Provided by The Internet Classics Archive. See bottom for copyright. Available online at [Link]

html Rhetoric By Aristotle Translated by W. Rhys Roberts BOOKI Part 1 Rhetoric is the counterpart of Dialectic. Both alike are concerned with such things as come, more or less, within the general ken of all men and belong to no definite science. Accordingly all men make use, more or less, of both; for to a certain extent all men attempt to discuss statements and to maintain them, to defend themselves and to attack others. Ordinary people do this either at random or through practice and from acquired habit. Both ways being possible, the subject can plainly be handled systematically, for it is possible to inquire the reason why some speakers succeed through practice and others spontaneously; and every one will at once agree that such an inquiry is the function of an art. Now, the framers of the current treatises on rhetoric have constructed but a small portien of that art. The modes of persuasion are the only true constituents of the art: everything else is merely accessory. These writers, however, say nothing about enthymemes, which are the substance of rhetorical persuasion, but deal mainly with non-essentials. The arousing of prejudice, pity, anger, and similar emotions has nothing to do with the essential facts, but is merely a personal appeal to the man who is judging the case. Consequently if the rules for trials which are now laid down some states-especially in well-governed states-were applied everywhere, such people 'II()Uid have nothing to say. All men, no doubt, think that the laws should prescribe such rules, but some, as in the court of Areopagus, give practica! effect to their thoughts and forbid talk about non-essentials. This is sound law and custom. lt is not right to pervert the judge by moving him to anger or envy or pity-one might as well warp a carpenter's rule before using it. Again, a litigant has clearly nothing todo but to showthat the alleged fact is so or is not so, that it has or has not happened. Asto whether a thing is importan! or unimportant, just or unjust, the judge must surely refuse to take his instructions from the litigants: he must decide for himself all such points as the law-giver has not already defined for him. Now, it is of great moment that well-drawn laws should themselves define all the points they possibly can and leave as few as may be to the decision of the judges; and this for several reasons. First, to find one man, ora few men, who are sensible persons and capable of legislating and administering justice is easier than to find a large number. Next, laws are made after long consideration, whereas decisions in the courts are given at short notice, which makes it h d f th h t th t ti f th 1 i fj ti d
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

of the assembly and the jury find it their duty to decide on definite cases brought befare them. They will often have allowed themselves to be so much influenced by feelings of friendship or hatred or self-interest that they lose any clear vision of the truth and have their judgement obscured by considerations of personal pleasure or pain. In general, then, the judge should, we say, be allowed to decide as fewthings as possible. But questions asto whether something has happened or has not happened, will be or will not be, is or is not, must of necessity

be left to the judge, since the lawgiver cannot foresee them. lf this is so, it is evident that any one who lays down rules about other matters, such as what must be the contents of the 'introduction' or the 'narration' or any of the other divisions of a speech, is theorizing about non-essentials as if they belonged to the art. The only question with which these Vvfiters he re deal is how to put the judge into a given frame of mind. About the orator's proper modes of persuasion they have nothing to tell us; nothing, that is, about how to gain skill in enthymemes. Hence it comes that, although the same systematic principies apply to political as to forensic oratory, and although the former is a nobler business, and fitter for a citizen, than that which concerns the relations of private individuals, these authors say nothing about political oratory, but try, one and all, to Vvfite treatises on the way to plead in court. The reason for this is that in political oratory there is less inducement to talk about nonessentials. Political oratory is less given to unscrupulous practicas than forensic, because it treats of wider issues. In a political debate the man who is forming a judgement is making a decision about his own vital interests. There is no need, therefore, to prove anything except that the facts are what the supporter of a measure maintains they are. In forensic oratory this is not enough; to conciliate the listener is what pays here. lt is other people's affairs that are to be decided, so that the judges, intent on their own satisfaction and listening with partiality, surrender themselves to the disputants instead of judging between them. Hence in many places, as we have said already, irrelevant speaking is forbidden in the law-courts: in the public assembly those who have to form a judgement are themselves well able to guard against that. 1t is clear, then, that rhetorical study, in its strict sense, is concerned with the modes of persuasion. Persuasion is clearly a sort of demonstration, since we are most fully persuaded when we consider a thing to have been demonstrated. The orator's demonstration is an enthymeme, and this is, in general, the most effective of the modes of persuasion. The enthymeme is a sort of syllogism, and the consideration of syllogisms of all kinds, without distinction, is the business of dialectic, either of dialectic as a whole or of one of its branches. lt follows plainly, therefore, that he who is best able to see how and from what elements a syllogism is produced will also be best skilled in the enthymeme, when he has further learnt what its subject-matter is and in what respects it differs from the syllogism of strict logic. The true and the approximately true are apprehended by the same faculty; it may also be noted that men have a sufficient natural instinct for what is true, and usually do arrive at the truth. Hence the man who makes a good guess at truth is likely to make a good guess at probabilities. 1t has now been shown that the ordinary writers on rhetoric treat of non-essentials; it has also been shown why they have inclinad more towards the forensic branch of oratory.
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

so that if the decisions of judges are not what they ought to be, the defeat must be due to the speakers themselves, and they must be blamed accordingly. Moreover, (2) before sorne audiences not even the possession of the exactest knowledge will make it easy for what we say to produce conviction. For argument based on knowledge implies instruction, and there are people whom one cannot instruct. Here, then, we must use, as our modes of persuasion and argument, notions possessed by everybody, as we observad in the Topics when dealing with the way to handle a popular audience. Further, (3) we must be

able to employ persuasion, justas strict reasoning can be employed, on opposite sides of a question, not in order that we may in practica employ it in both ways (for we must not make people believe what is wrong), but in order that we may see clearly what the facts are, and that, if another man argues unfairly, we on our part may be able to confute him. No other of the arts draws opposite conclusions: dialectic and rhetoric alone do this. Both these arts draw opposite conclusions impartially. Nevertheless, the underlying facts do not lend themselves equally well to the contrary views. No; things that are true and things that are better are, by their nature, practically always easier to prove and easier to believe in. Again, (4) it is absurd to hold that a man ought to be ashamed of being unable to defend himself with his limbs, but not of being unable to defend himself with speech and reason, when the use of rational speech is more distinctive of a human being than the use of his limbs. And if it be objected that one who uses such power of speech unjustly might do great harm, that is a charge which may be made in common against all good things except virtue, and above all against the things that are most useful, as strength, health, wealth, generalship. Aman can confer the greatest of benefits by a right use of these, and inflict the greatest of injuries by using them wrongly. lt is clear, then, that rhetoric is not bound up with a single definite class of subjects, but is as universal as dialectic; it is clear, also, that it is useful. lt is clear, further, that its function is not simply to succeed in persuading, but rather to discover the means of coming as near such success as the circumstances of each particular case allow. In this it resembles all other arts. For example, it is not the function of medicine simply to make a man quite healthy, but to put him as far as may be on the road to health; it is possible to give excellent treatment even to those who can never enjoy sound health. Furthermore, it is plain that it is the function of one and the same art to discern the real and the apparent means of persuasion, just as it is the function of dialectic to discern the real and the apparent syllogism. What makes a man a 'sophist' is not his faculty, but his moral purpose. In rhetoric, however, the term 'rhetorician' may describe either the speaker's knowledge of the art, or his moral purpose. In dialectic it is different: a man is a 'sophist' because he has a certain kind of moral purpose, a 'dialectician' in respect, not of his moral purpose, but of his faculty. Let us now try to give sorne account of the systematic principies of Rhetoric itself-of the right method and means of succeeding in the object we set before us. We must make as it were a fresh start, and before going further define what rhetoric is. Part 2 Rhetoric may be defined as the faculty of observing in any given case
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

geometry about the properties of magnitudes, arithmetic about numbers, and the same is true of the other arts and sciences. But rhetoric we look u pon as the power of observing the means of persuasion on almost any subject presentad to us; and that is why we say that, in its technical character, it is not concerned with any special or definite class of subjects. Of the modes of persuasion sorne belong strictly to the art of rhetoric and sorne do not. By the latter 1 mean such things as are not supplied by the speaker but are there at the outset-witnesses, evidence given under torture, written contracts, and so on. By the former 1 mean such as we can ourselves construct by means of the principies of rhetoric.

The one kind has merely to be used, the other has to be inventad. Of the modes of persuasion furnished by the spoken w:lrd there are three kinds. The first kind depends on the personal character of the speaker; the second on putting the audience into a certain frame of mind; the third on the proof, or apparent proof, provided by the w:lrds of the speech itself. Persuasion is achieved by the speaker's personal character when the speech is so spoken as to make us think him credible. We believe good men more fully and more readily than others: this is true generally whatever the question is, and absolutely true where exact certainty is impossible and opinions are divided. This kind of persuasion, like the others, should be achieved by what the speaker says, not by what people think of his character before he begins to speak. 1t is not true, as sorne writers assume in their treatises on rhetoric, that the personal goodness revealed by the speaker contributes nothing to his power of persuasion; on the contrary, his character may almost be called the most effective means of persuasion he possesses. Secondly, persuasion may come through the hearers, when the speech stirs their emotions. Our judgements when we are pleased and friendly are not the same as when we are pained and hostile. lt is towards producing these effects, as we maintain, that present-day writers on rhetoric direct the whole of their efforts. This subject shall be treated in detail when we come to speak of the emotions. Thirdly, persuasion is effected through the speech itself when we have proved a truth or an apparent truth by means of the persuasiva arguments suitable to the case in question. There are, then, these three means of effecting persuasion. The man who is to be in command ofthem must, it is clear, be able (1) to reason logically, (2) to understand human character and goodness in their various forms, and (3) to understand the emotions-that is, to name them and describe them, to knowtheir causes and the way in which they are excitad. lt thus appears that rhetoric is an offshoot of dialectic and also of ethical studies. Ethical studies may fairly be called political; and for this reason rhetoric masquerades as political science, and the professors of it as political experts-sometimes from want of education, sometimes from ostentation, sometimes owing to other human failings. As a matter of fact, it is a branch of dialectic and similar to it, as we said at the outset. Neither rhetoric nor dialectic is the scientific study of any one separata subject: both are faculties for providing arguments. This is perhaps a sufficient account of their scope and of how they are relatad to each other. With regard to the persuasion achieved by proof or apparent proof: just as in dialectic there is induction on the one hand and syllogism or apparent syllogism on the other, so it is in rhetoric. The example
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

through proof does in fact use either enthymemes or examples: there is no other way. And since every one 'htlo proves anything al all is bound lo use either syllogisms or inductions (and this is clear lo us from the Analytics), it must followthat enthymemes are syllogisms and examples are inductions. The difference between example and enthymeme is made plain by the passages in the Topics 'htlere induction and syllogism have already been discussed. When we base the proof of a proposition on a number of similar cases, this is induction in dialectic, example in rhetoric; 'htlen it is shown that, certain propositions being true, a further and quite distinct proposition must also be true in consequence, 'hhether invariably or usually, this is called syllogism in dialectic, enthymeme in rhetoric. lt is plain also that each of these types of oratory has its advantages. Types of oratory, 1 say: for 'hhat has

been said in the Methodics applies equally well here; in sorne oratorical styles examples prevail, in others enthymemes; and in like manner, sorne orators are better at the former and sorne at the latter. Speeches that rely on examples are as persuasiva as the other kind, but those 'htlich rely on enthymemes excite the louder applause. The sources of examples and enthymemes, and their proper uses, we will discuss later. Our next step is to define !he processes themselves more clearly. A statement is persuasiva and credible either because it is directly self-evident or because it appears to be proved from other statements that are so. In either case it is persuasiva because there is somebody 'htlom it persuades. But none of !he arts theorize about individual cases. Medicine, for instance, does not theorize about 'hhat will help lo cure Socrates or Callias, but only about 'htlat will help to cure any or all of a given class of patients: this alone is business: individual cases are so infinitely various that no systematic knoiMedge of them is possible. In the same way the theory of rhetoric is concerned not with 'htlat seems probable to a given individuallike Socrates or Hippias, but with what seems probable to men of a given type; and this is true of dialectic also. Dialectic does not construct its syllogisms out of any haphazard materials, such as the fancies of crazy people, but out of materials that call for discussion; and rhetoric, too, draws u pon !he regular subjects of debate. The duty of rhetoric is to deal with such matters as we deliberate u pon without arts or systems to guide us, in !he hearing of persons who cannot take in ata glance a complicated argument, or follow a long chain of reasoning. The subjects of our deliberation are such as seem lo present us with alternativa possibilities: about things that could not have been, and cannot now or in !he future be, other than they are, nobody who takes them to be of this nature wastes his time in deliberation. lt is possible to form syllogisms and draw conclusions from the results of previous syllogisms; or, on the other hand, from premisses which have not been thus proved, and at the same time are so little accepted that they call for proof. Reasonings of the former kind will necessarily be hard to follow owing to their length, for we assume an audience of untrained thinkers; those of the latter kind will fail to win assent, because they are based on premisses that are not generally admitted or believed. The enthymeme and the example mus!, then, deal with 'hhat is in the main contingent, the example being an induction, and the enthymeme a syllogism, about such matters. The enthymeme must consist of few propositions, fewer often than those which make up the normal syllogism. For if any of these propositions is a familiar fact, there is no need
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

without adding 'And in the Olympic games the prize is a crown', a fact which everybody knows. There are few facts of the 'necessary' type that can form the basis of rhetorical syllogisms. Most of the things about which 1M! make decisions, and into which therefore 1M! inquire, present us with alternativa possibilities. For it is about our actions that 1M! deliberate and inquire, and all our actions have a contingent character; hardly any of them are determinad by necessity. Again, conclusions that state what is merely usual or possible must be drawn from premisses that do the same, justas 'necessary' conclusions must be drawn from 'necessary' premisses; this too is clear to us from the Analytics. lt is evident, therefore, that the propositions forming the basis of enthymemes, though sorne of them may be 'necessary', will most of them be only usually true. Now the materials of enthyrnemes are Probabilities and Signs, which 1M! can see must correspond respectively with the propositions that are generally

and those that are necessarily true. A Probability is a thing that usually happens; not, ho\1\oever, as sorne definitions IMluld suggest, anything whatever that usually happens, but only if it belongs to the class of the 'contingent' or 'variable'. lt bears the sarne relation to that in respect of which it is probable as the universal bears to the particular. Of Signs, one kind bears the sarne relation to the staternent it supports as the particular bears to the universal, the other the sarne as the universal bears to the particular. The infallible kind is a 'complete proof (tekrnerhiou); the fallible kind has no specific narne. By infallible signs 1 mean those on which syllogisms proper may be based: and this shows us why this kind of Sign is called 'complete proof: when people think that what they have said cannot be refuted, they then think that they are bringing forward a 'complete proof, rneaning that the matter has now been demonstrated and completad (peperhasmeuou); for the IMlrd 'perhas' has the sarne meaning (of 'end' or 'boundary') as the IMlrd 'tekmarh' in the ancient tengue. Now the one kind of Sign {that which bears to the proposition it supports the relation of particular to universal) may be illustrated thus. Suppose it IM!re said, 'The fact that Socrates was wise and just is a sign that the wise are just'. Here 1M! certainly have a Sign; but even though the proposition be true, the argurnent is refutable, since it does not form a syllogism. Suppose, on the other hand, it IM!re said, 'The fact that he has a fever is a sign that he is ill', or, 'The fact that she is giving milk is a sign that she has lately borne a child'. He re 1M! have the infallible kind of Sign, the only kind that constitutes a complete proof, since it is the only kind that, if the particular statement is true, is irrefutable. The other kind of Sign, that which bears to the proposition it supports the relation of universal to particular, might be illustrated by saying, 'The fact that he breathes fast is a sign that he has a fever'. This argument also is refutable, even if the statement about the fast breathing be true, since a man may breathe hard without having a fever. lt has, then, been stated above what is the nature of a Probability, of a Sign, and of a complete proof, and what are the differences bet\1\oeen them. In the Analytics a more explicit description has been given of these points; it is there shown why some of these reasonings can be put into syllogisms and some cannot. The 'example' has already been described as one kind of induction; and the special nature of the subject-matter that distinguishes it from the other kinds has also been stated above. lts relation to the
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

!he other, !he former is an 'example'. The argument may, for instance, be that Dionysius, in asking as he does for a bodyguard, is scheming lo make himself a despot. For in !he past Peisistratus kept asking for a bodyguard in arder to carry out such a scheme, and did make himself a despot as soon as he gol it; and so did Theagenes al Megara; and in the same way all other instances known to the speaker are made into examples, in arder lo showwhat is no! yet known, that Dionysius has !he same purpose in making !he same request: all these being instances of !he one general principie, that a man who asks for a bodyguard is scheming lo make himself a despot. We have now described !he sources of those means of persuasion which are popularly supposed to be demonstrative. There is an importan! distinction between l'AO sorts of enthymemes that has been wholly overlooked by almos! everybody-one that also subsists between the syllogisms treated of in dialectic. One sort of enthymeme really belongs to rhetoric, as one sort of syllogism really belongs to dialectic; but the other sort really belongs to other arts and faculties, whether to those we already exercise or to those we have not yet acquired. Missing this distinction, people

fail to notice that the more correctly they handle their particular subject the further they are getting away from pure rhetoric or dialectic. This statement will be clearer if expressed more fully. 1 mean that !he proper subjects of dialectical and rhetorical syllogisms are !he things with which we say the regular or universal Unes of Argument are concerned, that is to say those lines of argument that apply equally to questions of right conduct, natural science, politics, and many other things that have nothing todo with one another. Take, for instance, the line of argument concerned with 'the more or less'. On this line of argument it is equally easy to base a syllogism or enthymeme about any of what nevertheless are essentially disconnected subjects-right conduct, natural science, or anything else whatever. But there are also those special Unes of Argument which are based on such propositions as apply only to particular groups or classes of things. Thus there are propositions about natural science on which it is impossible to base any enthymeme or syllogism about ethics, and other propositions about ethics on which nothing can be based about natural science. The same principie applies throughout. The general Unes of Argument have no special subject-matter, and therefore will not increase our understanding of any particular class of things. On the other hand, !he better the selection one makes of propositions suitable for special Unes of Argument, the nearer one comes, unconsciously, to setting up a science that is distinct from dialectic and rhetoric. One may succeed in stating the required principies, but one's science will be no longer dialectic or rhetoric, but the science lo which the principies thus discovered belong. Most enthymemes are in fact based u pon these particular or special Unes of Argument; comparatively few on the common or general kind. As in the therefore, so in this YoOrk, we must distinguish, in dealing with enthymemes, the special and the general Unes of Argument on which they are to be founded. By special Unes of Argument 1 mean !he propositions peculiar to each several class of things, by general those common to all classes alike. We may begin with the special Unes of Argument. But, first of all, let us classify rhetoric into its varieties. Having distinguished these we may deal with them one by one, and try to discover the elements of which each is composed, and the propositions each must employ. Part 3
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

determines the speech's end and object. The hearer must be either a judge, with a decision to make about things pastor future, oran observar. A member of the assembly decides about future events, a juryman about past events: while those who merely decide on the orator's skill are observers. From this it follows that there are three divisions of oratory-(1) political, (2) forensic, and (3) the ceremonial oratory of display. Political speaking urges us either to do or not to do something: one of these tlMl courses is always taken by private counsellors, as 111oell as by men who address public assemblies. Forensic speaking either attacks or defends somebody: one or other of these tlMl things must always be done by the parties in a case. The ceremonial oratory of display either praises or censures somebody. These three kinds of rhetoric refer to three different kinds of time. The political orator is concerned with the future: it is about things to be done hereafter that he advises, for or against. The party in a case at law is concerned with the past; one man accuses the other, and the other defends himself, with reference to things already done. The ceremonial orator is, properly speaking, concerned with the present, since all men praise or blame in view of the state of things existing at the time, though they often

find it useful also to recall the past and to make guesses at the future. Rhetoric has three distinct ends in view, one for each of its three kinds. The political orator aims at establishing the expediency or the harmfulness of a proposed course of action; if he urges its acceptance, he does so on the ground that it will do good; if he urges its rejection, he does so on the ground that it will do harm; and all other points, such as whether the proposal is just or unjust, honourable or dishonourable, he brings in as subsidiary and relativa to this main consideration. Parties in a law-case aim at establishing the justice or injustice of sorne action, and they too bring in all other points as subsidiary and relativa to this one. Those who praise or attack a man aim at proving him \loQrthy of honour or the reversa, and they too treat all other considerations with reference to this one. That the three kinds of rhetoric do aim respectively at the three ends 111oe have mentioned is shown by the fact that speakers will sometimes not try to establish anything else. Thus, the litigant will sometimes not deny that a thing has happened or that he has done harm. But that he is guilty of injustice he will never admit; otherwise there \loQuld be no need of a trial. So too, political orators often make any concession short of admitting that they are recommending their hearers to take an inexpedient course or not to take an expedient one. The question whether it is not unjust for a city to enslave its innocent neighbours often does not trouble them at all. In like manner those who praise or censure a man do not consider whether his acts have been expedient or not, but often make ita ground of actual praise that he has neglected his own interest to do what was honourable. Thus, they praise Achilles because he championed his fallen friend Patroclus, though he knew that this meant death, and that otherwise he need not die: yet while to die thus was the nobler thing for him to do, the expedient thing was to live on. 1t is evident from what has been said that it is these three subjects, more than any others, about which the orator must be able to have propositions at his command. Nowthe propositions of Rhetoric are
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

Since only possible actions, and not impossible ones, can ever have been done in the pastor the present, and since things which have not occurred, or IMII not occur, also cannot have been done or be going to be done, it is necessary for the political, the forensic, and the ceremonial speaker alike to be able to have at their command propositions about the possible and the impossible, and about whether a thing has or has not occurred, IMII or IMII not occur. Further, all men, in giving praise or blame, in urging us to accept or reject proposals for action, in accusing others or defending themselves, attempt not only to prove the points mentioned but also to show that the good or the harm, the honour or disgrace, the justice or injustice, is great or small, either absolutely or relatively; and therefore it is plain that we must also have at our command propositions about greatness or smallness and the greater or the lesser-propositions both universal and particular. Thus, we must be able to say which is the greater or lesser good, the greater or lesser act of justice or injustice; and so on. Such, then, are the subjects regarding which we are inevitably bound to master the propositions relevant to them. We must now discuss each particular class of these subjects in turn, namely those dealt IMth in political, in ceremonial, and lastly in legal, oratory. Part 4 First, then, we must ascertain what are the kinds of things, good or bad, about which the political orator offers counsel. For he does

not deaiiMth all things, but only IMth such as mayor may not take place. Concerning things which exist or IMII exist inevitably, or which cannot possibly exist or take place, no counsel can be given. Nor, again, can counsel be given about the whole class of things which may or may not take place; for this class includes sorne good things that occur naturally, and some that occur by accident; and about these it is useless to offer counsel. Clearly counsel can only be given on matters about which people deliberate; matters, namely, that ultimately depend on ourselves, and which we have it in our power to set going. For we turn a thing over in our mind until we have reached the point of seeing whether we can do it or not. Now to enumerate and classify accurately the usual subjects of public business, and further to frame, as far as possible, true definitions of them is a task which we must not attempt on the present occasion. For it does not belong to the art of rhetoric, but to a more instructiva art and a more real branch of knowledge; and as it is, rhetoric has been given a far IMder subject-matter than strictly belongs to it. The truth is, as indeed we have said already, that rhetoric is a combination of the science of logic and of the ethical branch of politics; and it is partly like dialectic, partly like sophistical reasoning. But the more we try to make either dialectic rhetoric not, what they really are, practica! faculties, but sciences, the more we shall inadvertently be destroying their true nature; for we shall be re-fashioning them and shall be passing into the region of sciences dealing with definite subjects rather than simply IMth words and forms of reasoning. Even here, however, we IMII mention those points which it is of practica! importance to distinguish, their fuller treatment falling naturally to political science.
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

As to Ways and Means, then, the intending speaker IMII need to know
the number and extent of the country's sources of revenue, so that, if any is being overlooked, it may be added, and, if any is detective, it may be increased. Further, he should knowall the expenditure of the country, in order that, if any part of it is superfluous, it may be abolished, or, if any is too large, it may be reduced. Formen become richer not only by increasing their existing wealth but also by reducing their expenditure. A comprehensive view of these questions cannot be gained solely from experience in home affairs; in order to advise on such matters a man must be keenly interested in the methods VloOrked out in other lands. As to Pea ce and War, he must know the extent of the military strength of his country, both actual and potential, and also the mature of that actual and potential strength; and further, what wars his country has waged, and how it has waged them. He must know these facts not only about his own country, but also about neighbouring countries; and also about countries IMth which war is likely, in order that peace may be maintained IMth those stronger than his own, and that his own may have power to make war or not against those that are weaker. He should know, too, whether the military power of another country is like or unlike that of his own; for this is a matter that may affect their relativa strength. With the same end in view he must, besides, have studied the wars of other countries as well as those of his own, and the way they ended; similar causes are likely to have similar results. With regard to National Defence: he ought to know all about the methods of defence in actual use, such as the strength and character of the defensiva force and the positions of the forts-this last means that

he must be well acquainted IMth the lie of the country-in order that a garrison may be increased if it is too small or removed if it is not wanted, and that the strategic points may be guarded IMth special care. With regard to the Food Supply: he must know what outlay IMII meet the needs of his country; what kinds of food are produced at home and what importad; and what articles must be exportador importad. This last he must know in order that agreements and commercial treaties may be made IMth the countries concerned. There are, indeed, tv.o sorts of state to which he must see that his countrymen give no cause for offence, states stronger than his own, and states IMth which it is advantageous to trade. But while he must, for security's sake, be able to take all this into account, he must before all things understand the subject of legislation; for it is on a country's laws that its whole welfare depends. He must, therefore, know how many different forms of constitution there are; under what conditions each of these IMII prosper and by what interna! developments or externa! attacks each of them tends to be destroyed. When 1 speak of destruction through interna! developments 1 refer to the fact that all constitutions, except the best one of all, are destroyed both by not being pushed far enough and by being pushed too far. Thus, democracy loses its vigour, and finally passes into oligarchy, not only when it is not pushed far enough, but also when it is pushed a great deal too far; justas the aquilina and the snub nose not only turn into normal noses by not being aquilina or snub
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

own country, in arder to understand which constitution is desirable for it now, but also to have a knowledge of the constitutions of other nations, and so to learn for what kinds of nation the various kinds of constitution are suited. From this we can see that books of travel are useful aids to legislation, since from these we may learn the laws and customs of different races. The political speaker will also find the researches of historians useful. But all this is the business of political science and not of rhetoric. These, then, are the most important kinds of information which the political speaker must possess. Let us now go back and state the premisses from which he will have to argue in favour of adopting or rejecting measures regarding these and other matters. Part 5 lt may be said that every individual man and all men in common aim ata certain end which determines what they choose and what they avoid. This end, to sum it up briefly, is happiness and its constituents. Let us, then, by way of illustration only, ascertain what is in general the nature of happiness, and what are the elements of its constituent parts. For all advice to do things or not to do them is concerned with happiness and with the things that make for or against it; whatever creates or increases happiness or sorne part of happiness, we ought to do; whatever destroys or hampers happiness, or gives rise to its opposite, we ought not to do. We may define happiness as prosperity combinad with virtue; or as independence of life; oras the secure enjoyment of the maximum of pleasure; or as a good condition of property and body, together with the power of guarding one's property and body and making use of them. That happiness is one or more of these things, pretty well everybody agrees. From this definition of happiness it follows that its constituent parts are:-good birth, plenty of friends, good friends, wealth, good

children, plenty of children, a happy old age, also such bodily excellences as health, beauty, strength, large stature, athletic powers, together with fame, honour, good luck, and virtue. A man cannot fail to be completely independent if he possesses these interna! and these externa! goods; for besides these there are no others to have. {Goods of the soul and of the body are interna!. Good birth, friends, money, and honour are externa!.) Further, we think that he should possess resources and luck, in arder to make his life really secure. As we have already ascertained what happiness in general is, so now let us try to ascertain what of these parts of it is. Now good birth in a race or a state means that its members are indigenous or ancient: that its earliest leaders were distinguished men, and that from them have sprung many who were distinguished for qualities that we admire. The good birth of an individual, which may come either from the male or the female side, implies that both parents are free citizens, and that, as in the case of the state, the founders of the line have been notable for virtue or wealth or something else which is highly prized, and that many distinguished persons belong to the family, men and 'Mlmen, young and old.
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

young men are numerous and of good a quality: good in regard to bodily excellences, such as stature, beauty, strength, athletic poV~ers; and also in regard to the excellences of the soul, which in a young man are temperance and courage. Applied to an individual, they mean that his own children are numerous and have the good qualities Vll9 have described. 8oth male and female are here included; the excellences of the latter are, in body, beauty and stature; in soul, self-command andan industry that is not sordid. Communities as V\1911 as individuals should lack none of these perfections, in their VvOmen as V\1911 as in their men. Where, as among the Lacedaemonians, the state ofVvOmen is bad, almost half of human life is spoilt. The constituents of V~ealth are: plenty of coined money and territory; the ownership of numerous, large, and beautiful estates; also the ownership of numerous and beautiful implements, live stock, and slaves. All these kinds of property are our own, are secure, gentlemanly, and useful. The useful kinds are those that are productiva, the gentlemanly kinds are those that provide enjoyment. By 'productiva' 1 mean those from which Vll9 get our income; by 'enjoyable', those from which Vll9 get nothing VvOrth mentioning except the use of them. The criterion of 'security' is the ownership of property in such places and under such Conditions that the use of it is in our poV~er; and it is 'our own' if it is in our own poV~er to dispose of it or keep it. By 'disposing of it' 1 mean giving it away or selling it. Wealth as a whole consists in using things rather than in owning them; it is really the activity-that is, the use-of property that constitutes V~ealth. Fame means being respectad by everybody, or having some quality that is desired by all men, or by most, or by the good, or by the wise. Honour is the token of a man's being famous for doing good. it is chiefly and most properly paid to those who have already done good; but also to the man who can do good in future. Doing good refers either to the preservation of life and the means of life, orto V~ealth, or to some other of the good things which it is hard to get either always or at that particular place or time-for many gain honour for things which seem small, but the place and the occasion account for it. The constituents of honour are: sacrificas; commemoration, in verse or prose; privileges; grants of land; front seats at civic celebrations;

state burial; statues; public maintenance; among foreigners, obeisances and giving place; and such presents as are among various bodies of men regarded as marks of honour. For a present is not only the bestowal of a piece of property, but also a token of honour; which explains why honour-loving as V~ell as money-loving persons desire it. The present brings to both what they want; it is a piece of property, which is what the lovers of money desire; and it brings honour, which is what the lovers of honour desire. The excellence of the body is health; that is, a condition which allows us, while keeping free from disease, to have the use of our bodies; for many people are 'healthy' as Vll9 are told Herodicus was; and these no one can congratulate on their 'health', for they have to abstain from everything or nearly everything that men do.-Beauty varies with the time of life. In a young man beauty is the possession of a body fit to endure the exertion of running and of contests of strength; which means that he is pleasant to look at; and therefore all-round athletes are the most beautiful, being naturally adaptad both for contests of strength and for speed also. For aman in his prime, beauty
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

all !hose deformities of old age which cause pain lo others. Strength is !he power of moving sorne one else al will; to do this, you mus! either pull, push, lift, pin, or grip him; thus you mus! be strong in all of those ways or at least in sorne. Excellence in size is to surpass ordinary people in height, thickness, and breadth by just as much as will not make one's movements slower in consequence. Athletic excellence of !he body consists in size, strength, and swiftness; swiftness implying strength. He who can fling forward his legs in a certain way, and move them fas! and far, is good al running; he who can grip and hold down is good al wrestling; he who can drive an adversary from his ground with !he right blow is a good boxer: he who can do both the las! is a good pancratiast, while he who can do all is an 'all-round' athlete. Happiness in old age is !he coming of old age slowiy and painlessly; for a man has no! this happiness if he grows old either quickly, or tardily but painfully. lt arises both from the excellences of the body and from good luck. lf a man is no! free from disease, or if he is strong, he will not be free from suffering; nor can he continua lo live a long and painless life unless he has good luck. There is, indeed, a capacity for long life that is quite independent of health or strength; for many people live long who lack !he excellences of !he body; bu! for our present purpose there is no use in going into the details of this. The terms 'possession of many friends' and 'possession of good friends' need no explanation; for we define a 'friend' as one who will always try, for your sake, to do what he takes to be good for you. The man towards whom many feel thus has many friends; if these are oorthy men, he has good friends. 'Good luck' means the acquisition or possession of all or most, or !he most importan!, of !hose good things which are due lo luck. Sorne of !he things that are due lo luck may also be due lo artificial contrivance; bu! many are independent of art, as for example !hose which are due lo nature-though, lo be su re, things due lo luck may actually be contrary lo nature. Thus health may be due lo artificial contrivance, bu! beauty and stature are due lo nature. All such good things as excite envy are, as a class, !he outcome of good luck. Luck is also !he cause of good things that happen contrary to reasonable expectation: as when, for instance, all your brothers are ugly, but you are handsome yourself; or when you find a treasure that everybody else has overlooked; or when a missile hits the next man and misses you; or when you are

!he only man no! lo go lo a place you have gone lo regularly, while the others go there for the first time and are killed. All such things are reckoned pieces of good luck. As lo virtue, it is most closely connected with !he subject of Eulogy, and therefore we will wait lo define it until we come lo discuss that subject. Par! 6 1t is now plain what our aims, future or actual, should be in urging, and what in depreciating, a proposal; the latter being the opposite of the former. llbw !he political or deliberativa orator's aim is utility: deliberation seeks lo determine no! ends bu! !he means lo ends, i.e. what it is most useful to do. Further, utility is a good thing. We
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

We may define a good thing as that which ought to be chosen for its own sake; or as that for the sake of which we choose sornething else; oras that which is sought after by all things, or by all things that have sensation or reason, or which will be sought after by any things that acquire reason; oras that which must be prescribed for a given individual by reason generally, or is prescribed for him by his individual reason, this being his individual good; or as that whose presence brings anything into a satisfactory and self-sufficing condition; oras self-sufficiency; oras what produces, maintains, or entails characteristics of this kind, while preventing and destroying their opposites. One thing may entail another in either of tiM:l ways-(1) simultaneously, (2) subsequently. Thus learning entails knowledge subsequently, health entails life simultaneously. Things are productiva of other things in three senses: first as being healthy produces health; secondly, as food produces health; and thirdly, as exercise does-i.e. it does so usually. All this being settled, we now see that both the acquisition of good things and the removal of bad things must be good; the latter entails freedom from the evil things simultaneously, while the former entails possession of the good things subsequently. The acquisition of a greater in place of a lesser good, or of a lesser in place of a greater evil, is also good, for in proportion as the greater exceeds the lesser there is acquisition of good or removal of evil. The virtues, too, must be something good; for it is by possessing these that we are in a good condition, and they tend to produce good IMlrks and good actions. They must be severally named and described elsewhere. Pleasure, again, must be a good thing, since it is the nature of all animals to aim at it. Consequently both pleasant and beautiful things must be good things, since the former are productiva of pleasure, while of the beautiful things sorne are pleasant and sorne desirable in and for themselves. The following is a more detailed list of things that must be good. Happiness, as being desirable in itself and sufficient by itself, and as being that for whose sake we choose many other things. Also justice, courage, temperance, magnanimity, magnificence, and all such qualities, as being excellences of the soul. Further, health, beauty, and the like, as being bodily excellences and productiva of many other good things: for instance, health is productiva both of pleasure and of life, and therefore is thought the greatest of goods, since these tiM:l things which it causes, pleasure and life, are tiM:l of the things most highly prized by ordinary people. Wealth, again: for it is the excellence of possession, and also productiva of many other good things. Friends and friendship: for a friend is desirable in himself and also productiva of many other good things. So, too, honour and reputation, as being pleasant, and productiva of many other good things, and usually accompanied by the presence of the good things that cause them to

be bestowed. The faculty of speech and action; since all such qualities are productiva of what is good. Further-good parts, strong memory, receptiveness, quickness of intuition, and the like, for all such faculties are productiva of what is good. Similarly, all the sciences and arts. And life: since, even if no other good were the result of life, it is desirable in itself. And justice, as the cause of good to the community. The above are pretty well all the things admittedly good. In dealing with things whose goodness is disputad, we may argue in the following ways:-That is good of which the contrary is bad. That is good the contrary of which is to the advantage of our enemies; for example,
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

that al which they rejoice, is evidently valuable. Hence !he passage beginning: "Surely 'Mluld Priam exult. " This principie usually holds good, but not always, since it may well be that our interest is sometimes the same as that of our enemies. Hence it is said that 'evils draw men together'; that is, when !he same thing is hurtful lo them both. Further: that which is not in excess is good, and that which is greater !han it should be is bad. That also is good on which much labour or money has been spent; the mere fact of this makes it seem good, and such a good is assumed to be an end-an end reached through a long chain of means; and any end is a good. Hence the lines beginning: "And for Priam (and Troy-town's folk) should "they leave behind them a boast; " and "Oh, it were shame "To have tarried so long and return empty-handed "as erst we carne; " and there is also !he proverb about 'breaking the pitcher at the door'. That which most people seek after, and which is obviously an object of contention, is also a good; for, as has been shown, that is good which is sought after by everybody, and 'most people' is taken to be equivalen! to 'everybody'. That which is praised is good, sin ce no one praises what is not good. So, again, that which is praised by our enemies [or by !he 'Mlrthless] for when even !hose who have a grievance think a thing good, it is at once felt that every one must agree with them; our enemies can admit !he fact only because it is evident, justas those must be 'Mlrthless whom their friends censure and their enemies do not. (For this reason !he Corinthians conceived themselves to be insultad by Simonides when he wrote: "Against the Corinthians hath llium no complaint.)" Again, that is good which has been distinguished by !he favour of a discerning or virtuous man or 'Mlman, as Odysseus was distinguished by Athena, Helen by Theseus, Paris by !he goddesses, and Achilles by Homer. And, generally speaking, all things are good which men deliberately choose lo do; this will include the things already mentioned, and also whatever may be bad for their enemies or good for their friends, and al the same time practicable. Things are 'practicable' in l'Ml sen ses: ( 1) it is possible to do them, (2) it is easy to do them. Things are done 'easily' when they are done either without pain or quickly: the 'difficulty' of an act lies either in its painfulness or in !he long time it takes. Again, a thing is good if it is as men wish; and they wish to have either no evil atan or at least a balance of good over evil. This last will happen where the penalty is either
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

as whatever is appropriate to their birth or capacity, and whatever they feel they ought to have but lack-such things may indeed be trifling, but none the less men deliberately make them the goal of their action. And things easily effected; for these are practicable (in the sense of being easy); such things are those in which every one, or most people, or one's equals, or one's inferiors have succeeded. Good also are the things by which we shall gratify our friends or annoy our enemies; and the things chosen by those whom we admire: and the things for which we are fitted by nature or experience, since we think we shall succeed more easily in these: and those in which no Vl()rthless man can succeed, for such things bring greater praise: and those which we do in fact desire, for what we desire is taken to be not only pleasant but also better. Further, a man of a given disposition makes chiefly for the corresponding things: lovers of victory make for victory, lovers of honour for honour, money-loving men for money, and so with the rest. These, then, are the sources from which we must derive our means of persuasion about Good and Utility. Part 7 Since, however, it afien happens that people agree that VI() things are both useful but do not agree about which is the more so, the nexl step will be to treat of relativa goodness and relativa utility. A thing which surpasses another may be regarded as being that other thing plus something more, and that other thing which is surpassed as being what is contained in the first thing. Nowto calla thing 'greater' or 'more' always implies a comparison of it with one that is 'smaller' or 'less', while 'great' and 'small', 'much' and 'little', are terms used in comparison with normal magnitude. The 'great' is that which surpasses the normal, the 'small' is that which is surpassed by the normal; and so with 'many' and 'few. Now we are applying the term 'good' to what is desirable for its O\Ml sake and not for the sake of something else; to that at which all things aim; to what they VI()Uid choose if they could acquire understanding and practica! wisdom; and to that which tends to produce or preserve such goods, or is always accompanied by them. Moreover, that for the sake of which things are done is the end (an end being that for the sake of which all else is done), and for each individual that thing is a good which fulfils these conditions in regard to himself. 1t follows, then, that a greater number of goods is a greater good than one or than a smaller number, if that one or that smaller number is included in the count; for then the larger number surpasses the smaller, and the smaller quantity is surpassed as being contained in the larger. Again, if the largest member of one class surpasses the largest member of another, then the one class surpasses the other; and if one class surpasses another, then the largest member of the one surpasses the largest member of the other. Thus, if the tallest man is taller than the tallest Vl()man, then men in general are taller than Vl()men. Conversely, if men in general are taller than Vl()men, then the tallest man is taller than the tallest Vl()man. For the superiority of class over class is proportionate to the superiority possessed by their largest specimens. Again, where one good is always accompanied by another, but does not always accompany it, it is greater than the other, for the use of the second thing is implied in the use of the first. A thing may be accompanied by another in three ways, either simultaneously, subsequently,
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

is always capable of cheating. Again, when tv.o things each surpass a third, that which does so by the greater amount is the greater of the tv.o; for it must surpass the greater as well as the less of the

other tv.o. A thing productiva of a greater good than another is productiva of is itself a greater good than that other. For this conception of 'productiva of a greater' has been implied in our argument. Likewise, that which is produced by a greater good is itself a greater good; thus, if what is wholesome is more desirable and a greater good than what gives pleasure, health too must be a greater good than pleasure. Again, a thing which is desirable in itself is a greater good than a thing which is not desirable in itself, as for example bodily strength than what is wholesome, since the latter is not pursued for its own sake, whereas the former is; and this was our definition of the good. Again, if one of tv.o things is an end, and the other is not, the former is the greater good, as being chosen for its own sake and not for the sake of something else; as, for example, exercise is chosen for the sake of physical well-being. And of tv.o things that which stands less in need of the other, or of other things, is the greater good, since it is more self-sufficing. (That which stands 'less' in need of others is that which needs either fewer or easier things.) So when one thing does not exist or cannot come into existence without a second, while the second can exist without the first, the second is the better. That which does not need something else is more self-sufficing than that which does, and presents itself as a greater good for that reason. Again, that which is a beginning of other things is a greater good than that which is not, and that which is a cause is a greater good than that which is not; the reason being the same in each case, namely that without a cause and a beginning nothing can exist or come into existence. Again, where there are tv.o sets of consequences arising from tv.o different beginnings or causes, the consequences of the more importan! beginning or cause are themselves the more importan!; and conversely, that beginning or cause is itself the more important which has the more importan! consequences. Now it is plain, from all that has been said, that one thing may be shown to be more important than another from tv.o opposite points of view: it may appear the more importan! (1) because it is a beginning and the other thing is not, and also (2) because it is not a beginning and the other thing is-on the ground that the end is more important and is nota beginning. So Leodamas, when accusing Callistratus, said that the man who prompted the deed was more guilty than the doer, since it would not have been done if he had not planned it. On the other hand, when accusing Chabrias he said that the doer was worse than the prompter, since there would have been no deed without sorne one to do it; men, said he, plot a thing only in arder to carry it out. Further, what is rare is a greater good than what is plentiful. Thus, gold is a better thing than iron, though less useful: it is harder to get, and therefore better worth getting. Reversely, it may be argued that the plentiful is a better thing than the rare, because we can make more use of it. For what is afien useful surpasses what is seldom useful, whence the saying: "The best of things is water. " More generally: the hard thing is better than the easy, because it is rarer: and reversely, the easy thing is better than the hard, for it is as we IMsh it to be. That is the greater good whose contrary is the greater evil, and whose loss affects us more. Positiva goodness
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

of things are noble or base, the things themselves are good or bad: conversely, in proportion as the things themselves are good or bad, their functions also are good or bad; for the nature of results corresponds with that of their causes and beginnings, and conversely the nature of causes and beginnings corresponds with that of their results. Moreover,

those things are greater goods, superiority in which is more desirable or more honourable. Thus, keenness of sight is more desirable than keenness of smell, sight generally being more desirable than smell generally; and similarly, unusually great love of friends being more honourable than unusually great love of money, ordinary love of friends is more honourable than ordinary love of money. Conversely, if one of 11M> normal things is better or nobler than the other, an unusual degree of that thing is better or nobler !han an unusual degree of the other. Again, one thing is more honourable or better than another if it is more honourable or better to desire it; the importance of the object of a given instinct corresponds lo the importance of the instinct itself; and for the same reason, if one thing is more honourable or better than another, it is more honourable and better to desire it. Again, if one science is more honourable and valuable than another, the activity with which it deals is also more honourable and valuable; as is the science, so is the reality that is its object, each science being authoritative in its own sphere. So, also, the more valuable and honourable the object of a science, the more valuable and honourable the science itself is-in consequence. Again, that which ~uld be judged, or which has been judged, a good thing, ora better thing than something else, by all or most people of understanding, or by the majority of men, or by the ablest, must be so; either without qualification, or in so far as they use their understanding to form their judgement. This is indeed a general principie, applicable to all other judgements also; not only the goodness of things, but their essence, magnitude, and general nature are in fact just what knowledge and understanding will declare them to be. Here the principie is applied to judgements of goodness, since one definition of 'good' was 'what beings that acquire understanding will choose in any given case': from which it clearly follows that that thing is hetter which understanding declares to be so. That, again, is a better thing which attaches to better men, either absolutely, or in virtue of their being better; as courage is better than strength. And that is a greater good which ~uld be chosen by a better man, either absolutely, or in virtue of his being better: for instance, to suffer wrong rather than to do wrong, for that ~uld be the choice of the juster man. Again, the pleasanter of 11M> things is the better, since all things pursue pleasure, and things instinctively desire pleasurable sensation for its own sake; and these are 11M> of the characteristics by which the 'good' and the 'end' have been defined. One pleasure is greater than another if it is more unmixed with pain, or more lasting. Again, the nobler thing is better than the less noble, since the noble is either what is pleasant or what is desirable in itself. And those things also are greater goods which men desire more earnestly to bring about for themselves or for their friends, whereas those things which they least desire to bring about are greater evils. And those things which are more lasting are better than those which are more fleeting, and the more secure than the less; the enjoyment of the lasting has the advantage of being longer, and that of the secure has the advantage of suiting our wishes, being there for us whenever \'118 like. Further, in accordance with the rule of co-ordinate terms and inflexions of the same stem, what is true of one such relatad ~rd is true of all. Thus if the action qualified by the term 'brave' is more noble and desirable than
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

is not, and that chosen by the majority than that chosen by the minority. For that which all desire is good, as IM9 have said;' and so, the more a thing is desired, the better it is. Further, that is the better

thing which is considerad so by competitors or enemies, or, again, by authorized judges or those whom they select to represent them. In the first tv.o cases the decision is virtually that of every one, in the last tv.o that of authorities and experts. And sometimes it may be argued that what all share is the better thing, since it is a dishonour not to share in it; at other times, that what none or few share is better, since it is rarer. The more praise'll()rthy things are, the nobler and therefore the better they are. So with the things that earn greater honours than others-honour is, as it IM9re, a measure of value; and the things whose absence involves comparatively heavy penalties; and the things that are better than others admitted or believed to be good. Moreover, things look better merely by being divided into their parts, since they then seem to surpass a greater number of things than before. Hence Homer says that Meleager was roused to battle by the thought of "AII horrors that light on a folk whose city "is ta'en of their foes, "When they slaughter the men, when the burg is "wasted with ravening flame, "When strangers are haling young children to thraldom, "(fair Vl()men to shame.)" The same effect is produced by piling up facts in a climax after the manner of Epicharmus. The reason is partly the same as in the case of division (for combination too makes the impression of great superiority), and partly that the original thing appears to be the cause and origin of important results. And since a thing is better when it is harder or rarer than other things, its superiority may be due to seasons, ages, placas, times, or one's natural po1M9rs. When a man accomplishes something beyond his natural po1M9r, or beyond his years, or beyond the measure of people like him, or in a special way, or ata special place or time, his deed will have a high degree of nobleness, goodness, and justice, or of their opposites. Hence the epigram on the victor at the Olympic games: "In time past, hearing a Yoke on my shoulders, "of VI()Od unshaven, "1 carried my loads offish from, Argos to Tegea town." So lphicrates used to extol himself by describing the low estate from which he had risen. Again, what is natural is better than what is acquired, since it is harder to come by. Hence the Vl()rds of Homer: "1 have learnt from none but mysell. " And the best part of a good thing is particularly good; as when Pericias in his funeral oration said that the country's loss of its young men
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

more directly to the end in view is the better. So too is that which is better for people generally as well as for a particular individual. Again, what can be got is better than what cannot, for it is good in a given case and the other thing is not. And what is at the end of life is better than what is not, since those things are ends in a greater degree which are nearer the end. What aims at reality is better than what aims at appearance. We may define what aims at appearance as what a man will not choose if nobody is to know of his having it. This \Mluld seem to showthat to receive benefits is more desirable than to confer them, since a man will choose the formar even if nobody is to know of it, but it is not the general view that he will choose the latter if nobody knows of it. What a man wants to be is better than what a man wants to seem, for in aiming at that he is aiming more at reality. Hence men say that justice is of small value, since it is more desirable to seem just than to be just, whereas with health it is not so. That is better than other things which is more useful

than they are for a number of different purposes; for example, that which prometes life, good life, pleasure, and noble conduct. For this reason wealth and health are commonly thought to be of the highest value, as possessing all these advantages. Again, that is better than other things which is accompanied both with less pain and with actual pleasure; for here there is more than one advantage; and so here we have the good of feeling pleasure and also the good of not feeling pain. And of t1Ml good things that is the better whose addition to a third thing makes a better whole than the addition of the other to the same thing will make. Again, those things which we are seen to possess are better than those which we are not seen to possess, since the formar have the air of reality. Hence wealth may be regarded as a greater good if its existence is known to others. That which is dearly prized is better than what is not-the sort of thing that some people have only one of, though others have more like it. Accordingly, blinding a one-eyed man inflicts 1Mlrse injury than half-blinding a man with t1Ml eyes; for the one-eyed man has been robbed of what he dearly prized. The grounds on which we must base our argumants, when we are speaking for or against a proposal, have now been set forth more or less completely. Part 8 The most important and effective qualification for success in persuading audiences and speaking well on public affairs is to understand all the forms of government and to discriminate their respective customs, institutions, and interests. For all men are persuaded by considerations of their interest, and their interest lies in the maintenance of the established order. Further, it rests with the suprema authority to give authoritative decisions, and this varies with each form of government; there are as many different suprema authorities as there are different forms of governmant. The forms of government are four-democracy, oligarchy, aristocracy, monarchy. The suprema right to judge and decide always rests, therefore, with either a part or the whole of one or other of these governing powers. A Democracy is a form of governmant under which the citizens distribute the offices of state among themselves by lot, whereas under oligarchy there is a property qualification, under aristocracy one of education. By education 1 mean that education which is laid down by the law; for it is those who have been loyal to the national institutions that
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

implies, is the constitution a in which one man has authority over all. There are 11M:> forms of monarchy: kingship, which is limited by prescribed conditions, and 'tyranny', which is not limited by anything. We must also notice the ends which the various forms of government pursue, since people choose in practica such actions as willlead to the realization of their ends. The end of democracy is freedom; of oligarchy, wealth; of aristocracy, the maintenance of education and national institutions; of tyranny, the protection of the tyrant. lt is clear, then, that we must distinguish those particular customs, institutions, and interests which tend to realiza the ideal of each constitution, since men choose their means with reference to their ends. But rhetorical persuasion is effected not only by demonstrative but by ethical argument; it helps a speaker to convince us, if we believe that he has certain qualities himself, namely, goodness, or goodwill towards us, or both together. Similarly, we should knowthe moral qualities characteristic of each form of government, for the special moral character of each is bound to provide us with our most effective means of persuasion in dealing with it. We shalllearn the

qualities of governments in the same way as we learn the qualities of individuals, since they are revealed in their deliberate acts of choice; and these are determinad by the end that inspires them. We have now considerad the objects, immediate or distant, at which we are to aim when urging any proposal, and the grounds on which we are to base our arguments in favour of its utility. We have also briefly considerad the means and methods by which we shall gain a good knowiedge of the moral qualities and institutions peculiar to the various forms of government-only, however, to the extent demandad by the present occasion; a detailed account of the subject has been given in the Politics. Part 9 We have now to consider Virtue and Vice, the Noble and the Base, sin ce these are the objects of praise and blame. In doing so, we shall at the same time be finding out howto make our hearers take the required view of our own characters-our second method of persuasion. The ways in which to make them trust the goodness of other people are also the ways in which to make them trust our own. Praise, again, may be serious or frivolous; nor is it always of a human or divine being but afien of inanimate things, or of the humblest of the lower animals. Here too we must know on what grounds to argue, and must, therefore, now discuss the subject, though by way of illustration only. The Noble is that which is both desirable for its own sake and also 'Mlrthy of praise; or that which is both good and also pleasant because good. lf this is a true definition of the Noble, it follows that virtue must be noble, since it is both a good thing and also praise'Mlrthy. Virtue is, according to the usual view, a faculty of providing and preserving good things; or a faculty of conferring many great benefits, and benefits of all kinds on all occasions. The forms of Virtue are justice, courage, temperance, magnificence, magnanimity, liberality, gentleness, prudence, wisdom. lf virtue is a faculty of beneficence, the highest kinds of it must be those which are most useful to others, and for this reason men honour most the just and the courageous, since courage is useful to others in war, justice both in war and in peace. Next comes liberality; liberal people let their money go instead of
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

through which men enjoy !he possessions of others in defiance of !he law. Courage is !he virtue that disposes men to do noble deeds in situations of danger, in accordance with !he law and in obedience to its commands; cowardice is the opposite. Temperance is the virtue that disposes us to o bey the law where physical pleasures are concerned; incontinence is the opposite. Liberality disposes us to spend money for others' good; illiberality is the opposite. Magnanimity is the virtue that disposes us to do good to others on a large scale; [its opposite is meanness of spirit]. Magnificence is a virtue productiva of greatness in matters involving !he spending of money. The opposites of these twJ are smallness of spirit and meanness respectively. Prudence is that virtue of the understanding which enables men to come to wise decisions about the relation to happiness of the goods and evils that have been previously mentioned. The above is a sufficient account, for our present purpose, of virtue and vice in general, and of their various forms. As to further aspects of the subject, it is not difficult lo discern the facts; it is evident that things productiva of virtue are noble, as lending towards virtue; and also the effects of virtue, that is, the signs of its presence and !he acts lo which it leads. And since the signs of virtue, and such acts as it is the mark of a virtuous man lo do or have done to

him, are noble, it follows that all deeds or signs of courage, and everything done courageously, must be noble things; and so with what is jusi and actions done justly. (1\bt, however, actions justly done to us; here justice is unlike !he other virtues; 'justly' does not always mean 'nobly'; when aman is punished, it is more shameful that this should be justly than unjustly done to him). The same is true of the other virtues. Again, !hose actions are noble for which !he reward is simply honour, or honour more than money. So are those in which a man aims al something desirable for sorne one else's sake; actions good absolutely, such as those a man does for his country without thinking of himself; actions good in their own nature; actions that are not good simply for the individual, since individual interests are selfish. llbble also are those actions whose advantage may be enjoyad after death, as opposed to !hose whose advantage is enjoyad during one's lifetime: for the latter are more likely lo be for one's own sake only. Also, all actions done for the sake of others, since less !han other actions are done for one's own sake; and all successes which benefit others and not oneself; and services done to one's benefactors, for this is just; and good deeds generally, since they are not directed to one's own profit. And the opposites of !hose things of which men feel ashamed, for men are ashamed of saying, doing, or intending to do shameful things. So when Alcacus said "Something 1 fain would say lo thee, "Only shame restraineth me, " Sappho wrote "lf for things good and noble thou wert yearning, "lf to speak baseness were thy tongue not burning, "llb load of shame would on thine eyelids weigh; "What thou with honour wishest thou wouldst say. "
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

lo fair fame. Again, one quality or action is nobler !han another if it is that of a naturally finer being: thus a man's will be nobler !han a [Link]'s. And !hose qualities are noble which give more pleasure to other people than to their possessors; hence the nobleness of justice and jusi actions. lt is noble lo avenge oneself on one's enemies and not to come to terms with them; for requital is just, and the just is noble; and not lo surrender is a sign of courage. Victory, too, and honour belong to !he class of noble things, since they are desirable even when they yield no fruits, and they prove our superiority in good qualities. Things that deserve lo be remembered are noble, and !he more they deserve this, !he nobler they are. So are the things that continua even after death; those which are always attended by honour; those which are exceptional; and those which are possessed by one person alone-these last are more readily remembered than others. So again are possessions that bring no profit, since they are more fitting than others for a gentleman. So are !he distinctive qualities of a particular people, and the symbols of what it specially admires, like long hair in Sparta, where this is a mark of a free man, as it is not easy to perform any menial task when one's hair is long. Again, it is noble not to practise any sordid craft, since it is the mark of a free man no! to live at another's beck and call. We are also lo assume when we wish either to praise a man or blame him that qualities closely allied to !hose which he actually has are identical with them; for instance, that the cautious man is cold-blooded and treacherous, and that the stupid man is an honest fellow or the thick-skinned man a good-tempered one. We can always idealize any given man by drawing on the virtues akin to his actual qualities; thus we may say that

!he passionate and excitable man is 'outspoken'; or that the arrogant manis 'superb' or 'impressive'. Those who run to extremes will be said to possess the corresponding good qualities; rashness will be called courage, and extravagance generosity. That will be what most people think; and at the same time this method enables an advocate lo draw a misleading inference from the motive, arguing that if a man runs into danger needlessly, much more will he do so in a noble cause; and if a man is open-handed to any one and every one, he will be so to his friends also, since it is the extreme form of goodness lo be good to everybody. We must also take into account the nature of our particular audience when making a speech of praise; for, as Socrates used to say, 'it is not difficult to praise !he Athenians to an Athenian audience.' lf the audience esteems a given quality, we must say that our hero has that quality, no matter whether we are addressing Scythians or Spartans or philosophers. Everything, in fact, that is esteemed we are to represen! as noble. After all, people regard the tv.o things as much the same. All actions are noble that are appropriate lo the man who does them: if, for instance, they are [Link] of his ancestors or of his own past career. For it makes for happiness, and is a noble thing, that he should add to the honour he already has. Even inappropriate actions are noble if they are better and nobler !han !he appropriate ones [Link] be; for instance, if one who was just an average person when all went well becomes a hero in adversity, or if he becomes better and easier to get on with the higher he rises. Compare the saying of lphicrates, 'Think what 1 was and what 1 am'; and !he epigram on !he victor at the Olympic games,
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

and the encomium of Simonides, "A 'Mlman whose father, whose husband, whose "brethren were princes all. " Since we praise a man for what he has actually done, and fine actions are distinguished from others by being intentionally good, we must try to prove that our hero's noble acts are intentional. This is all the easier if we can make out that he has often acted so before, and therefore we must assert coincidences and accidents to have been intended. Produce a number of good actions, all of the same kind, and people will think that they must have been intended, and that they prove the good qualities of the man who did them. Praise is the expression in 'Mlrds of the eminence of a man's good qualities, and therefore we must display his actions as the product of such qualities. Encomium refers to what he has actually done; the mention of accessories, such as good birth and education, merely helps to make our story credible-good fathers are likely to have good sons, and good training is likely to produce good character. Hence it is only when a man has already done something that we bestow encomiums u pon him. Yet the actual deeds are evidence of the doer's character: even if a man has not actually done a given good thing, we shall bestow praise on him, if we are su re that he is the sort of man who 'MlUid do it. To call any one blest is, it may be added, the same thing as to call him happy; but these are not the same thing asto bestow praise and encomium u pon him; the t'Mllatter are a part of 'calling happy', just as goodness is a part of happiness. To praise a man is in one respect akin to urging a course of action. The suggestions which 'Mluld be made in the latter case become encomiums when differently expressed. When we knowwhat action or character

is required, then, in order to express these facts as suggestions for action, we have to change and reverse our form of 'Mlrds. Thus the statement 'Aman should be proud not of what he owes to fortune but of what he owes to himself, if put like this, amounts to a suggestion; to make it into praise we must put it thus, 'Since he is proud not of what he owes to fortune but of what he owes to himself.' Consequently, whenever you want to praise any one, think what you 'MlUid urge people to do; and when you want to urge the doing of anything, think what you 'MlUid praise a man for having done. Since suggestion mayor may not forbid an action, the praise into which we convert it must have one or other of t'Ml opposite forms of expression accordingly. There are, also, many useful ways of heightening the effect of praise. We must, for instance, point out that a man is the only one, or the first, or almost the only one who has done something, or that he has done it better than any one else; all these distinctions are honourable. And we must, further, make much of the particular season and occasion of an action, arguing that we could hardly have looked for it just then. lf a man has often achieved the same success, we must mention this; that is a strong point; he himself, and not luck, will then be given the credit. So, too, if it is on his account that observances have been devised and instituted to encourage or honour such achievements as his own: thus we may praise Hippolochus because the first encomium ever made was for him, or Harmodius and Aristogeiton because their
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

Again, if you cannot find enough to say of a man himself, you may pit him against others, which is what lsocrates used to do owing to his want of familiarity with forensic pleading. The comparison should be with famous men; that will strengthen your case; it is a noble thing to surpass men who are themselves great. lt is only natural that methods of 'heightening the effect' should be attached particularly to speeches of praise; they aim at proving superiority over others, and any such superiority is a form of nobleness. Hence if you cannot compare your hero with famous men, you should at least compare him with other people generally, since any superiority is held to reveal excellence. And, in general, of the lines of argument which are common to all speeches, this 'heightening of effect' is most suitable for declamations, where we take our hero's actions as admitted facts, and our business is simply to invest these with dignity and nobility. 'Examples' are most suitable to deliberativa speeches; for we judge of future events by divination from past events. Enthymemes are most suitable to forensic speeches; it is our doubts about past events that most admit of arguments showing why a thing must have happened or proving that it did happen. The above are the generallines on which all, or nearly all, speeches of praise or blame are constructed. We have seen the sort of thing we must bear in mind in making such speeches, and the materials out of which encomiums and censures are made. No special treatment of censure and vituperation is needed. Knowing the above facts, we know their contraries; and it is out of these that speeches of censure are made. Part 10 We have next to treat of Accusation and Defence, and to enumerate and describe the ingredients of the syllogisms used therein. There are three things we must ascertain first, the nature and number of the incentives to wrong-doing; second, the state of mind of wrongdoers; third, the kind of persons who are wronged, and their condition. We

will deal with these questions in order. But before that let us define the act of 'wrong-doing'. We may describe 'wrong-doing' as injury voluntarily inflicted contrary to law. 'Law' is either special or general. By speciallaw 1 mean that written lawwhich regulates the life of a particular community; by generallaw, all those unwritten principies which are supposed to be acknoiMedged everywhere. We do things 'voluntarily' when we do them consciously and without constraint. (Not all voluntary acts are deliberate, but all deliberate acts are conscious-no one is ignorant of what he deliberately intends.) The causes of our deliberately intending harmful and wicked acts contrary to law are (1) vice, (2) lack of self-control. For the wrongs a man does to others will correspond to the bad quality or qualities that he himself possesses. Thus it is the mean man who will wrong others about money, the profligate in matters of physical pleasure, the effeminate in matters of comfort, and the coward where danger is concerned-his terror makes him abandon those who are involved in the same danger. The ambitious man does wrong for sake of honour, the quick-tempered from anger, the lover of victory for the sake of victory, the embittered man for the sake of revenge, the stupid man because he has misguided notions of right and wrong, the shameless man because he does not mind what people think of him; and so with the rest-any wrong that any one does to
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

of the virtues and will be further explained later when we treat of the emotions. We have now to consider the motives and states of mind of wrongdoers, and to whom they do wrong. Let us first decide what sort of things people are trying to get or avoid when they set about doing wrong to others. For it is plain that the prosecutor must consider, out of all the aims that can ever induce us to do wrong to our neighbours, how many, and which, affect his adversary; while the defendant must consider how many, and which, do not affect him. Now every action of every person either is or is not due to that person himself. Of those not due to himself sorne are due to chance, the others to necessity; of these latter, again, sorne are dueto compulsion, the others to nature. Consequently all actions that are not due to a man himself are due either to chance orto nature orto compulsion. All actions that are dueto a man himself and caused by himself are due either to habit orto rational or irrational craving. Rational craving is a craving for good, i.e. a wish-nobody wishes for anything unless he thinks it good. lrrational craving is twofold, viz. anger and appetite. Thus every action must be due to one or other of seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reasoning, anger, or appetite. lt is superfluous further to distinguish actions according to the doers' ages, moral states, or the like; it is of course true that, for instance, young men do have hot tempers and strong appetites; still, it is not through youth that they act accordingly, but through anger or appetite. Nor, again, is action due to wealth or poverty; it is of course true that poor men, being short of money, do have an appetite for it, and that rich men, being able to command needless pleasures, do have an appetite for such pleasures: but here, again, their actions will be due not to wealth or poverty but to appetite. Similarly, with just men, and unjust men, and all others who are said to act in accordance with their moral qualities, their actions will really be due to one of the causes mentioned-either reasoning or emotion: due, indeed, sometimes to good dispositions and good emotions, and sometirnes to bad; but that good qualities should be followed by good emotions, and bad by

bad, is merely an accessory fact-it is no doubt true that the temperate man, for instance, because he is temperate, is always and at once attended by healthy opinions and appetites in regard to pleasant things, and the intemperate man by unhealthy ones. So we must ignore such distinctions. Still we must consider what kinds of actions and of people usually go together; for while there are no definite kinds of action associated with the fact that a man is fair or dark, tall or short, it does make a difference if he is young or old, just or unjust. And, generally speaking, all those accessory qualities that cause distinctions of human character are importan!: e.g. the sense of wealth or poverty, of being lucky or unlucky. This shall be dealt with later-let us now deal first with the rest of the subject befo re us. The things that happen by chance are all those whose cause cannot be determinad, that have no purpose, and that happen neither always nor usually nor in any fixed way. The definition of chance shows just what they are. Those things happen by nature which have a fixed and interna! cause; they take place uniformly, either always or usually. There is no need to discuss in exact detail the things that happen contrary to nature, nor to ask whether they happen in sorne sense naturally or from sorne other cause; it 'Mluld seem that chance is at least partly
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

have oflen done them before. Actions are dueto reasoning when, in view of any of the goods already mentioned, they appear useful either as ends oras means toan end, and are performed for that reason: 'for that reason,' since even licentious persons perform a certain number of useful actions, but because they are pleasant and not because they are useful. To passion and anger are due all acts of revenge. Revenge and punishment are different things. Punishment is inflicted for the sake of the person punished; revenge for that of the punisher, to satisfy his feelings. (What anger is IMII be made clear when 1M! cometo discuss the emotions.) Appetite is the cause of all actions that appear pleasant. Habit, whether acquired by mere familiarity or by effort, belongs to the class of pleasant things, for there are many actions not naturally pleasant which men perform with pleasure, once they have become used to them. To sum up then, all actions due to ourselves either are or seem to be either good or pleasant. Moreover, as all actions due to ourselves are done voluntarily and actions not due to ourselves are done involuntarily, it follows that all voluntary actions must either be or seem to be either good or pleasant; for 1 reckon among goods escape from evils or apparent evils and the exchange of a greater evil for a less (since these things are in a sense positively desirable), and likewise 1 count among pleasures escape from painful or apparently painful things and the exchange of a greater pain for a less. We must ascertain, then, the number and nature of the things that are useful and pleasant. The useful has been previously examinad in connexion IMth political oratory; let us now proceed to examine the pleasant. Our various definitions must be regarded as adequate, even if they are not exact, provided they are clear. Part 11 We may lay it down that Pleasure is a movement, a movement by which the soul as a whole is consciously brought into its normal state of being; and that Pain is the opposite. lf this is what pleasure is, it is clear that the pleasant is what tends to produce this condition, while that which tends to destroy it, orto cause the soul to be brought into the opposite state, is painful. lt must therefore be pleasant as a rule to move towards a natural state of being, particularly when a natural process has achieved the complete recovery of that natural state. Habits also are pleasant; for as soon as a thing has become

habitual, it is virtually natural; habit is a thing not unlike nature; what happens often is akin to what happens always, natural events happening always, habitual events oflen. Again, that is pleasant which is not torced on us; for force is un natural, and that is why what is compulsory, painful, and it has been rightly said "AII that is done on compulsion is bitterness unto the soul.

"
So all acts of concentration, strong effort, and strain are necessarily painful; they all involve compulsion and force, unless 1M! are accustomed to them, in which case it is custom that makes them pleasant. The opposites to these are pleasant; and hence ease, freedom from toil, relaxation, amusement, rest, and sleep belong to the class of pleasant things; for these are all free from any element of compulsion. Everything, too, is pleasant for which 1M! have the desire within us, since desire is the craving for pleasure. Of the desires sorne are irrational, sorne associated with reason. By irrationall mean those which do not arise from any opinion held by the mind. Of this kind are those known as
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

with taste and sex and sensations of touch in general; and those of smell, hearing, and vision. Rational desires are those which we are induced to have; there are many things we desire to see or get because we have been told of them and induced to believe them good. Further, pleasure is the consciousness through the senses of a certain kind of emotion; but imagination is a feeble sort of sensation, and there will always be in the mind of a man who remembers or expects something an image or picture of what he remembers or expects. lf this is so, it is clear that memory and expectation also, being accompanied by sensation, may be accompanied by pleasure. lt follows that anything pleasant is either present and perceived, past and remembered, or futura and expected, since we perceive present pleasures, remember past ones, and expect futura ones. Now the things that are pleasant to remember are not only those that, when actually perceived as present, were pleasant, but also some things that were not, provided that their results have subsequently proved noble and good. Hence the 'Mlrds "Sweet 'tis when rescued to remember pain," and "Even his griefs are a joy long afler to one that remembers "AII that he wrought and endurad. " The reason of this is that it is pleasant even to be merely free from evil. The things it is pleasant to expect are those that when present are felt to afford us either great delight or great but not painful benefit. And in general, all the things that delight us when they are present also do so, as a rule, when we merely remember or expect them. Hence even being angry is pleasant-Homer said of wrath that "Sweater it is by far than the honeycomb dripping with sweetness-

"
for no one grows angry with a person on whom there is no prospect of taking vengeance, and we feel comparatively little anger, or none at all, with those who are much our superiors in power. Some pleasant feeling is associated with most of our appetites we are enjoying either the memory of a past pleasure or the expectation of a futura one, just as persons down with fever, during their attacks of thirst, enjoy remembering the drinks they have had and looking forward to having more. So also a lover enjoys talking or writing about his loved one, or doing any little thing connected with him; all these things recall him to memory and make him actually present to the eye of irnagination. lndeed, it is always the first sign of love, that besides enjoying

some one's presence, we remember him when he is gone, and feel pain as well as pleasure, because he is there no longer. Similarly there is an element of pleasure even in mourning and lamentation for the departed. There is grief, indeed, at his loss, but pleasure in remembering him and as it were seeing him before us in his deeds and in his life. We can well believe the poet when he says "He spake, and in each man's heart he awakened "the love of lament. "
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

it. Victory also is pleasant, and not merely to 'bad losers', but lo every one; lhe winner sees himself in lhe lighl of a champion, and everybody has a more or less keen appetite for being that. The pleasantness of victory implies of course that combativa sports and intellectual contests are pleasant (sin ce in these it often happens that sorne one wins) and also games like knuckle-bones, ball, dice, and draughts. And similarly with the serious sports; sorne of these become pleasant when one is accustomed to them; while others are pleasant from the first, like hunting with hounds, or indeed any kind of hunting. For where there is competition, there is victory. That is why forensic pleading and debating contests are pleasant lo those who are accustomed to them and have the capacity for them. Honour and good repute are among the most pleasant lhings of all; they make a man see himself in the character of a fine fellow, especially when he is credited with it by people whom he thinks good judges. His neighbours are better judges than people ata distance; his associates and fellow-countrymen better than strangers; his contemporaries better than posterity; sensible persons better than foolish ones; a large number of people better than a small number: those of the former class, in each case, are the more likely to be good judges of him. Honour and credit bestowed by those whom you think much inferior to yourself-e.g. children or animals-you do not value: not for its own sake, anyhow: if you do value it, it is for sorne other reason. Friends belong to the class of pleasant things; il is pleasant lo love-if you love wine, you certainly find it delightful: and it is pleasant to be loved, for this too makes a man see himself as the possessor of goodness, a thing thal every being that has a feeling for it desires to possess: to be loved means lo be valued for one's own personal qualities. To be admirad is also pleasant, simply because of the honour implied. Flattery and flatterers are pleasant: the flatterer is a man who, you believe, admires and likes Todo the same thing often is pleasant, since, as we saw, anything habitual is pleasant. And to change is also pleasant: change means an approach to nature, whereas invariable repetition of anything causes the excessive prolongation of a settled condition: therefore, says the poet, "Change is in all things sweet. " That is why whal comes to us only al long inlervals is pleasant, whether it be a person ora thing; for it is a change from what we had before, and, besides, whal comes only al long inlervals has lhe value of rarity. Learning things and [Link] at lhings are also pleasanl as a rule; [Link] implies lhe desire of learning, so lhal the object of [Link] is an object of desire; while in learning one is broughl into one's natural condition. Conferring and receiving benefits belong to the class of pleasant things; to receive a benefit is to get what one desires; to confer a benefit implies both posses sion and superiority, both of which are things we try to attain. lt is because beneficent acts are pleasant that people find it pleasant to put their neighbours straight again and to supply what they lack.

Again, since learning and [Link] are pleasant, it follows that such things as acts of imitation must be pleasant-for instance, painting, sculpture, poetry and every product of skilful imitation; this latter, even if lhe objecl imitaled is nol ilself pleasanl; for il is nol the object itself which here gives delight; the spectator draws inferences ('Thal is a so-and-so') and lhus learns somelhing fresh. Dramalic turns of fortuna and hairbreadth escapes from perils are pleasant, because we feel all such things are [Link].
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

are usually pleasant to each other; for instance, one man, horse, or young person is pleasant to another man, horse, or young person. Hence the proverbs 'mate delights mate', 'like to like', 'beast knows beast', 'jackdaw to jackdaw', and the rest of them. But sin ce everything like and akin to oneself is pleasant, and since every man is himself more like and akin to himself than any one else is, it follows that all of us must be more or less fond of ourselves. For all this resemblance and kinship is present particularly in the relation of an individual to himself. And because we are all fond of ourselves, it follows that what is our own is pleasant to all of us, as for instance our own deeds and IMlrds. That is why we are usually fond of our flatterers, [our lovers,] and honour; also of our children, for our children are our own IMlrk. 1t is also pleasant to complete what is defectiva, for the whole thing thereupon becomes our own IMlrk. And since power over others is very pleasant, it is pleasant to be thought IMse, for practica! IMsdom securas us power over others. (Scientific IMsdom is also pleasant, because it is the knowledge of many IMlnderful things.) Again, since most of us are ambitious, it must be pleasant to disparage our neighbours as well as to have power over them. lt is pleasant for a man to spend his time over what he feels he can do best; justas the poet says, "To that he bends himself, "To that each day allots most time, wherein "He is indeed the best part of himself. " Similarly, since amusement and every kind of relaxation and laughter too belong to the class of pleasant things, it follows that ludicrous things are pleasant, whether men, IMlrds, or deeds. We have discussed !he ludicrous separately in the treatise on the Art of Poetry. So much for the subject of pleasant things: by considering their opposites we can easily see what things are unpleasant. Part 12 The above are the motives that make men do wrong to others; we are next to consider !he states of mind in which they do it, and the persons to whom they do it. They must themselves suppose that the thing can be done, and done by them: either that they can do it IMthout being found out, or that if they are found out they can escape being punished, or that if they are punished the disadvantage IMII be less than the gain for themselves or those they care for. The general subject of apparent possibility and impossibility IMII be handled later on, since it is relevant not only to forensic but to all kinds of speaking. But it may here be said that people think that they can themselves most easily do wrong to others IMthout being punished for it if they possess eloquence, or practica! ability, or much legal experience, or a large body of friends, ora great deal of money. Their confidence is greatest if they personally possess the advantages mentioned: but even IMthout them they are satisfied if they have friends or supporters or partners who do possess them: they can thus both commit their crimes and escape being found out and punished for committing them. They are also safe,

they think, if they are on good terms IMth their victims or IMth the judges who try them. Their victims IMII in that case not be on their
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

sentences. They are no! likely lo be found out if their appearance contradicts !he charges that might be brought against them: for instance, a weakling is unlikely lo be charged with violen! assault, ora poor and ugly man with adultery. Public and open injuries are the easiest lo do, because nobody could at all suppose them possible, and therefore no precautions are taken. The same is true of crimes so great and terrible that no man living could be suspected of them: he re too no precautions are taken. For all men guard against ordinary offences, jusi as they guard against ordinary diseases; bu! no one takes precautions against a disease that nobody has ever had. You feel safe, too, if you have either no enemies or a great many; if you have none, you expect not to be watched and therefore no! lo be detectad; if you have a great many, you will be watched, and therefore people will !hin k you can never risk an attempt on them, and you can defend your innocence by pointing out that you could never have taken such a risk. You may also trust to hide your crirne by !he way you do it or !he place you do it in, or by sorne convenient means of disposal. You may feel that even if you are found out you can stave off a trial, or have it postponed, or corrupt your judges: or that even if you are sentenced you can avoid paying damages, or can at least postpone doing so for a long time: or that you are so badly off that you will have nothing lo lose. You may feel that the gain to be gol by wrong-doing is great or certain or immediate, and that the penalty is small or uncertain or distan!. lt may be that the advantage to be gained is greater !han any possible retribution: as in !he case of despotic power, according to the popular view. You may consider your crimes as bringing you solid profit, while their punishrnent is nothing more !han being called bad narnes. Or the opposite argument may appeal lo you: your crimes may bring you sorne credit (thus you may, incidentally, be avenging your father or mother, like Zeno), whereas the punishment may amount to a fine, or banishment, or sornething of that sort. People may be led on to wrong others by either of these motives or feelings; but no man by both-they will affect people of quite opposite characters. You may be encouraged by having often escaped detection or punishment already; or by having often tried and failed; for in crime, as in war, there are men who will always refuse to give up !he struggle. You may get your pleasure on !he spot and the pain later, or the gain on the spot and the loss later. That is what appeals to weak-willed persons--and weakness of will may be shown with regard to all the objects of desire. 1t may on the contrary appeal to you as it does appeal to self-controlled and sensible people--that the pain and loss are imrnediate, while !he pleasure and profit come later and last longer. You may feel able to make it appear that your crirne was due to chance, orto necessity, orto natural causes, orto habit: in fact, to put it generally, as if you had failed to do right rather than actually done wrong. You may be able to trust other people to judge you equitably. You may be stimulated by being in want: which may mean that you want necessaries, as poor people do, or that you want luxuries, as rich people do. You may be encouraged by having a particularly good reputation, because that will save you from being suspected: or by having a particularly bad one, because nothing you are likely to do will make it \Mlrse. The above, then, are the various states of mind in which a man sets about doing wrong to others. The kind of people lo whom he does wrong, and !he ways in which he does it, must be considerad next. The people

lo whom he does it are those who have YAlat he wants himself, whether this rneans necessities or luxuries and materials for enjoyrnent. His
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

instead of being cautious and watchful, since all such people are easy to elude. Or !hose who are too easy-going to have enough energy lo prosecute an offender. Or sensitiva people, who are no! apt lo showfight over questions of money. Or those who have been IM"onged already by many people, and yet have not prosecuted; such men mus! surely be the proverbial 'Mysian prey'. Or those who have either never or often been IM"onged befare; in neither case will they take precautions; if they have never been IM"onged they !hin k they never will, and if they have often been IM"onged they feel that surely it cannot happen again. Or !hose whose character has been attacked in the past, or is exposed to attack in the future: they will be too much frightened of !he judges lo make up their minds lo prosecute, nor can they win their case if they do: this is true of !hose who are hated or un popular. Another likely class of victim is !hose who their injurer can pretend have, themselves or through their ancestors or friends, treated badly, or intended to treat badly, the man himself, or his ancestors, or !hose he cares for; as the proverb says, 'wickedness needs but a pretext'. Aman may IM"ong his enemies, because that is pleasant: he may equally IM"ong his friends, because that is easy. Then there are those who have no friends, and those who lack eloquence and practica! capacity; these will either not attempt lo prosecute, or they will come lo terms, or failing that they willlose their case. There are !hose whom it does no! pay lo waste time in waiting for trial or damages, such as foreigners and small farmers; they will settle for a !rifle, and always be ready lo leave off. Also !hose who have themselves IM"onged others, either often, or in the same way as they are now being IM"onged themselves-for it is felt that next to no IM"ong is done to people when it is the same IM"ong as they have often themselves done to others: if, for instance, you assault a man who has been accustomed lo behave with violence to others. So too with !hose who have done IM"ong to others, or have mean! lo, or mean lo, or are likely lo do so; there is something fine and pleasant in IM"onging such persons, it seems as though almost no IM"ong were done. Also those by doing IM"ong lo whom we shall be gratifying our friends, or !hose we admire or lave, or our masters, or in general !he people by reference lo whom we mould our lives. Also !hose whom we may IM"ong and yet be su re of equitable treatment. Also !hose against whom we have had any grievance, or any previous differences with them, as Callippus had when he behaved as he did lo Dion: here too it seems as if almost no IM"ong were being done. Also !hose who are on !he point of being IM"onged by others if we fail lo IM"ong them ourselves, since here we feel we have no time left for thinking the matter over. So Aenesidemus is said lo have sen! !he 'cottabus' prize lo Gelon, who had jusi reduced a town to slavery, because Gelon had got there first and forestalled his own attempt. Also !hose by IM"onging whom we shall be able to do many righteous acts; for we feel that we can then easily cure !he harm done. Thus Jasan !he Thessalian said that it is a duty to do some unjust acts in arder to be able to do many just ones. Among the kinds of IM"ong done lo others are !hose that are done universally, oral leas! commonly: one expects lo be forgiven for doing these. Also !hose that can easily be kept dark, as where things that can rapidly be consumad like eatables are concerned, or things that can easily be changed in shape, colour, or combination, or things that can easily be stowed away almos! anywhere-portable objects that you can stow away in small corners, or things so like others of which

you have plenty already that nobody can tell the difference. There are also IM"ongs of a kind that shame prevents !he victim speaking about, such as outrages done to the [Link] in his household or to himself
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

The above is a fairly complete account of the circumstances under which rnen do wrong to others, of the sort of wrongs they do, of the sort of persons to whom they do them, and of their reasons for doing them. Part 13 lt y,jll now be well to rnake a complete classification of just and unjust actions. We may begin by observing that they have been defined relatively to tv.1:> kinds of law, and also relatively to tv.1:> classes of persons. By the tv.l:> kinds of law 1 mean particular law and universal law. Particular law is that which each community lays down and applies to its own rnembers: this is partly written and partly unwritten. Universal law is the law of Nature. For there really is, as every one to some extent divines, a natural justice and injustice that is binding on all men, even on those who have no association or covenant y,jth each other. lt is this that Sophocles' Antigone clearly means when she says that the burial of Polyneices was a just act in spite of the prohibition: she means that it was just by nature. "Not of to-day or yesterday it is, "But lives eternal: none can date its birth. " And so Empedocles, when he bids us kili no living creature, says that doing this is not just for sorne people while unjust for others, "Nay, but, an all-embracing law, through the realms of the sky "Unbroken it stretcheth, and over the earth's imrnensity.

"
And as Alcidamas says in his Messeniac Oration .... The actions that we ought to do or not to do have also been divided into tv.1:> classes as affecting either the whole community or sorne one of its members. From this point of viewwe can perform just or unjust acts in either of tv.1:> ways-towards one definite person, or towards the community. The man who is guilty of adultery or assault is doing wrong to some definite person; the man who avoids service in the army is doing wrong to the community. Thus the whole class of unjust actions rnay be divided into tv.l:> classes, those affecting the community, and those affecting one or more other persons. We y,jll next, before going further, remind ourselves of what 'being wronged' rneans. Since it has already been settled that 'doing a wrong' must be intentional, 'being wronged' must consist in having an injury done to you by some one who intends to do it. In order to be wronged, a rnan must (1) suffer actual harm, (2) suffer it against his y,jll. The various possible forms of harm are clearly explained by our previous, separata discussion of goods and evils. We have also seen that a voluntary action is one where the doer knows what he is doing. We now see that every accusation must be of an action affecting either the community or some individual. The doer of the action must either understand and intend the action, or not understand and intend it. In the forrner case, he must be acting either from deliberate choice or from passion. (Anger y,jll be discussed when we speak of the passions
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

which that label implies. He will admit that he took a thing but not that he 'stole' it; that he struck sorne one first, but not that he committed 'outrage'; that he had intercourse with a woman, but not that he committed 'adultery'; that he is guilty of theft, but not that he is guilty of 'sacrilege', the object stolen not being consecrated; that he has encroached, but not that he has 'encroached on State lands'; that he has been in communication with the enerny, but not that he

has been guilty of 'treason'. Here therefore we must be able to distinguish what is theft, outrage, or adultery, from what is not, if we are to be able to make the justice of our case clear, no matter whether our aim is to establish a man's guilt orto establish his innocence. Wherever such charges are brought against a man, the question is whether he is or is not guilty of a criminal offence. lt is deliberate purpose that constitutes wickedness and criminal guilt, and such names as 'outrage' or 'theft' imply deliberate purpose as well as the mere action. A blow does not always amount to 'outrage', but only if it is struck with sorne such purpose as to insult the man struck or gratify the striker himself. Nor does taking a thing without the o1Mler's knowledge always amount to 'theft', but only if it is taken with the intention of keeping it and injuring the o1Mler. And as with these charges, so with all the others. We sawthat there are two kinds of right and wrong conduct towards others, one provided for by written ordinances, the other by unwritten. We have now discussed the kind about which the laws have something to say. The other kind has itself two varieties. First, there is the conduct that springs from exceptional goodness or badness, and is visited accordingly with censure and loss of honour, or with praise and increase of honour and decorations: for instance, gratitude to, or requital of, our benefactors, readiness to help our friends, and the like. The second kind makes up for the defects of a community's written code of law. This is what we call equity; people regard it as just; it is, in fact, the sort of justice which goes beyond the written law. lts existence partly is and partly is not intended by legislators; not intended, where they have noticed no defect in the law; intended, where find themselves unable to define things exactly, and are obliged to legislate as if that held good always which in fact only holds good usually; or where it is not easy to be complete owing to the endless possible cases presentad, such as the kinds and sizes of weapons that may be used to inflict wounds-a lifetime would be too short to make out a complete list of these. lf, then, a precise statement is impossible and yet legislation is necessary, the law must be expressed in wide terms; and so, if a man has no more than a finger-ring on his hand when he lifts it to strike or actually strikes another man, he is guilty of a criminal act according to the unwritten words of the law; but he is innocent really, and it is equity that declares him to be so. From this definition of equity it is plain what sort of actions, and what sort of persons, are equitable or the reverse. Equity must be applied to forgivable actions; and it must make us distinguish between criminal acts on the one hand, and errors of judgement, or misfortunes, on the other. (A 'misfortune' is an act, not due to moral badness, that has unexpected results: an 'error of judgement' is an act, also not due to moral badness, that has results that might have been expected: a 'criminal act' has results that might have been expected, but is due to moral badness, for that is the source of all actions inspirad by our appetites.) Equity bids us be merciful to the weakness of human nature; to think less about the laws than about the man who framed them, and less about what he said than about
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

lt bids us remember benefits rather than injuries, and benefits received

rather than benefits conferred; to be patient when we are wronged; to settle a dispute by negotiation and not by force; to prefer arbitration to motion-for an arbitrator goes by the equity of a case, a judge by the strict law, and arbitration was inventad with the express purpose of securing full power for equity.

The above may be taken as a sufficient account of the nature of equity. Part 14 The oorse of 11M> acts of wrong done to others is that which is prompted by the oorse disposition. Hence the most trifling acts may be the oorst ones; as when Callistratus charged Melanopus with having cheated the temple-builders of three consecrated half-obols. The converse is true of just acts. This is because the greater is here potentially contained in the less: there is no crime that a man who has stolen three consecrated half-obols oould shrink from committing. Sometimes, however, the oorse act is reckoned not in this way but by the greater harm that it does. Or it may be because no punishment for it is severe enough to be adequate; or the harm done may be incurable-a difficult and even hopeless crime to defend; or the sufferer may not be able to get his injurer legally punished, a fact that makes the harm incurable, since legal punishment and chastisement are the proper cure. Or again, the man who has suffered wrong may have inflicted sorne fearful punishment on himself; then the doer of the wrong ought in justice to receive a still more fearful punishment. Thus Sophocles, when pleading for retribution to Euctemon, who had cut his own throat because of the outrage done to him, said he oould not fix a penalty less than the victim had fixed for himself. Again, a man's crime is oorse if he has been the first man, or the only man, or almost the only man, to commit it: or if it is by no means the first time he has gone seriously wrong in the same way: or if his crime has led to the thinking-out and invention of measures to prevent and punish similar crimes-thus in Argos a penalty is inflicted on a man on whose account a law is passed, and also on those on whose account the prison was built: or if a crime is specially brutal, or specially deliberate: or if the report of it awakes more terror than pity. There are also such rhetorically effective ways of putting itas the following: That the accused has disregarded and broken not one but many solemn obligations like oaths, promises, pledges, or rights of intermarriage between states-here the crime is oorse because it consists of many crimes; and that the crime was committed in the very place where criminals are punished, as for example perjurers do-it is argued that a man who will commit a crime in a law-court oould commit it anywhere. Further, the oorse deed is that which involves the doer in special shame; that whereby a man wrongs his benefactors-for he does more than one wrong, by not merely doing them harm but failing to do them good; that which breaks the unwritten laws of justice-the better sort of man will be just without being forced to be so, and the written laws depend on force while the unwritten ones do not. lt may however be argued otherwise, that the crime is oorse which breaks the written laws: for the man who commits crimes for which terrible penalties are provided will not hesitate over crimes for which no penalty is provided at aii.-So much, then, for the comparativa badness of criminal actions. Part 15
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

witnesses, contracts, tortures, oaths. First, then, let us take laws and see howthey are to be used in persuasion and dissuasion, in accusation and defence. lfthe IM"itten lawtells against our case, clearly we must appeal to the universallaw, and insist on its greater equity and justice. We must argue that the juror's oath '1 will give my verdict according to honest opinion' means that one will not simply follow the letter of the IM"itten law. We must urge that the principies of equity are permanent and changeless, and that the universallaw does not change either, for it is the law of nature, whereas IM"itten laws often do change. This is the bearing

the lines in Sophocles' Antigone, where Antigone pleads that in burying her brother she had broken Creon's law, but not the uniM"itten law: "Not of to-day or yesterday they are, "But live eternal: (none can date their birth.) "Not 1 IMlUid fear the IM"ath of any man "(And brave God's vengeance) for defying these." We shall argue that justice indeed is true and profitable, but that sham justice is not, and that consequently the IM"itten law is not, because it does not fulfil the true purpose of law. Or that justice is like silver, and must be assayed by the judges, if the genuine is to be distinguished from the counterfeit. Or that the better a man is, the more he will follow and abide by the uniM"itten law in preference to the IM"itten. Or perhaps that the law in question contradicts sorne other highly-esteemed law, or even contradicts itself. Thus it may be that one law will enact that all contracts must be held binding, while another forbids us ever to make illegal contracts. Or if a law is ambiguous, we shall turn it about and consider which construction best fits the interests of justice or utility, and then follow that way of looking at it. Or if, though the law still exists, the situation to meet which it was passed exists no longer, we must do our best to prove this and to combat the law thereby. lf however the IM"itten law supports our case, we must urge that the oath 'to give my verdict according to my honest opinion' not meant to make the judges give a verdict that is contrary to the law, but to save them from the guilt of perjury if they misunderstand what the law really means. Or that no one chooses what is absolutely good, but every one what is good for himself. Or that not to use the laws is as ahas to have no laws at all. Or that, as in the other arts, it does not pay to try to be cleverer than the doctor: for less harm comes from the doctor's mistakes than from the growing habit of disobeying authority. Or that trying to be cleverer than the laws is just what is forbidden by those codes of lawthat are accounted best.-So far as the laws are concerned, the above discussion is probably sufficient. As to witnesses, they are of tiMl kinds, the ancient and the recent; and these latter, again, either do or do not share in the risks of the trial. By 'ancient' witnesses 1 mean the poets and all other notable persons whose judgements are known to all. Thus the Athenians appealed to Homer as a witness about Salamis; and the men of Tenedos not long ago appealed to Periander of Corinth in their dispute with the people of Sigeum; and Cleophon supported his accusation of Critias by quoting the elegiac verse of Solon, maintaining that discipline had long been
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

"his father commands him. " These witnesses are concerned with past events. As to future events we shall also appeal to soothsayers: thus Themistocles quoted the oracle about 'the wooden wall' as a reason for engaging the enemy's fleet. Further, proverbs are, as has been said, one form of evidence. Thus if you are urging somebody not to make a friend of an old man, you will appeal to the proverb, "Never show an old man kindness. " Or if you are urging that he who has made away with fathers should also make away with their sons, quote, "Fool, who slayeth the father and leaveth his sons to avenge him.

"
'Recent' witnesses are well-known people who have expressed their opinions about sorne disputad matter: such opinions will be useful support for subsequent disputants on the same oints: thus Eubulus used in the law-courts against the reply Plato had made to Archibius, 'lt has become the regular custom in this country to admit that one

is a scoundrel'. There are also those witnesses who share the risk of punishment if their evidence is pronounced false. These are valid witnesses to the fact that an action was or was not done, that something is or is not the case; they are not valid witnesses to the quality of an action, to its being just or unjust, useful or harmful. On such questions of quality the opinion of detached persons is highly trustworthy. Most trustworthy of all are the 'ancient' witnesses, since they cannot be corrupted. In dealing with the evidence of witnesses, the following are useful arguments. lf you have no witnesses on your side, you will argue that the judges must decide from what is probable; that this is meant by 'giving a verdict in accordance with one's honest opinion'; that probabilities cannot be bribed to mislead the court; and that probabilities are never convicted of perjury. lf you have witnesses, and the other man has not, you will argue that probabilities cannot be put on their trial, and that we could do without the evidence of witnesses altogether if we need do no more than balance the pleas advanced on either side. The evidence of witnesses may refer either to ourselves orto our opponent; and either to questions of fact orto questions of personal character: so, clearly, we need never be at a loss for useful evidence. For if we have no evidence of fact supporting our own case or telling against that of our opponent, at least we can always find evidence to prove our own worth or our opponent's worthlessness. Other arguments about a witness-that he is a friend oran enemy or neutral, or has a good, bad, or indifferent reputation, and any other such distinctions-we must construct u pon the same generallines as we use for the regular rhetorical proofs. Concerning contracts argument can be so far employed as to increase or diminish their importance and their credibility; we shall try to increase both if they tell in our favour, and to diminish both if they tell in favour of our opponent. Now for confirming or upsetting the credibility of contracts the procedure is just the same as for
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

insist on its importance, if it supports our case. We may argue that a contrae! is a law, though of a special and limited kind; and that, while contracts do not of course make the law binding, the law does make any lawful contract binding, and that the law itself as a whole is a of contract, so that any one who disregards or repudiates any contract is repudiating the law itself. Further, most business relations-those, namely, that are voluntary-are regulated by contracts, and if these lose their binding force, human intercourse ceases to exist. We need not go very deep to discover the other appropriate arguments of this kind. lf, however, the contrae! tells against us and for our opponents, in the first place !hose arguments are suitable which we can use to fight a lawthat tells against us. We do not regard ourselves as bound to observe abad lawwhich it was a mistake ever to pass: and it is ridiculous to suppose that we are bound to observe a bad and mistaken contract. Again, we may argue that the duty of the judge as umpire is to decide what is just, and therefore he must ask where justice lies, and not what this or that document means. And that it is impossible to pervert justice by fraud or by force, since it is founded on nature, but a party to a contract may be the victim of either fraud or force. Moreover, we must see if the contract contravenes either universal law or any written law of our own or another country; and also if it contradicts any other previous or subsequent contrae!; arguing that the subsequent is the binding contract, or else that the previous one was right and the subsequent one fraudulent-whichever way suits

us. Further, we must consider the question of utility, noting whether the contract is against the interest of the judges or not; and so on-these arguments are as obvious as the others. Examination by torture is one form of evidence, to which great weight is often attached because it is in a sense compulsory. Here again it is not hard to point out the available grounds for magnifying its value, if it happens to tell in our favour, and arguing that it is the only form of evidence that is infallible; or, on the other hand, for refuting it if it tells against us and for our opponent, when we may say what is true of torture of every kind alike, that people under its compulsion telllies quite as often as they tell the truth, sometimes persistently refusing to tell the truth, sometimes recklessly making a false charge in order to be let off sooner. We ought to be able to quote cases, familiar to the judges, in which this sort of thing has actually happened. [We must say that evidence under torture is not [Link], the fact being that many men whether thick-witted, tough-skinned, or stout of heart endure their ordeal nobly, while cowards and timid men are full of boldness till they see the ordeal of these others: so that no trust can be placed in evidence under torture.] In regard to oaths, a fourfold division can be made. Aman may either both offer and accept an oath, or neither, or one without the other-that is, he may offer an oath but not accept one, or accept an oath but not offer one. There is also the situation that arises when an oath has already been s....orn either by himself or by his opponent. lf you refuse to offer an oath, you may argue that men do not hesitate to perjure themselves; and that if your opponent does swear, you lose your money, whereas, if he does not, you think the judges will decide against him; and that the risk of an unfavourable verdict is prefer, able, since you trust the judges and do not trust him.
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

it, and you IM)Uid in that case have to swear in arder to succeed. Thus your refusal, you argue, must be due to high principie, not to fear of perjury: and you rnay aptly quote the saying of Xenophanes, "'Tis not fair that he who fears not God "should challenge him who doth. " lt is as if a strong man were to challenge a weakling to strike, or be struck by, him. lf you agree to accept an oath, you rnay argue that you trust yourself but not your opponent; and that (to invert the rernark of Xenophanes) the fair thing is for the impious man to offer the oath and for the pious man to accept it; and that it IM)Uid be monstrous if you yourself were unwilling to accept an oath in a case where you dernand that the judges should do so befare giving their verdict. lf you wish to offer an oath, you may argue that piety disposes you to commit the issue to the gods; and that your opponent ought not to want other judges than himself, since you leave the decision with him; and that it is outrageous for your opponents to refuse to swear about this question, when they insist that others should do so. Nowthat we see howwe are to argue in each case separately, we see also howwe are to argue when they occur in pairs, namely, when you are willing to accept the oath but not to offer it; to offer it but not to accept it; both to accept and to offer it; orto do neither. These are of course combinations of the cases already rnentioned, and so your argurnents also must be combinations of the arguments already mentioned. lf you have already SIM)rn an oath that contradicts your present one,

you must argue that it is not perjury, since perjury is a crime, and a crime must be a voluntary action, whereas actions due to the force or fraud of others are involuntary. You must further reason from this that perjury depends on the intention and not on the spoken IM)rds. But if it is your opponent who has already SIM)rn an oath that contradicts his present one, you must say that if he does not abide by his oaths he is the enemy of society, and that this is the reason why rnen take an oath befare administering the laws. 'My opponents insist that you, the judges, must abide by the oath you have SIM)rn, and yet they are not abiding by their own oaths.' And there are other arguments which may be used to magnify the importance of the oath. [So much, then, for the 'non-technical' modes of persuasion.]

BOOKII
Part 1 We have now considerad the materials to be u sed in supporting or opposing a political rneasure, in pronouncing eulogies or censures, and for prosecution and defence in the law courts. We have considerad the received opinions on which we may best base our argurnents so as to convince our hearers-those opinions with which our enthyrnemes deal, and out of which they are built, in each of the three kinds of oratory, according to what may be called the special needs of each.
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

is a decision-the orator must not only try to make the argument of his speech demonstrative and IMlrthy of belief; he must also make his own character look right and put his hearers, [Link] are to decide, into the right frame of mind. Particularly in political oratory, but also in lawsuits, it adds much to an orator's influence that his own character should look right and that he should be thought to entertain the right feelings towards his hearers; and also that his hearers themselves should be in just the right frame of mind. That the orator's own character should look right is particularly importan! in political speaking: that the audience should be in the right frame of mind, in lawsuits. When people are feeling friendly and placable, they think one sort of thing; [Link] they are feeling angry or hostile, they think either something totally different or the same thing with a different intensity: [Link] they feel friendly to the man [Link] comes before them for judgement, they regard him as having done little wrong, if any; [Link] they feel hostile, they take the opposite view. Again, if they are eager for, and have good hopes of, a thing that will be pleasant if it happens, they think that it certainly will happen and be good for them: [Link] if they are indifferent or annoyed, they do not think so. There are three things [Link] inspire confidence in the orator's own character-the three, namely, that induce us to believe a thing apart from any proof of it: good sense, good moral character, and goodwill. False statements and bad advice are due to one or more of the following three causes. Men either form a false opinion through want of good sense; or they form a true opinion, but because of their moral badness do not say [Link] they really think; or finally, they are both sensible and upright, but not 11111911 disposed to their hearers, and may fail in consequence to recommend [Link] they know to be the best course. These are the only possible cases. 1t follows that any one [Link] is thought to have all three of these good qualities will inspire trust in his audience. The way to make ourselves thought to be sensible and morally good must be gathered from the analysis of goodness already given: the way to establish your own goodness is the same as the way to establish that of others. Good will and friendliness of disposition will form part of our discussion of the emotions, to [Link] 111119 must

nowturn. The Emotions are all those feelings that so change men as to affect their judgements, and that are also attended by pain or pleasure. Such are anger, pity, fear and the like, with their opposites. We must arrange [Link] 111119 have to say about each of them under three heads. Take, for instance, the emotion of anger: here 111119 must discover (1) [Link] the state of mind of angry people is, (2) [Link] the people are with [Link] they usually get angry, and (3) on [Link] grounds they get angry with them. lt is not enough to know one or even liMl of these points; unless 111119 know all three, 111119 shall be unable to arouse anger in any one. The same is true of the other emotions. So just as earlier in this IMlrk 111119 drew up a list of useful propositions for the orator, let us now proceed in the same way to analyse the subject before us. Part 2 Anger may be defined as an impulse, accompanied by pain, to a conspicuous revenge for a conspicuous slight directed without justification towards [Link] concerns oneself or towards [Link] concerns one's friends. lf this is a proper definition of anger, it must always be felt towards sorne particular individual, e.g. Cleon, and not 'man' in general. lt must
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

nobody aims at what he thinks he cannot attain, the angry man is aiming at what he can attain, and the belief that you will attain your aim is pleasant. Hence it has been well said about wrath, "Sweeter it is by far than the honeycomb "dripping with sweetness, "And spreads through the hearts of men." 1t is also attended by a certain pleasure because the thoughts dwell u pon the act of vengeance, and the images then called up cause pleasure, like the images called up in dreams. Now slighting is the actively entertained opinion of something as obviously of no importance. We think bad things, as well as good ones, have serious importance; and we think the same of anything that tends to produce such things, while those which have little or no such tendency we consider unimportant. There are three kinds of slighting-contempt, spite, and insolence. (1) Contempt is one kind of slighting: you feel contempt for what you consider unimportant, and it is just such things that you slight. (2) Spite is another kind; it is a thwarting another man's wishes, not to get something yourself but to prevent his getting it. The slight arises jusi from the fact that you do not aim al something for yourself: clearly you do not think that he can do you harm, for then you WJuld be afraid of him instead of slighting him, nor yet that he can do you any good WJrth mentioning, for then you WJuld be anxious to make friends with him. (3) lnsolence is also a form of slighting, since it consists in doing and saying things that cause shame to the victim, not in order that anything may happen to yourself, or because anything has happened to yourself, but simply for the pleasure involved. (Retaliation is not 'insolence', but vengeance.) The cause of the pleasure thus enjoyed by the insolen! man is that he thinks himself greatly superior to others when ill-treating them. That is why youths and rich men are insolen!; they think themselves superior when they show insolence. One sort of insolence is to rob people of the honour due to them; you certainly slight them thus; for it is the unimportant, for good or evil, that has no honour paid to it. So Achilles says in anger: "He hath taken my prize for himself "and hath done me dishonour, " and

"Like an alien honoured by none, " meaning that this is why he is angry. Aman expects to be specially respectad by his inferiors in birth, in capacity, in goodness, and generally in anything in which he is much their superior: as where money is concerned a wealthy man looks for respect from a poor man; where speaking is concerned, the man with a turn for oratory looks for respect from one who cannot speak; the ruler demands the respect of the ruled, and the man who thinks he ought to be a ruler demands the respect of the man whom he thinks he ought to be ruling. Hence it has been said
26102/12

and
[Link]/[Link]

"Y ea, but his rancour abideth long afterward also, " their great resentment being due to their great superiority. Then again a man looks for respect from those who he thinks O'Ne him good treatment, and these are the people whom he has treated or is treating 'Hall, or means or has meant to treat 'Hall, either himself, or through his friends, or through others at his request. 1t will be plain by now, from what has been said, ( 1) in what frame of mind, (2) with what persons, and (3) on what grounds people grow angry. (1) The frame of mind is that of one in which any pain is being felt. In that condition, a man is always aiming at something. Whether, then, another man opposes him either directly in any way, as by preventing him from drinking when he is thirsty, or indirectly, the act appears to him just the same; whether sorne one 11'.\:lrks against him, or fails to 11'.\:lrk with him, or otherwise vexes him while he is in this mood, he is equally angry in all these cases. Hence people who are afflicted by sickness or poverty or love or thirst or any other unsatisfied desires are prone to anger and easily roused: especially against those who slight their present distress. Thus a sick man is angered by disregard of his illness, a poor man by disregard of his poverty, a man aging war by disregard of the war he is waging, a lover by disregard of his love, and so throughout, any other sort of slight being enough if special slights are wanting. Each manis predisposed, by the emotion now controlling him, to his own particular anger. Further, 'Na are angered if 'Na happen to be expecting a contrary result: for a quite unexpected evil is specially painful, just as the quite unexpected fulfilment of our wishes is specially pleasant. Hence it is plain what seasons, times, conditions, and periods of life tend to stir men easily to anger, and where and when this will happen; and it is plain that the more 'Na are under these conditions the more easily 'Na are stirred. These, then, are the frames of mind in which men are easily stirred to anger. The persons with whom 'Na get angry are those who laugh, mock, or jeer at us, for such conduct is insolent. Also those who inflict injuries u pon us that are marks of insolence. These injuries must be such as are neither retaliatory nor profitable to the doers: for only then will they be felt to be due to insolence. Also those who speak ill of us, and show contempt for us, in connexion with the things 'Na ourselves most care about: thus those who are eager to win fame as philosophers get angry with those who show contempt for their philosophy; those who pride themselves upon their appearance get angry with those who show contempt for their appearance and so on in other cases. We feel particularly angry on this account if 'Na suspect that 'Na are in fact, or that people think 'Na are, lacking completely or to any effective extent in the qualities in question. For when 'Na

are convinced that 'Na excel in the qualities for which 'Na are jeered at, 'Na can ignore the jeering. Again, 'Na are angrier with our friends than with other people, since 'Na feel that our friends ought to treat us 'Hall and not badly. We are angry with those who have usually treated us with honour or regard, if a change comes and they behave to us otherwise: for 'Na think that they feel contempt for us, or they 11'.\:luld still be behaving as they did before. And with those who do not return our kindnesses or fail to return them adequately, and with those who oppose us though they are our inferiors: for all such persons seem
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

particularly angry with men of no account at all, if they slight us. For, by our hypothesis, the anger caused by the slight is felt towards people [Link] are not justified in slighting us, and our inferiors are not thus justified. Again, we feel angry with friends if they do not speak well of us or treat us well; and still more, if they do the contrary; or if they do not perceive our needs, [Link] is [Link] Plexippus is angry with Meleager in Antiphon's play; for this want of perception shows that they are slighting us-we do not fail to perceive the needs of those for [Link] we care. Again we are angry with those [Link] rejoice at our misfortunes or simply keep cheerful in the midst of our misfortunes, since this shows that they either hate us or are slighting us. Also with those [Link] are indifferent to the pain they give us: this is [Link] we get angry with bringers of bad news. And with those [Link] listen to stories about us or keep on looking at our weaknesses; this seems like either slighting us or hating us; for those [Link] lave us share in all our distresses and it must distress any one to keep on looking at his own weaknesses. Further, with those [Link] slight us befare five classes of people: namely, (1) our rivals, (2) those [Link] we admire, (3) those whom we wish to admire us, (4) those for [Link] we feel reverence, (5) those who feel reverence for us: if any one slights us befare such persons, we feel particularly angry. Again, we feel angry with those who slight us in connexion with [Link] we are as honourable men bound to champion-our parents, children, wives, or subjects. And with those who do not return a favour, since such a slight is unjustifiable. Also with those who reply with humorous levity when we are speaking seriously, for such behaviour indicates contempt. And with those who treat us less well than they treat everybody else; it is another mark of contempt that they should think we do not deserve what every one else deserves. Forgetfulness, too, causes anger, as when our own names are forgotten, trifling as this may be; since forgetfulness is felt to be another sign that we are being slighted; it is due to negligence, and to neglect us is to slight us. The persons with whom we feel anger, the frame of mind in [Link] we feel it, and the reasons why we feel it, have now all been set forth. Clearly the orator will have to speak so as to bring his hearers into a frame of mind that will dispose them to anger, and to represent his adversarias as open to such charges and possessed of such qualities as do make people angry. Part 3 Since growing calm is the opposite of growing angry, and calmness the opposite of anger, we must ascertain in what frames of mind men are calm, towards [Link] they feel calm, and by what means they are made so. Growing calm may be defined as a settling down or quieting of anger. Nowwe get angry with those [Link] slight us; and since slighting is a voluntary act, it is plain that we feel calm towards those [Link] do nothing of the kind, or [Link] do or seem to do it involuntarily. Also towards those [Link] intended to do the opposite of [Link] they did

do. Also towards those who treat themselves as they have treated us: since no one can be supposed to slight himself. Also towards those who admit their fault and are sorry: since we accept their grief at [Link] they have done as satisfaction, and cease to be angry. The punishment of servants shows this: those [Link] contradict us and deny their offence we punish all the more, but we cease to be incensad against those who agree that they deserved their punishment. The reason is that it is shameless to deny what is obvious, and those who are shameless
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

gainsay us; 11\18 feel that they thus admit themselves our inferiors, and inferiors feel fear, and nobody can slight any one so long as he feels afraid of him. That our anger ceases towards those who humble themselves before us is shown even by dogs, who do not bite people when they sit down. We also feel calm towards those who are serious when 11\18 are serious, because then 11\18 feel that 11\18 are treated seriously and not contemptuously. Also towards those who have done us more kindnesses than 11\18 have done them. Also towards those who pray to us and beg for merey, since they humble themselves by doing so. Also towards those who do not insult or mock at or slight any one at all, or not any 1Mlrthy person or any one like ourselves. In general, the things that make us calm may be inferred by seeing what the opposites are of those that make us angry. We are not angry with people 11\18 fear or respect, as long as 11\18 fear or respect them; you cannot be afraid of a person and also at the same time angry with him. Again, 11\18 feel no anger, or comparatively little, with those who have done what they did through anger: 11\18 do not feel that they have done it from a wish to slight us, for no one slights people when angry with them, since slighting is painless, and anger is painful. Nor do 11\18 grow angry with those who reverence us. As to the frame of mind that makes people calm, it is plainly the opposite to that which makes them angry, as when they are amusing themselves or laughing or feasting; when they are feeling prosperous or successful or satisfied; when, in fine, they are enjoying freedom from pain, or inoffensive pleasure, or justifiable hope. Also when time has passed and their anger is no longer fresh, for time puts an end to anger. And vengeance previously taken on one person puts an end to even greater anger felt against another person. Hence Philocrates, being asked by sorne one, ata time when the public was angry with him, 'Why don't you defend yourself?' did right to reply, 'The time is not yet.' 'Why, when is the time?' 'When 1 see someone else calumniated.' For men become calm when they have spent their anger on somebody else. This happened in the case of Ergophilus: though the people \Yere more irritated against him than against Callisthenes, they acquitted him because they had condemned Callisthenes to death the day before. Again, men become calm if they have convicted the offender; or if he has already suffered 1Mlrse things than they in their anger 1Mluld have themselves inflicted u pon him; for they feel as if they \Yere already avenged. Or if they feel that they themselves are in the wrong and are suffering justly {for anger is not excitad by what is just), since men no longer think then that they are suffering without justification; and anger, as 11\18 have seen, means this. Hence 11\18 ought always to inflict a preliminary punishment in 1Mlrds: if that is done, even slaves are less aggrieved by the actual punishment. We also feel calm if 11\18 think that the offender will not see that he is punished on our account and because of the way he has treated us. For anger has todo with individuals. This is plain from the definition. Hence the poet has 11\1811 written: "Say that it was Odysseus, sacker of cities, " implying that Odysseus 1Mluld not have considerad himself avenged unless the Cyclops perceived both by whom and for what he had been

blindad. Consequently 11\18 do not get angry with any one who cannot be aware of our anger, and in particular 11\18 cease to be angry with people once they are dead, for 11\18 feel that the 1Mlrst has been done to them, and that they will neither feel pain nor anything else that
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

"For behold in his fury he doeth despite to the senseless clay.

"
lt is now plain that when you wish to calm others you must draw upon these lines of argument; you must put your hearers into the corresponding frame of mind, and represent those with whom they are angry as formidable, oras Vl()rthy of reverence, oras benefactors, or as involuntary agents, oras much distressed at what they have done. Part 4 Let us nowturn to Friendship and Enmity, and ask towards whom these feelings are entertained, and why. We will begin by defining and friendly feeling. We may describe friendly feeling towards any one as wishing for him IM"lat you believe to be good things, not for your own sake but for his, and being inclinad, so far as you can, to bring these things about. A friend is one IM"lo feels thus and excites these feelings in return: those IM"lo think they feel thus towards each other think themselves friends. This being assumed, it follows that your friend is the sort of man IM"lo shares your pleasure in IM"lat is good and your pain in IM"lat is unpleasant, for your sake and for no other reason. This pleasure and pain of his will be the token of his good wishes for you, since we all feel glad at getting IM"lat we wish for, and pained at getting what we do not. Those, then, are friends to whom the same things are good and evil; and those IM"lo are, moreover, friendly or unfriendly to the same people; for in that case they must have the same wishes, and thus by wishing for each other what they wish for themselves, they showthemselves each other's friends. Again, we feel friendly to those IM"lo have treated us well, either ourselves or those we care for, IM"lether on a large scale, or readily, or at sorne particular crisis; provided it was for our own sake. And also to those IM"lo we think wish to treat us well. And also to our friends' friends, and to those IM"lo like, orare liked by, those IM"lom we like ourselves. And also to those IM"lo are enemies to those IM"lose enemies we are, and dislike, orare disliked by, those whom we dislike. For all such persons think the things good IM"lich we think good, so that they wish IM"lat is good for us; and this, as we saw, is what friends must do. And also to those who are willing to treat us weiiiM"lere money or our personal safety is concerned: and therefore we value those who are liberal, brave, or just. The just we consider to be those who do not live on others; which means those IM"lo Vl()rk for their living, especially farmers and others IM"lo Vl()rk with their own hands. We also like temperate men, because they are not unjust to others; and, for the same reason, those who mind their own business. And also those IM"lose friends we wish to be, if it is plain that they wish to be our friends: such are the morally good, and those well thought of by every one, by the best men, or by those IM"lom we admire or IM"lo admire us. And also those with IM"lom it is pleasant to live and spend our days: such are the good-tempered, and those IM"lo are not too ready to show us our mistakes, and those IM"lo are not cantankerous or quarrelsome-such people are always wanting to fight us, and those IM"lo fight us we feel wish for the opposite of what we wish for ourselves-and those who have the tact to make and take a joke; here both parties have the same object in view, when they can stand being made fun of as well as do it prettily themselves. And we also feel friendly towards those who praise such

good qualities as we possess, and especially if they praise the good qualities that we are not too su re we do possess. And towards those
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

a tendency to criticize us. And towards those who do not nurse grudges or store up grievances, but are always ready to make friends again; for we take it that they will behave to us just as we find them behaving to every one else. And towards those who are not evil speakers and who are aware of neither their neighbours' bad points nor our own, but of our good ones only, as a good man always will be. And towards those who do not try to thwart us when we are angry or in earnest, which would mean being ready to fight us. And towards those who have sorne serious feeling towards us, such as admiration for us, or belief in our goodness, or pleasure in our company; especially if they feel like this about qualities in us for which we especially wish to be admired, esteemed, or liked. And towards those who are like ourselves in character and occupation, provided they do not get in our way or gain their living from the same source as we do-for then it will be a case of 'potter against potter': "Potter to potter and builder to builder begrudge their reward .

And those who desire the same things as we desire, if it is possible for us both to share them together; otherwise the same trouble arises here too. And towards those with whom we are on such terms that, while we respect their opinions, we need not blush befare them for doing what is conventionally wrong: as well as towards those befare whom we should be ashamed to do anything really wrong. Again, our rivals, and those whom we should like to envy us--though without ill-feeling--either we like these people or at least we wish them to like us. And we feel friendly towards those whom we help to secure good for themselves, provided we are not likely to suffer heavily by it ourselves. And those who feel as friendly to us when we are not with them as when we are-which is why all men feel friendly towards those who are faithful to their dead friends. And, speaking generally, towards those who are really fond of their friends and do not desert them in trouble; of all good men, we feel most friendly to those who show their goodness as friends. Also towards those who are honest with us, including those who will tell us of their own weak points: it has just said that with our friends we are not ashamed of what is conventionally wrong, and if we do have this feeling, we do not lave them; if therefore we do not have it, it looks as if we did lave them. We also like those with whom we do not feel frightened or uncomfortable-nobody can like a man of whom he feels frightened. Friendship has various forms-comradeship, intimacy, kinship, and so on. Things that cause friendship are: doing kindnesses; doing them unasked; and not proclaiming the fact when they are done, which shows that they were done for our own sake and not for sorne other reason. Enmity and Hatred should clearly be studied by reference to their opposites. Enmity may be produced by anger or spite or calumny. Now whereas anger arises from offences against oneself, enmity may arise even without that; we may hate people merely beca use of what we take to be their character. Anger is always concerned with individuals-a Callias ora Socrates-whereas hatred is directed also against classes: we all hate any thief and any informar. Moreover, anger can be cured by time; but hatred cannot. The one aims at giving pain to its object, the other at doing him harm; the angry man wants his victims to feel; the hater does not mind whether they feel or not. All painful things

are felt; but the greatest evils, injustice and folly, are the least
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

but the hater under no circumstances wishes to pity a man whom he has once hated: for the one would have the offenders suffer for what they have done; the other would have them cease to exist. lt is plain from all this that we can prove people to be friends or enemies; if they are not, we can make them out to be so; if they claim to be so, we can refute their claim; and if it is disputad whether an action was dueto anger orto hatred, we can attribute it to whichever of these we prefer. Part 5 To turn next to Fear, what follows will show things and persons of which, and the states of mind in which, we feel afraid. Fear may be defined as a pain or disturbance due to a mental picture of sorne destructiva or painful evil in the future. Of destructiva or painful evils only; for there are sorne evils, e.g. wickedness or stupidity, the prospect of which does not frighten us: 1 mean only such as amount to great pains or losses. And even these only if they appear not re mote but so near as to be imminent: we do not fear things that are a very long way off: for instance, we all knowwe shall die, but we are not troubled thereby, because death is not close at hand. From this definition it will follow that fear is ca u sed by whatever we feel has great power of destroying or of harming us in ways that tend to cause us great pain. Hence the very indications of such things are terrible, making us feel that the terrible thing itself is close at hand; the approach of what is terrible is just what we mean by 'danger'. Su eh indications are the enmity and anger of people who have power to do something to us; for it is plain that they have the will to do it, and so they are on the point of doing it. Also injustice in possession of power; for it is the unjust man's will to do evil that makes him unjust. Also outraged virtue in possession of power; for it is plain that, when outraged, it always has the will to retaliate, and now it has the power to do so. Also fear felt by those who have the power to do something to us, since such persons are su re to be ready to do it. And since most men tend to be bad-slaves to greed, and cowards in danger-it is, as a rule, a terrible thing to be at another man's merey; and therefore, if we have done anything horrible, those in the secret terrify us with the thought that they may betray or desert us. And those who can do us wrong are terrible to us when we are liable to be wronged; for as a rule men do wrong to others whenever they have the power todo it. And those who have been wronged, or believe themselves to be wronged, are terrible; for they are always looking out for their opportunity. Also those who have done people wrong, if they possess power, since they stand in fear of retaliation: we have already said that wickedness possessing power is terrible. Again, our rivals for a thing cause us fear when we cannot both have it at once; for we are always at war with such men. We also fear those who are to be feared by stronger people than ourselves: if they can hurt those stronger people, still more can they hurt us; and, for the same reason, we fear those whom those stronger people are actually afraid of. Also those who have destroyed people stronger than we are. Also those who are attacking people weaker than we are: either they are already formidable, or they will be so when they have thus groiM"I stronger. Of those we have wronged, and of our enemies or rivals, it is not the passionate and outspoken whom we have to fear, but the quiet, dissembling, unscrupulous; since we never knowwhen they are upon us, we can never be sure they are ata safe distance. All terrible
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

cannot easily, help. Speaking generally, anything causes us to feel fear that when it happens to, or threatens, others cause us to feel pity. The above are, roughly, the chief things that are terrible and are feared. Let us now describe the conditions under which we ourselves feel fear. lf fear is associated 'hith the expectation that something destructiva 'hill happen to us, plainly nobody 'hill be afraid who believes nothing can happen to him; we shall not fear things that we believe cannot happen to us, nor people who we believe cannot inflict them u pon us; nor shall we be afraid at times when we think ourselves safe from them. lt follows therefore that fear is felt by those who believe something to be likely to happen to them, at the hands of particular persons, in a particular form, and at a particular time. People do not believe this when they are, or think they a are, in the midst of great prosperity, and are in consequence insolent, contemptuous, and reckless-the kind of character produced by wealth, physical strength, abundance of friends, power: nor yet when they feel they have experienced every kind of horror already and have grown callous about the future, like men who are being flogged and are already nearly dead-if they are to feel the anguish of uncertainty, there must be sorne faint expectation of escape. This appears from the fact that fear sets us thinking what can be done, which of course nobody does when things are hopeless. Consequently, when it is advisable that the audience should be frightened, the orator must make them feel that they really are in danger of something, pointing out that it has happened to others who were stronger than they are, and is happening, or has happened, to people like themselves, at the hands of unexpected people, in an unexpected form, and atan unexpected time. Having now seen the nature of fear, and of the things that cause it, and the various states of mind in which it is felt, we can also see what Confidence is, about what things we feel it, and under what conditions. lt is the opposite of fear, and what causes it is the opposite of what causes fear; it is, therefore, the expectation associated 'hith a mental picture of the nearness of what keeps us safe and the absence or remoteness of what is terrible: it may be due either to the near presence of what inspires confidence or to the absence of what causes alarm. We feel it if we can take steps-many, or important, or both-to cure or prevent trouble; if we have neither VvT"onged others nor been VvT"onged by them; if we have either no rivals at all or no strong ones; if our rivals who are strong are our friends or have treated us well or been treated well by us; or if those whose interest is the same as ours are the more numerous party, or the stronger, or both. As for our own state of mind, we feel confidence if we believe we have often succeeded and never suffered reversas, or have often met danger and escapad it safely. For there are tiMl reasons why human beings face danger calmly: they may have no experience of it, or they may have means to deal 'hith it: thus when in danger at sea people may feel confident about what will happen either because they have no experience of bad weather, or because their experience gives them the means of dealing 'hith it. We also feel confident whenever there is nothing to terrify other people like ourselves, or people weaker than ourselves, or people than whom we believe ourselves to be stronger-and we believe this if we have conquered them, or conquered others who are as strong as they are, or stronger. Also if we believe ourselves superior to our rivals in the number and importance of the advantages
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

one, or not many, or not those of whom we are afraid; and generally,

if our relations with the gods are satisfactory, as will be shown especially by signs and oracles. The fact is that anger makes us confident-that anger is excited by our knowledge that we are not the IM"ongers but the IM"onged, and that the divine power is always supposed to be on the side of the IM"onged. Also when, at the outset of an enterprise, we believe that we cannot and shall not fail, or that we shall succeed completely.-So much for the causes of fear and confidence. Part 6 We nowturn to Shame and Shamelessness; what follows will explain the things that cause these feelings, and the persons befare whom, and the states of mind under which, they are felt. Shame may be defined as pain or disturbance in regard to bad things, whether present, past, or future, which seem likely to involve us in discredit; and shamelessness as contempt or indifference in regard to these same bad things. lf this definition be granted, it follows that we feel shame at such bad things as we think are disgraceful to ourselves orto those we care for. These evils are, in the first place, those due to moral badness. Such are throwing away one's shield or taking to flight; for these bad things are due to cowardice. Also, withholding a deposit or otherwise IM"onging people about money; for these acts are due to injustice. Also, having carnal intercourse with forbidden persons, at IM"ong times, or in IM"ong places; for these things are due to licentiousness. Also, making profit in petty or disgraceful ways, or out of helpless persons, e.g. the poor, or the dead-whence the proverb 'He IMluld pick a corpse's pocket'; for all this is due to low greed and meanness. Also, in money matters, giving less help than you might, or none at all, or accepting help from !hose \Mlrse off than yourself; so also borrowing when it will seem like begging; begging when it will seem like asking the return of a favour; asking such a return when it will seem like begging; praising a man in arder that it may seem like begging; and going on begging in spite offailure: all such actions are tokens of meanness. Also, praising people to their face, and praising extravagantly a man's good points and glozing over his weaknesses, and showing extravagant sympathy with his grief when you are in his presence, and all that sort of thing; all this shows the disposition of a flatterer. Also, refusing to endure hardships that are endured by people who are older, more delicately brought up, of higher rank, or generally less capable of endurance than ourselves: for all this shows effeminacy. Also, accepting benefits, especially accepting them often, from another man, and then abusing him for conferring them: all this shows a mean, ignoble disposition. Also, talking incessantly about yourself, making loud professions, and appropriating the merits of others; for this is due to boastfulness. The same is true of the actions due to any of the other forms of badness of moral character, of the tokens of such badness, &c.: they are all disgraceful and shameless. Another sort of bad thing at which we feel shame is, lacking a share in the honourable things shared by every one else, or by all or nearly all who are like ourselves. By 'those like ourselves' 1 mean those of our own race or country or age or family, and generally those who are on our own level. Once we are on a level with others, it is a disgrace to be, say, less well educated than they are; and so with other advantages: all the more so, in each case, if it is seen to be our own fault: wherever we are ourselves to blame for our present, past, or future circumstances, it follows at once that this is to a greater extent due to our moral badness. We are moreover ashamed
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

lo outrage. And acts of yielding lo !he lust of others are shameful

whether willing or unwilling (yielding to force being an instance of unwillingness), since unresisting submission lo them is duelo unmanliness or cowardice. These things, and others like them, are what cause the feeling of shame. Now since shame is a mental picture of disgrace, in which we shrink from !he disgrace itself and no! from its consequences, and we only care what opinion is held of us because of !he people who form that opinion, it follows that the people before whom we feel shame are those whose opinion of us matters to us. Such persons are: !hose who admire us, !hose whom we admire, !hose by whom we wish to be admired, !hose with whom we are competing, and those whose opinion of us we respect. We admire !hose, and wish !hose to admire us, who possess any good thing that is highly esteemed; or from whom we are very anxious lo gel something that they are able lo give us-as a lover feels. We compete with our equals. We respect, as true, the views of sensible people, such as our elders and !hose who have been well educated. And we feel more shame about a thing if it is done openly, before all men's eyes. Hence !he proverb, 'shame dwells in !he eyes'. For this reason we feel most shame before !hose who will always be with us and !hose who notice what we do, since in both cases eyes are upon us. We also feel it before !hose no! open lo !he same imputation as ourselves: for it is plain that their opinions about it are the opposite of ours. Also before !hose who are hard on any one whose conduct they think IM"ong; for what a man does himself, he is said no! lo resent when his neighbours do it: so that of course he does resent their doing what he does not do himself. And before those who are likely lo tell everybody about you; no! telling others is as good as not be lieving you IM"ong. People are likely to tell others about you if you have l!lll"onged them, since they are on !he look out lo harm you; or if they speak evil of everybody, for those who attack the innocent will be still more ready lo attack !he guilty. And before !hose whose main occupation is with their neighbours' failings-people like satirists and IM"ilers of comedy; these are really a kind of evil-speakers and tell-tales. And before !hose who have never yet known us come lo grief, since their attitude lo us has amounted lo admiration so far: that is why we feel ashamed lo refuse !hose a favour who ask one for the first time-we have not as yet los! credit with them. Such are !hose who are jusi beginning lo wish lo be our friends; for they have seen our bes! side only (hence the appropriateness of Euripides' reply lo !he Syracusans): and such also are !hose among our old acquaintances who know nothing to our discredit. And we are ashamed not merely of !he actual shameful conduct mentioned, bu! also of !he evidences of it: not merely, for example, of actual sexual intercourse, but also of its evidences; and no! merely of disgraceful acts bu! also of disgraceful talk. Similarly we feel shame not merely in presence of the persons mentioned bu! also of !hose who will tell them what we have done, such as their servants or friends. And, generally, we feel no shame before !hose upon whose opinions we quite look down as untrusl'Mlrthy (no one feels shame before small children or animals); nor are we ashamed of !he same things before intimates as before strangers, but before !he former of what seem genuine faults, before !he latter of what seem conventional ones. The conditions under which we shall feel shame are these: first, having people related to us like !hose before whom, as has been said, we feel shame. These are, as was stated, persons whom we admire, or who
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

in his speech on land assignments in Samas, when he told the Athenians

to imagine the Greeks to be standing all around them, actually seeing the way they voted and not merely going to hear about it afterwards}: or again they may be near at hand, or may be likely to find out about what we do. This is why in misfortune we do not wish to be seen by those who once wished themselves like us; for such a feeling implies admiration. And men feel shame when they have acts or exploits to their credit on which they are bringing dishonour, whether these are their own, or those of their ancestors, or those of other persons with whom they have sorne clase connexion. Generally, we feel shame befare those for whose own misconduct we should also feel it-those already mentioned; those who take us as their models; those whose teachers or advisers we have been; or other people, it may be, like ourselves, whose rivals we are. For there are many things that shame befare such people makes us do or leave undone. And we feel more shame when we are likely to be continually seen by, and go about under the eyes of, those who know of our disgrace. Hence, when Antiphon the poet was to be cudgelled to death by arder of Dionysius, and saw those who were to perish with him covering their faces as they went through the gates, he said, 'Why do you cover your faces? ls it lest sorne of these spectators should see you to-morrow?' So much for Shame; to understand Shamelessness, we need only consider the converse cases, and plainly we shall have all we need. Part 7 To take Kindness next: the definition of it will show us towards whom it is felt, why, and in what frames of mind. Kindness-under the influence of which a man is said to 'be kind' may be defined as helpfulness towards sorne one in need, not in return for anything, nor for the advantage of the helper himself, but for that of the person helped. Kindness is great if shown to one who is in great need, or who needs what is important and hard to get, or who needs it at an important and difficult crisis; or if the helper is the only, the first, or the chief person to give the help. Natural cravings constitute such needs; and in particular cravings, accompanied by pain, for what is not being attained. The appetites are cravings for this kind: sexual desire, for instance, and those which arise during bodily injuries and in dangers; for appetite is active both in danger and in pain. Hence those who stand by us in poverty or in banishment, even if they do not help us much, are yet really kind to us, because our need is great and the occasion pressing; for instance, the man who gave the mat in the Lyceum. The helpfulness must therefore meet, preferably, just this kind of need; and failing just this kind, sorne other kind as great or greater. We now see to whom, why, and under what conditions kindness is shown; and these facts must form the basis of our arguments. We must show that the persons helped are, or have been, in such pain and need as has been described, and that their helpers gave, orare giving, the kind of help described, in the kind of need described. We can also see howto eliminate the idea of kindness and make our opponents appear unkind: we may maintain that they are being or have been helpful simply to promete their own interest-this, as has been stated, is not kindness; or that their action was accidental, or was forced u pon them; or that they were not doing a favour, but merely returning one, whether they know this or not-in either case the action is a mere return, and is therefore nota kindness even if the doer does not know how the case stands. In considering this subject we
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

As evidence of the want of kindness, we may point out that a smaller service had been refused to the man in need; or that the same service,

oran equal or greater one, has been given to his enemies; these facts show that the service in question was not done for the sake of the person helped. Or we may point out that the thing desired was worthless and that the helper knew it: no one will admit that he is in need of what is worthless. Part 8 So much for Kindness and Unkindness. Let us now consider Pity, asking ourselves what things excite pity, and for what persons, and in what states of our mind pity is felt. Pity may be defined as a feeling of pain caused by the sight of some evil, destructiva or painful, which befalls one who does not deserve it, and which we might expect to befall ourselves or some friend of ours, and moreover to befall us soon. In order to feel pity, we must obviously be capable of supposing that some evil may happen to us or some friend of ours, and moreover some such evil as is stated in our definition or is more or less of that kind. lt is therefore not felt by those completely ruined, who suppose that no further evil can befall them, since the worst has befallen them already; nor by those who imagine themselves immensely fortunate-their feeling is rather presumptuous insolence, for when they think they possess all the good things of life, it is clear that the impossibility of evil befalling them will be included, this being one of the good things in question. Those who think evil may befall them are such as have already had it befall them and have safely escapad from it; elderly men, owing to their good sense and their experience; weak men, especially men inclinad to cowardice; and also educated people, since these can take long views. Also those who have parents living, or children, or wives; for these are our own, and the evils mentioned above may easily befall them. And those who neither moved by any courageous emotion such as anger or confidence {these emotions take no account of the future), nor by a disposition to presumptuous insolence (insolent men, too, take no account of the possibility that something evil will happen to them), nor yet by great fear (panic-stricken people do not feel pity, because they are taken up with what is happening to themselves); only those feel pity who are between these 11M> extremes. In order to feel pity we must also believe in the goodness of at least some people; if you think nobody good, you will believe that everybody deserves evil fortuna. And, generally, we feel pity whenever we are in the condition of remembering that similar misfortunes have happened to us or ours, or expecting them to happen in the future. So much for the mental conditions under which we feel pity. What we pity is stated clearly in the definition. All unpleasant and painful things excite pity if they tend to destroy pain and annihilate; and all such evils as are due to chance, if they are serious. The painful and destructiva evils are: death in its various forms, bodily injuries and afflictions, old age, diseases, lack of food. The evils due to chance are: friendlessness, scarcity of friends (it is a pitiful thing to be torn away from friends and companions), deformity, weakness, mutilation; evil coming from a source from which good ought to have come; and the frequent repetition of such misfortunes. Also the coming of good when the worst has happened: e.g. the arrival of the Great King's gifts for Diopeithes after his death. Also that either no good should have befallen a man at all, or that he should not be able to enjoy it when it has.
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

closely related to us-in that case we feel about them as if we were in danger ourselves. For this reason Amasis did not weep, they say, at the sight of his son being led to death, but did weep when he saw

his friend begging: the latter sight was pitiful, the former terrible, and the terrible is different from the pitiful; it tends to cast out pity, and often helps to produce the opposite of pity. Again, we feel pity when the danger is near ourselves. Also we pity those who are like us in age, character, disposition, social standing, or birth; for in all these cases it appears more likely that the same misfortune may befall us also. Here too we have to remember the general principie that what we fear for ourselves excites our pity when it happens to others. Further, since it is when the sufferings of others are clase to us that they excite our pity (we cannot remember what disasters happened a hundred centurias ago, nor look forward to what will happen a hundred centurias hereafter, and therefore feellittle pity, if any, for such things): it follows that those who heighten the effect of their [Link] with suitable gestures, tones, dress, and dramatic action generally, are especially successful in exciting pity: they thus put the disasters befare our eyes, and make them seem clase to us, just coming or just past. Anything that has just happened, or is going to happen soon, is particularly piteous: so too therefore are the tokens and the actions of sufferers-the garments and the like of those who have already suffered; the [Link] and the like of those actually suffering-of those, for instance, who are on the point of death. Most piteous of all is it when, in such times of trial, the victims are persons of noble character: whenever they are so, our pity is especially excited, because their innocence, as well as the setting of their misfortunes befare our eyes, makes their misfortunes seem clase to ourselves. Part 9 Most directly opposed to pity is the feeling called lndignation. Pain at unmerited good fortune is, in one sense, opposite to pain at unmerited bad fortune, and is due to the same moral qualities. Both feelings are associated with good moral character; it is our duty both to feel sympathy and pity for unmerited distress, and to feel indignation at unmerited prosperity; for whatever is undeserved is unjust, and that is why we ascribe indignation even to the gods. 1t might indeed be thought that envy is similarly opposed to pity, on the ground that envy it closely akin to indignation, or even the same thing. But it is not the same. lt is true that it also is a disturbing pain excited by the prosperity of others. But it is excited not by the prosperity of the undeserving but by that of people who are like us or equal with us. The tv.o feelings have this in common, that they must be due not to sorne untoward thing being likely to befall ourselves, but only to what is happening to our neighbour. The feeling ceases to be envy in the one case and indignation in the other, and becomes fear, if the pain and disturbance are due to the prospect of something bad for ourselves as the result of the other man's good fortune. The feelings of pity and indignation will obviously be attended by the converse feelings of satisfaction. lf you are pained by the unmerited distress of others, you will be pleased, or at least not pained, by their merited distress. Thus no good man can be pained by the punishment of parricidas or murderers. These are things we are bound to rejoice at, as we must at the prosperity of the deserving; both these things are just, and both give pleasure to any honest man, since he cannot help expecting that what has happened to a man like him will happen to him too. All
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

who envies others' prosperity. For any one who is pained by the occurrence or existence of a given thing must be pleased by that thing's non-existence or destruction. We can now see that all these feelings tend to prevent

pity (though they differ among themselves, for the reasons given), so that all are equally useful for neutralizing an appeal to pity. We will first consider lndignation-reserving the other emotions for subsequent discussion-and ask with whom, on what grounds, and in what states of mind we may be indignant. These questions are really answered by what has been said already. lndignation is pain caused by the sight of undeserved good fortuna. 1t is, then, plain to begin with that there are sorne forms of good the sight of which cannot cause it. Thus a man may be just or brave, or acquire moral goodness: but we shall not be indignant with him for that reason, any more than we shall pity him for the contrary reason. lndignation is roused by the sight of wealth, power, and the like-by all those things, roughly speaking, which are deserved by good men and by those who possess the goods of nature-noble birth, beauty, and so on. Again, what is long established seems akin to what exists by nature; and therefore we feel more indignation at those possessing a given good if they have as a matter of fact only just got it and the prosperity it brings with it. The newly rich give more offence than those whose wealth is of long standing and inherited. The same is true of those who have office or power, plenty of friends, a fine family, &c. We feel the same when these advantages of theirs secure them others. For here again, the newly rich give us more offence by obtaining office through their riches than do those whose wealth is of long standing; and so in all other cases. The reason is that what the latter have is felt to be really their own, but what the others have is not; what appears to have been always what it is is regarded as real, and so the possessions of the newly rich do not seem to be really their own. Further, it is not any and every man that deserves any given kind of good; there is a certain correspondence and appropriateness in such things; thus it is appropriate for brave men, not for just men, to have fine weapons, and formen of family, not for parvenus, to make distinguished marriages. lndignation may therefore properly be felt when any one gets what is not appropriate for him, though he may be a good man enough. lt may also be felt when any one sets himself up against his superior, especially against his superior in sorne particular respect-whence the lines "Only from battle he shrank with Aias Telamon's son; "Zeus had been angered with him, "had he fought with a mightier one; " but also, even apart from that, when the inferior in any sense contends with his superior; a musician, for instance, with a just man, for justice is a finer thing than music. Enough has been said to make clear the grounds on which, and the persons against whom, lndignation is felt-they are those mentioned, and others like him. As for the people who feel it; we feel it if we do ourselves deserve the greatest possible goods and moreover have them, for it is an injustice that those who are not our equals should have been held to deserve as much as we have. Or, secondly, we feel it if we are really good and honest people; our judgement is then sound, and we loathe any kind of injustice. Also if we are ambitious and eager
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

to be indignan! with !hose others so far as that thing is concerned. Hence servile, worthless, unambitious persons are not inclinad to lndignation, since there is nothing they can believe themselves lo deserve. From all this it is plain what sor! of men !hose are at whose misfortunes, distresses, or failures we ought lo feel pleased, oral leas! no! pained: by considering the facts described we see at once what their

contraries are. lf therefore our speech puts !he judges in such a frame of mind as that indicated and shows that !hose who claim pity on certain definite grounds do not deserve to secure pity but do deserve no! lo secure it, it will be impossible for !he judges lo feel pity. Par! 10 To take Envy next: we can see on what grounds, against what persons, and in what states of mind we feel it. Envy is pain at the sight of such good fortune as consists of !he good things already mentioned; we feel it towards our equals; not with the idea of getting something for ourselves, bu! because !he other people have it. We shall feel it if we have, or !hin k we have, equals; and by 'equals' 1 mean equals in birth, relationship, age, disposition, distinction, or wealth. We feel envy also if we fall bu! a little short of having everything; which is why people in high place and prosperity feel it-they think every one else is taking what belongs lo themselves. Also if we are exceptionally distinguished for sorne particular thing, and especially if that thing is wisdom or good fortune. Ambitious men are more envious !han !hose who are not. So also !hose who profess wisdom; they are ambitious lo be thought wise. lndeed, generally, !hose who aim al a reputation for anything are envious on this particular point. And small-minded men are envious, for everything seems great lo them. The good things which excite envy have already been mentioned. The deeds or possessions which arouse the love of reputation and honour and !he desire for fame, and !he various gifts of fortune, are almos! all subject lo envy; and particularly if we desire !he thing ourselves, or !hin k we are entitled lo it, or if having it puts us a little above others, or no! having it a little below them. lt is clear also what kind of people we envy; that was included in what has been said already: we envy !hose who are near us in time, place, age, or reputation. Hence the line: "Ay, kin can even be jealous of their kin. " Also our fellow-competitors, who are indeed !he people jusi mentioned-we do not compete with men who lived a hundred centurias ago, or those not yet born, or !he dead, or !hose who dwell near !he Pillars of Hercules, or those whom, in our opinion or that of others, we take lo be far below us or far above us. So too we compete with !hose who followthe same ends as ourselves: we compete with our rivals in sport or in love, and generally with !hose who are after !he same things; and it is therefore these whom we are bound lo envy beyond all others. Hence the saying: "Potter against potter. " We also envy those whose possession of or success in a thing is a reproach lo us: these are our neighbours and equals; for it is clear that it is our own fault we have missed the good thing in question;
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

have spent little on the same thing. And men who have not gota thing, or not got it yet, envy those who have got it quickly. We can also see what things and what persons give pleasure to envious people, and in what states of mind they feel it: the states of mind in which they feel pain are those under which they will feel pleasure in the contrary things. lf therefore we ourselves with whom the decision rests are put into an envious state of mind, and those for whom our pity, or the award of something desirable, is claimed are such as have been described, it is obvious that they will win no pity from us. Part 11 We will next consider Emulation, showing in what follows its causes

and objects, and the state of mind in which it is felt. Emulation is pain caused by seeing the presence, in persons whose nature is like our own, of good things that are highly valued and are possible for ourselves to acquire; but it is felt not because others have these goods, but because we have not got them ourselves. lt is therefore a good feeling felt by good persons, whereas envy is a bad feeling felt by bad persons. Emulation makes us take steps to secure the good things in question, envy makes us take steps to stop our neighbour having them. Emulation must therefore tend to be felt by persons who believe themselves to deserve certain good things that they have not got, it being understood that no one aspires to things which appear impossible. lt is accordingly felt by the young and by persons of lofty disposition. Also by those who possess such good things as are deserved by men held in honour-these are wealth, abundance of friends, public office, and the like; on the assumption that they ought to be good men, they are emulous to gain such goods because they ought, in their belief, to belong tomen whose state of mind is good. Also by those whom all others think deserving. We also feel it about anything for which our ancestors, relativas, personal friends, race, or country are specially honoured, looking upon that thing as really our own, and therefore feeling that we deserve to have it. Further, since all good things that are highly honoured are objects of emulation, moral goodness in its various forms must be such an object, and also all those good things that are useful and serviceable to others: for men honour those who are morally good, and also those who do them service. So with those good things our possession of which can give enjoyment to our neighbours-wealth and beauty rather than health. We can see, too, what persons are the objects of the feeling. They are those who have these and similar things-those already mentioned, as courage, wisdom, public office. Holders of public office-generals, orators, and all who possess such powers-can do many people a good turn. Also those whom many people wish to be like; those who have many acquaintances or friends; those whom admire, or whom we ourselves admire; and those who have been praised and eulogized by poets or prose-writers. Persons of the contrary sort are objects of contempt: for the feeling and notion of contempt are opposite to those of emulation. Those who are such asto emulate or be emulated by others are inevitably disposed to be contemptuous of all such persons as are subject to those bad things which are contrary to the good things that are the objects of emulation: despising them for just that reason. Hence we often despise the fortunate, when luck comes to them without their having those good things which are held in honour. This completes our discussion of the means by which the several emotions
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

Part 12 Let us now consider the various types of human character, in relation to the emotions and moral qualities, showing how they correspond to our various ages and fortunas. By emotions 1 mean anger, desire, and the like; these we have discussed already. By moral qualities 1 mean virtues and vices; these also have been discussed already, as well as the various things that various types of men tend to will and to do. By ages 1 mean youth, the prime of life, and old age. By fortuna 1 mean birth, wealth, power, and their opposites-in fact, good fortuna and ill fortuna. To begin with the Youthful type of character. Young men have strong passions, and tend to gratify them indiscriminately. Of the bodily desires, it is the sexual by which they are most swayed and in which

they show absence of self-control. They are changeable and fickle in their desires, which are violent while they last, but quickly over: their impulses are keen but not deep-rooted, and are like sick people's attacks of hunger and thirst. They are hot-tempered, and quick-tempered, and apt to give way to their anger; bad temper afien gets the better of them, for owing to their lave of honour they cannot bear being slighted, and are indignant if they imagine themselves unfairly treated. While they lave honour, they lave victory still more; for youth is eager for superiority over others, and victory is ene form of this. They lave both more than they lave money, which indeed they lave very little, not having yet learnt what it means to be without it-this is the point of Pittacus' remark about Amphiaraus. They look at the good side rather than the bad, not having yet witnessed many instances of wickedness. They trust others readily, because they have not yet afien been cheated. They are sanguina; nature warms their blood as though with excess of wine; and besides that, they have as yet met with few disappointments. Their lives are mainly spent not in memory but in expectation; for expectation refers to the future, memory to the past, and youth has a long future befare it and a short past behind it: on the first day of one's life ene has nothing at all to remember, and can only look forward. They are easily cheated, owing to the sanguina disposition just mentioned. Their hot tempers and hopeful dispositions make them more courageous than older men are; the hot temper prevents fear, and the hopeful disposition creates confidence; we cannot feel fear so long as we are feeling angry, and any expectation of good makes us confident. They are shy, accepting the rules of society in which they have been trained, and not yet believing in any other standard of honour. They have exaltad notions, because they have not yet been humbled by life or learnt its necessary limitations; moreover, their hopeful disposition makes them think themselves equal to great things-and that means having exaltad notions. They [Link] always rather do noble deeds than useful enes: their lives are regulated more by moral feeling than by reasoning; and whereas reasoning leads us to choose what is useful, moral goodness leads us to choose what is noble. They are fonder of their friends, intimates, and companions than older men are, because they like spending their days in the company of others, and have not yet come to value either their friends or anything else by their usefulness to themselves. All their mistakes are in the direction of doing things excessively and vehemently. They disobey Chilon's precept by overdoing everything, they lave too much and hate too much, and the same thing with everything else. They think they know everything, and are always quite su re about it; this, in fact, is why they overdo everything. lf they do wrong to others, it is because they mean to
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

so cannot think he deserves to be treated in that way. They are fond of fun and therefore witty, wit being well-bred insolence. Part 13 Such, then is the character of the Young. The character of Elderly Men-men who are past their prime-may be said to be formed for the most part of elements that are the contrary of all these. They have lived many years; they have often been taken in, and often made mistakes; and life on the whole is a bad business. The result is that they are sure about nothing and under-do everything. They 'think', but they never 'know'; and because of their hesitation they always add a 'possibly'or a 'perhaps', putting everything this way and nothing positively. They are cynical; that is, they tend to put the oorse construction on everything. Further, their experience makes them distrustful and therefore suspicious

of evil. Consequently they neither love warmly nor hate bitterly, but following the hint of Bias they love as though they will sorne day hate and hate as though they will sorne day love. They are small-minded, because they have been humbled by life: their desires are set u pon nothing more exaltad or un usual than what will help them to keep alive. They are not generous, because money is one of the things they must have, and at the same time their experience has taught them how hard it is to get and how easy to lose. They are cowardly, and are always anticipating danger; unlike that of the young, who are warm-blooded, their temperament is chilly; old age has paved the way for cowardice; fear is, in fact, a form of chill. They love life; and all the more when their last day has come, because the object of all desire is something we have not got, and also because we desire most strongly that which we need most urgently. They are too fond of themselves; this is one form that small-mindedness takes. Because of this, they guide their lives too much by considerations of what is useful and too little by what is noble-for the useful is what is good for oneself, and the noble what is good absolutely. They are not shy, but shameless rather; caring less for what is noble than for what is useful, they feel contempt for what people may think of them. They lack confidence in the future; partly through experience-for most things go IM'ong, or anyhow turn out oorse than one expects; and partly be cause of their cowardice. They live by memory rather than by hope; for what is left to them of life is but little as comparad with the long past; and hope is of the future, rnemory of the past. This, again, is the cause of their loquacity; they are continually talking of the past, because they enjoy remembering it. Their fits of anger are sudden but feeble. Their sensual passions have either altogether gone or have lost their vigour: consequently they do not feel their passions much, and their actions are inspirad less by what they do feel than by the love of gain. Hence men at this time of life are often supposed to have a self-controlled character; the fact is that their passions have slackened, and they are slaves to the love of gain. They guide their lives by reasoning more than by moral feeling; reasoning being directed to utility and moral feeling to moral goodness. lf they IM'ong others, they mean to injure them, not to insult them. Old rnen may feel pity, as well as young rnen, but not for the same reason. Young men feel it out of kindness; old men out of weakness, imagining that anything that befalls any one else might easily happen to them, which, as we saw, is a thought that excites pity. Hence they are querulous, and not disposed to jesting or laughter-the love of laughter being the very opposite of querulousness.
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

them and ourselves lo our audiences. Par! 14 As for Men in their Prime, clearly we shall find that they have a character between that of the young and that of the old, free from !he extremes of either. They have neither that excess of confidence which amounts lo rashness, nor too much timidity, bu! !he right amount of each. They neither trust everybody nor distrust everybody, bu! judge people correctly. Their lives will be guided no! by !he sole consideration either of what is noble or of what is useful, but by both; neither by parsimony nor by prodigality, bu! by what is fit and proper. So, too, in regard to anger and desire; they will be brave as well as temperate, and temperate as well as brave; these virtues are divided between !he young and !he old; !he young are brave but intemperate, !he old temperate bu! cowardly. To pul it generally,

all the valuable qualities that youth and age divide between them are united in !he prime of life, while all their excesses or defects are replaced by moderation and fitness. The body is in its prime from thirty to five-and-thirty; !he mind about forty-nine. Par! 15 So much for the types of character that distinguish youth, old age, and !he prime of life. We will nowturn lo !hose Gifts of Fortune by which human character is affected. First le! us consider Good Birth. lts effect on character is lo make !hose who have it more ambitious; it is the way of all men who have something to start with to add to the pile, and good birth implies ancestral distinction. The well-born man willlook down even on those who are as good as his own ancestors, because any far-off distinction is greater !han !he same thing close to us, and better to boast about. Being well-born, which means coming of a fine stock, mus! be distinguished from nobility, which means being true lo !he family nature-a quality no! usually found in !he well-born, most of whom are poor creatures. In !he generations of men as in !he fruits of !he earth, there is a varying yield; now and then, where !he stock is good, exceptional menare produced for a while, and then decadence sets in. A clever stock will degenerate towards the insane type of character, like !he descendants of Alcibiades or of !he elder Dionysius; a steady stock towards !he fatuous and torpid type, like !he descendants of Cimon, Pericles, and Socrates. Par! 16 The type of character produced by Wealth lies on the surface for all lo see. Wealthy men are insolen! and arrogan!; their possession of wealth affects their understanding; they feel as if they had every good thing that exists; wealth becomes a sor! of standard of value for everything else, and therefore they imagine there is nothing it cannot buy. They are luxurious and ostentatious; luxurious, because of !he luxury in which they live and !he prosperity which they display; ostentatious and vulgar, because, like other people's, their minds are regularly occupied with !he object of their love and admiration, and also because they think that other people's idea of happiness is !he same as their own. lt is indeed quite natural that they should be affected thus; for if you have money, there are always plenty of people who come begging from you. Hence !he saying of Simonides about wise men and rich men, in answer to Hiero's wife, who asked him whether
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

they already have !he things that give a claim lo office. In a 'Mlrd, !he type of character produced by IM9alth is that of a prosperous fool. There is indeed one difference be!IM9en !he type of !he newly-enriched and !hose who have long been rich: the newly-enriched have all the bad qualities mentioned in an exaggerated and 'Mlrse form--to be newly-enriched means, so lo speak, no education in riches. The wrongs they do others are no! mean! lo injure their victims, bu! spring from insolence or self-indulgence, e.g. !hose that end in assault or in adultery. Par! 17 As to PoiM9r: here too it may fairly be said that the type of character it produces is mostly obvious enough. Sorne elements in this type it shares [Link] the IM9althy type, others are better. Those in po1M9r are more ambitious and more manly in character than !he IM9althy, because they aspire lo do !he great deeds that their po1M9r permits them lo do. Responsibility makes them more serious: they have to keep paying attention lo !he duties their position involves. They are dignified rather than arrogan!, for the respect in which they are held inspires them [Link] dignity and therefore [Link] moderation-dignity being a mild and becoming form of arrogance. lf they wrong others, they wrong them

no! on a small bu! on a great scale. Good fortune in certain of its branches produces the types of character belonging lo !he conditions jusi described, since these conditions are in fact more or less the kinds of good fortune that are regarded as most importan!. lt may be added that good fortune leads us lo gain aiiiM9 can in the way of family happiness and bodily advantages. 1t does indeed make men more supercilious and more reckless; bu! there is one excellent quality that goes [Link] it-piety, and respect for !he divine po1M9r, in which they believe because of events which are really the result of chance. This account of !he types of character that correspond lo differences of age or fortune may end here; for lo arrive al !he opposite types lo !hose described, namely, !hose of !he poor, !he unfortunate, and !he po1M9rless, IM9 have only lo ask what !he opposite qualities are. Par! 18 The use of persuasiva speech is to lead to decisions. (When IM9 know a thing, and have decided about it, there is no further use in speaking about it.) This is so even if one is addressing a single person and urging him lo do or no! lo do something, as when IM9 scold a man for his conduct or try to change his views: the single person is as much your 'judge' as if he IM9re one of many; IM9 may say, [Link] qualification, that any one is your judge whom you have to persuade. Nor does it matter whether IM9 are arguing against an actual opponent or against a mere proposition; in !he la !ter case IM9 still have lo use speech and overthrowthe opposing arguments, and IM9 attack these as IM9 should attack an actual opponent. Our principie holds good of ceremonial speeches also; the 'onlookers' for whom such a speech is put together are treated as !he judges of it. Broadly speaking, ho1M9ver, !he only sor! of person who can strictly be called a judge is !he man who decides !he issue in sorne matter of public controversy; that is, in law suits and in political debates, in both of which there are issues to be decided. In !he section on political oratory an account has already been given of the types of character that mark the different constitutions.
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

Each of the main divisions of oratory has, we have seen, its OIM'l distinct purpose. With regard to each division, we have noted the accepted views and propositions upon which we may base our arguments-for political, for ceremonial, and for forensic speaking. We have further determinad completely by what means speeches may be invested with the required moral character. We are nowto proceed to discuss the arguments common to all oratory. All orators, besides their speciallines of argument, are bound to use, for instance, the topic of the Possible and lmpossible; and to try to show that a thing has happened, or will happen in future. Again, the topic of Size is common to all oratory; all of us have to argue that things are bigger or smaller than they seem, whether we are making political speeches, speeches of eulogy or attack, or prosecuting or defending in the law-courts. Having analysed these subjects, we will try to say what we can about the general principies of arguing by 'enthymeme' and 'example', by the addition of which we may hope to complete the project with which we set out. Of the above-mentioned generallines of argument, that concerned with Amplification is-as has been already said-most appropriate to ceremonial speeches; that concerned with the Past, to forensic speeches, where the required decision is always about the past; that concerned with Possibility and the Future, to political speeches. Part 19 Let us first speak of the Possible and lmpossible. 1t may plausibly be argued: That if it is possible for one of a pair of contraries

to be or happen, then it is possible for the other: e.g. if a man can be cured, he can also fall ill; for any tv.o contraries are equally possible, in so far as they are contraries. That if of tv.o similar things one is possible, so is the other. That if the harder of tv.o things is possible, so is the easier. That if a thing can come into existence in a good and beautiful form, then it can come into existence generally; thus a house can exist more easily than a beautiful house. That if the beginning of a thing can occur, so can the end; for nothing impossible occurs or begins to occur; thus the commensurability of the diagonal of a square with its side neither occurs nor can begin to occur. That if the end is possible, so is the beginning; for all things that occur have a beginning. That if that which is posterior in essence or in order of generation can come into being, so can that which is prior: thus if a man can come into being, so can a boy, since the boy comes first in order of generation; and if a boy can, so can a man, for the man also is first. That those things are possible of which the love or desire is natural; for no one, as a rule, loves or desires impossibilities. That things which are the object of any kind of science or art are possible and exist or come into existence. That anything is possible the first step in whose production depends on men or things which we can compel or persuade to produce it, by our greater strength, our control of them, or our friendship with them. That where the parts are possible, the whole is possible; and where the whole is possible, the parts are usually possible. For if the slit in front, the toe-piece, and the upper leather can be made, then shoes can be made; and if shoes, then also the front slit and toe-piece. That if a whole genus is a thing that can occur, so can the species; and if the species can occur, so can the genus: thus, if a sailing vessel can be made, so also can a trireme; and if a trireme, then a sailing vessel also. That if one of tv.o things whose existence depends on each other is possible, so is the other; for instance,
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

Agathon has said: "To sorne things we by art must needs attain, "Others by destiny or luck we gain. " That if anything is possible to inferior, weaker, and stupider people, it is more so for their opposites; thus lsocrates said that it [Link] be a strange thing if he could not discover a thing that Euthynus had found out. As for lmpossibility, we can clearly get what we want by taking the contraries of the arguments stated above. Questions of Past Fact may be looked at in the following ways: First, that if the less likely of tVvO things has occurred, the more likely must have occurred also. That if one thing that usually follows another has happened, then that other thing has happened; that, for instance, if a man has forgotten a thing, he has also once learnt it. That if a man had the power and the wish to do a thing, he has done it; for every one does do whatever he intends to do whenever he can do it, there being nothing to stop him. That, further, he has done the thing in question either if he intended it and nothing externa! prevented him; or if he had the power to do it and was angry at the time; or if he had the power to do it and his heart was set u pon it-for people as a rule do what they long to do, if they can; bad people through lack of self-control; good people, because their hearts are set u pon good things. Again, that if a thing was 'going to happen', it has happened; if aman was 'going todo something', he has done it, for it is likely that the intention was carried out. That if one thing has happened which naturally happens befare another or with a view to it, the other has happened; for instance, if it has lightened,

it has also thundered; and if an action has been attempted, it has been done. That if one thing has happened which naturally happens after another, or with a view to which that other happens, then that other (that which happens first, or happens with a view to this thing) has also happened; thus, if it has thundered it has lightened, and if an action has been done it has been attempted. Of all these sequences sorne are inevitable and sorne merely usual. The arguments for the non-occurrence of anything can obviously be found by considering the opposites of those that have been mentioned. How questions of Future Fact should be argued is clear from the same considerations: That a thing will be done if there is both the power and the wish to do it; or if along with the power to do it there is a craving for the result, or anger, or calculation, prompting it. That the thing will be done, in these cases, if the man is actually setting about it, or even if he means to do it later-for usually what we mean to do happens rather than what we do not mean to do. That a thing will happen if another thing which naturally happens befare it has already happened; thus, if it is clouding over, it is likely to rain. That if the means toan end have occurred, then the end is likely to occur; thus, if there is a foundation, there will be a house. For arguments about the Greatness and Smallness of things, the greater and the lesser, and generally great things and small, what we have already said will show the line to take. In discussing deliberativa oratory we have spoken about the relativa greatness of various goods, and about the greater and lesser in general. Since therefore in each type oratory the object under discussion is sorne kind of good-whether
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

and superiority, is to argue without an object; in practicallife, particular facts count more than generalizations. Enough has now been said about these questions of possibility and the reverse, of pastor future fact, and of the relativa greatness or smallness of things. Part 20 The special forms of oratorical argurnent having now been discussed, we have next to treat of those which are common to all kinds of oratory. These are of tv1.o main kinds, 'Example' and 'Enthymeme'; for the 'Maxim' is part of an enthymeme. We will first treat of argurnent by Example, for it has the nature of induction, which is the foundation of reasoning. This form of argument has tv1.o varieties; one consisting in the mention of actual past facts, the other in the invention of facts by the speaker. Of the latter, again, there are tv1.o varieties, the illustrative parallel and the fable (e.g. the fables of Aesop, those from Libya). Asan instance of the mention of actual facts, take the following. The speaker may argue thus: 'We must prepare for war against the king of Persia and not let him subdue Egypt. For Darius of old did not cross the Aegean until he had seized Egypt; but once he had seized it, he did cross. And Xerxes, again, did not attack us until he had seized Egypt; but once he had seized it, he did cross. lf therefore the present king seizes Egypt, he also will cross, and therefore we must not let him.' The illustrative parallel is the sort of argument Socrates used: e.g. 'Public officials ought not to be selected by lot. That is like using the lot to select athletes, instead of choosing those who are fit for the contest; or using the lot to select a steersman from among a ship's crew, as if we ought to take the man on whom the lot falls, and not the man who knows most about it.' Instan ces of the fable are that of Stesichorus about Phalaris, and

that of Aesop in defence of the popular leader. When the people of Himera had made Phalaris military dictator, and were going to give him a bodyguard, Stesichorus [Link] up a long talk by telling them the fable of the horse who had a field all to himself. Presently there carne a stag and began to spoil his pasturage. The horse, wishing to revenge himself on the stag, asked a man if he could help him to do so. The man said, 'Ves, if you willlet me bridle you and get on to your back with javelins in my hand'. The horse agreed, and the man mounted; but instead of getting his revenge on the stag, the horse found himselfthe slave ofthe man. 'You too', said Stesichorus, 'take care lest your desire for revenge on your enemies, you meet the same fate as the horse. By making Phalaris military dictator, you have already let yourselves be bridled. lf you let him get on to your backs by giving him a bodyguard, from that moment you will be his slaves.' Aesop, defending before the assembly at Samos a poular leader who was being tried for his life, told this story: A fox, in crossing a river, was swept into a hole in the rocks; and, not being able to get out, suffered miserias for a long time through the swarms of fleas that fastened on her. A hedgehog, while roaming around, noticed the fox; and feeling sorry for her asked if he might remove the fleas. But the fox declinad the offer; and when the hedgehog asked why, she
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

Aesop, 'my client IMII do you no further harm; he is wealthy already. But if you put him to death, others IMII come along who are not rich, and their peculations IMII empty your treasury completely.' Fables are suitable for addresses to popular assemblies; and they have one advantage-they are comparatively easy to invent, whereas it is hard to find parallels among actual past events. You IMII in fact trame them just as yo u frame illustrative parallels: all you require is the power of thinking out your analogy, a power developed by intellectual training. But while it is easier to supply parallels by inventing fables, it is more valuable for the political speaker to supply them by quoting what has actually happened, since in most respects the future IMII be like what the past has been. Where we are unable to argue by Enthymeme, we must try to demonstrate our point by this method of Example, and to convince our hearers thereby. lf we can argue by Enthymeme, we should use our Examples as subsequent supplementary evidence. They should not precede the Enthymemes: that IMII give the argumentan inductiva air, which only rarely suits the conditions of speech-making. lf they followthe enthymemes, they have the effect of witnesses giving evidence, and this alway tells. For the same reason, if you put your examples first you must give a large number of them; if you put them last, a single one is sufficient; even a single witness will serve if he is a good one. lt has now been stated how many varieties of argument by Example there are, and how and when they are to be employed. Part 21 We nowturn to the use of Maxirns, in arder to see upon what subjects and occasions, and for what kind of speaker, they IMII appropriately form part of a speech. This will appear most clearly when we have defined a maxim. lt is a statement; not a particular fact, such as the character of lphicrates, but of a general kind; nor is it about any and every subject--e.g. 'straight is the contrary of curved' is nota maxim--but only about questions of practica! conduct, courses of conduct to be chosen or avoided. Now an Enthymeme is a syllogism dealing with such practica! subjects. lt is therefore roughly true that the premisses or conclusions of Enthymemes, considerad apart from the rest of the argument, are Maxims: e.g.

"Never should any man whose wits are sound "Have his sons taught more IMsdom than their fellows. " Here we have a Maxim; add the reason or explanation, and the whole thing is an Enthymeme; thus"lt makes them id le; and therewith they earn "111-IMII and jealousy throughout the city. " Again, "There is no man in all things prosperous, " and
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

"For all are slaves of money or of chance. " From this definition of a maxim it follows that there are four kinds of maxims. In the first Place, the maxim mayor may not have a supplement. Proof is needed where the statement is paradoxical or disputable; no supplement is wanted where the statement contains nothing paradoxical, either because the viewexpressed is already a known truth, e.g. "Chiefest of blessings is health for aman, as it seemeth tome,

"
this being the general opinion: or because, as soon as the view is stated, it is clear ata glance, e.g. "No love is true save that which loves for ever." Of the Maxims that do have a supplement attached, sorne are part of an Enthymeme, e.g. "Never should any man whose wits are sound, &c." Others have the essential character of Enthymemes, but are not stated as parts of Enthymemes; these latter are reckoned the best; they are those in which the reason for the view expressed is simply implied, e.g. "O mortal man, nurse not immortal wrath. " To say 'it is not right to nurse immortal wrath' is a maxim; the added 'Mlrds 'mortal man' give the reason. Similarly, with the 'Mlrds Mortal creatures ought to cherish mortal, not immortal thoughts. What has been said has shown us how many kinds of Maxims there are, and to what subjects the various kinds are appropriate. They must not be given without supplement if they express disputad or paradoxical views: we must, in that case, either put the supplement first and make a maxim of the conclusion, e.g. you might say, 'For my part, since both unpopularity and idleness are undesirable, 1 hold that it is better not to be educated'; or you may say this first, and then add the previous clause. Where a statement, without being paradoxical, is not obviously true, the reason should be added as concisely as possible. In such cases both laconic and enigmatic sayings are suitable: thus one might say what Stesichorus said to !he Locrians, 'lnsolence is better avoided, les! the cicalas chirp on the ground'. The use of Maxims is appropriate only to elderly men, and in handling subjects in which the speaker is experienced. For a young manto use them is-like telling stories-unbecoming; lo use them in handling things in which one has no experience is silly and ill-bred: a fact sufficiently preved by the special fondness of country fellows for striking out maxims, and their readiness to air them. To declare a thing to be universally true when it is not is most appropriate when 'Mlrking up feelings of horror and indignation in our hearers; especially by way of preface, or after the facts have been preved. Even hackneyed and commonplace maxims are to be used, if they suit one's purpose: just because they are commonplace, every one seems
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

"One omen of all is hest, that we fight for our fatherland.

"
Or, if he is calling on them to attack a stronger force"The War-God showeth no favour. " Or, if he is urging people to destroy the innocent children of their enemies"Fool, who slayeth the father and leaveth his sons to avenge him.

"
Sorne proverbs are also maxims, e.g. the proverb 'An Attic neighbour'. You are not to avoid uttering maxims that contradict such sayings as have become public property (1 mean such sayings as 'know thyself and 'nothing in excess') if doing so will raise your hearers' opinion of your character, or convey an effect of strong emotion--e.g. an angry speaker might well say, 'lt is not true that we ought to know ourselves: anyhow, if this man had known himself, he 'II>Ould never have thought himself fit for an army command.' lt will raise people's opinion of our character to say, for instance, 'We ought not to follow the saying that bids us treat our friends as future enemies: much better to treat our enemies as future friends.' The moral purpose should be implied partly by the very 'II>Ording of our maxim. Failing this, we should add our reason: e.g. having said 'We should treat our friends, notas the saying advises, but as if they were going to be our friends always', we should add 'for the other behaviour is that of a traitor': or we might put it, 1 disapprove of that saying. A true friend will treat his friend as if he were going to be his friend for ever'; and again, 'Nor do 1 approve of the saying "nothing in excess": we are bound to hate bad men excessively.' One great advantage of Maxims to a speaker is due to the want of intelligence in his hearers, who love to hear him succeed in expressing as a universal truth the opinions which they hold themselves about particular cases. 1 will explain what 1 mean by this, indicating at the same time how we are to hunt down the maxims required. The maxim, as has been already said, a general statement and people love to hear stated in general terms what they already believe in sorne particular connexion: e.g. if a man happens to have bad neighbours or bad children, he will agree with any one who tells him, 'Nothing is more annoying than having neighbours', or, 'Nothing is more foolish than to be the parent of children.' The orator has therefore to guess the subjects on which his hearers really hold views already, and what those views are, and then must express, as general truths, these same views on these same subjects. This is one advantage of using maxims. There is another which is more important-it invests a speech with moral character. There is moral character in every speech in which the moral purpose is conspicuous: and maxims always produce this effect, because the utterance of them amounts to a general declaration of moral principies: so that, if the maxims are sound, they display the speaker as a man of sound moral character. So much for the Maxim-its nature, varieties, proper use, and advantages. Part 22 We now come to the Enthymemes, and will begin the subject with sorne general consideration of the proper way of looking for them, and then
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

differences betvveen it and the syllogism of dialectic. Thus we must not carry its reasoning too far back, or the length of our argument will cause obscurity: nor must we put in all the steps that lead to our conclusion, or we shall Y/aste ~J~o~Jrds in saying IMlat is manifest. lt is this simplicity that makes the uneducated more effective than the educated IMlen addressing popular audiences-makes them, as the poets tell us, 'charm the crowd's ears more finely'. Educated men lay down broad general principies; uneducated men argue from common knowledge and drawobvious conclusions. We must not, therefore, start

from any and every accepted opinion, but only from those we have defined-those accepted by our judges or by those IMlose authority they recognize: and there must, moreover, be no doubt in the minds of most, if not all, of our judges that the opinions put forY~ard really are of this sort. We should also base our arguments upon probabilities as well as upon certainties. The first thing we have to remember is this. Whether our argument concerns public affairs or sorne other subject, we must know sorne, if not all, of the facts about the subject on IMlich we are to speak and argue. Otherwise we can have no materials out of IMlich to construct arguments. 1 mean, for instance, how could we advise the Athenians IMlether they should go to 'Nar or not, if we did not know their strength, IMlether it 'NaS naval or military or both, and how great it is; IMlat their revenues amount to; IMlo their friends and enemies are; IMlat 'NBrs, too, they have Y~Bged, and with IMlat success; and so on? Or how could we eulogize them if we knew nothing about the sea-fight at Salamis, or the battle of Marathon, or IMlat they did for the Heracleidae, or any other facts like that? All eulogy is based u pon the noble deeds--real or imaginary--that stand to the credit of those eulogized. On the same principie, invectivas are based on facts of the opposite kind: the orator looks to see IMlat base deeds--real or imaginary--stand to the discredit of those he is attacking, such as treachery to the cause of Hellenic freedom, or the enslavement of their gallant allies against the barbarians (Aegina, Potidaea, &c.), or any other misdeeds of this kind that are recordad against them. So, too, in a court of law: IMlether we are prosecuting or defending, we must pay attention to the existing facts of the case. lt makes no difference IMlether the subject is the Lacedaemonians or the Athenians, a man or a god; we must do the same thing. Suppose it to be Achilles IMlom we are to advise, to praise or blame, to accuse or defend; here too we must take the facts, real or imaginary; these must be our material, IMlether we are to praise or blame him for the noble or base deeds he has done, to accuse or defend him for his just or unjust treatment of others, orto advise him about IMlat is or is not to his interest. The same thing applies to any subject IMlatever. Thus, in handling the question IMlether justice is or is nota good, we must start with the real facts about justice and goodness. We see, then, that this is the only YIBY in IMlich any one ever proves anything, IMlether his arguments are strictly cogent or not: not all facts can form his basis, but only those that bear on the matter in hand: nor, plainly, can proof be effected otherwise by means ofthe speech. Consequently, as appears in the Topics, we must first of all have by us a selection of arguments about questions that may arise and are suitable for us to handle; and then we must try to think out arguments of the same type for special needs as they emerge; not vaguely and indefinitely, but by keeping our eyes on the actual facts of the subject we have to speak on, and gathering in as many of them as we can that bear closely u pon it: for the more actual facts we have at our command, the more easily we prove our
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

he is a human being ora demi-god, or because he joined !he expedition against Troy: these things are true of many others, so that this kind of eulogy applies no better lo Achilles !han lo Diomede. The special facts here needed are those that are true of Achilles alone; such facts as that he slew Hector, !he bravest of !he Trojans, and Cycnus the invulnerable, who prevented all the Greeks from landing, and again that he was !he youngest man who joined !he expedition, and was no! bound by oath lo join it, and so on. Here, again, we have our first principie of selection of Enthymemes-that

which refers to !he lines of argument selected. We will now consider !he various elementary classes of enthymemes. (By an 'elementary class' of enthymeme 1 mean the same thing as a 'line of argument'.) We will begin, as we mus! begin, by observing that there are tw:l kinds of enthymemes. One kind preves sorne affirmative or negativa proposition; !he other kind disproves one. The difference between !he tw:l kinds is the same as that between syllogistic proof and disproof in dialectic. The demonstrative enthymeme is formed by !he conjunction of compatible propositions; the refutative, by the conjunction of incompatible propositions. We may now be said to have in our hands !he lines of argument for !he various special subjects that it is useful or necessary lo handle, having selected !he propositions suitable in various cases. We have, in fact, already ascertained the lines of argument applicable lo enthymemes about good and evil, !he noble and !he base, justice and injustice, and also to !hose about types of character, emotions, and moral qualities. Le! us now lay hold of certain facts about !he whole subject, considerad from a different and more general point of view. In !he course of our discussion we will take note of !he distinction between lines of proof and lines of disproof: and also of !hose lines of argument used in what seems lo be enthymemes, bu! are no!, since they do no! represen! valid syllogisms. Having made all this clear, we will proceed lo classify Objections and Refutations, showing howthey can be brought lo bear u pon enthymemes. Part 23 1. One line of positiva proof is based u pon consideration of !he opposite of the thing in question. Observe whether that opposite has the opposite quality. lf it has no!, you refute !he original proposition; if it has, you establish it. E.g. 'Temperance is beneficia!; for licentiousness is hurtful'. Or, as in !he Messenian speech, 'lfwar is !he cause of our present troubles, peace is what we need to pul things right again'. Or"For if no! even evil-doers should "Anger us if they mean! no! what they did, "Then can we owe no gratitude lo such "As were constrained todo !he good they did us." Or"Since in this world liars may win belief, "Be su re of the opposite likewise-that this world
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

2. Another line of proof is gol by considering sorne modification of !he key-II\Ord, and arguing that what can or cannot be said of !he one, can or cannot be said of !he other: e.g. 'jusi' does no! always mean 'beneficia!', or 'justly' II\Ould always mean 'beneficially', whereas it is no! desirable lo be justly pul lo death. 3. Another line of proof is based u pon correlativa ideas. lf it is true that one man noble or jusi treatment lo another, you argue that !he other mus! have received noble or jusi treatment; or that where it is right lo command obedience, it mus! have been right lo obey !he command. Thus Diomedon, the tax-farmer, said of !he laxes: 'lf it is no disgrace for you lo sell them, it is no disgrace for us lo buy them'. Further, if 'well' or 'justly' is true of !he person to whom a thing is done, you argue that it is true of !he doer. Bu! it is possible to draw a false conclusion here. 1t may be jusi that A should be treated in a certain way, and yet no! jusi that he should be so treated by B. Hence you mus! ask yourself 111\0 distinct questions: (1) ls it right that A should be thus treated? (2) ls it right that B should thus treat him? and apply your results properly, according as your answers are Y es or No. Sometimes in such a case !he 111\0 answers differ: you may quite easily have a position like that in !he Alcmaeon

of Theodectes: "And was there none to loathe thy mother's crime?" to which question Alcmaeon in reply says, "Why, there are 111\0 things to examine here. " And when Alphesiboea asks what he means, he rejoins: "They judged her fit to die, not me to slay her. " Again there is !he lawsuit about Demosthenes and !he men who killed Nicanor; as they were judged lo have killed him justly, it was thought that he was killed justly. And in !he case of !he man who was killed al Thebes, !he judges were requested lo decide whether it was unjust that he should be killed, since if it was no!, it was argued that it could not have been unjust to kili him. 4. Another line of proof is !he 'a fortiori'. Thus it may be argued that if even !he gods are no! omniscient, certainly human beings are not. The principie here is that, if a quality does not in fact exist where it is more likely lo exist, it clearly does no! exist where it is less likely. Again, the argument that a man who strikes his father also strikes his neighbours follows from !he principie that, if the less likely thing is true, the more likely thing is true also; for a man is less likely lo strike his father !han lo strike his neighbours. The argument, then, may run thus. Or it may be urged that, if a thing is no! true where it is more likely, it is no! true where it is less likely; or that, if it is true where it is less likely, it is true where it is more likely: according as we have to showthat a thing is or is no! true. This argument might also be used in a case of parity, as in the lines: "Thou has! pity for thy sire, who has los! his sons: "Hast none for Oeneus, whose brave son is dead? "
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

did well lo slay Patroclus, Paris did well lo slay Achilles'. And 'if other followers of an art are not bad men, neither are philosophers'. And 'if generals are no! bad men because it often happens that they are condemned to death, neither are sophists'. And the remark that 'if each individual among you ought lo !hin k of his OIMl city's reputation, you ought all lo !hin k of !he reputation of Greece as a whole'. 5. Another line of argument is based on considerations of time. Thus lphicrates, in !he case against Harmodius, said, 'if before doing !he deed 1 had bargained that, if 1 did it, 1 should have a statue, you 1MlUid have given me one. Will you not give me one now that 1 have done !he deed? You mus! no! make promises when you are expecting a thing to be done for you, and refuse to fulfil them when !he thing has been done.' And, again, lo induce !he Thebans lo le! Philip pass through their territory into Attica, it was argued that 'if he had insisted on this before he helped them against the Phocians, they 1Mluld have promised to do it. lt is monstrous, therefore, that just because he threw away his advantage then, and trusted their honour, they should not let him pass through novJ. 6. Another line is to apply to the other speaker what he has said against yourself. lt is an excellent turn lo give lo a debate, as may be seen in !he Teucer. lt was employed by lphicrates in his reply lo Aristophon. 'Would you', he asked, 'take a bribe lo betray the fleet?' 'No', said Aristophon; and lphicrates replied, 'Very good: if you, who are Aristophon, 1MlUid not betray !he fleet, 1MlUid 1, who am lphicrates?' Only, it mus! be recognized beforehand that !he other man is more likely than you are to commit the crime in question. Otherwise you will make yourself ridiculous; it is Aristeides who is prosecuting, you cannot say that sor! of thing to him. The purpose is to discredit !he prosecutor, who as a rule 1Mluld have it appear that his character is better !han that of the defendant, a pretension which it is desirable

lo upset. But the use of such an argument is in all cases ridiculous if you are attacking others for what you do or 1Mluld do yourself, orare urging others lo do what you neither do nor 1MlUid do yourself. 7. Another line of proof is secured by defining your terms. Thus, 'What is !he supernatural? Surely it is either a god or !he 1Mlrk of a god. Well, any one who believes that the 1Mlrk of a god exists, cannot help also believing that gods exist.' Or take !he argument of lphicrates, 'Goodness is true nobility; neither Harmodius nor Aristogeiton had any nobility before they did a noble deed'. He also argued that he himself was more akin to Harmodius and Aristogeiton !han his opponent was. 'Al any rate, my deeds are more akin lo !hose of Harmodius and Aristogeiton than yours are'. Another example may be found in the Alexander. 'Every one will agree that by incontinent people we mean !hose who are not satisfied with the enjoyment of one love.' A further example is lo be found in !he reason given by Socrates for no! going lo !he court of Archelaus. He said that 'one is insultad by being unable lo requite benefits, as well as by being unable lo requite injuries'. All !he persons mentioned define their term and gel al its essential meaning, and then use !he result when reasoning on the point al issue. 8. Another line of argument is founded upon !he various senses of a 1Mlrd. Such a 1Mlrd is 'rightly', as has been explained in the Topics. Another line is based u pon logical division. Thus, 'AII men do wrong from one of three motives, A, B, or C: in my case A and B are out
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

'Mlman of Peparethus it might be argued that 'Mlmen everywhere can settle correctly the facts about their children. Another example of this occurred at Athens in the case between the orator Mantias and his son, when the boy's mother revealed the true facts: and yet another at Thebes, in the case between lsmenias and Stilbon, when Dodonis proved that it was lsmenias who was the father of her son Thettaliscus, and he was in consequence always regarded as being so. A further instance of induction may be taken from the Law of Theodectes: 'lf we do not hand over our horses to the care of men who have mishandled other people's horses, nor ships to those who have wrecked other people's ships, and if this is true of everything else alike, then men who have failed to secura other people's safety are not to be employed to secura our own.' Another instance is the argument of Alcidamas: 'Every one honours the wise'. Thus the Parians have honoured Archilochus, in spite of his bitter tongue; the Chians Homer, though he was not their countryman; the Mytilenaeans Sappho, though she was a 'Mlman; the Lacedaemonians actually made Chilon a member of their senate, though they are the least literary of men; the ltalian Greeks honoured Pythagoras; the inhabitants of Lampsacus gave public burial to Anaxagoras, though he was an alien, and honour him even to this day. (lt may be argued that peoples for whom philosophers legislate are always prosperous) on the ground that the Athenians became prosperous under Solon's laws and the Lacedaemonians under those of Lycurgus, while at Thebes no sooner did the leading men become philosophers than the country began to prosper. 11. Another line of argument is founded u pon some decision already pronounced, whether on the same subject or on one like it or contrary to it. Such a proof is most effective if every one has always decided thus; but if not every one, then at any rate most people; or if all, or most, wise or good men have thus decided, or the actual judges of the present question, or those whose authority they accept, or any one whose decision they cannot gainsay because he has complete control over them, or those whom it is not seemly to gainsay, as the

gods, or one's father, or one's teachers. Thus Autocles said, when attacking Mixidemides, that it was a strange thing that the Oread Goddesses could without loss of dignity submit to the judgement of the Areopagus, and yet Mixidemides could not. Or as Sappho said, 'Death is an evil thing; the gods have so judged it, or they 'hOUid die'. Or again as Aristippus said in reply to Plato when he spoke somewhat too dogmatically, as Aristippus thought: 'Well, anyhow, our friend', meaning Socrates, 'never spoke like that'. And Hegesippus, having previously consultad Zeus at Olympia, asked Apollo at Delphi 'whether his opinion was the same as his father's', implying that it 'Mluld be shameful for him to contradict his father. Thus too lsocrates argued that Helen must have been a good 'Mlman, because Theseus decided that she was; and Paris a good man, because the goddesses chose him before all others; and Evagoras also, says lsocrates, was good, since when Conon met with his misfortune he betook himself to Evagoras without trying any one else on the way. 12. Another line of argument consists in taking separately the parts of a subject. Such is that given in the Topics: 'What sort of motion is the soul? for it must be this or that.' The Socrates of Theodectes provides an example: 'What temple has he profanad? What gods recognized by the state has he not honoured?' 13. Since it happens that any given thing usually has both good and
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

E.g. education leads both lo unpopularity, which is bad, and lo wisdom, which is good. Hence you either argue, 'lt is therefore not well to be educated, since it is no! well lo be unpopular': or you answer, 'No, it is well to be educated, sin ce it is well to be wise'. The Art of Rhetoric of Callippus is made up of this line of argument, with the addition of those of Possibility and the others of that kind already described. 14. Another line of argument is used when we have lo urge or discourage a course of action that may be done in either of lvl.o opposite ways, and have to apply the method just mentioned to both. The difference between this one and the las! is that, whereas in the las! any tvo.o things are contrastad, here the things contrastad are opposites. For instance, !he priestess enjoined u pon her son no! lo take lo public speaking: 'For', she said, 'if you say what is right, men will hate you; if yo u say what is vvrong, !he gods will hale yo u.' The reply might be, 'On the contrary, you ought to take to public speaking: for if you say what is right !he gods willlove you; if you say what is vvrong, men willlove you.' This amounts to the proverbial 'buying !he marsh with !he sal!'. lt is jusi this situation, viz. when each of lvl.o opposites has both a good and a bad consequence opposite respectively lo each other, that has been termed divarication. 15. Another line of argument is this: The things people approve of openly are no! !hose which they approve of secretly: openly, their chief praise is given to justice and nobleness; but in their hearts they prefer their own advantage. Try, in face of this, lo establish !he point ofviewwhich your opponent has not adoptad. This is !he most effective of !he forms of argument that contradict common opinion. 16. Another line is that of rational correspondence. E.g. lphicrates, when they were trying to compel his son, a youth under the prescribed age, lo perform one of !he state duties because he was tall, said 'lf you count tall boys men, you will next be voting short men boys'. And Theodectes in his Law said, 'You make citizens of such mercenarias as Strabax and Charidemus, as a reward of their merits; will yo u no! make exiles of such citizens as !hose who have done irreparable harm among the mercenarias?'

17. Another line is !he argument that if lvl.o results are !he same their antecedents are also the same. For instance, it was a saying of Xenophanes that lo assert that !he gods had birth is as impious as to say that they die; the consequence of both statements is that there is a time when !he gods do no! exist. This line of proof assumes generally that the result of any given thing is always the same: e.g. 'you are going lo decide no! about lsocrates, bu! about !he value of the whole profession of philosophy.' Or, 'to give earth and water' means slavery; or, 'lo share in !he Common Peace' means obeying orders. We are lo make either such assumptions or their opposite, as suits us bes!. 18. Another line of argument is based on the fact that men do not always make the same choice on a later as on an earlier occasion, but reversa their previous choice. E.g. !he following enthymeme: 'When we were exiles, we fought in order lo return; now we have returned, it oould be strange to choose exile in order not to have to fight.' one occasion, that is, they chose lo be true lo their homes al !he cost of fighting, and on the other to avoid fighting at the cost of
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

for an event or state of things is the real one: e.g. that a gift 'NaS given in order to cause pain by its 'hithdra'Nal. This notion underlies the lines: "God gives to many great prosperity, "Not of good God to'Nards them, but to make "The ruin of them more conspicuous. " Or take the passage from the Meleager of Antiphon: "To slay no boar, but to be 'hitnesses "Of Meleager's prowess unto Greece. " Or the argument in the Ajax of Theodectes, that Diomede chose out Odysseus not to do him honour, but in order that his companion might be a lesser man than himself-such a motive for doing so is quite possible. 20. Another line of argument is common to forensic and deliberativa oratory, namely, to consider inducements and deterrents, and the motives people have for doing or avoiding the actions in question. These are the conditions W"lich make us bound to act if they are for us, and to refrain from action if they are against us: that is, we are bound to act if the action is possible, easy, and useful to ourselves or our friends or hurtful to our enemies; this is true even if the action entails loss, provided the loss is outweighed by the solid advantage. A speaker 'hill urge action by pointing to such conditions, and discourage it by pointing to the opposite. These same arguments also form the materials for accusation or defence-the deterrents being pointed out by the defence, and the inducements by the prosecution. As for the defence, ... This topic forms the W"lole Art of Rhetoric both of Pamphilus and of Callippus. 21. Another line of argument refers to things W"lich are supposed to happen and yet seem incredible. We may argue that people could not have believed them, if they had not been true or nearly true: even that they are the more likely to be true because they are incredible. For the things W"lich men believe are either facts or probabilities: if, therefore, a thing that is believed is improbable and even incredible, it must be true, since it is certainly not believed because it is at all probable or credible. An example is W"lat Androcles of the deme Pitthus said in his well-known arraignment of the law. The audience tried to shout him down W"len he observad that the la'NS required a lawto set them right. 'Why', he went on, 'fish need salt, improbable and incredible as this might seem for creatures reared in salt 'Nater; and olive-cakes need oil, incredible as it is that W"lat produces oil

should need it.' 22. Another line of argument is to refute our opponent's case by noting any contrasts or contradictions of dates, acts, or oords that it anyW"lere displays; and this in any of the three follo'hing connexions. (1) Referring to our opponent's conduct, e.g. 'He says he is devoted to you, yet he conspirad 'hith the Thirty.' (2) Referring to our own conduct, e.g. 'He says 1 am litigious, and yet he cannot prove that 1 have been engaged in a single la'NSuit.' (3) Referring to both of us together, e.g. 'He has never even lent any one a penny, but 1 have ransomed
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

really or seemingly slandered, is to [Link] the facts are notas supposed; pointing out that there is a reason for the false impression given. Thus a IMlman, Vvtlo had palmed off her son on another IMlman, 'NaS thought to be the lad's mistress because she embraced him; but Vvtlen her action 'NaS explained the charge 'NaS shown to be groundless. Another example is from the Ajax of Theodectes, Vvtlere Odysseus tells Ajax the reason Vvtly, though he is really braver than Ajax, he is not thought so. 24. Another line of argument is to show that if the cause is present, the effect is present, and if absent, absent. For by proving the cause you at once prove the effect, and conversely nothing can exist without its cause. Thus Thrasybulus accused Leodamas of having had his name recordad as a criminal on the slab in the Acropolis, and of erasing the record in the time of the Thirty Tyrants: to Vvtlich Leodamas replied, 'lmpossible: for the Thirty IMluld have trusted me all the more if my quarrel with the commons had been inscribed on the slab.' 25. Another line is to consider Vvtlether the accused person can take or could have taken a better course than that Vvtlich he is recommending or taking, or has taken. lf he has not taken this better course, it is clear that he is not guilty, since no one deliberately and consciously chooses Vvtlat is bad. This argument is, however, fallacious, for it often becomes clear after the event how the action could have been done better, though before the event this 'NaS far from clear. 26. Another line is, Vvtlen a contemplated action is inconsistent with any past action, to examine them both together. Thus, Vvtlen the people of Elea asked Xenophanes if they should or should not sacrifica to Leucothea and mourn for her, he advised them not to mourn for her if they thought her a goddess, and not to sacrifica to her if they thought her a mortaiiMlman. 27. Another line is to make previous mistakes the grounds of accusation or defence. Thus, in the Medea of Carcinus the accusers allege that Medea has slain her children; 'at all events', they say, 'they are not to be seen'-Medea having made the mistake of sending her children a'Nay. In defence she argues that it is not her children, but Jason, Vvtlom she IMlUid have slain; for it IMlUid have been a mistake on her part not to do this if she had done the other. This special line of argument for enthymeme forms the Vvtlole of the Art of Rhetoric in use before Theodorus. "Another line is to draw meanings from names. Sophocles, for instance, says," "O steel in heart as thou art steel in name. " This line of argument is common in praises of the gods. Thus, too, Conon called Thrasybulus rash in counsel. And Herodicus said of Thrasymachus, 'You are ai'Nays bold in battle'; of Polus, 'you are ai'Nays a colt'; and of the legislator Draco that his laws were those not of a human being but of a dragon, so savage were they. And, in Euripides, Hecuba says of Aphrodite, "Her name and Folly's (aphrosuns) lightly begin alike, " and Chaeremon ~.wites
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

The Refutative Enthymeme has a greater reputation !han !he Demonstrative, because within a small space it \Mlrks out l1Ml opposing arguments, and arguments pul side by side are clearer lo !he audience. Bu! of all syllogisms, whether refutative or demonstrative, those are most applauded of which we foresee !he conclusions from the beginning, so long as they are not obvious at first sight-for part of the pleasure we feel is at our own intelligent anticipation; or those which we follow well enough lo see the point of them as soon as !he last IMlrd has been uttered. Part 24 Besides genuina syllogisms, there may be syllogisms that look genuina but are not; and since an enthymeme is merely a syllogism of a particular kind, it follows that, besides genuina enthymemes, there may be !hose that look genuina but are not. 1. Among !he lines of argument that form the Spurious Enthymeme the first is that which arises from the particular IMlrds employed. (a) One variety of this is when-as in dialectic, without having gane through any reasoning process, we make a final statement as if it were the conclusion of such a process, 'Therefore so-and-so is not true', 'Therefore also so-and-so mus! be true'-so too in rhetoric a compact and antithetical utterance passes for an enthymeme, such language being the proper province of enthymeme, so that it is seemingly !he form of IMlrding here that causes !he illusion mentioned. In arder to produce the effect of genuina reasoning by our form of \Mlrding it is useful to summarize !he results of a number of previous reasonings: as 'sorne he saved-others he avenged-the Greeks he freed'. Each of these statements has been previously proved from other facts; but the mere collocation of them gives the impression of establishing sorne fresh conclusion. (b) Another variety is based on !he use of similar \Mlrds for different things; e.g. the argument that !he mouse must be a noble creature, since it gives its name to the most august of all religious rites-for such the Mysteries are. Or one may introduce, into a eulogy of !he dog, !he dog-star; or Pan, because Pindar said: "O thou blessed one! "Thou whom they of Olympus call "The hound of manifold shape "That follows the Mother of Heaven:" or we may argue that, because there is much disgrace in there not being a dog about, there is honour in being a dog. Or that Hermes is readier than any other god to go shares, since we never say 'shares all round' except of him. Or that speech is a very excellent thing, since good men are no! said to be IMlrth money but to be IMlrthy of esteem-the phrase 'IMlrthy of esteem' also having !he meaning of 'IMlrth speech'. 2. Another line is to assert of !he whole what is true of the parts, or of the parts what is true of the whole. A whole and its parts are
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

trireme in !he Peiraeus, since he knows !he separata details that make up this statement. There is also !he argument that one wtlo knows !he letters knows !he wtlole word, since !he word is !he same thing as the letters wnich compase it; or that, if a double portian of a certain thing is harmful to health, then a single portian must no! be called wnolesome, since it is absurd that two good things should make one bad thing. Pul thus, the enthymeme is refutative; put as follows; demonstrative: 'For one good thing cannot be made up of two bad things.' The wtlole line of argument is fallacious. Again, there

is Polycrates' saying that Thrasybulus pul down thirty tyrants, wnere !he speaker adds them up one by one. Or the argument in the Orestes of Theodectes, wnere the argument is from part to wnole: "'Tis right that she wno slays her lord should die. " 'lt is right, too, that the son should avenge his father. Very good: these two things are wnat Orestes has done.' Still, perhaps the two things, once they are put together, do no! forma right act. The fallacy might also be said to be dueto omission, since the speaker fails lo say by wtlose hand a husband-slayer should die. 3. Another line is the use of indignan! language, wtlether to support your own case orto overthrow your opponent's. We do this wnen we paint a highly-coloured picture of the situation without having proved !he facts of it: if !he defendant does so, he produces an impression of his innocence; and if !he prosecutor goes into a passion, he produces an impression of the defendant's guilt. Here there is no genuina enthymeme: !he hearer infers guilt or innocence, but no proof is given, and the inference is fallacious accordingly. 4. Another line is to use a 'Sign', or single instance, as certain evidence; wnich, again, yields no valid proof. Thus, it might be said that lovers are useful to their countries, since the love of Harmodius and Aristogeiton caused the downfall of the tyrant Hipparchus. Or, again, that Dionysius is a thief, since he is a vicious man-there is, of course, no valid proof here; not every vicious man is a thief, though every thief is a vicious man. 5. Another line represents the accidental as essential. An instance is wnat Polycrates says of the mice, that they 'came to the rescue' because they gnawed through the bowstrings. Or it might be maintained that an invitation to dinner is a great honour, for it was because he was not invitad that Achilles was 'angered' with !he Greeks at Tenedos? As a fact, wtlat angered him was !he insult involved; it was a mere accident that this was the particular form that the insult took. 6. Another is the argument from consequence. In !he Alexander, for instance, it is argued that Paris must have had a lofty disposition, since he despised society and lived by himself on Mount Ida: because lofty people do this kind of thing, therefore Paris too, we are to suppose, had a lofty soul. Or, if a man dresses fashionably and roams around at night, he is a rake, since that is the way rakes behave. Another similar argument points out that beggars sing and dance in temples, and that exiles can live wnerever they please, and that such privileges are at !he disposal of those we account happy and therefore every one might be regarded as happy if only he has those privileges. What matters, however, is the circumstances under wnich the privileges
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

7. Another line consists in representing as causes things which are not causes, on !he ground that they happened along with or befare !he event in question. They assume that, because B happens after A, it happens because of A. Politicians are especially fond of taking this line. Thus Demades said that !he policy of Demosthenes was !he cause of all the mischief, 'for after it the war occurred'. 8. Another line consists in leaving out any mention of time and circumstances. E.g. !he argument that Paris was justified in taking Helen, since her father left her free lo choose: here !he freedom was presumably not perpetua!; it could only refer to her first choice, beyond which her father's authority could no! go. Or again, one might say that to strike a free man is an act of wanton outrage; but it is not so in every case-only when it is unprovoked.

9. Again, a spurious syllogism may, as in 'eristical' discussions, be based on the confusion of the absoluta with that which is not absoluta but particular. As, in dialectic, for instance, it may be argued that what-is-not is, on the ground that what-is-not is what-is-not: or that !he unknown can be known, on !he ground that it can be known lo he unknown: so also in rhetoric a spurious enthymeme may be based on !he confusion of sorne particular probability with absoluta probability. Now no particular probability is universally probable: as Agathon says, "One might perchance say that was probable"That things improbable oft will hap to men. " For what is improbable does happen, and therefore it is probable that improbable things will happen. Granted this, one might argue that 'what is improbable is probable'. But this is not true absolutely. As, in eristic, the impostura comes from no! adding any clause specifying relationship or reference or manner; so here it arises because !he probability in question is no! general bu! specific. lt is of this line of argument that Coraxs Art of Rhetoric is composed. lf the accused is no! open lo !he charge-for instance if a weakling be tried for violen! assault-the defence is that he was no! likely lo do such a thing. But if he is open to !he charge-i.e. if he is a strong man-the defence is still that he was no! likely lo do such a thing, since he could be su re that people 'MlUid think he was likely to do it. And so with any other charge: !he accused mus! be either open or no! open to it: there is in either case an appearance of probable innocence, bu! whereas in !he latter case !he probability is genuina, in !he former it can only be asserted in the special sense mentioned. This sort of argument illustrates what is mean! by making !he 'Mlrse argument seem the better. Hence people were right in objecting to the training Protagoras undertook lo give them. lt was a fraud; !he probability it handled was no! genuina bu! spurious, and has a place in no art except Rhetoric and Eristic. Part 25 Enthymemes, genuina and apparent, have now been described; !he next subject is their Refutation. An argument may be refutad either by a counter-syllogism or by bringing an objection. lt is clear that counter-syllogisms can be built up
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

Tapies, may be raised in four ways-either by directly attacking your opponent's OIM"I statement, or by putting forward another statement like it, or by putting forward a statement contrary to it, or by quoting previous decisions. 1. By 'attacking your opponent's OIM"I statement' 1 mean, for instance, this: if his enthymeme should assert that love is always good, the objection can be brought in t'MJ ways, either by making the general statement that 'all want is an evil', or by making the particular one that there would be no talk of 'Caunian love' if there were not evilloves as well as good ones. 2. An objection 'from a contrary statement' is raised [Link], for instance, the opponent's enthymeme having concluded that a good man does good to all his friends, you object, 'That proves nothing, for a bad man does not do evil to all his friends'. 3. An example of an objection 'from a like statement' is, the enthymeme having shoiM"I that ill-used men always hate their ill-users, to reply, 'That proves nothing, for well-used men do not always love those [Link] u sed them well'. 4. The 'decisions' mentioned are those proceeding from well-knoiM"I

men; for instance, if the enthymeme employed has concluded that 'that allowance ought to be made for drunken offenders, since they did not know [Link] they were doing', the objection will be, 'Pittacus, then, deserves no approval, or he would not have prescribed specially severe penalties for offences due to drunkenness'. Enthymemes are based u pon one or other of four kinds of allegad fact: (1) Probabilities, (2) Examples, (3) lnfallible Signs, (4) Ordinary Signs. (1) Enthymemes based upon Probabilities are those [Link] argue from [Link] is, or is supposed to be, usually true. (2) Enthymemes based u pon Example are those [Link] proceed by induction from one or more similar cases, arrive ata general proposition, and then argue deductively to a particular inference. (3) Enthymemes based u pon lnfallible Signs are those [Link] argue from the inevitable and invariable. (4) Enthymemes based upon ordinary Signs are those [Link] argue from sorne universal or particular proposition, true or false. Now (1) as a Probability is that [Link] happens usually but not always, Enthymemes founded u pon Probabilities can, it is clear, always be refutad by raising sorne objection. The refutation is not always genuina: it may be spurious: for it consists in showing not that your opponent's premiss is not probable, but Only in showing that it is not inevitably true. Hence it is always in defence rather than in accusation that it is possible to gain an advantage by using this fallacy. For the accuser uses probabilities to prove his case: and to refute a conclusion as improbable is not the same thing asto refute it as not inevitable. Any argument based u pon [Link] usually happens is always open to objection: otherwise it would not be a probability but an invariable and necessary truth. But the judges think, if the refutation takes this form, either that the accuser's case is not probable or that they must not decide it; [Link], as we said, is a false piece of reasoning. For they ought to decide by considering not merely [Link] must be true but also [Link] is likely to be true: this is, indeed, the meaning of 'giving a verdict in accordance with one's honest opinion'. Therefore it is not enough for the defendant to refute the accusation by proving that the charge
26102/12 [Link]/[Link] IM> ways: either in respect of frequency or

in respect of exactness.

1t will be most convincing if it does so in both respects; for if

the thing in question both happens oftener as we represent it and happens more as we represent it, the probability is particularly great. (2) Fallible Signs, and Enthymemes based upon them, can be refuted even if the facts are correct, as was said at the outset. For we have shown in the Analytics that no Fallible Sign can form part of a valid logical proof. (3) Enthymemes depending on examples may be refuted in the same way as probabilities. lf we have a negativa instance, the argument is refuted, in so far as it is proved not inevitable, even though the positiva examples are more similar and more frequent. And if the positiva examples are more numerous and more frequent, we must contend that the present case is dissimilar, or that its conditions are dissimilar, or that it is different in sorne way or other. ( 4) lt will be impossible to refute lnfallible Signs, and Enthymemes resting on them, by showing in any way that they do not form a valid logical proof: this, too, we see from the Analytics. All we can do is to show that the fact alleged does not exist. lf there is no doubt that it does, and that it is an lnfallible Sign, refutation now becomes impossible: for this is equivalent to a demonstration which is clear in every respect. Part 26

Amplification and Depreciation are notan element of enthymeme. By 'an element of enthymeme' 1 mean the same thing as a line of enthymematic argument-a general class embracing a large number of particular kinds of enthymeme. Amplification and Depreciation are one kind of enthymeme, viz. the kind u sed to show that a thing is great or small; justas there are other kinds u sed to show that a thing is good or bad, just or unjust, and anything else of the sort. All these things are the subject-matter of syllogisms and enthymemes; none of these is the line of argument of an enthymeme; no more, therefore, are Amplification and Depreciation. Nor are Refutative Enthymemes a different species from Constructiva. For it is clear that refutation consists either in offering positiva proof or in raising an objection. In the first case we prove the opposite of our adversary's statements. Thus, if he shows that a thing has happened, we showthat it has not; if he shows that it has not happened, we show that it has. This, then, could not be the distinction if there were one, since the same means are employed by both parties, enthymemes being adduced to show that the fact is or is not so-and-so. An objection, on the other hand, is not an enthymeme at all, as was said in the Topics, consists in stating sorne accepted opinion from which it will be clear that our opponent has not reasoned correctly or has made a false assumption. Three points must be studied in making a speech; and we have now completad the account of (1) Examples, Maxims, Enthymemes, and in general the thought-element the way to invent and refute arguments. We have next to discuss (2) Style, and (3) Arrangement. BOOKIII
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

In making a speech one mus! study three points: first, !he means of producing persuasion; second, !he style, or language, to be used; third, !he proper arrangement of !he various parts of !he speech. We have already specified the sources of persuasion. We have shown that these are three in number; IM'Iat they are; and IM'Iy there are only these three: for we have shown that persuasion must in every case be effected either ( 1) by v.t>rking on !he emotions of !he judges themselves, (2) by giving them !he right impression of !he speakers' character, or (3) by proving !he truth of !he statements made. Enthymemes also have been described, and the sources from IM'Iich they should be derived; there being both special and generallines of argument for enthymemes. Our next subject will be the style of expression. For it is not enough lo knowiMlat we ought lo say; we mus! also say itas we ought; much help is thus afforded towards producing the right impression of a speech. The first question lo receive attention was naturally !he one that comes first naturally-how persuasion can be produced from !he facts themselves. The second is how lo se! these facts out in language. A third v.t>uld be !he proper method of delivery; this is a thing that affects !he success of a speech greatly; bu! hitherto !he subject has been neglected. lndeed, it was long before it found a way into the arts of tragic drama and epic recitation: at first poets acted their tragedias themselves. lt is plain that delivery has just as much to do with oratory as with poetry. (In connexion with poetry, it has been studied by Glaucon ofTeos among others.) 1t is, essentially, a matter of the right management of the voice lo express !he various emotions-of speaking loudly, softly, or between !he t>Ao; of high, low, or intermediate pitch; of !he various rhythms that suit various subjects. These are !he three things-volume of sound, modulation of pitch, and rhythm-that a speaker bears in mind. lt is !hose IM'Io do bear them in mind IM'Io usually win prizes in !he dramatic

contests; and jusi as in drama !he actors now count for more !han !he poets, so it is in !he contests of public life, owing lo !he defects of our political institutions. No systematic treatise upon !he rules of delivery has yet been composed; indeed, even !he study of language made no progress tilllate in !he day. Besides, delivery is-very properly-not regarded as an elevated subject of inquiry. Still, !he IM'Iole business of rhetoric being concerned with appearances, we mus! pay attention to the subject of delivery, unv.t>rthy though it is, because we cannot do without it. The right thing in speaking really is that we should be satisfied not to annoy our hearers, without trying to delight them: we ought in fairness lo fight our case with no help beyond !he bare facts: nothing, therefore, should matter except the proof of those facts. Still, as has been already said, other things affect !he result considerably, owing to the defects of our hearers. The arts of language cannot help having a small but real importance, IM'Iatever it is we have lo expound lo others: !he way in IM'Iich a thing is said does affect its intelligibility. No!, however, so much importance as people think. All such arts are fanciful and mean! lo charm !he hearer. Nobody uses fine language IM'Ien teaching geometry. When !he principies of delivery have been v.t>rked out, they will produce !he same effect as on !he stage. Bu! only very slight attempts lo deal with them have been made and by a few people, as by Thrasymachus in his 'Appeals lo Pity'. Dramatic ability is a natural gift, and can hardly be systematically taught. The principies of good diction
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

effect to their direction than to their thought. lt was naturally the poets who first set the movernent going; for words represent things, and they had also the human voice at their disposal, which of all our organs can best represent other things. Thus the arts of recitation and acting '11/ere formed, and others as '11/ell. Now it was because poets seemed to win farne through their fine language when their thoughts '11/ere simple enough, that the language of oratorical prose at first took a poetical colour, e.g. that of Gorgias. Even now most uneducated people think that poeticallanguage makes the finest discourses. That is not true: the language of prose is distinct from that of poetry. This is shown by the state of things to-day, when even the language of tragedy has alterad its character. Just as iambics '11/ere adoptad, instead of tetrameters, because they are the most prose-like of all metres, so tragedy has given up all those words, not used in ordinary talk, which decorated the early drama and are still used by the writers of hexameter poems. lt is therefore ridiculous to imitate a poetical manner which the poets themselves have dropped; and it is now plain that 'lile have not to treat in detail the whole question of style, but may confine ourselves to that part of it which concerns our present subject, rhetoric. The other--the poetical--part of it has been discussed in the treatise on the Art of Poetry. Part 2 We may, then, start from the observations there made, including the definition of style. Style to be good must be clear, as is preved by the fact that speech which fails to convey a plain meaning will fail to do just what speech has to do. 1t must also be appropriate, avoiding both rneanness and undue elevation; poeticallanguage is certainly free from meanness, but it is not appropriate to prose. Clearness is secured by using the words (nouns and verbs alike) that are current and ordinary. Freedom from meanness, and positiva adornment too, are secured by using the other words mentioned in the Art of Poetry. Such

variation from what is usual rnakes the language appear more stately. People do not feel towards strangers as they do towards their own countrymen, and the same thing is true of their feeling for language. 1t is therefore '11/ell to give to everyday speech an unfamiliar air: people like what strikes them, and are struck by what is out of the way. In verse such effects are common, and there they are fitting: the persons and things there spoken of are comparatively remete from ordinary life. In prose passages they are far less often fitting because the subject-matter is less exaltad. Even in poetry, it is not quite appropriate that fine language should be used by a slave or a very young man, or about very trivial subjects: even in poetry the style, to be appropriate, must sornetirnes be toned down, though at other times heightened. We can now see that a writer must disguise his art and give the impression of speaking naturally and not artificially. Naturalness is persuasiva, artificiality is the contrary; for our hearers are prejudiced and think 'lile have sorne design against them, as if 'lile '11/ere mixing their wines for them. 1t is like the difference bet'llleen the quality of Theodorus' voice and the voices of all other actors: his really seems to be that of the character who is speaking, theirs do not. We can hide our purpose successfully by taking the single words of our composition from the speech of ordinary life. This is done in poetry by Euripides, who was the first to showthe way to his successors.
reason for this restriction has been already indicated: they depart from IMlat is suitable, in the direction of excess. In the language of prose, besides the regular and proper terms for things, metaphorical terms only can be used IMth advantage. This V\18 gather from the fact that these liMl classes of terms, the proper or regular and the metaphorical-these and no others-are u sed by everybody in conversation. We can now see that a good writer can produce a style that is distinguished IMthout being obtrusive, and is al the same time clear, thus satisfying our definition of good oratorical prose. Words of ambiguous meaning are chiefly useful lo enable the sophist to mislead his hearers. Synonyms are useful to the poet, by IMlich 1 mean [Link] IMlose ordinary meaning is the same, e.g. 'porheueseai' (advancing) and 'badizein' (proceeding); these liMl are ordinary [Link] and have the same meaning. In the Art of Poetry, as V\18 have already said, IMII be found definitions of these kinds of [Link]; a classification of Metaphors; and mention of the fact that metaphor is of great value both in poetry and in prose. Prose-writers must, hoV\Iever, pay specially careful attention lo metaphor, because their other resources are scantier !han those of poets. Metaphor, moreover, gives style clearness, charm, and distinction as nothing else can: and it is nota thing IMlose use can be taught by one man to another. Metaphors, like epithets, mus! be fitting, IMlich means that they must fairly correspond to the thing signified: failing this, their inappropriateness IMII be conspicuous: the want of harmony belV\Ieen liMl things is emphasized by their being placed side by side. lt is like having to ask ourselves IMlat dress will suit an old man; certainly not the crimson cloak that suits a young man. And if you IMsh to paya compliment, you mus! take your metaphor from something better in the same line; if to disparage, from something [Link]. To illustrate my meaning: since opposites are in the same class, you do IMlat 1 have suggested if you say that a man IMlo begs 'prays', and a man IMlo prays 'begs'; for praying and begging are both varieties of asking. So lphicrates called Callias a 'mendicant priest' instead of a 'torch-bearer', and Callias replied that lphicrates mus! be uninitiated or he [Link] have called him nota 'mendicant priest' but a 'torch-bearer'. Both are religious tilles, but one is honourable and the other is
26102/12 [Link]/[Link] on IMlat occasions V\18 shall state later. The

not. Again, somebody calls actors 'hangers-on of Dionysus', bu! they call themselves 'artists': each of these terms is a metaphor, the one intended to throw dirt at the actor, the other to dignify him. And pirates nowcall themselves 'purveyors'. We can thus calla crime a mistake, ora mistake a crime. We can say that a thief 'took' a thing, or that he 'plundered' his victim. An expression like that of Euripides' Telephus, "King of the oar, on Mysia's coast he landed, " is inappropriate; the [Link] 'king' goes beyond the dignity of the subject, and so the art is not concealed. A metaphor may be amiss because the very syllables of the [Link] conveying it fail lo indicate SV\Ieetness of vocal utterance. Thus Dionysius the Brazen in his elegies calls poetry 'Calliope's screech'. Poetry and screeching are both, lo be sure, vocal utterances. But the metaphor is bad, because the sounds of 'screeching', unlike !hose of poetry, are discordant and unmeaning. Further, in using metaphors lo give names to nameless things, V\18 must drawthem not from remole but from kindred and similar things, so that the kinship is clearly perceived as soon as the [Link] are said. Thus in the celebrated riddle
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

the process is nameless; but both it and gluing are a kind of application, and that is why !he application of !he cupping-glass is here called a 'gluing'. Good riddles do, in general, provide us with satisfactory metaphors: for metaphors imply riddles, and therefore a good riddle can furnish a good metaphor. Further, the materials of metaphors must be beautiful; and the beauty, like the ugliness, of all \Mlrds may, as Licymnius says, lie in their sound or in their meaning. Further, there is a third consideration-one that upsets the fallacious argument of the sophist Bryson, that there is no such thing as foullanguage, because in whatever \Mlrds you puta given thing your meaning is the same. This is untrue. One term may describe a thing more truly than another, may be more like it, and set it more intimately before our eyes. Besides, 1\Ml different IMlrds will represen! a thing in 1\Ml different lights; so on this ground also one term mus! be held fairer or fouler than another. For both of 1\Ml terms will indicate what is fair, or what is foul, but not simply their fairness or their foulness, or if so, at any rate not in an equal degree. The materials of metaphor must be beautiful to the ear, to the understanding, to the eye or sorne other physical sense. lt is better, for instance, to say 'rosy-fingered morn', than 'crimson-fingered' or, \Mlrse still, 'red-fingered morn'. The epithets that we apply, too, may have a bad and ugly aspect, as when Orestes is called a 'mother-slayer'; ora better one, as when he is called his 'father's avenger'. Simonides, when the victor in the mule-race offered him a small fee, refused to write him an ode, because, he said, it was so unpleasant to write odes to half-asses: but on receiving an adequate fee, he wrote "Hail to you, daughters of storm-footed steeds? " though of course they were daughters of asses too. The same effect is attained by the use of diminutivas, which make a bad thing less bad and a good thing less good. Take, for instance, the banter of Aristophanes in the Babylonians where he uses 'goldlet' for 'gold', 'cloaklet' for 'cloak', 'scoffiet' for 'scoff, and 'plaguelet'. But alike in using epithets and in using diminutivas we must be wary and must observe the mean. Part 3 Bad taste in language may take any of four forms: (1) The misuse of compound IMlrds. Lycophron, for instance, talks of the 'many visaged heaven' above the 'giant-crested earth', and again

the 'strait-pathed shore'; and Gorgias of the 'pauper-poet flatterer' and 'oath-breaking and over-oath-keeping'. Alcidamas uses such expressions as 'the soul filling with rage and face becoming flame-flushed', and 'he thought their enthusiasm \Mluld be issue-fraught' and 'issue-fraught he made the persuasion of his \Mlrds', and 'sombre-hued is the floor of the sea'.The way all these IMlrds are compounded makes them, we feel, fit for verse only. This, then, is one form in which bad taste is shown. (2) Another is the employment of strange IMlrds. For instance, Lycophron talks of 'the prodigious Xerxes' and 'spoliative Sciron'; Alcidamas of 'a toy for poetry' and 'the witlessness of nature', and says 'whetted with the unmitigated temper of his spirit'. (3) A third form is the use of long, unseasonable, or frequent epithets.
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

Of course we mus! use sorne epithets, since they lift our style above !he usuallevel and give it an air of distinction. But we mus! aim al !he due mean, or !he result IMII be [Link] !han if we took no trouble at all; we shall get something actually bad instead of something merely no! good. That is why !he epithets of Alcidamas seem so tasteless; he does no! use them as !he seasoning of !he mea!, bu! as !he mea! itself, so numerous and [Link] and aggressive are they. For instance, he does no! say 'sweat', bu! 'the moist sweat'; no! 'lo !he lsthmian games', bu! 'lo !he [Link]-concourse of !he lsthmian games'; no! 'laws', bu! '!he laws that are monarchs of states'; no! 'al a run', bu! 'his heart impelling him to speed of foot'; not 'a school of the Muses', bu! 'Nature's school of !he Muses had he inherited'; and so 'frowning care of heart', and 'achiever' not of 'popularity' but of 'universal popularity', and 'dispensar of pleasure lo his audience', and 'he concealed it' not 'IMth boughs' but 'with boughs of the forest trees', and 'he clothed' no! 'his body' bu! 'his body's nakedness', and 'his soul's desire was counter imitativa' (this's at one and the same time a compound and an epithet, so that it seems a poet's effort), and 'so extravagant the excess of his IMckedness'. We thus see howthe inappropriateness of such poeticallanguage imports absurdity and tastelessness into speeches, as well as !he obscurity that comes from all this verbosity-for when !he sense is plain, you only obscura and spoil its clearness by piling up [Link]. The ordinary use of compound [Link] is where there is no term for a thing and sorne compound can be easily formed, like 'pastime' (chronotribein); bu! if this is much done, !he prose character disappears entirely. We now see why !he language of compounds is jusi the thing for writers of dithyrambs, who love sonorous noises; strange [Link] for writers of epic poetry, which is a proud and stately affair; and metaphor for iambic verse, !he metre which (as has been already' said} is widely used to-day. (4) There remains !he fourth region in which bad taste may be shown, metaphor. Metaphors like other things may be inappropriate. Sorne are so because they are ridiculous; they are indeed used by comic as well as tragic poets. Others are too grand and theatrical; and these, if they are far-fetched, may also be obscura. For instance, Gorgias talks of 'events that are green and full of sap', and says 'foul was the deed you sowed and evil !he harvest you reaped'. That is too much like poetry. Alcidamas, again, called philosophy 'a fortress that threatens the power of law', and the Odyssey 'a goodly looking-glass of human life' ,' talked about 'offering no such toy to poetry': all these expressions fail, for !he reasons given, lo carry !he hearer IMth them. The address of Gorgias to the swallow, when she had let

her droppings fall on him as she flew overhead, is in !he bes! tragic manner. He said, 'Nay, shame, O Philomela'. Considering her as a bird, you could no! call her act shameful; considering her as a girl, you could; and so it was a good gibe lo address her as what she was once and no! as what she is. Par! 4 The Simile also is a metaphor; !he difference is but slight. When the poet says of Achilles that he "Leapt on the foe as a lion, "
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

often, since they are of !he nature of poetry. They are lo be employed jusi as metaphors are employed, since they are really !he same thing except for !he difference mentioned. The following are examples of similes. Androtion said of ldrieus that he was like a terrier let off the chain, that flies at you and bites you-ldrieus too was savage nowthat he was le! out of his chains. Theodamas compared Archidamus lo an Euxenus who could no! do geometry-a proportional simile, implying that Euxenus is an Archidamus who can do geometry. In Plato's Republic !hose who strip !he dead are compared to curs which bite !he stones thrown at them but do not touch the thrower, and there is !he simile about !he Athenian people, who are compared to a ship's captain who is strong but a little deaf; and !he one about poets' verses, which are likened lo persons who lack beauty but possess youthful freshness-when !he freshness has faded !he charm perishes, and so with verses when broken up into prose. Pericles compared the Samians to children who take their pap but go on crying; and !he Boeotians lo holm-oaks, because they were ruining one another by civil wars just as one oak causes another oak's fall. Demosthenes said that !he Athenian people were like sea-sick men on board ship. Again, Demosthenes compared !he political orators lo nurses who swallow !he bit of food themselves and then smear !he children's lips with !he spittle. Antisthenes compared !he lean Cephisodotus lo frankincense, because it was his consumption that gave one pleasure. All these ideas may be expressed either as similes or as metaphors; !hose which succeed as metaphors will obviously do well also as similes, and similes, with the explanation omitted, will appear as metaphors. But the proportional metaphor must always apply reciprocally to either of its co-ordinate terms. For instance, if a drinking-bowl is the shield of Dionysus, a shield may fittingly be called the drinking-bowl of Ares. Par! 5 Such, then, are !he ingredients of which speech is composed. The foundation of good style is correctness of language, which falls under five heads. (1) First, !he proper use of connecting 'Mlrds, and !he arrangement of them in !he natural sequence which sorne of them require. For instance, !he connective 'men' (e.g. ego men) requires !he correlativa de (e.g. o de). The answering 'Mlrd mus! be brought in befare !he first has been forgotten, and not be widely separated from it; nor, except in !he few cases where this is appropriate, is another connective lo be introduced befare !he one required. Consider the sentence, 'Bu! as soon as he told me (for Cleon had come begging and praying), took them along and set out.' In this sentence many connecting 'Mlrds are inserted in front of !he one required lo complete !he sense; and if there is a long interval befare 'set out', the result is obscurity. One merit, then, of good style lies in !he right use of connecting 'Mlrds. (2) The second lies in calling things by their own special names and no! by vague general ones. (3) The third is lo avoid ambiguities;

unless, indeed, you definitely desire lo be ambiguous, as !hose do who have nothing to say but are pretending to mean something. Such people are apt lo pul that sor! of thing into verse. Empedocles, for instance, by his long circumlocutions imposes on his hearers; these are affected in the same way as most people are when they listen to diviners, whose ambiguous utterances are received with nods of acquiescence"Croesus by crossing the Halys will ruin a mighty realm.
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

their predictions are thus, as a rule, less likely lo be falsified. We are more likely to be right, in !he game of 'odd and even', if we simply guess 'even' or 'odd' !han if we guess al !he actual number; and the oracle-monger is more likely to be right if he simply says that a thing will happen !han if he says when it will happen, and therefore he refuses to add a definite date. All these ambiguities have the same sort of effect, and are to be avoided unless we have sorne such object as that mentioned. (4) A fourth rule is lo observe Protagoras' classification of nouns into male, female, and inanimate; for these distinctions also mus! be correctly given. 'Upon her arrival she said her say and departed (e d elthousa kai dialechtheisa ocheto).' (5) A fifth rule is lo express plurality, fewness, and unity by !he correct [Link], e.g. 'Having come, they struck me (oi d elthontes etupton me).' lt is a general rule that a written composition should be easy lo read and therefore easy to deliver. This cannot be so where there are many connecting [Link] or clauses, or where punctuation is hard, as in the writings of Heracleitus. To punctuate Heracleitus is no easy task, because we afien cannot tell whether a particular [Link] belongs lo what precedes or what follows it. Thus, al !he outset of his treatise he says, 'Though this truth is always men understand it no!', where it is no! clear with which of !he tv.o clauses !he [Link] 'always' should be joined by the punctuation. Further, the following fact leads lo solecism, viz. that !he sentence does no! [Link] out properly if you annex to tv.o terms a third which does not suit them both. Thus either 'sound' or 'colour' will fail lo [Link] out properly with sorne verbs: 'perceive' will apply to both, 'see' will not. Obscurity is also caused if, when you intend lo inserta number of details, you do not first make your meaning clear; for instance, if you say, '1 mean!, after telling him this, that and !he other thing, lo se! out', rather than something of this kind '1 meant to set out after telling him; then this, that, and !he other thing occurred.' Part 6 The following suggestions will help lo give your language impressiveness. ( 1) Describe a thing instead of naming it: do no! say 'circle', bu! 'that surface which extends equally from the middle every way'. To achieve conciseness, do !he opposite-put !he name instead of !he description. When mentioning anything ugly or unseemly, use its name if it is !he description that is ugly, and describe it if it is !he name that is ugly. (2) Represen! things with the help of metaphors and epithets, being careful lo avoid poetical effects. (3) Use plural for singular, as in poetry, where one finds "Unto havens Achaean, " though only one haven is mean!, and "Here are my letter's many-leaved folds. " (4) Do no! bracket tv.o [Link] under one article, bu! pul one article with each; e.g. 'that wife of ours.' The reverse to secure conciseness; e.g. 'our wife.' Use plenty of connecting [Link]; conversely, lo secure conciseness, dispense with connectives, while still preserving connexion;

e.g. 'having gane and spoken', and 'having gane, 1 spoke', respectively. (6) And the practica of Antimachus, too, is useful-to describe a thing
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

"There is a little wind-swept knoll... " A subject can be developed indefinitely along these lines. You may apply this method of treatment by negation either to good orto bad qualities, according to which your subject requires. lt is from this source that the poets draw expressions such as the 'stringless' or 'lyreless' melody, thus forming epithets out of negations. This device is popular in proportional metaphors, as when the trumpet's note is called 'a lyreless melody'. Par! 7 Your language will be appropriate if it expresses emotion and character, and if it corresponds to its subject. 'Correspondence to subject' means that we must neither speak casually about weighty matters, nor solemnly about trivial ones; nor mus! we add ornamental epithets to commonplace nouns, or the effect will be comic, as in the [Link] of Cleophon, who can use phrases as absurdas 'O queenly fig-tree'. To express emotion, you will employ the language of anger in speaking of outrage; !he language of disgust and discreet reluctance to utter a [Link] when speaking of impiety or foulness; the language of exultation for a tale of glory, and that of humiliation for a tale of and so in all other cases. This aptness of language is one thing that makes people believe in !he truth of your story: their minds draw the false conclusion that you are to be trusted from the fact that others behave as you do when things are as you describe them; and therefore they take your story lo be true, whether it is so or no!. Besides, an emotional speaker always makes his audience feel with him, even when there is nothing in his arguments; which is why many speakers try to overwhelm their audience by mere noise. Furthermore, this way of proving your story by displaying these signs of its genuineness expresses your personal character. Each class of men, each type of disposition, will have its own appropriate way of letting the truth appear. Under 'class' 1 include differences of age, as boy, man, or old man; of sex, as man or [Link]; of nationality, as Spartan or Thessalian. By 'dispositions' 1 here mean those dispositions only which determine !he character of a man's for it is not every disposition that does this. lf, then, a speaker uses !he very [Link] which are in keeping with a particular disposition, he will reproduce !he corresponding character; for a rustic and an educated man will not say !he same things nor speak in the same way. Again, sorne impression is made u pon an audience by a device which speech-writers employ to nauseous excess, when they say 'Who does no! knowthis?' or 'lt is known to everybody.' The hearer is ashamed of his ignorance, and agrees with !he speaker, so asto have a share of the knowledge that everybody else possesses. All !he variations of oratorical style are capable of being used in season or out of season. The best way to counteract any exaggeration is !he [Link] device by which !he speaker puts in sorne criticism of himself; for then people feel it must be all right for him to talk thus, since he certainly knows what he is doing. Further, it is better not to have everything always just corresponding to everything else-your hearers will see through you less easily thus. 1 mean for instance, if your [Link] are harsh, you should not extend this harshness to your
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

all !he same and yet nobody notices it. {To be su re, if mild sentiments are expressed in harsh tones and harsh sentiments in mild tones, you

become comparatively unconvincing.) Compound [Link], fairly plentiful epithets, and strange [Link] best suit an emotional speech. We forgive an angry man for talking about a wrong as 'heaven-high' or 'colossal'; and we excuse such language when the speaker has his hearers already in his hands and has stirred them deeply either by praise or blame or anger or affection, as lsocrates, for instance, does at the end of his Panegyric, with his 'name and fame' and 'in that they brooked'. Men do speak in this strain when they are deeply stirred, and so, once the audience is in a like state of feeling, approval of course follows. This is why such language is fitting in poetry, which is an inspirad thing. This language, then, should be used either under stress of emotion, or ironically, after the manner of Gorgias and of the passages in the Phaedrus. Part 8 The form of a prose composition should be neither metrical nor destitute of rhythm. The metrical form destroys !he hearer's trust by its artificial appearance, and al !he same time it diverts his attention, making him watch for metrical recurrences, jusi as children catch up !he herald's question, 'Whom does !he freedman choose as his advocate?', with the answer 'Cieon!' On the other hand, unrhythmicallanguage is too unlimited; we do no! want !he limitations of metre, bu! sorne limitation we mus! have, or the effect will be vague and unsatisfactory. Now it is number that limits all things; and it is !he numericallimitation of the forms of a composition that constitutes rhythm, of which metres are definite sections. Prose, then, is lo be rhythmical, bu! no! metrical, or it will become not prose but verse. 1t should not even have too precise a prose rhythm, and therefore should only be rhythmical lo a certain extent. Of !he various rhythms, !he heroic has dignity, bu! lacks !he tones of !he spoken language. The iambic is !he very language of ordinary people, so that in common talk iambic lines occur oftener !han any others: bu! in a speech we need dignity and !he power of taking !he hearer out of his ordinary self. The trechee is too much akin lo wild dancing: we can see this in tetrameter verse, which is one of !he trochaic rhythms. There remains !he paean, which speakers began lo use in !he time of Thrasymachus, though they had then no name to give it. The paean is a third class of rhythm, closely akin lo both !he two already mentioned; it has in it the ratio of three to two, whereas the other two kinds have the ratio of one to one, and two lo one respectively. Between the two last ratios comes the ratio of one-and-a-half to one, which is that of the paean. Nowthe other two kinds of rhythm must be rejected in writing prose, partly for !he reasons given, and partly because they are too metrical; and !he paean mus! be adopted, since from this alone of the rhythms mentioned no definite metre arises, and therefore it is the leas! obtrusive of them. At present !he same form of paean is employed at !he beginning a al !he end of sentences, whereas !he end should differ from !he beginning. There are two opposite kinds of paean, one of which is suitable lo !he beginning of a sentence, where it is indeed actually used; this is the kind that begins with a long syllable and
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

and "Chruseokom 1 a Ekate 1 pai Dios. " The other paean begins, conversely, IMth three short syllables and ends IMth a long one, as

"meta de lan 1 udata t ok 1 eanon e 1 oanise nux. " This kind of paean rnakes a real close: a short syllable can give no effect of finality, and therefore makes the rhythm appear truncated. A sentence should break off IMth the long syllable: the fact that it is over should be indicated not by the scribe, or by his period-rnark in the rnargin, but by the rhythm itself. We have now seen that our language must be rhythmical and not destitute of rhythm, and what rhythms, in what particular shape, make it so. Part 9 The language of prose must be either free-running, IMth its parts united by nothing except the connecting words, like the preludes in dithyrambs; or compact and antithetical, like the strophes of the old poets. The free-running style is the ancient one, e.g. 'Herein is set forth the inquiry of Herodotus the Thurian.' Every one used this rnethod forrnerly; not many do so now. By 'free-running' style 1 mean the kind that has no natural stopping-places, and comes to a stop only because there is no more to say of that subject. This style is unsatisfying just because it goes on indefinitely-one always likes to sight a stopping-place in front of one: it is only at the goal that men in a race faint and collapse; while they see the end of the course before them, they can keep on going. Such, then, is the free-running kind of style; the compact is that which is in periods. By a period 1 mean a portien of speech that has in itself a beginning and an end, being at the sarne time not too big to be taken in at a glance. Language of this kind is satisfying and easy to follow. lt is satisfying, because it is just the reverse of indefinite; and moreover, the hearer always feels that he is grasping something and has reached sorne definite conclusion; whereas it is unsatisfactory to see nothing in front of you and get nowhere. lt is easy to follow, because it can easily be remembered; and this because language when in periodic form can be numbered, and number is the easiest of all things to rernember. That is why verse, which is measured, is always more easily rernembered than prose, which is not: the measures of verse can be numbered. The period must, further, not be completad until the sense is complete: it must not be capable of breaking off abruptly, as may happen IMth the folloiMng iambic lines of Sophocles"Calydon's soil is this; of Pelops' land "(The smiling plains fa ce us across the strait.) " By a wrong division of the words the hearer may take the meaning to be the reverse ofwhat it is: for instance, in the passage quoted, one might imagine that Calydon is in the Peloponnesus. A Period rnay be either divided into several rnembers or simple. The
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

A member is one of the tvl.o parts of such a period. By a 'simple' period, 1 mean that IM!ich has only one member. The members, and the whole periods, should be neither curt nor long. A member IM!ich is too short often makes the listener stumble; he is still expecting the rhythm to go on to the limit his mind has fixed for it; and if meanwhile he is pulled back by the speaker's stopping, the shock is bound to make him, soto speak, stumble. lf, on the other hand, you go on too long, you make him feelleft behind, justas people who IM!en walking pass beyond the boundary befare turning back leave their companions behind So too if a period is too long you turn it into a speech, or something like a dithyrambic prelude. The result is much like the preludes that Democritus of Chios jeered at Melanippides for writing instead of antistrophic stanzas"He that sets traps for another man's feet

"ls like to fall into them first; "And long-winded preludes do harm to us all, "But the preluder catches it IM>rst. " Which applies likewise to long-membered orators. Periods whose members are altogether too short are not periods at all; and the result is to bring the hearer down with a crash. The periodic style which is divided into members is of tvl.o kinds. 1t is either simply divided, as in '1 have often IM>ndered at the conveners of national gatherings and the founders of athletic contests'; or it is antithetical, IM!ere, in each of the tv1.o members, one of one pair of opposites is put along with one of another pair, or the same IM>rd is used to bracket tv1.o opposites, as 'They aided both parties-not only those IM!o stayed behind but those IM!o accompanied them: for the latter they acquired new territory larger than that at home, and to the former they left territory at home that was large enough'. He re the contrastad IM>rds are 'staying behind' and 'accompanying', 'enough' and 'larger'. So in the example, 'Both to those IM!o want to get property and to those IM!o desire to enjoy it' where 'enjoyment' is contrastad with 'getting'. Again, 'it often happens in such enterprises that the wise men fail and the fools succeed'; 'they were awarded the prize of valour immediately, and IM>n the command of the sea not long afterwards'; 'to sail through the mainland and march through the sea, by bridging the Hellespont and cutting through Athos'; 'nature gave them their country and law took it away again'; 'of them perished in misery, others were saved in disgrace'; 'Athenian citizens keep foreigners in their houses as servants, while the city of Athens allows her allies by thousands to live as the foreigner's slaves'; and 'to possess in life or to bequeath at death'. There is also IM!at sorne one said about Peitholaus and Lycophron in a law-court, 'These men used to sell you IM!en they were at home, and now they have come to you he re and bought you'. All these passages have the structure described above. Such a form of speech is satistying, because the significance of contrastad ideas is easily felt, especially when they are thus put side by side, and also because it has the effect of a logical argument; it is by putting tvl.o opposing conclusions side by side that you prove one of them false. Such, then, is the nature of antithesis. Parisosis is making the tv1.o
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

resemblance must always be between whole [Link]; at the end, between final syllables or inflexions of the same [Link] or the same [Link] repeated. Thus, at the beginning "agron gar elaben arlon par' autou " and "dorhetoi t epelonto pararretoi t epeessin " At the end "ouk wethesan auton paidion tetokenai, "all autou aitlon lelonenai, " and "en pleiotals de opontisi kai en elachistais elpisin " An example of inflexions of the same [Link] is "axios de staoenai chalkous ouk axios on chalkou;" Of the same [Link] repeated, "su d' auton kai zonta eleges kakos kai nun grafeis kakos.

"
Of one syllable, "ti d' an epaoes deinon, ei andrh' eides arhgon; " lt is possible for the same sentence to have all these features together-antithesis, parison, and homoeoteleuton. (The possible beginnings of periods have

been pretty fully enumerated in the Theodectea.) There are also spurious antitheses, like that of Epicharmus"There one time 1 as their guest did stay, "And they were my hosts on another day. " Part 10 We may now consider the above points settled, and pass on to say something about the way to devise lively and taking sayings. Their actual invention can only come through natural talent or long practica; but this treatise may indicate the way it is done. We may deal with them by enumerating the different kinds of them. We will begin by remarking that we all naturally find it agreeable to get hold of new ideas easily: [Link] express ideas, and therefore those [Link] are the most agreeable that enable us to get hold of new ideas. llbw strange [Link] simply puzzle us; ordinary [Link] convey only what we know already; it is from metaphor that we can best get hold of something fresh. When the poet calls 'old age a withered stalk', he conveys a new idea, a new fact, to us by means of the general notion of bloom, which is common to both things. The similes of the poets do the same, and therefore, if they are good similes, give an effect of brilliance. The simile, as has
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

hearer is less interested in the idea. We see, then, that both speech and reasoning are lively in proportion as they make us seize a new idea promptly. For this reason people are not much taken either by obvious arguments (using the IM>rd 'obvious' to mean what is plain to everybody and needs no investigation), nor by those which puzzle us when we hear them stated, but only by those which convey their information to us as soon as we hear them, provided we had not the information already; or which the mind only just fails to keep up with. These 11M:> kinds do convey to us a sort of information: but the obvious and the obscura kinds convey nothing, either at once or later on. lt is these qualities, then, that, so far as the meaning of what is said is concerned, make an argument acceptable. So far as the style is concerned, it is the antithetical form that appeals to us, e.g. 'judging that the peace common to all the rest was a war u pon their own private interests', where there is an antithesis between war and peace. lt is also good to use metaphorical IM>rds; but the metaphors must not be far-fetched, or they will be difficult to grasp, nor obvious, or they will have no effect. The IM>rds, too, ought to set the scene befare our eyes; for events ought to be seen in progress rather than in prospect. So we must aim at these three points: Antithesis, Metaphor, and Actuality. Of the four kinds of Metaphor the most taking is the proportional kind. Thus Pericles, for instance, said that the vanishing from their country of the young men who had fallen in the war was 'as if the spring were taken out of the year'. Leptines, speaking of the Lacedaemonians, said that he IM>uld not have the Athenians let Greece 'lose one of her 11M:> eyes'. When Chares was pressing for leave to be examinad upon his share in the Olynthiac war, Cephisodotus was indignant, saying that he wanted his examination to take place 'while he had his fingers upon the people's throat'. The same speaker once urged the Athenians to march to Euboea, 'with Miltiades' decree as their rations'. lphicrates, indignant at the truce made by the Athenians with Epidaurus and the neighbouring sea-board, said that they had stripped themselves of their travelling money for the journey of war. Peitholaus called the state-galley 'the people's big stick', and Sestos 'the corn-bin of the Peiraeus'. Pericles bade his countrymen remove Aegina, 'that eyesore of the Peiraeus.' And Moerocles said he was no more a rascal than was a certain respectable citizen he named, 'whose rascality was IM>rth over thirty per cent per annum to him, instead of a mere ten like his own'.There is also the iambic line of Anaxandrides about the way

his daughters put off marrying"My daughters' marriage-bonds are overdue. " Polyeuctus said of a paralytic man named Speusippus that he could not keep quiet, 'though fortuna had fastened him in the pillory of disease'. Cephisodotus called warships 'painted millstones'. Diogenes the Dog callad taverns 'the mess-rooms of Attica'. Aesion said that the Athenians had 'emptied' their town into Sicily: this is a graphic metaphor. 'Till all Hellas shouted aloud' may be regarded as a metaphor, anda graphic one again. Cephisodotus bade the Athenians take care not to hold too many 'paradas'. lsocrates used the same IM>rd of those who 'parade at the national festivals.' Another example occurs in the Funeral Speech: 'lt is fitting that Greece should cut off her ha ir beside the tomb of those who fell at Sala mis, since her freedom and their valour are buried in the same grave.' Even if the speaker here had only said that it was right to IM9ep when valour was being
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

'lies straight through the middle of Chares' deeds': this is a proportional metaphor, and the phrase 'straight through the middle' makes it graphic. The expression 'to call in one danger to rescue us from another' is a graphic metaphor. Lycoleon said, defending Chabrias, 'They did not respect even that bronze statue of his that intercedes for him yonder'.This was a metaphor for the moment, though it 'II()Uid not always apply; a vivid metaphor, however; Chabrias is in danger, and his statue intercedes for him-that lifeless yet living thing which records his services to his country. 'Practising in every way littleness of mind' is metaphorical, for practising a quality implies increasing it. So is 'God kindled our reason to be a lamp wthin our soul', for both reason and light reveal things. So is 'we are not putting an end to our wars, but only postponing them', for both literal postponement and the making of such a peace as this apply to future action. So is such a saying as 'This treaty is a far nobler trophy than those we set up on fields of battle; they celebrate small gains and single successes; it celebrates our triumph in the war as a whole'; for both trophy and treaty are signs of victory. So is 'A country pays a heavy reckoning in being condemned by the judgement of mankind', for a reckoning is damage deservedly incurred. Part 11 lt has already been mentioned that liveliness is got by using the proportional type of metaphor and being making (ie. making your hearers see things). We have still to explain what we mean by their 'seeing things', and what must be done to effect this. By 'making them see things' 1 mean using expressions that represent things as in a state of activity. Thus, to say that a good man is 'four-square' is certainly a metaphor; both the good man and the square are perfect; but the metaphor does not suggest activity. On the other hand, in the expression 'wth his vigour in full bloom' there is a notion of activity; and so in 'But you must roam as free as a sacred victim'; and in "Thereas up sprang the Hellenes to their feet, " where 'up sprang' gives us activity as well as metaphor, for it at once suggests swftness. So wth Homer's common practica of giving metaphoricallife to lifeless things: all such passages are distinguished by the effect of activity they convey. Thus, "Downward anon to the valley rebounded the boulder remorseless; and

"
"The (bitter) arrow flew; " and "Fiying on eagerly; and " Stuck in the earth, still panting to feed on the flesh of the heroes;

and "And the point of the spear in its fury drove "full through his breastbone. " In all these examples the things have the effect of being active
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

stone is to Sisyphus, so is the shameless man to his victim. In his famous similes, too, he treats inanimate things in the same way: "Curving and crested with white, host following "host without ceasing. " Here he represents everything as moving and living; and activity is movement. Metaphors must be draVIITl, as has been said already, from things that are relatad to the original thing, and yet not obviously so related-just as in philosophy also an acute mind will perceive resemblances even in things far apart. Thus Archytas said that an arbitrator and an altar were the same, since the injured fly to both for refuge. Or you might say that an anchor and an overhead hook were the same, since both are in a way the same, only the one securas things from below and the other from above. And to speak of states as 'levelled' is to identify tv.o widely different things, the equality of a physical surface and the equality of political powers. Liveliness is specially conveyed by metaphor, and by the further power of surprising the hearer; because the hearer expected something different, his acquisition of the new idea impresses him all the more. His mind seems to say, 'Y es, to be su re; 1 never thought of that'. The liveliness of epigrammatic remarks is due to the meaning not being just what the [Link] say: as in the saying of Stesichorus that 'the cicalas will chirp to themselves on the ground'. Well-constructed riddles are attractive for the same reason; a new idea is conveyed, and there is metaphorical expression. So with the 'novelties' of Theodorus. In these the thought is startling, and, as Theodorus puts it, does not fit in with the ideas you already have. They are like the burlesque [Link] that one finds in the comic writers. The effect is produced even by jokes depending u pon changas of the letters of a [Link]; this too is a surprise. You find this in verse as well as in prose. The [Link] which comes is not what the hearer imaginad: thus "Onward he came, and his feet were shod with his-chilblains,

where one imaginad the [Link] [Link] be 'sandals'. But the point should be clear the moment the [Link] are uttered. Jokes made by altering the letters of a [Link] consist in meaning, not just what you say, but something that gives a twist to the [Link] used; e.g. the remark of Theodorus about Nicon the harpist Thratt' ei su ('you Thracian slavey'), where he pretends to mean Thratteis su ('you harpplayer'), and surprises us when we find he means something else. So you enjoy the point when you see it, though the remark will fall flat unless you are aware that Nicon is Thracian. Or again: Boulei auton persai. In both these cases the saying must fit the facts. This is also true of such lively remarks as the one to the effect that to the Athenians their empire (arche) of the sea was not the beginning (arche) of their troubles, since they gained by it. Or the opposite one of lsocrates, that their empire (arche) was the beginning (arche) of their troubles. Either way, the speaker says something unexpected, the soundness of which is thereupon recognized. There [Link] be nothing clever is saying 'empire is empire'. lsocrates means more than that, and uses the [Link] with a new meaning. So too with the former saying, which denies that arche
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

where you say that what is so-and-so in one sense is no! so-and-so in another; well, if !he man is unpleasant, !he joke fits !he facts. Again, take"Thou mus! no! be a stranger stranger !han Thou should'st.

"
Do no! !he [Link] 'thou mus! no! be', &c., amount lo saying that !he stranger mus! no! always be strange? Here again is !he use of one [Link] in different senses. Of !he same kind also is !he much-praised verse of Anaxandrides: "Death is most fit before you do "Deeds that [Link] make death fit for you. " This amounts to saying 'it is a fit thing to die when you are not fit to die', or 'it is a fit thing to die when death is not fit for you', i.e. when death is not the fit return for what you are doing. The type of language employed-is the same in all these examples; but !he more briefly and antithetically such sayings can be expressed, !he more taking they are, for antithesis impresses the new idea more firmly and brevity more quickly. They should always have either some personal application or some merit of expression, if they are to be true IMthout being commonplace-!VIO requirements not always satisfied simultaneously. Thus 'a man should die having done no wrong' is true but dull: 'the right man should marry !he right [Link]' is also true but dull. No, there must be both good qualities together, as in 'it is fitting to die when yo u are not fit for death'. The more a saying has these qualitis, !he livelier it appears: if, for instance, its [Link] is metaphorical, metaphorical in the right way, antithetical, and balanced, and at the same time it gives an idea of activity. Successful similes also, as has been said above, are in a sense metaphors, since they always involve !VIO relations like the proportional metaphor. Thus: a shield, we say, is !he 'drinking-bowl of Ares', and a bow is !he 'chordless lyre'. This way of putting a metaphor is not 'simple', as it [Link] be if we called !he bow a lyre or the shield a drinking-bowl. There are 'simple' similes also: we may say that a flute-player is like a monkey, or that a short-sighted man's eyes are like a lamp-flame IMth water dropping on it, since both eyes and flame keep IMnking. Asimile succeeds best when it is a converted metaphor, for it is possible to say that a shield is like the drinking-bowl of Ares, or that a ruin is like a house in rags, and to say that Niceratus is like a Philoctetes stung by Pratys-the simile made by Thrasyniachus when he saw Niceratus, who had been beaten by Pratys in a recitation competition, still going about unkempt and unwashed. lt is in these respects that poets fail [Link] when they fail, and succeed best when they succeed, i.e. when they give the resemblance pat, as in "Those legs of his curl jusi like parsley leaves; " and "Just like Philammon struggling IMth his punchball. " These are all similes; and that similes are metaphors has been stated often already.
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

then lo lose by it later on, 'Here we have once more !he man of Carpathus and his hare', says he. For both alike went through !he said experience. lt has now been explained fairly completely how liveliness is secured and why it has !he effect it has. Successful hyperboles are also metaphors, e.g. the one about the man with a black eye, 'you would have thought he was a basket of mulberries'; here !he 'black eye' is comparad lo a mulberry because of its colour, !he exaggeration lying in !he quantity of mulberries suggested. The phrase 'like so-and-so' may introduce

a hyperbole under !he form of a simile. Thus "Jusi like Philammon struggling with his punchball " is equivalen! lo 'you would have thought he was Philammon struggling with his punchball'; and "Those legs of his curl jusi like parsley leaves " is equivalen! to 'his legs are so curly that you would have thought they were not legs but parsley leaves'. Hyperboles are for young men lo use; they showvehemence of character; and this is why angry people use them more !han other people. "Not though he gave me as much as the dust "or the sands of !he sea ... "But her, !he daughter of Atreus' son, 1 never will marry, "Nay, not though she were fairer than Aphrodite !he Golden, "Defter of hand !han Athene ... " (The Attic orators are particularly fond of this method of speech.) Consequently it does no! suit an elderly speaker. Par! 12 1t should be observad that each kind of rhetoric has its own appropriate style. The style of VvT"itten prose is not that of spoken oratory, nor are those of political and forensic speaking the same. Both VvT"itten and spoken have lo be known. To know !he la !ter is lo know how lo speak good Greek. To knowthe former means that you are not obliged, as otherwise you are, lo hold your tongue when you wish lo communicate something to the general public. The VvT"itten style is the more finished: the spoken better admits of dramatic delivery-like !he kind of oratory that reflects character and !he kind that reflects emotion. Hence actors look out for plays VvT"itten in !he latter style, and poets for actors competen! lo act in such plays. Yet poets whose plays are mean! lo be read are read and circulated: Chaeremon, for instance, who is as finished as a professional speech-Vvfiter; and Licymnius among !he dithyrambic poets. Comparad with !hose of others, !he speeches of professional VvT"iters sound thin in actual contests. Those of !he orators, on !he other hand, are good to hear spoken, but look amateurish enough when they pass into !he hands of a reader. This is jusi because they are so well suited for an actual tussle, and therefore contain many dramatic touches, which,
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

in IM'itten speeches: bu! no! in spoken speeches-speakers use them freely, for they have a dramatic effect. In this repetition there mus! be variety of tone, paving !he way, as it were, lo dramatic effect; e.g. 'This is the villain among you IM'lo deceived you, IM'lo cheated you, IM'lo mean! to betray yo u completely'. This is !he sor! of thing that Philemon the actor used to do in the Old Men's Madness of Anaxandrides IM'lenever he spoke !he words 'Rhadamanthus and Palamedes', and also in !he prologue lo !he Saints IM'lenever he pronounced !he pronoun '1'. lf one does no! deliver such things cleverly, it becomes a case of '!he man IM'lo swallowed a poker'. So too with strings of unconnected words, e.g.'l carne to him; 1 met him; 1 besought him'. Such passages mus! be acted, no! delivered with !he same quality and pitch of voice, as though they had only one idea in them. They have !he further peculiarity of suggesting that a number of separata statements have been made in !he time usually occupied by one. Jusi as !he use of conjunctions makes many statements into a single one, so !he omission of conjunctions acts in the reversa way and makes a single one into many. lt thus makes everything more importan!: e.g. '1 camelo him; 1 talked lo him; 1 entreated him'-IM'lat a lot of facts! the hearer thinks-'he paid no attention lo anything 1 said'. This is !he effect IM'lich Homer seeks

IM'len he IM'ites, "Nireus likewise from Syme (three well-fashioned ships did bring), "Nireus, !he son of Aglaia (and Charopus, bright-faced king), "Nireus, !he comeliest man (of all that lo llium's strand) .

lf many things are said about a man, his name must be mentioned many
times; and therefore people !hin k that, if his name is mentioned many times, many things have been said about him. So that Homer, by means of this illusion, has made a great deal of though he has mentioned him only in this one passage, and has preservad his memory, though he noiM'lere says a word about him afterwards. Nowthe style of oratory addressed lo public assemblies is really jusi like scene-painting. The bigger !he throng, !he more distan! is !he point of view: so that, in !he one and the other, high finish in detail is superfluous and seems better away. The forensic style is more highly finished; still more sois !he style of language addressed lo a single judge, with IM'lom there is very little room for rhetorical artifices, since he can take !he IM'lole thing in better, and judge of IM'lat is lo !he point and IM'lat is no!; !he struggle is less intensa and so the judgement is undisturbed. This is IM'ly the same speakers do no! distinguish themselves in all these branches al once; high finish is wanted least IM'lere dramatic delivery is wanted most, and here !he speaker mus! have a good voice, and above all, a strong one. lt is ceremonial oratory that is most literary, for it is mean! to be read; and next lo it forensic oratory. To analyse style still further, and add that it must be agreeable or magnificent, is useless; for IM'ly should it have these traits any more !han 'restraint', 'liberality', or any other moral excellence? Obviously agreeableness will be produced by !he qualities already mentioned, if our definition of excellence of style has been corree!. For IM'lat other reason should style be 'clear', and 'no! mean' bu! 'appropriate'? lf it is prolix, it is not clear; nor yet if it is
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

that springs from appropriateness. This concludes our discussion of style, both in its general aspects and in its special applications to the various branches of rhetoric. We have now to deal with Arrangement. Part 13 A speech has l1Ml parts. You must state your case, and you must preve it. You cannot either state your case and omit lo preve it, or preve it without having first stated it; since any proof mus! be a proof of something, and !he only use of a preliminary statement is !he proof that follows it. Of these l1Ml parts !he first part is callad !he Statement of !he case, !he second part !he Argument, jusi as we distinguish between Enunciation and Demonstration. The current division is absurd. For 'narration' surely is part of a forensic speech only: how in a political speech or a speech of display can there be 'narration' in !he technical sense? or a reply lo a forensic opponent? oran epilogue in closely-reasoned speeches? Again, introduction, comparison of conflicting arguments, and recapitulation are only found in political speeches when there is a struggle between l1Ml policies. They may occur then; so may even accusation and defence, often enough; bu! they form no essential part of a political speech. Even forensic speeches do no! always need epilogues; not, for instance, a short speech, nor one in which !he facts are easy lo remember, !he effect of an epilogue being always a reduction in the apparent length. 1t follows, then, that the only necessary parts of a speech are the Statement and the

Argument. These are the essential features of a speech; and it cannot in any case have more !han lntroduction, Statement, Argument, and Epilogue. 'Refutation of !he Opponent' is part of !he arguments: so is 'Comparison' of !he opponent's case with your own, for that process is a magnifying of your own case and therefore a part of the arguments, since one who does this preves something. The lntroduction does nothing like this; nor does !he Epilogue-it merely reminds us of what has been said already. lf we make such distinctions we shall end, like Theodorus and his followers, by distinguishing 'narration' proper from 'post-narration' and 'pre-narration', and 'refutation' from 'final refutation'. Bu! we ought only lo bring in a new na me if it indicates a real species with distinct specific qualities; otherwise !he practica is pointless and silly, like !he way Licymnius inventad names in his Art of Rhetoric-'Secundation', 'Divagation', 'Ramification'. Part 14 The lntroduction is the beginning of a speech, corresponding to the prologue in poetry and !he prelude in flute-music; they are all beginnings, paving the way, as it were, for what is to follow. The musical prelude resembles !he introduction lo speeches of display; as flute players play first sorne brilliant passage they know well and then fit it on lo !he opening notes of !he piece itself, so in speeches of display !he writer should proceed in !he same way; he should begin with what bes! takes his fancy, and then strike up his theme and lead into it; which is indeed what is always done. (Take asan example !he introduction to the Helen of lsocrates-there is nothing in common between !he 'eristics' and Helen.) And here, even if you travel far from your subject, it is fitting, rather than that there should be sameness in !he entire speech.
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

thus !hose who start,ed !he festival gatherings.' lsocrates, on !he other hand, censures them for awarding distinctions to fine athletes bu! giving no prize for intellectual ability. Or one may begin with a piece of advice, thus: 'We ought to honour good men and so 1 myself am praising Aristeides' or 'We ought to honour those who are un popular but not bad men, men whose good qualities have never been noticed, like Alexander son of Priam.' Here the orator gives advice. Or we may begin as speakers do in !he law-courts; that is to say, with appeals lo the audience to excuse us if our speech is about something paradoxical, difficult, or hackneyed; like Choerilus in the lines"But nowwhen allotment of all has been made ... " lntroductions to speeches of display, then, may be composed of sorne piece of praise or censure, of advice to do or not to do something, or of appeals to the audience; and you must choose between making these preliminary passages connected or disconnected with the speech itself. lntroductions to forensic speeches, it must be observad, have the same value as !he prologues of dramas and the introductions to epic poems; !he dithyrambic prelude resembling !he introduction to a speech of display, as "For thee, and thy gilts, and thy battle-spoils .... " In prologues, and in epic poetry, a foretaste of the theme is given, intended to inform !he hearers of it in advance instead of keeping their minds in suspense. Anything vague puzzles them: so give them a grasp of !he beginning, and they can hold fas! to it and follow !he argument. So we find"Sing, O goddess of song, of !he Wrath ... "Tell me, O Muse, of !he hero ... "Lead me lo tell a new tale, how there carne great warfare to Europe

"Out of the Asian land ... " The tragic poets, too, le! us know the pivot of their play; if not at the outset like Euripides, at leas! somewhere in !he preface lo a speech like Sophocles"Polybus was my father. .. ; " and so in Comedy. This, then, is the most essential function and distinctive property of the introduction, to show what !he aim of !he speech is; and therefore no introduction ought to be employed where the subject is no! long or intricate. The other kinds of introduction employed are remedia! in purpose, and may be used in any type of speech. They are concerned with the speaker, !he hearer, the subject, or the speaker's opponent. Those concerned with the speaker himself or with his opponent are directed to removing or exciting prejudice. But whereas !he defendant will begin by dealing with this sort of thing, the prosecutor will take quite another line and deal with such matters in the closing part
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

against him. But if you are to excite prejudice, you must do so at the clase, so that the judges may more easily remember what you have said. The appeal to the hearer aims at securing his goodwill, or at arousing his resentment, or sometimes at gaining his serious attention to the case, or even at distracting it-for gaining it is not always an advantage, and speakers will often for that reason try to make him laugh. You may use any means you choose to make your hearer receptiva; among others, giving him a good impression of your character, which always helps to secure his attention. He will be ready to attend to anything that touches himself and to anything that is importan!, surprising, or agreeable; and you should accordingly convey to him the impression that what you have to say is of this nature. lf you wish to distrae! his attention, you should imply that the subject does not affect him, or is trivial or disagreeable. But observe, all this has nothing to do with the speech itself. lt merely has to do with the weak-minded tendency of the hearer to listen to what is beside the point. Where this tendency is absent, no introduction wanted beyond a summary statement of your subject, to puta sort of head on the main body of your speech. Moreover, calls for attention, when required, may come equally well in any part of a speech; in fact, the beginning of it is just where there is leas! slackness of interest; it is therefore ridiculous to put this kind of thing at the beginning, when every one is listening with most attention. Choose therefore any point in the speech where such an appeal is needed, and then say 'Now 1 beg you to note this point-it concerns you quite as much as myself; or "1 will tell you that whose like you have never yet " heard for terror, or for wonder. This is what Prodicus called 'slipping in a bit of the fifty-drachma show-lecture for the audience whenever they began to nod'. lt is plain that su eh introductions are addressed not to ideal hearers, but to hearers as we find them. The use of introductions to excite prejudice orto dispel misgivings is universal"My lord, 1 will not say that eagerly ... " or "Why all this preface? " lntroductions are popular with those whose case is weak, or looks weak; it pays them to dwell on anything rather than the actual facts of it. That is why slaves, instead of answering the questions put to them, make indirect replies with long preambles. The means of exciting in your hearers goodwill and various other feelings of the same kind have already been described. The poet finely says May 1 find in Phaeacian

hearts, at my coming, goodwill and compassion; and these are the two things we should aim at. In speeches of display we must make the hearer feel that the eulogy includes either himself or his family or his way of life or something or other of the kind. For it is true, as Socrates says in the Funeral Speech, that 'the difficulty is not to praise the Athenians at Athens but at Sparta'. The introductions of political oratory will be made out of the same materials as those of the forensic kind, though the nature of political
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

may be inclinad to treat the matter either more or less seriously !han you wish them to. You may accordingly have to excite or dispel sorne prejudice, orto make the matter under discussion seem more or less importan! than before: for either of which purposes you will want an introduction. You may also want one to add elegance to your remarks, feeling that otherwise they will have a casual air, like Gorgias' eulogy of the Eleans, in which, without any preliminary sparring or fencing, he begins straight off with 'Happy city of Elis!' Par! 15 In dealing with prejudice, one class of argument is that whereby you can dispel objectionable suppositions about yourself. 1t makes no practica! difference whether such a supposition has been put into 'MJrds or not, so that this distinction may be ignorad. Another way is to meet any of the issues directly: to deny the allegad fact; or to say that you have done no harm, or none to him, or not as much as he says; or that you have done him no injustice, or not much; or that you have done nothing disgraceful, or nothing disgraceful enough to matter: these are the sor! of questions on which the dispute hinges. Thus lphicrates replying to Nausicrates, admitted that he had done the deed allegad, and that he had done Nausicrates harm, but not that he had done him INI'ong. Or you may admit the INI'ong, but balance it with other facts, and say that, if the deed harmed him, at any rate it was honourable; or that, if it gave him pain, at least it did him good; or something else like that. Another way is to allege that your action was due to mistake, or bad luck, or necessity as Sophocles said he was not trembling, as his traducer maintained, in order to make people think him an old man, but because he could not help it; he 'MJuld rather not be eighty years old. You may balance your motive against your actual deed; saying, for instance, that you did not mean to injure him but to do so-and-so; that you did not do what you are falsely charged with doing-the damage was accidental-'! should indeed be a detestable person if 1 had deliberately intended this result.' Another way is open when your calumniator, or any of his connexions, is or has been subject to the same grounds for suspicion. Yet another, when others are subject to the same grounds for suspicion but are admitted to be in fact innocent of the charge: e.g. 'Must 1 be a profligate because 1 am well-groomed? Then so-and-so must be one too.' Another, if other people have been calumniated by the same man or sorne one else, or, without being calumniated, have been suspected, like yourself now, and yet have been proved innocent. Another way is to return calumny for calumny and say, 'lt is monstrous to trust the man's statements when you cannot trust the man himself.' Another is when the question has been already decided. So with Euripides' reply to Hygiaenon, who, in the action for an exchange of properties, accused him of impiety in having INI'itten a line encouraging perjury"My tongue hath s'MJrn: no oath is on my soul. " Euripides said that his opponent himself was guilty in bringing into the law-courts cases whose decision belonged to the Dionysiac contests. 'lf 1 have not already answered for my 'MJrds there, 1 am ready to do so if you choose to prosecute me there.' Another method is to denounce

calumny, showing what an enormity it is, and in particular that it raises false issues, and that it means a lack of confidence in the merits of his case. The argument from evidential circumstances is available for both parties: thus in the Teucer Odysseus says that
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

suitable for !he calumniator, is lo praise sorne trifling merit al great length, and then attack sorne importan! failing concisely; or after mentioning a number of good qualities lo attack one bad one that really bears on the question. This is the method of thoroughly skilful and unscrupulous prosecutors. By mixing up the man's merits with what is bad, they do their best lo make use of them lo damage him. There is another method open to both calumniator and apologist. Since a given action can be done from many motives, the former must try to disparage it by selecting the worse motive of two, the latter to put the better construction on it. Thus one might argue that Diomedes chose Odysseus as his companion because he supposed Odysseus to be !he best man for the purpose; and you might reply to this that it 'NaS, on the contrary, because he 'NaS the only hero so worthless that Diomedes need not fear his rivalry. Par! 16 We may now pass from !he subject of calumny to that of Narration. Narration in ceremonial oratory is not continuous but intermittent. There mus!, of course, be sorne survey of !he actions that form the subject-matter of the speech. The speech is a composition containing two parts. One of these is no! provided by !he orator's art, viz. !he actions themselves, of which the orator is in no sense author. The other par! is provided by his namely, !he proof {where proof is needed) that the actions were done, the description of their quality or of their extent, or even all these three things together. Now the reason why sometimes it is not desirable to make the whole narrativa continuous is that the case thus expounded is hard lo keep in mind. Show, therefore, from one set of facts that your hero is, e.g. brave, and from other sets of facts that he is able, just, &c. A speech thus arranged is comparatively simple, instead of being complicated and elaborate. You will have lo recall well-knoiMl deeds among others; and because they are well-knoiMl, the hearer usually needs no narration of them; none, for instance, if your object is !he praise of Achilles; we all knowthe facts of his life-what you have lo do is lo apply !hose facts. But if your object is the praise of Critias, you must narrate his deeds, which not many people know of... No'Nadays it is said, absurdly enough, that the narration should be rapid. Remember what the man said to the baker who asked whether he 'NaS lo make !he cake hard or soft: 'What, can't you make it right?' Just so here. We are not to make long narrations, just as we are not lo make long introductions or long arguments. Here, again, rightness does not consist either in rapidity or in conciseness, but in the happy mean; that is, in saying just so much as will make the facts plain, or willlead the hearer to believe that !he thing has happened, or that the man has caused injury or wrong to sorne one, or that the facts are really as importan! as you wish them to be thought: or the opposite facts to establish the opposite arguments. You may also narrate as you go anything that does credit to yourself, e.g. '1 kept telling him lo do his duty and not abandon his children'; or discredit to your adversary, e.g. 'But he answered me that, wherever he might find himself, there he would find other children', the answer Herodotus' records of the Egyptian mutineers. Slip in anything else

26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

that !he thing has no! happened, or did no harm, or was no! unjust, or not so bad as is allegad. He mus! therefor snot waste time about what is admitted fact, unless this bears on his own contention; e.g. that the thing was done, but was not IM"ong. Further, we must speak of events as past and gone, except where they excite pity or indignation by being representad as present. The Story told to Alcinous is an example of a brief chronicle, when it is repeated to Penelope in sixty lines. Another instance is !he Epic Cycle as treated by Phayllus, and !he prologue to the Oeneus. The narration should depict character; to which end you must know what makes it do so. One such thing is the indication of moral purpose; !he quality of purpose indicated determines !he quality of character depicted and is itself determinad by the end pursued. Thus it is that mathematical discourses depict no character; they have nothing to do Vvith moral purpose, for they represen! nobody as pursuing any end. On the other hand, the Socratic dialogues do depict character, being concerned Vvith moral questions. This end Vvill also be gained by describing the manifestations of various types of character, e.g. 'he kept walking along as he talked', which shows the man's recklessness and rough manners. Do not let your [Link] seem inspirad so much by intelligence, in the manner now curren!, as by moral purpose: e.g. '1 Vvilled this; aye, it was my moral purpose; true, 1 gained nothing by it, still it is better thus.' For the other way shows good sense, but this shows good character; good sense making us go after what is useful, and good character after what is noble. Where any detail may appear incredible, then add the cause of it; of this Sophocles provides an example in !he Antigone, where Antigone says she had cared more for her brother !han for husband or children, since if !he latter perished they might be replaced, "But since my father and mother in their graves "Lie dead, no brother can be born to me. " lf you have no such cause to suggest, just say that you are aware that no one Vvill believe your [Link], bu! !he fact remains that such is our nature, however hard the [Link] may find it lo believe that a man deliberately does anything except what pays him. Again, you must make use of the emotions. Relate the familiar manifestations of them, and those that distinguish yourself and your opponent; for instance, 'he went away scowling at me'. So Aeschines described Cratylus as 'hissing Vvith fury and shaking his fists'. These details carry conviction: the audience take the truth of what they know as so much evidence for !he truth of what they do not. Plenty of such details may be found in Homer: "Thus did she say: but !he old [Link] buried her face in her hands:

a true touch-people beginning to cry do put their hands over their eyes. Bring yourself on the stage from the first in the right character, that people may regard you in that light; and the same Vvith your adversary; but do not let them see what yo u are about. How easily such impressions may be conveyed we can see from the way in which we get some inkling
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

In political oratory there is very little opening for narration; nobody can 'narrate' IM!at has not yet happened. lf there is narration at all, it IMII be of past events, the recollection of IM!ich is to help the hearers to make better plans for the future. Or it may be employed to attack some one's character, orto eulogize him-only then you IMII not be doing IM!at the political speaker, as such, has to do. lf any statement you make is hard to believe, you must guarantee its

truth, and at once offer an explanation, and then furnish it with such particulars as IMII be expected. Thus Carcinus' Jocasta, in his Oedipus, keeps guaranteeing the truth of her answers to the inquiries of the man IM!o is seeking her son; and so IMth Haemon in Sophocles. Part 17 The duty of the Arguments is to attempt demonstrative proofs. These proofs must bear directly upon the question in dispute, IM!ich must fall under one offour heads. (1) lf you maintain that the act was not committed, your main task in court is to prove this. (2) lf you maintain that the act did no harm, prove this. lf you maintain that (3) the act was less than is allegad, or (4) justified, prove these facts, justas you IMluld prove the act not to have been committed if you were maintaining that. 1t should be noted that only IM!ere the question in dispute falls under the first of these heads can it be true that one of the t1Ml parties is necessarily a rogue. Here ignorance cannot be pleaded, as it might if the dispute were IM!ether the act was justified or not. This argument must therefore be used in this case only, not in the others. In ceremonial speeches you IMII develop your case mainly by arguing that IM!at has been done is, e.g., noble and useful. The facts themselves are to be taken on trust; proof of them is only submitted on those rare occasions IM!en they are not easily credible or IM!en they have been set down to some one else. In political speeches you may maintain that a proposal is impracticable; or that, though practicable, it is unjust, or IMII do no good, or is not so important as its proposer thinks. Note any falsehoods about irrelevant matters-they IMIIIook like proof that his other statements also are false. Argument by 'example' is highly suitable for political oratory, argument by 'enthymeme' better suits forensic. Political oratory deals IMth future events, of IM!ich it can do no more than quote past events as examples. Forensic oratory deals IMth IM!at is or is not now true, IM!ich can better be demonstrated, beca use not contingent-there is no contingency in what has nowalready happened. Do not use a continuous succession of enthymemes: intersperse them IMth other matter, or they IMII spoil one another's effect. There are limits to their numberFriend, you have spoken as muchas a sensible man IMJUid have spoken. ,as much' says Homer, not 'as well'. Nor should you try to make enthymemes on every point; if you do, you will be acting just like some students of philosophy, IM!ose conclusions are more familiar and believable than the premisses from which they drawthem. And avoid the enthymeme form when you are trying to rouse feeling; for it IMII either kili the feeling or IMII itself fall flat: all simultaneous motions tend
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

purpose. Maxims should be employed in the Arguments-and in the Narration too-since these do express character: '1 have given him this, though 1 am quite aware that one should "Trust no man".' Or if you are appealing to the emotions: '1 do not regret it, though 1 have been wronged; if he has the profit on his side, 1 have justice on mine.' Political oratory is a more difficult task than forensic; and naturally so, since it deals with the future, whereas the pleader deals with the past, which, as Epimenides of Crete said, even the diviners already know. (Epimenides did not practise divination about the future; only about the obscurities of the past.) Besides, in forensic oratory you have a basis in the law; and once you have a starting-point, you can prove anything with comparativa ease. Then again, political oratory affords few chances for those leisurely digressions in which you may

attack your adversary, tal k about yourself, or IM:>rk on your hearers' emotions; fewer chances indeed, than any other affords, unless your set purpose is to divert your hearers' attention. Accordingly, if you find yourself in difficulties, follow the lead of the Athenian speakers, and that of lsocrates, who makes regular attacks u pon people in the course of a political speech, e.g. u pon the Lacedaemonians in the Panegyricus, and u pon Chares in the speech about the allies. In ceremonial oratory, intersperse your speech with bits of episodic eulogy, like lsocrates, who is always bringing some one forward for this purpose. And this is what Gorgias meant by saying that he always found something to talk about. For if he speaks of Achilles, he praises Peleus, then Aeacus, then Zeus; and in like manner the virtue of valour, describing its good results, and saying what it is like. Now if you have proofs to bring forward, bring them forward, and your moral discourse as well; if you have no enthymemes, then fall back u pon moral discourse: after all, it is more fitting for a good man to display himself asan honest fellowthan as a subtle reasoner. Refutative enthymemes are more popular than demonstrative ones: their logical cogency is more striking: the facts about tlo\0 opposites always stand out clearly when the tlo\0 are nut side by side. The 'Reply to the Opponent' is not a separata division of the speech; it is part of the Arguments to break down the opponent's case, whether by objection or by counter-syllogism. Both in political speaking and when pleading in court, if you are the first speaker you should put your own arguments forward first, and then meet the arguments on the other side by refuting them and pulling them to pieces beforehand. lf, however, the case for the other side contains a great variety of arguments, begin with these, like Callistratus in the Messenian assembly, when he demolished the arguments likely to be used against him before giving his own. lf you speak later, you must first, by means of refutation and counter-syllogism, attempt sorne answer to your opponent's speech, especially if his arguments have been well received. For justas our minds refuse a favourable reception toa person against whom they are prejudiced, so they refuse it to a speech when they have been favourably impressed by the speech on the other side. You should, therefore, make room in the minds of the audience for your coming speech; and this will be done by getting your opponent's speech out of the way. So attack that first-either the whole of it, or the most important, successful, or vulnerable points in it, and thus inspire confidence in what you have to say yourself"First, champion will 1 be of Goddesses ...
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

where the speaker has attacked the silliest argument first. So much for the Arguments. With regard to the element of moral character: there are assertions which, if made about yourself, may excite dislike, appear tedious, or expose you to the risk of contradiction; and other things which you cannot say about your opponent IMthout seeming abusiva or ill-bred. Put such remarks, therefore, into the mouth of sorne third person. This is what lsocrates does in the Philippus and in the Antidosis, and Archilochus in his satires. The latter represents the father himself as attacking his daughter in the lampoon "Think nought impossible at all, "Nor swear that it shall not befall ... " and puts into the mouth of Charon the carpenter the lampoon which begins "Not for the wealth of Gyes ... "

So too Sophocles makes Haemon appeal to his father on behalf of Antigone as if it were others who were speaking. Again, sometimes you should restate your enthymemes in the form of maxims; e.g. 'Wise men IMII come to terms in the hour of success; for they will gain most if they do'. Expressed as an enthymeme, this 'M>Uid run, 'lf we ought to come to terms when doing so IMII enable us to gain the greatest advantage, then we ought to come to terms in the hour of success.' Part 18 Next as to lnterrogation. The best moment to a employ this is when your opponent has so answered one question that the putting of just one more lands him in absurdity. Thus Pericles questioned Lampen about the way of celebrating the riles of the Saviour Goddess. Lampen declarad that no uninitiated person could be told of them. Pericles then asked, 'Do you knowthem yourself?' 'Yes', answered Lampen. 'Why,' said Pericles, 'how can that be, when you are uninitiated?' Another good moment is when one premiss of an argument is obviously true, and you can see that your opponent must say 'yes' if you ask him whether the other is true. Having first got this answer about the other, do not go on to ask him about the obviously true one, but just state the conclusion yourself. Thus, when Meletus denied that Socrates believed in the existence of gods but admitted that he talked about a supernatural power, Socrates proceeded to to ask whether 'supernatural beings were not either children of the gods or in sorne way divine?' 'Yes', said Meletus. 'Then', replied Socrates, 'is there any one who believes in the existence of children of the gods and yet not in the existence of the gods themselves?' Another good occasion is when you expect to showthat your opponent is contradicting either his own 'Mlrds or what every one believes. A fourth is when it is impossible for him to meet your question except by an evasiva answer. lf he answers 'True, and yet not true', or 'Partly true and partly not true', or 'True in one sen se but not in another', the audience thinks he is in difficulties, and applauds his discomfiture. In other cases do
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

reason you should also make your enthymemes as compact as possible. In replying, you must meet ambiguous questions by drawing reasonable distinctions, not by a curt answer. In meeting questions that seem to involve you in a contradiction, offer the explanation at the outset of your answer, befare your opponent asks the next question or draws his conclusion. For it is not difficult to see the drift of his argument in advance. This point, however, as well as the various means of refutation, may be regarded as known to us from the Tapies. When your opponent in drawing his conclusion puts it in the form of a question, you must justify your answer. Thus when Sophocles was asked by Peisander whether he had, like the other members of the Board of Safety, voted for setting up the Four Hundred, he said 'Yes.'-'Why, did you not think it wicked?'-'Yes.'-'So you committed this wickedness?' 'Y es', said Sophocles, 'for there was nothing better to do.' Again, the Lacedaemonian, when he was being examinad on his conduct as ephor, was asked whether he thought that the other ephors had been justly put to death. 'Yes', he said. 'Well then', asked his opponent, 'did not you propase the same measures as they?'-'Yes.'-'Well then, 'Mluld not yo u too be justly put to death?'-'Not at all', said he; 'they were bribed todo it, and 1 did it from conviction'. Hence you should not ask any further questions after drawing the conclusion, nor put the conclusion itself in the form of a further question, unless there is a large balance of truth on your side.

Asto jests. These are supposed to be of sorne service in controversy. Gorgias said that you should kili your opponents' earnestness with jesting and their jesting with earnestness; in which he was right. jests have been classified in the Poetics. Sorne are becoming to a gentleman, others are not; see that you choose such as become you. lrony better befits a gentleman than buffoonery; the ironical man jokes to amuse himself, the buffoon to amuse other people. Part 19 The Epilogue has four parts. You must (1) make the audience well-disposed towards yourself and ill-disposed towards your opponent (2) magnify or minimiza the leading facts, (3) excite the required state of emotion in your hearers, and ( 4) refresh their memorias. (1) Having shown your own truthfulness and the untruthfulness of your opponent, the natural thing is to commend yourself, censure him, and hammer in your points. You must aim at one of l'Ml objects-you must make yourself out a good man and him a bad one either in yourselves or in relation to your hearers. How this is to be managed-by what lines of argument you are to represent people as good or bad-this has been already explained. (2) The facts having been preved, the natural thing to do next is to magnify or minimiza their importance. The facts must be admitted befare you can discuss how important they are; just as the body cannot grow except from something already present. The proper lines of argument to be used for this purpose of amplification and depreciation have already been set forth. (3) Next, when the facts and their importance are clearly understood, you must excite your hearers' emotions. These emotions are pity, indignation,
26102/12 [Link]/[Link]

(4) Finally you have to reviewwhat you have already said. Here you may properly do what sorne IM"ongly recommend doing in the introduction-repeat your points frequently so asto make them easily understood. What you should do in your introduction is to state your subject, in order that the point to be judged may be quite plain; in the epilogue you should summarize the arguments by which your case has been proved. The first step in this reviewing process is to observe that you have done what you undertook to do. You must, then, state what you have said and why you have said it. Your method may be a comparison of your own case with that of your opponent; and you may compare either the ways you have both handled the same point or make your comparison less direct: 'My opponent said so-and-so on this point; 1 said so-and-so, and this is why 1 said it'. Or with modest irony, e.g. 'He certainly said so-and-so, but 1 said so-and-so'. Or 'Howvain he would have been if he had proved all this instead of that!' Or pul it in the form of a question. 'What has not been proved by me?' or 'What has my opponent proved?' You may proceed then, either in this way by setting point against point, or by following the natural order of the arguments as spoken, first giving your own, and then separately, if you wish, those of your opponent. For the conclusion, the disconnected style of language is appropriate, and will mark the difference between the oration and the peroration. '1 have done. You have heard me. The facts are before you. 1 ask for your judgement.' THE END Copyright statement: The Internet Classics Archive by Daniel C. Stevenson, Web Atomics. World Wide Web presentation is copyright (C) 1994-2000, Daniel C. Stevenson, Web Atomics.