Aristotle · a new plain-English translation from the original language
1| Let us next speak about generosity. It seems to be the mean concerned with money; for the generous person is praised not in matters of war, nor in the matters the temperate person is concerned with, nor again in judicial matters, but in connection with the giving and taking of money, and more in the giving. By money we mean everything whose value is measured by currency. Both prodigality and stinginess are excesses and deficiencies concerned with money; and we always attach stinginess to those who care about money more than they should, while we sometimes apply prodigality more broadly, in a combined sense: for we call people prodigal who lack self-control and are extravagant toward self-indulgence. Hence they seem to be the most base of all: for they have many vices at once. But they are not properly so named: for the prodigal person, strictly, is one who has a single vice, [1120a] that of destroying his substance; for a prodigal is one who is ruined through himself, and the destruction of one's substance seems to be a kind of self-destruction, on the assumption that one's living depends on these things. This, then, is how we understand prodigality. Now the things that are useful admit of both good and bad use, and wealth is among the useful things; and each thing is used best by the one who has the virtue concerned with it; therefore wealth too will be used best by the one who has the virtue concerned with money, and this is the generous person. Now the use of money seems to consist in spending and giving, while taking and keeping is more a matter of acquisition. Hence it belongs more to the generous person to give to those he should than to take from where he should and not to take from where he should not. For it belongs more to virtue to do well by others than to have well done to oneself, and to do fine actions rather than not to do shameful ones; and it is not unclear that doing well and doing fine actions follow upon giving, while
2| having well done to oneself, or not acting shamefully, follows upon taking. And gratitude goes to the one who gives, not to the one who does not take, and praise even more so. And it is easier not to take than to give: for people are less inclined to give away what is their own than to refrain from taking what belongs to another. And those who give are called generous; but those who do not take are praised not for generosity but no less for justice; while those who take are not praised much at all. Of those who act from virtue, the generous are perhaps loved most: for they are beneficial, and this consists in their giving. Now actions in accordance with virtue are fine and done for the sake of the fine. The generous person, then, will give for the sake of the fine, and rightly: for he will give to those he should, as much as he should, when he should, and everything else that follows on right giving; and he will do this with pleasure, or at least without pain: for what accords with virtue is pleasant or free of pain, and least of all painful. But the one who gives to those he should not, or not for the sake of the fine but for some other reason, will be called not generous but something else. Nor is the one who gives with pain generous: for he would choose money over the fine action, and this is not the mark of the generous person. Nor will he take from where he should not: for such taking does not belong to one who does not value money highly. Nor again will he be given to asking: for it does not belong to one who does good to others to be readily benefited by them. But from where he should, he will take, [1120b] for instance from his own possessions—not as though it were fine, but as necessary, so that he may have something to give. Nor will he neglect his own affairs, since he wishes through these to assist certain people. Nor will he give to just anyone, so that he may have something to give to those he should, when he should, and where it is fine to do so. It belongs very much to the generous person
3| to overshoot in his giving, keeping back for himself the smaller share; for not attending to his own interest is exactly what marks the generous person. Generosity is spoken of in relation to one's substance: for the generous is not measured by the quantity of what is given, but by the state of the giver, and this state gives in proportion to one's substance. Nothing, then, prevents the one who gives less from being more generous, if he gives from less. Those who have not acquired their substance themselves but inherited it seem to be more generous: for they have no experience of want, and everyone is more fond of their own work, as parents and poets are. It is not easy for the generous person to be wealthy, since he is neither inclined to take nor to keep, but is disposed to give things away and does not value money for its own sake but for the sake of giving. Hence people even find fault with fortune, on the ground that those most deserving are least wealthy. But this happens not without reason: for it is not possible to have money without taking care to have it, any more than in other matters. Yet he will not give to those he should not, nor when he should not, nor anything else of that sort; for then he would no longer be acting in accordance with generosity, and having spent his resources on these things he would not have enough to spend on what he should. For, as has been said, the generous person is one who spends in proportion to his substance and on what he should; while the one who exceeds this is prodigal. Hence we do not call tyrants prodigal: for it does not seem easy for the magnitude of their possessions to be outstripped by their giving and spending. Since generosity, then, is a mean concerned with the giving and taking of money, the generous person will both give and spend on what he should and as much as he should, alike in small matters
4| and in great, and will do this with pleasure; and he will take from where he should and as much as he should. For since the virtue is a mean concerned with both, he will do both as he should: for such taking follows upon fitting giving, while taking that is not of this kind is opposed to it. Now the ones that follow together occur at the same time in the same person, while the opposed ones clearly do not. [1121a] But if it happens that he spends contrary to what he should and to what is fine, he will feel pain, but moderately and as he should: for it belongs to virtue both to feel pleasure and to feel pain at the things one should and as one should. And the generous person is easy to deal with in matters of money: for he can be wronged, since he does not prize money highly, and he is more distressed if he has not spent something he should have than pained if he has spent something he should not have, and he does not find Simonides' saying agreeable. But the prodigal person goes wrong in these respects too: for he neither feels pleasure at what he should nor as he should, nor does he feel pain; this will become clearer as we proceed. We have said, then, that prodigality and stinginess are excesses and deficiencies, and in two things, in giving and in taking—for we count spending under giving. Now prodigality exceeds in giving and not taking, and falls short in taking, while stinginess falls short in giving and exceeds in taking, except in small matters. Now the traits of prodigality do not very often go together: for it is not easy for one who takes from nowhere to give to everyone; for private individuals who give soon exhaust their substance, and it is these who seem to be prodigal—since indeed such a person would seem to be considerably better
5| of the illiberal man. For he is easy to cure, both by age and by poverty, and he can arrive at the mean. For he has the marks of the liberal man: he gives and does not take, though he does neither as he should nor well. If, then, he were habituated to this or changed in some other way, he would become liberal: for he will give to those he should, and will not take from where he should not. That is also why he does not seem to be base in character: for it is not the mark of a wicked or ignoble person to exceed in giving and not taking, but of a foolish one. And the person who is prodigal in this way seems much better than the illiberal man, both for the reasons stated, and because the one benefits many, while the other benefits no one, not even himself. But most prodigal people, as has been said, also take from where they should not, and are in this respect illiberal. They become inclined to take because they want to spend but cannot easily do so, since their resources quickly run out; they are forced, then, to procure means from elsewhere. [1121b] At the same time also, because they care nothing for the fine, they take carelessly and from every source: for they desire to give, and it makes no difference to them how or from where. That is precisely why their giving is not liberal either: for it is not fine, nor is it for the sake of that, nor as it should be; rather, sometimes they make rich those who ought to be poor, and would give nothing to people of decent character, while giving much to flatterers or to those who supply some other pleasure. That is also why most of them are undisciplined: for since they spend easily, they are extravagant also toward their undisciplined pleasures, and because they do not live with a view to the fine, they incline toward pleasures.
6| The prodigal man, then, if he goes without guidance, shifts into these traits, but if he meets with care, he might arrive at the mean and at what is fitting. Illiberality, on the other hand, is incurable (for old age and every kind of incapacity seem to make people illiberal), and it is more inborn in human beings than prodigality: for most people are fonder of wealth than of giving. And it extends widely, and is many-formed: for there seem to be many manners of illiberality. Since it consists in two things, deficiency in giving and excess in taking, it does not occur whole in everyone, but is sometimes split apart, and some people exceed in taking while others fall short in giving. Those who go by such names as thrifty, tight-fisted, stingy, all fall short in giving, but do not covet what belongs to others, nor wish to take it — some because of a certain decency and caution about what is shameful (for some seem, or at least claim, to guard their property for this reason, so that they may never be compelled to do something shameful; the cumin-splitter belongs to this class, and everyone of that sort — so named from the excess of never giving anything); others again abstain from what belongs to others out of fear, on the ground that it is not easy for oneself to take what belongs to others while others do not take what is one's own; so it satisfies them neither to take nor to give. Others again exceed in the taking, by taking from every source and taking everything — for example, those who work at illiberal trades, brothel-keepers and all such people, and money-lenders who lend small sums at high interest.
7| [1122a] For all of these take from where they should not, and as much as they should not. What appears common to them is sordid love of gain: for they all endure reproach for the sake of gain, and for a small gain at that. For those who take great things, not from where they should, nor the things they should — for instance tyrants who sack cities and plunder temples — we do not call illiberal, but rather wicked, impious, and unjust. The gambler, however, and the footpad and the robber belong among the illiberal: for they are sordidly gain-loving. For both classes pursue gain and endure reproach for its sake, and some undergo the greatest risks for the sake of the takings, while others make profit off their friends, the very people to whom they ought to be giving. Both, then, wishing to make gain from where they should not, are sordidly gain-loving; and all such takings are illiberal. It is reasonable that illiberality should be called the opposite of liberality: since it constitutes a worse fault than wastefulness, and people go astray toward it more often than toward the wastefulness just discussed. Let this much, then, be said about liberality and the vices opposed to it. It would seem consistent to go through magnificence as well next. For this too seems to be a virtue concerned with money; but unlike liberality, it does not extend to all the actions concerned with money, but only to those involving expenditure, and in these it surpasses liberality in scale. For, just as the name itself suggests, it is expenditure that is fitting in scale. But the scale is relative: for the expenditure is not the same for a trierarch as for a chief of a sacred delegation. What is fitting, then, is relative to the person himself, and to the occasion and the object. A person who spends according to his worth on small or moderate things is not called magnificent — for instance, one who often gives to a beggar — but rather the one who does so on great things. Every magnificent person is also liberal, though being liberal does not by itself make one magnificent.
8| Of this sort of state, the deficiency is called pettiness, and the excess is called vulgarity, tastelessness, and the like — not exceeding in scale in the things where one should, but making a display in matters where one should not, and in a manner one should not; we will speak about these later. The magnificent man resembles a man with expert knowledge: for he is able to discern what is fitting, and to spend large sums with a refined eye. [1122b] As was stated at the outset, a disposition is defined by its activities and by the objects it concerns. The expenditures of the magnificent man, then, are great and fitting; and such too are his works, for so the expenditure will be great and fitting to the work. So the work must be worthy of the expenditure, and the expenditure worthy of the work, or even exceed it. The magnificent man will spend such sums for the sake of the fine: for this is common to the virtues. And further, he will do so gladly and lavishly; for exact reckoning is petty. And he will consider more how a thing may be done most finely and most fittingly than how much it might cost and how it might be done most cheaply. It is necessary, then, that the magnificent man also be liberal: for the liberal man too will spend what he should and as he should; and it is in these same things that the greatness of the magnificent man consists, as a kind of magnitude, since liberality is concerned with these same things, and from an equal expenditure he will produce a more magnificent work. For the virtue of a possession and that of a work are not the same. A possession is most honorable that is worth most, for instance gold, but a work is one that is great and fine (for the contemplation of such a thing is a marvel, and the magnificent is marvelous); and the virtue of a work, magnificence, consists in scale. Among expenditures there are those we call estimable, for instance
9| those concerned with the gods — votive offerings, buildings, and sacrifices — and likewise concerning every divine power, and all those objects of public-spirited rivalry, for instance if people think they should furnish a chorus splendidly, or serve as trierarch, or even give a banquet for the city. In all cases, as has been said, reference is made also to the agent himself — who he is and what resources he has; for the expenditures should be worthy of these, and fitting not only to the work but also to the one producing it. That is why a poor man could not be magnificent: for he has no means from which he will spend greatly in a fitting manner; and one who attempts it is foolish, for he spends beyond what is worthy and what is fitting, whereas acting rightly is in accordance with virtue. It is fitting also for those to whom such resources already belong, whether through themselves or their ancestors or those with whom they are connected, and for the well-born and for the distinguished and all such people: for all these things carry magnitude and dignity. Such, then, most of all is the magnificent man, and it is in expenditures of this sort that magnificence consists, as has been said: for these are the greatest and most honored. Among private expenditures, those that occur only once, [1123a] such as a wedding and anything of that kind, and anything in which the whole city, or those in positions of dignity, take an interest, and also receptions and send-offs for foreign guests, and gifts and counter-gifts — for the magnificent man is not lavish toward himself but toward the community, and gifts have something in common with votive offerings. It also belongs to the magnificent man to furnish his household fittingly to his wealth (for this too is a kind of ornament), and to spend more on those works that are long-lasting (for these are the finest), and in each case on what is fitting: for the same things do not suit
10| to gods, to men, nor to a temple or a tomb. Since each of the expenditures is great in its kind, and what is magnificent without qualification is what is great in something great, while here it is what is great in these circumstances, and the greatness in the work differs from the greatness in the expenditure -- for the finest ball or oil-flask has the magnificence of a child's gift, though its price is small and ungenerous -- for this reason it belongs to the magnificent man, in whatever kind he acts, to act magnificently (for such a thing is not easily surpassed) and to have it in keeping with what the expenditure warrants. That, then, is what the magnificent man is like. But the man who goes to excess and is vulgar overshoots by spending beyond what is fitting, as has been said. For on small expenditures he spends much and displays himself out of tune, as for example entertaining a dining-club as if for a wedding, or when providing a chorus for a comedy bringing in purple cloth at the entrance-song, as the Megarians do. And he will do all such things not for the sake of the fine, but to display his wealth, and thinking that on this account he is admired, and where he ought to spend much, he spends little, and where little, much. The stingy man, on the other hand, will fall short in everything, and after spending the greatest sums will ruin the fine effect for the sake of something small, and whatever he does, he does it hesitantly and looking to see how he might spend the least, and even so complaining, and thinking that he is doing everything on a larger scale than he ought. These states, then, are vices, yet they do not bring reproach, because they are neither harmful to one's neighbor nor especially unseemly. Greatness of soul, to judge even from the name,
11| seems to be concerned with great things; but let us first grasp what it is concerned with. [1123b] It makes no difference whether we examine the state or the man characterized by the state. The great-souled man, then, seems to be one who thinks himself worthy of great things, being worthy of them; for one who does this without being worthy is foolish, and no one in a state that accords with virtue is foolish or senseless. The great-souled man, then, is as has been described. For the man who is worthy of small things and thinks himself worthy of just these is temperate, but not great-souled; for greatness of soul lies in greatness, just as beauty lies in a large body -- small people can be attractive and well-proportioned, but not beautiful. The man who thinks himself worthy of great things while being unworthy is vain; but not everyone who thinks himself worthy of more than he is worthy of is vain. The man who thinks himself worthy of less than he is worthy of is small-souled, whether he is worthy of great things or of moderate things, or even, being worthy of small things, thinks himself worthy of still less. And the small-souled man worthy of great things would seem most so; for what would he do if he were not worthy of so much? The great-souled man, then, is at the extreme in greatness, but in the mean as to what is right; for he thinks himself worthy in accordance with his worth, while the others exceed or fall short. If, then, he thinks himself worthy of great things, being worthy of them, and most of all of the greatest things, he would be concerned with one thing above all. Worth is spoken of in relation to external goods; and we would take as the greatest of these that which we assign to the gods, and that which people in high position most aim at, and that which is the prize for the finest deeds -- and such is honor; for this is indeed the greatest of external goods. It is with honors and dishonors, then, that the great-souled man is concerned as he ought to be. And even apart from argument the great-souled evidently are concerned with honor; for it is honor above all that great people think themselves worthy of, and in accordance with their worth. The small-souled man falls short both in relation to himself
12| and in relation to the worth of the great-souled man. The vain man exceeds in relation to himself, but not, at any rate, in relation to the great-souled man. And the great-souled man, since he is worthy of the greatest things, would be the best of men; for the better man is always worthy of more, and the best of the greatest. The truly great-souled man, then, must be good. And it would seem that what is great in each virtue belongs to the great-souled man. It would in no way suit the great-souled man to run at full stretch while fleeing, nor to do wrong; for for whose sake would he do shameful deeds, he for whom nothing is great? And examining him point by point, the great-souled man who is not good would appear altogether ridiculous. Nor, again, would he be worthy of honor if he were base; for honor is the prize of virtue, and it is assigned to the good. [1124a] Greatness of soul, then, seems to be like an adornment of the virtues; for it makes them greater, and it does not arise without them. For this reason it is difficult to be truly great-souled; for it is not possible without nobility and goodness. The great-souled man, then, is concerned above all with honors and dishonors: and at great honors bestowed by serious men he will be moderately pleased, thinking he is getting what belongs to him, or even less than that; for there could be no honor worthy of complete virtue, yet still he will accept it, since they have nothing greater to assign him; but honor from ordinary people and on small grounds he will disregard entirely, since he is not worthy of that; and dishonor likewise, since it will not justly apply to him. The great-souled man, then, as has been said, is concerned above all with honors, but nevertheless with regard to wealth and power and every piece of good and bad fortune
13| he will conduct himself with moderation, however things turn out, and he will be neither overjoyed at good fortune nor overly pained at bad fortune. For not even in regard to honor does he behave as though it were the greatest thing. For positions of power and wealth are choiceworthy on account of honor; at any rate those who possess them wish to be honored through them; and to a man for whom even honor is a small thing, everything else is too. This is why such men seem contemptuous of others. Good fortunes too seem to contribute to greatness of soul. For the well-born are thought worthy of honor, and so are those in power or wealthy; for they are in a position of superiority, and everything that is superior in what is good is more honored. This is why such things make men more great-souled; for they are honored by some people on their account. But in truth it is the good man alone who is to be honored; though the man in whom both qualities are present is thought the more worthy of honor. But those who have such goods without virtue neither justly think themselves worthy of great things, nor are correctly called great-souled; for without complete virtue that is not possible. Those who have such goods without virtue become contemptuous and insolent. For without virtue it is not easy to bear good fortunes fittingly; [1124b] and being unable to bear them, and thinking themselves superior to others, they despise others while themselves doing whatever they happen to do. For they imitate the great-souled man without being like him, and they do this in the things they are able to do; they do not, then, act in accordance with virtue, but they do despise others. For the great-souled man despises justly (since he judges truly), but most people do so at random. He is not a man who courts small dangers, nor a lover of danger, because he honors few things; but he faces great dangers, and when he is in danger he is unsparing of his life, on the ground that life is not worth having at all costs. And he is the kind of man to do good to others, but is ashamed to have good done to him,
14| for the one is the mark of a superior man, the other of an inferior one. And he repays a good turn with more than was given; for in this way the one who first did him a service will be additionally in his debt and will have been benefited. And they seem also to remember the good they have done, but not what they have received (for the one who has received good is inferior to the one who has done it, but he wishes to be superior), and to hear the former with pleasure, the latter with displeasure; this is why Thetis does not mention her services to Zeus, nor do the Spartans mention theirs to the Athenians, but rather what good they had received. It belongs to the great-souled man also to need nothing, or scarcely anything, but to help others readily, and to be grand toward those in position and good fortune, but moderate toward people of the middling sort; for it is difficult and dignified to be superior to the former, but easy to be so toward the latter, and to hold oneself high before the former is not ignoble, but among the humble it is coarse, like showing one's strength against the weak; and to refrain from pursuing honored positions, or from going where others hold first place; and to be inactive and slow to act except where there is great honor or a great deed to be done, and to do few things, but great and notable ones. It is also necessary for him to be openly hostile and openly friendly (for to conceal one's feelings is the mark of one who is afraid, and to care more for reputation than for the truth), and to speak and act openly (for he is outspoken because he is contemptuous of others, and he is truthful, except when he speaks ironically, and he speaks ironically toward the multitude), and to be unable to live in reference to another, except a friend; [1125a] for that is slavish, and this is why all flatterers are servile, and the humble are flatterers. Nor is he given to admiration; for nothing is great to him. Nor does he bear a grudge; for it is not the mark of the great-souled man to remember things, especially wrongs, but rather
15| ...rather to overlook them. Nor is he a gossip about people: he will not talk about himself or about another, since he does not care to be praised himself, nor for others to be blamed—nor again is he given to praising others; and for the same reason he is not given to speaking ill of people, not even of his enemies, except out of contempt. About necessary or trivial matters he is the least inclined to lament or to beg for help: for that is how a person behaves who takes such things seriously. He is the sort to possess fine and unproductive things rather than fruitful and useful ones, since this suits self-sufficiency more. The great-souled man's movement, too, is thought to be slow, his voice deep, and his speech measured: for a man who takes few things seriously is not given to hurrying, nor is a man who thinks nothing great is intense—and shrillness of voice and quickness come from these causes. Such, then, is the great-souled man. The person who falls short is small-souled, and the person who goes to excess is vain. Now these too are not thought to be bad people (for they do no wrong), but they are mistaken. For the small-souled man, being worthy of good things, deprives himself of what he is worthy of, and he seems to have something wrong with him from not deeming himself worthy of good things, and also to be ignorant of himself: for he would have reached for what he was worthy of, if it really were good. Yet such people are not thought to be fools, but rather diffident. Such an opinion of themselves seems even to make them worse: for each person aims at what is in accordance with his worth, and such people hold back even from fine actions and pursuits, as being unworthy of them, and likewise from external goods as well. The vain, on the other hand, are foolish and ignorant of themselves, and conspicuously so: for, not being worthy of them, they attempt honors, and are then exposed—
16| —and they adorn themselves with dress and bearing and things of that sort, and want their strokes of good fortune to be visible too, and talk about them as though they will be honored on that account. Small-souledness is opposed to greatness of soul more than vanity is: for it occurs more often and is worse. Greatness of soul, then, concerns great honor, as has been said. [1125b] But there seems to be a virtue concerning this too, as was said at the outset, which would seem to stand toward greatness of soul in much the same way as liberality stands toward magnificence. Neither virtue reaches toward greatness; instead, each shapes our attitude correctly where modest and minor matters are concerned: just as in the taking and giving of money there is a mean, and also excess and deficiency, so too in the desire for honor there is more than one ought and less, and also the proper source and the proper manner. For we blame the ambitious man for aiming at honor more than he ought and from sources he ought not, and we blame the unambitious man for not even choosing to be honored for fine actions. But there are times when we praise the ambitious man as manly and a lover of what is fine, and the unambitious man as moderate and self-controlled, as we also said at the outset. It is clear that, since “a lover of such-and-such” is said in more than one way, we do not always apply the term “ambitious” to the same thing, but when praising we apply it to one who is so more than most people, and when blaming to one who is so more than he ought. Since the mean has no name, the extremes seem to dispute the ground as though it were unclaimed. But wherever there is excess and deficiency, there is also a mean: people desire honor both more than
17| they ought and less; there is, then, also a desiring of it as one ought; and it is this state that is praised, being a mean concerning honor that has no name. In relation to ambition it appears to be unambitiousness, and in relation to unambitiousness it appears to be ambition, and in relation to both it appears in a way to be both. This seems to be so with the other virtues as well. Because no word exists for the middle position here, the two extremes seem, instead, to stand against each other. Mildness is a mean concerning anger; but since the mean is nameless, and pretty much the extremes as well, we apply the term “mildness” to the mean, though it leans toward the deficiency, which is likewise nameless. The excess might be called a kind of irascibility. For the affection is anger, but the things that produce it are many and various. Now the man who is angry at the right things and with the right people, and also in the right way and at the right time and for the right length of time, is praised: this, then, would be the mild man, given that mildness is praised. For the mild man wishes to be undisturbed and not to be led by his feeling, but to be angry at these things and for this length of time in whatever way reason directs. [1126a] He seems, however, to err more in the direction of deficiency: for the mild man is not vindictive, but rather inclined to forgive. The deficiency, whether it is a kind of lack of spirit or whatever else it should be called, is blamed. For those who are not angered at the things they ought to be angered at are thought to be foolish, and so are those who are not angered in the way they ought, nor when, nor at whom they ought: for such a person is thought not to perceive or to feel pain, and, since he is not angered, to be incapable of defending himself—and to put up with being insulted, and to overlook it when one's own people are insulted, is slavish. The excess occurs in all these respects (both at people one ought not,
18| and about things one ought not, and more than one ought, and more quickly, and for a longer time), yet not all of these belong to the same person. For that could not be: since a bad thing destroys even itself, and if it is complete, it becomes unbearable. Now the irritable are quickly angered, both at people they ought not and about things they ought not and more than they ought, but they stop quickly, which is the best thing about them. This happens to them because they do not hold their anger in, but pay it back openly on account of their quick temper, and then stop. Those who are excessively hot-tempered are sharp and angry at everything and on every occasion, which is where their name comes from. The bitter are hard to reconcile, and remain angry for a long time: for they hold their spirited feeling in. Relief comes only through retaliation: exacting payment ends the anger, replacing distress with satisfaction. Should that repayment fail to occur, however, the burden stays with them: since nothing about it shows outwardly, nobody attempts to reason them out of it, and digesting one's anger internally takes time. Such people are most troublesome to themselves and to their closest friends. We call harsh those who are angry at things they ought not, and more than they ought, and for a longer time, and who are not reconciled without retaliation or punishment. We oppose the excess to mildness rather than the deficiency: for it occurs more often, since retaliating is more human, and harsh people are worse to live with. What was also said earlier is clear from what has been said: pinning down exactly how one should be angry, at whom, over what, and for what duration is not straightforward, nor is fixing the limit past which a person is right or has erred.
19| For a person who deviates a little is not blamed, whether toward the more or toward the less: since we sometimes praise those who fall short and call them mild, [1126b] and call those who are prone to harshness manly, as capable of ruling. How far, then, and in what way a person must deviate to be blamed is not easy to state in words: for the judgment lies in the particulars, and in perception. But this much at least is clear, that the middle state is praiseworthy, the state in accordance with which we are angry at the people we ought and about the things we ought and in the way we ought, and all such things, while the excesses and deficiencies are blameworthy—mild ones only slightly so, but more so as they increase, and very much so when they are great. It is clear, then, that one must hold on to the middle state. Let this, then, be said about the states concerned with anger. In social dealings, in living together, and in sharing words and actions, some people are thought to be obsequious—those who praise everything with a view to pleasure and oppose nothing, but think they ought to give no pain to those they meet; while others, the opposite of these, who oppose everything and take no thought whatever for giving pain, are called cantankerous and quarrelsome. It is plain enough that the two dispositions just described deserve blame, and equally plain that the middle condition between them deserves praise—the disposition whereby one welcomes what is fitting in the fitting manner, and takes offense the same way; but no name has been assigned to it, though it most resembles friendship. For the man in accordance with this middle state is the sort of person we mean when we speak of the decent friend, once we add a feeling of affection. It differs from friendship in that it is without the feeling and without the affection for those with whom one associates: for he does not accept each thing as he ought out of love or hatred, but by being the sort of person
20| For he will behave in the same way toward people he knows and people he doesn't, toward the familiar and the unfamiliar—except that in each case he will act as fits the occasion, since it is not fitting to be equally concerned about intimates and strangers, nor equally a matter of indifference to pain them. Now in general it has been said that he will associate with people as he ought, but relating his conduct to the fine and the advantageous, he will aim at not paining or at pleasing others. For his concern seems to be with the pleasures and pains that arise in social dealings; and of these, whenever pleasing another would be not fine, or harmful, to himself, he will be reluctant and will choose instead to pain him; and if his going along with something would bring disgrace on the one doing it—and not a small disgrace—or harm, while opposing it would bring only a small pain, he will not go along with it but will be reluctant. He will associate differently with people of standing and with ordinary people, [1127a] and more or less with people he knows well, and likewise according to the other differences, rendering to each what is fitting; and he will choose, in its own right, to give pleasure, but will be wary of causing pain, while going along with the consequences, when these are greater—I mean the fine and the advantageous. And for the sake of a great pleasure to come later he will cause a small pain now. Such, then, is the person in the mean, though he has no name. Of the one who gives pleasure, the one who aims at being pleasant not for the sake of anything else is obsequious; the one who does it so that some benefit accrues to himself in money or in what money buys is a flatterer. The one who is reluctant toward everyone has been said to be ill-tempered and quarrelsome. The extremes appear opposed to each other because the mean has no name. Around much the same territory lies the mean state between boastfulness and self-deprecation; this too has no name. It is worth going through
21| these states as well, for we shall know more about matters of character by going through them one by one, and we shall be more confident that the virtues are means once we see that this holds in every case. In the matter of living together, then, those whose dealings concern pleasure and pain have been discussed; let us now speak, in the same way, about those who are truthful and those who are false, both in speech and in action and in what they pretend to be. Now the boaster seems to be the kind of person who lays claim to reputable things he does not have, or to more of them than he has; the self-deprecator, conversely, disowns what he does have or makes it out to be less; and the person in the mean is a plain-dealing sort, truthful both in life and in speech, acknowledging what he has to be his own, neither more nor less. And each of these things can be done either for the sake of something or for no particular reason. Each person, when acting for no ulterior purpose, says and does and lives in accordance with what he actually is. Now falsehood in its own right is base and blameworthy, and truth is fine and praiseworthy. So too the truthful person, being in the mean, is praiseworthy, and both kinds of liar are blameworthy, but the boaster more so. Both types deserve discussion, beginning with the person who is truthful. For we are not speaking of the one who is truthful in his agreements, nor of matters bearing on justice or injustice [1127b] (for that would belong to a different virtue), but rather of the person who, in matters where nothing of that sort is at stake, is truthful both in speech and in life simply because that is the state of his character. Such a person would seem to be decent. For the lover of truth, who is truthful even where it makes no difference, will be truthful
22| still more where it does make a difference; for he will be wary of falsehood as something shameful, since he was wary of it even in its own right; and such a person is praiseworthy. He tends to lean rather toward understating the truth, for this appears more tactful, since exaggerations are tiresome. The person who lays claim to more than he has for no particular reason resembles a base person (for otherwise he would not delight in the falsehood), but he appears foolish rather than wicked. But if he does it for some purpose—if for the sake of reputation or honor, he is not greatly to be blamed—text breaks off here—like the boaster; but if for money, or whatever leads to money, he is more disgraceful. (What makes one a boaster is not the capacity but the choice; for it is in virtue of his state of character and of being the sort of person he is that he is a boaster.) It is the same with a liar: one delights in the falsehood itself, another reaches after reputation or gain. Now those who boast for the sake of reputation lay claim to the sort of things that bring praise or being counted happy; those who do it for gain lay claim to the sort of things from which their neighbors can get some benefit and whose absence can go undetected—being, say, a seer, a wise man, a doctor. This is why most people who take up such pretenses do so and become boasters in this way, since these things offer scope for what has been described. Those who understate, speaking of themselves in diminished terms, appear more graceful in character, for they seem to speak not for the sake of gain but to avoid seeming pompous; and these too, most of all, disclaim the things that bring reputation, as Socrates used to do. Those who disclaim small and obvious things are called sham-humble and are held rather in contempt; and sometimes this too looks like a form of boasting, as with the dress of the Spartans, for both excess and too great a deficiency have something boastful about them. Those who
23| use self-deprecation moderately, and understate themselves with respect to things that are not too obvious or too much in the way, appear graceful. The boaster appears to be opposed to the truthful person, for he is worse. And since there is also relaxation in life, and in this a way of passing time with amusement, here too there seems to be a certain tactfulness in social dealing, [1128a] both as to what one should say and how, and likewise as to how one should listen. And it will make a difference whether one speaks among such company or listens to it. It is clear that here too there is excess and deficiency relative to the mean. Those who go to excess in what is laughable seem to be vulgar buffoons, grasping at the laughable by every means, and aiming more at raising a laugh than at speaking becomingly and not paining the one who is the butt of the joke; while those who would never say anything laughable themselves, and who take offense at those who do, seem boorish and stiff. Those who joke in a tactful way are called witty, meaning as it were well-turned; for such movements seem to belong to character, and just as bodies are judged from their movements, so too are characters. Since the laughable is widespread, and most people delight in play and in mockery more than they should, buffoons too get called witty, as if they were graceful; but that they differ, and not slightly, is clear from what has been said. Ready wit is also proper to the middle state; it belongs to the person of ready wit to say and to hear such things as are fitting for the decent and free-spirited person to say, for there are things it is proper for such a person to say and to hear as part of playfulness, and the playfulness of the free-spirited person differs from that of the slavish, and that of the educated from that of the uneducated. One can see this too from the old comedies and the new: to the older poets what was laughable was coarse abuse, to the later ones it is rather innuendo; and these differ not a little
24| toward decorum. Should we then define the person who jokes well as one who says what befits a free and cultivated person, or as one who does not pain the hearer, or even gives him delight? Or is even that sort of thing indefinable? One person, after all, finds hateful what pleases someone else. But such a person will also listen to jokes of the same kind; for what a man puts up with hearing, he seems also willing to do himself. So he will not do just anything: for a jest is a kind of mockery, and lawgivers forbid certain kinds of mockery — perhaps they ought to have forbidden jesting too. The cultivated and free person, then, will conduct himself in this way, being as it were a law to himself. Such, then, is the person in the mean, whether he is called witty or tactful. The buffoon, on the other hand, is a slave to getting a laugh, and holds back neither himself nor others if he can raise a laugh, saying things [1128b] none of which a cultivated person would say, and some of which he would not even bear to hear. The boor, by contrast, is useless in such company: contributing nothing, he takes offense at everything. But relaxation and play seem to be necessary in life. There are, then, three means we have spoken of in life, and all concern a certain sharing in speech and action. They differ in that one concerns truth, while the other two concern the pleasant. Of those concerned with pleasure, one has to do with amusements, the other with the social dealings of the rest of life. Concerning shame, it is not appropriate to speak of it as a kind of virtue, for it resembles an affection more than a state of character. At any rate it is defined as a kind of fear of disrepute, and it produces an effect similar to the fear felt about terrible things: for people who feel shame blush, while those who fear death turn pale. Both, then, appear to be in some way bodily,
25| which seems to be characteristic of an affection rather than a state of character. Now the affection does not suit every age, but only the young. For we think that people of that age ought to be prone to shame, because they live by feeling and so make many errors, and are held back by shame; and we praise young people who feel shame, but no one would praise an older person for being prone to shame, since we think he ought to do nothing that calls for shame. For shame is not even proper to a decent person, if indeed it arises over base actions (for such things ought not to be done at all: and it makes no difference whether some actions are base in truth and others only in reputation, since neither sort ought to be done, so that one ought not to be ashamed): and it is characteristic of a base person even to be the sort of man who would do one of the shameful things. To be so disposed that if one did do such a thing one would feel shame, and on this account to think oneself decent, is absurd; for shame concerns voluntary actions, and the decent person will never voluntarily do base things. Shame might indeed be decent on a hypothesis: that is, if he were to do such a thing, he would feel shame; but this condition does not hold in the case of the virtues. And if shamelessness is base, and not feeling ashamed of doing base things, it is no more decent for a person who does such things to feel shame over them. Nor is continence a virtue either, but a kind of mixed state; this will be shown concerning it later. For now let us speak of justice.