderate degree,
and not more than he should, nor when he should not, and so on; but
the things that, being pleasant, make for health or for good
condition, he will desire moderately and as he should, and also
other pleasant things if they are not hindrances to these ends, or
contrary to what is noble, or beyond his means. For he who neglects
these conditions loves such pleasures more than they are worth, but
the temperate man is not that sort of person, but the sort of person
that the right rule prescribes.

Self-indulgence is more like a voluntary state than cowardice. For
the former is actuated by pleasure, the latter by pain, of which the
one is to be chosen and the other to be avoided; and pain upsets and
destroys the nature of the person who feels it, while pleasure does
nothing of the sort. Therefore self-indulgence is more voluntary.
Hence also it is more a matter of reproach; for it is easier to become
accustomed to its objects, since there are many things of this sort in
life, and the process of habituation to them is free from danger,
while with terrible objects the reverse is the case. But cowardice
would seem to be voluntary in a different degree from its particular
manifestations; for it is itself painless, but in these we are upset
by pain, so that we even throw down our arms and disgrace ourselves in
other ways; hence our acts are even thought to be done under
compulsion. For the self-indulgent man, on the other hand, the
particular acts are voluntary (for he does them with craving and
desire), but the whole state is less so; for no one craves to be
The name self-indulgence is applied also to childish faults; for
they bear a certain resemblance to what we have been considering.
Which is called after which, makes no difference to our present
purpose; plainly, however, the later is called after the earlier.
The transference of the name seems not a bad one; for that which
desires what is base and which develops quickly ought to be kept in
a chastened condition, and these characteristics belong above all to
appetite and to the child, since children in fact live at the beck and
call of appetite, and it is in them that the desire for what is
pleasant is strongest. If, then, it is not going to be obedient and
subject to the ruling principle, it will go to great lengths; for in
an irrational being the desire for pleasure is insatiable even if it
tries every source of gratification, and the exercise of appetite
increases its innate force, and if appetites are strong and violent
they even expel the power of calculation. Hence they should be
moderate and few, and should in no way oppose the rational
principle-and this is what we call an obedient and chastened state-and
as the child should live according to the direction of his tutor, so
the appetitive element should live according to rational principle.
Hence the appetitive element in a temperate man should harmonize
with the rational principle; for the noble is the mark at which both
aim, and the temperate man craves for the things be ought, as he
ought, as when he ought; and when he ought; and this is what
rational principle directs.
Here we conclude our account of temperance.