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Rhetoric
By Aristotle


Translated by W. Rhys Roberts

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BOOK I

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 portion 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 would 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 practical effect to their thoughts
and forbid talk about non-essentials. This is sound law and custom.
It 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 to do but to show that the alleged
fact is so or is not so, that it has or has not happened. As to whether
a thing is important 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, or a 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
hard for those who try the case to satisfy the claims of justice and
expediency. The weightiest reason of all is that the decision of the
lawgiver is not particular but prospective and general, whereas members
of the assembly and the jury find it their duty to decide on definite
cases brought before 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 few things
as possible. But questions as to 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. If 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 writers here 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 principles 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 write 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 practices 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.
It 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.

It 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.
It 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.

It has now been shown that the ordinary writers on rhetoric treat
of non-essentials; it has also been shown why they have inclined more
towards the forensic branch of oratory. 

Rhetoric is useful (1) because things that are true and things that
are just have a natural tendency to prevail over their opposites,
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 some 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 observed in the Topics when dealing
with the way to handle a popular audience. Further, (3) we must be
able to employ persuasion, just as strict reasoning can be employed,
on opposite sides of a question, not in order that we may in practice
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. A man can confer the greatest of benefits
by a right use of these, and inflict the greatest of injuries by using
them wrongly. 

It 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. It 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 some account of the systematic principles 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
the available means of persuasion. This is not a function of any other
art. Every other art can instruct or persuade about its own particular
subject-matter; for instance, medicine about what is healthy and unhealthy,
geometry about the properties of magnitudes, arithmetic about numbers,
and the same is true of the other arts and sciences. But rhetoric
we look upon as the power of observing the means of persuasion on
almost any subject presented 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 some belong strictly to the art of rhetoric
and some do not. By the latter I 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 I mean
such as we can ourselves construct by means of the principles of rhetoric.
The one kind has merely to be used, the other has to be invented.

Of the modes of persuasion furnished by the spoken word 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 words
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. It is not true, as some 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. It 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 persuasive arguments
suitable to the case in question. 

There are, then, these three means of effecting persuasion. The man
who is to be in command of them 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 know their causes and the way in which
they are excited. It 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 separate subject: both
are faculties for providing arguments. This is perhaps a sufficient
account of their scope and of how they are related 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
is an induction, the enthymeme is a syllogism, and the apparent enthymeme
is an apparent syllogism. I call the enthymeme a rhetorical syllogism,
and the example a rhetorical induction. Every one who effects persuasion
through proof does in fact use either enthymemes or examples: there
is no other way. And since every one who proves anything at all is
bound to use either syllogisms or inductions (and this is clear to
us from the Analytics), it must follow that enthymemes are syllogisms
and examples are inductions. The difference between example and enthymeme
is made plain by the passages in the Topics where 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; when it is shown that, certain propositions being true,
a further and quite distinct proposition must also be true in consequence,
whether invariably or usually, this is called syllogism in dialectic,
enthymeme in rhetoric. It is plain also that each of these types of
oratory has its advantages. Types of oratory, I say: for what has
been said in the Methodics applies equally well here; in some oratorical
styles examples prevail, in others enthymemes; and in like manner,
some orators are better at the former and some at the latter. Speeches
that rely on examples are as persuasive as the other kind, but those
which 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 the processes themselves more clearly.

A statement is persuasive 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 persuasive because there is somebody
whom it persuades. But none of the arts theorize about individual
cases. Medicine, for instance, does not theorize about what will help
to cure Socrates or Callias, but only about what 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 knowledge of them
is possible. In the same way the theory of rhetoric is concerned not
with what seems probable to a given individual like 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
upon the regular subjects of debate. The duty of rhetoric is to deal
with such matters as we deliberate upon without arts or systems to
guide us, in the hearing of persons who cannot take in at a glance
a complicated argument, or follow a long chain of reasoning. The subjects
of our deliberation are such as seem to present us with alternative
possibilities: about things that could not have been, and cannot now
or in the future be, other than they are, nobody who takes them to
be of this nature wastes his time in deliberation. 

It 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 must, then, deal with what 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
even to mention it; the hearer adds it himself. Thus, to show that
Dorieus has been victor in a contest for which the prize is a crown,
it is enough to say 'For he has been victor in the Olympic games',
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 we make decisions,
and into which therefore we inquire, present us with alternative possibilities.
For it is about our actions that we deliberate and inquire, and all
our actions have a contingent character; hardly any of them are determined
by necessity. Again, conclusions that state what is merely usual or
possible must be drawn from premisses that do the same, just as 'necessary'
conclusions must be drawn from 'necessary' premisses; this too is
clear to us from the Analytics. It is evident, therefore, that the
propositions forming the basis of enthymemes, though some of them
may be 'necessary', will most of them be only usually true. Now the
materials of enthymemes are Probabilities and Signs, which we 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, however, as some definitions would suggest,
anything whatever that usually happens, but only if it belongs to
the class of the 'contingent' or 'variable'. It bears the same relation
to that in respect of which it is probable as the universal bears
to the particular. Of Signs, one kind bears the same relation to the
statement it supports as the particular bears to the universal, the
other the same as the universal bears to the particular. The infallible
kind is a 'complete proof' (tekmerhiou); the fallible kind has no
specific name. By infallible signs I 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', meaning that the matter has now been demonstrated and completed
(peperhasmeuou); for the word 'perhas' has the same meaning (of 'end'
or 'boundary') as the word 'tekmarh' in the ancient tongue. 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 were said, 'The fact that Socrates was wise and just is
a sign that the wise are just'. Here we certainly have a Sign; but
even though the proposition be true, the argument is refutable, since
it does not form a syllogism. Suppose, on the other hand, it were
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'. Here we 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.

It 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 between
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. Its relation to the
proposition it supports is not that of part to whole, nor whole to
part, nor whole to whole, but of part to part, or like to like. When
two statements are of the same order, but one is more familiar than
the other, the former is an 'example'. The argument may, for instance,
be that Dionysius, in asking as he does for a bodyguard, is scheming
to make himself a despot. For in the past Peisistratus kept asking
for a bodyguard in order to carry out such a scheme, and did make
himself a despot as soon as he got it; and so did Theagenes at Megara;
and in the same way all other instances known to the speaker are made
into examples, in order to show what is not yet known, that Dionysius
has the same purpose in making the same request: all these being instances
of the one general principle, that a man who asks for a bodyguard
is scheming to make himself a despot. We have now described the sources
of those means of persuasion which are popularly supposed to be demonstrative.

There is an important distinction between two sorts of enthymemes
that has been wholly overlooked by almost 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. I mean that
the proper subjects of dialectical and rhetorical syllogisms are the
things with which we say the regular or universal Lines 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 to do 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 Lines 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 principle applies throughout. The general Lines of Argument
have no special subject-matter, and therefore will not increase our
understanding of any particular class of things. On the other hand,
the better the selection one makes of propositions suitable for special
Lines 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 principles, but one's science will
be no longer dialectic or rhetoric, but the science to which the principles
thus discovered belong. Most enthymemes are in fact based upon these
particular or special Lines of Argument; comparatively few on the
common or general kind. As in the therefore, so in this work, we must
distinguish, in dealing with enthymemes, the special and the general
Lines of Argument on which they are to be founded. By special Lines
of Argument I mean the propositions peculiar to each several class
of things, by general those common to all classes alike. We may begin
with the special Lines 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

Rhetoric falls into three divisions, determined by the three classes
of listeners to speeches. For of the three elements in speech-making--speaker,
subject, and person addressed--it is the last one, the hearer, that
determines the speech's end and object. The hearer must be either
a judge, with a decision to make about things past or future, or an
observer. 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 two courses is always taken by private counsellors, as well
as by men who address public assemblies. Forensic speaking either
attacks or defends somebody: one or other of these two 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 relative to this main consideration.
Parties in a law-case aim at establishing the justice or injustice
of some action, and they too bring in all other points as subsidiary
and relative to this one. Those who praise or attack a man aim at
proving him worthy of honour or the reverse, 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 we 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 would
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 it a 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. 

It 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. Now the propositions of Rhetoric are
Complete Proofs, Probabilities, and Signs. Every kind of syllogism
is composed of propositions, and the enthymeme is a particular kind
of syllogism composed of the aforesaid propositions. 

Since only possible actions, and not impossible ones, can ever have
been done in the past or the present, and since things which have
not occurred, or will 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, will or will 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 with
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 deal with all things, but only with such as may or may not take
place. Concerning things which exist or will 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 some 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 instructive
art and a more real branch of knowledge; and as it is, rhetoric has
been given a far wider 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, practical 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 with words and forms of reasoning. Even
here, however, we will mention those points which it is of practical
importance to distinguish, their fuller treatment falling naturally
to political science. 

The main matters on which all men deliberate and on which political
speakers make speeches are some five in number: ways and means, war
and peace, national defence, imports and exports, and legislation.

As to Ways and Means, then, the intending speaker will 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 defective,
it may be increased. Further, he should know all 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. For men
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
worked out in other lands. 

As to Peace 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 with which war is likely, in order that peace
may be maintained with 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 relative 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
defensive force and the positions of the forts-this last means that
he must be well acquainted with 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 with special
care. 

With regard to the Food Supply: he must know what outlay will meet
the needs of his country; what kinds of food are produced at home
and what imported; and what articles must be exported or imported.
This last he must know in order that agreements and commercial treaties
may be made with the countries concerned. There are, indeed, two sorts
of state to which he must see that his countrymen give no cause for
offence, states stronger than his own, and states with 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 will prosper and by what internal
developments or external attacks each of them tends to be destroyed.
When I speak of destruction through internal developments I 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; just as the aquiline and the snub
nose not only turn into normal noses by not being aquiline or snub
enough, but also by being too violently aquiline or snub arrive at
a condition in which they no longer look like noses at all. It is
useful, in framing laws, not only to study the past history of one's
own country, in order 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

It may be said that every individual man and all men in common aim
at a 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 some 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 combined with virtue; or as
independence of life; or as 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 internal and these external
goods; for besides these there are no others to have. (Goods of the
soul and of the body are internal. Good birth, friends, money, and
honour are external.) Further, we think that he should possess resources
and luck, in order 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
women, young and old. 

The phrases 'possession of good children' and 'of many children' bear
a quite clear meaning. Applied to a community, they mean that its
young men are numerous and of good a quality: good in regard to bodily
excellences, such as stature, beauty, strength, athletic powers; 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 we have
described. Both male and female are here included; the excellences
of the latter are, in body, beauty and stature; in soul, self-command
and an industry that is not sordid. Communities as well as individuals
should lack none of these perfections, in their women as well as in
their men. Where, as among the Lacedaemonians, the state of women
is bad, almost half of human life is spoilt. 

The constituents of wealth 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 productive, the gentlemanly
kinds are those that provide enjoyment. By 'productive' I mean those
from which we get our income; by 'enjoyable', those from which we
get nothing worth 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 power; and it is 'our
own' if it is in our own power to dispose of it or keep it. By 'disposing
of it' I 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 wealth. 

Fame means being respected 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, or to wealth, 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: sacrifices; 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 well 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 we 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 adapted both for
contests of strength and for speed also. For a man in his prime, beauty
is fitness for the exertion of warfare, together with a pleasant but
at the same time formidable appearance. For an old man, it is to be
strong enough for such exertion as is necessary, and to be free from
all those deformities of old age which cause pain to others. Strength
is the power of moving some one else at will; to do this, you must
either pull, push, lift, pin, or grip him; thus you must be strong
in all of those ways or at least in some. 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 the body consists in size, strength, and swiftness;
swiftness implying strength. He who can fling forward his legs in
a certain way, and move them fast and far, is good at running; he
who can grip and hold down is good at wrestling; he who can drive
an adversary from his ground with the right blow is a good boxer:
he who can do both the last is a good pancratiast, while he who can
do all is an 'all-round' athlete. 

Happiness in old age is the coming of old age slowly and painlessly;
for a man has not this happiness if he grows old either quickly, or
tardily but painfully. It arises both from the excellences of the
body and from good luck. If a man is not free from disease, or if
he is strong, he will not be free from suffering; nor can he continue
to 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 the excellences of
the body; but 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 worthy
men, he has good friends. 

'Good luck' means the acquisition or possession of all or most, or
the most important, of those good things which are due to luck. Some
of the things that are due to luck may also be due to artificial contrivance;
but many are independent of art, as for example those which are due
to nature-though, to be sure, things due to luck may actually be contrary
to nature. Thus health may be due to artificial contrivance, but beauty
and stature are due to nature. All such good things as excite envy
are, as a class, the outcome of good luck. Luck is also the 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
the only man not to go to a place you have gone to regularly, while
the others go there for the first time and are killed. All such things
are reckoned pieces of good luck. 

As to virtue, it is most closely connected with the subject of Eulogy,
and therefore we will wait to define it until we come to discuss that
subject. 

Part 6

It 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. Now the political or deliberative orator's aim is utility:
deliberation seeks to determine not ends but the means to ends, i.e.
what it is most useful to do. Further, utility is a good thing. We
ought therefore to assure ourselves of the main facts about Goodness
and Utility in general. 

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 something else;
or as 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; or as 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;
or as self-sufficiency; or as what produces, maintains, or entails
characteristics of this kind, while preventing and destroying their
opposites. One thing may entail another in either of two ways-(1)
simultaneously, (2) subsequently. Thus learning entails knowledge
subsequently, health entails life simultaneously. Things are productive
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
works 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 productive
of pleasure, while of the beautiful things some are pleasant and some
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 productive of many other
good things: for instance, health is productive both of pleasure and
of life, and therefore is thought the greatest of goods, since these
two things which it causes, pleasure and life, are two of the things
most highly prized by ordinary people. Wealth, again: for it is the
excellence of possession, and also productive of many other good things.
Friends and friendship: for a friend is desirable in himself and also
productive of many other good things. So, too, honour and reputation,
as being pleasant, and productive 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 productive of what is good. Further-good parts, strong memory,
receptiveness, quickness of intuition, and the like, for all such
faculties are productive 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 disputed, 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,
if it is to the particular advantage of our enemies that we should
be cowards, clearly courage is of particular value to our countrymen.
And generally, the contrary of that which our enemies desire, or of
that at which they rejoice, is evidently valuable. Hence the passage
beginning: 

"Surely would Priam exult. "

This principle 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 the
same thing is hurtful to them both. 

Further: that which is not in excess is good, and that which is greater
than 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 came; "

and there is also the 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 equivalent to 'everybody'. That which is praised is good, since
no one praises what is not good. So, again, that which is praised
by our enemies [or by the worthless] for when even those who have
a grievance think a thing good, it is at once felt that every one
must agree with them; our enemies can admit the fact only because
it is evident, just as those must be worthless whom their friends
censure and their enemies do not. (For this reason the Corinthians
conceived themselves to be insulted by Simonides when he wrote:

"Against the Corinthians hath Ilium no complaint.) "

Again, that is good which has been distinguished by the favour of
a discerning or virtuous man or woman, as Odysseus was distinguished
by Athena, Helen by Theseus, Paris by the goddesses, and Achilles
by Homer. And, generally speaking, all things are good which men deliberately
choose to do; this will include the things already mentioned, and
also whatever may be bad for their enemies or good for their friends,
and at the same time practicable. Things are 'practicable' in two
senses: (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 the long time it takes. Again, a thing is good if it is as men
wish; and they wish to have either no evil at an or at least a balance
of good over evil. This last will happen where the penalty is either
imperceptible or slight. Good, too, are things that are a man's very
own, possessed by no one else, exceptional; for this increases the
credit of having them. So are things which befit the possessors, such
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 worthless
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 often happens that people agree that two things
are both useful but do not agree about which is the more so, the next
step will be to treat of relative goodness and relative 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. Now to call a 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 own
sake and not for the sake of something else; to that at which all
things aim; to what they would choose if they could acquire understanding
and practical 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. It
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 woman, then men in general are taller than women. Conversely,
if men in general are taller than women, then the tallest man is taller
than the tallest woman. 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,
or potentially. Life accompanies health simultaneously (but not health
life), knowledge accompanies the act of learning subsequently, cheating
accompanies sacrilege potentially, since a man who has committed sacrilege
is always capable of cheating. Again, when two things each surpass
a third, that which does so by the greater amount is the greater of
the two; for it must surpass the greater as well as the less of the
other two. A thing productive of a greater good than another is productive
of is itself a greater good than that other. For this conception of
'productive 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 two 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 two 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 two sets of consequences arising
from two different beginnings or causes, the consequences of the more
important beginning or cause are themselves the more important; and
conversely, that beginning or cause is itself the more important which
has the more important consequences. Now it is plain, from all that
has been said, that one thing may be shown to be more important than
another from two opposite points of view: it may appear the more important
(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 not a 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 some one to do it; men, said he, plot a
thing only in order 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 often 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 wish it to be. That is the greater good whose contrary
is the greater evil, and whose loss affects us more. Positive goodness
and badness are more important than the mere absence of goodness and
badness: for positive goodness and badness are ends, which the mere
absence of them cannot be. Further, in proportion as the functions
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 two normal things is better or nobler than the other, an unusual
degree of that thing is better or nobler than 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 to 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 would be judged,
or which has been judged, a good thing, or a 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 principle, 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 principle 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 would 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 would be the choice of the juster man. Again, the pleasanter
of two things is the better, since all things pursue pleasure, and
things instinctively desire pleasurable sensation for its own sake;
and these are two 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 we like. Further, in accordance
with the rule of co-ordinate terms and inflexions of the same stem,
what is true of one such related word is true of all. Thus if the
action qualified by the term 'brave' is more noble and desirable than
the action qualified by the term 'temperate', then 'bravery' is more
desirable than 'temperance' and 'being brave' than 'being temperate'.
That, again, which is chosen by all is a greater good than that which
is not, and that chosen by the majority than that chosen by the minority.
For that which all desire is good, as we have said;' and so, the more
a thing is desired, the better it is. Further, that is the better
thing which is considered so by competitors or enemies, or, again,
by authorized judges or those whom they select to represent them.
In the first two cases the decision is virtually that of every one,
in the last two 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 praiseworthy things
are, the nobler and therefore the better they are. So with the things
that earn greater honours than others-honour is, as it were, 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 

"All 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 women 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, places, times, or one's natural powers. When a man accomplishes
something beyond his natural power, or beyond his years, or beyond
the measure of people like him, or in a special way, or at a 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 wood unshaven, 

"I carried my loads of fish from, Argos to Tegea town. "

So Iphicrates 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 words of Homer:

"I have learnt from none but mysell. "

And the best part of a good thing is particularly good; as when Pericles
in his funeral oration said that the country's loss of its young men
in battle was 'as if the spring were taken out of the year'. So with
those things which are of service when the need is pressing; for example,
in old age and times of sickness. And of two things that which leads
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 would seem to show that to receive benefits is more desirable
than to confer them, since a man will choose the former 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 promotes 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 two 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 former 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 worse injury than half-blinding a
man with two eyes; for the one-eyed man has been robbed of what he
dearly prized. 

The grounds on which we must base our arguments, 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 supreme authority to
give authoritative decisions, and this varies with each form of government;
there are as many different supreme authorities as there are different
forms of government. The forms of government are four-democracy, oligarchy,
aristocracy, monarchy. The supreme 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 government 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 I mean that education which is laid down by the law;
for it is those who have been loyal to the national institutions that
hold office under an aristocracy. These are bound to be looked upon
as 'the best men', and it is from this fact that this form of government
has derived its name ('the rule of the best'). Monarchy, as the word
implies, is the constitution a in which one man has authority over
all. There are two 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 practice such actions as will lead
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.
It is clear, then, that we must distinguish those particular customs,
institutions, and interests which tend to realize 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 know the
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 shall learn 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 determined by the end that inspires them.

We have now considered 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
considered the means and methods by which we shall gain a good knowledge
of the moral qualities and institutions peculiar to the various forms
of government-only, however, to the extent demanded 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, since
these are the objects of praise and blame. In doing so, we shall at
the same time be finding out how to 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 often 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
worthy of praise; or that which is both good and also pleasant because
good. If this is a true definition of the Noble, it follows that virtue
must be noble, since it is both a good thing and also praiseworthy.
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. If 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
fighting for it, whereas other people care more for money than for
anything else. Justice is the virtue through which everybody enjoys
his own possessions in accordance with the law; its opposite is injustice,
through which men enjoy the possessions of others in defiance of the
law. Courage is the virtue that disposes men to do noble deeds in
situations of danger, in accordance with the law and in obedience
to its commands; cowardice is the opposite. Temperance is the virtue
that disposes us to obey 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 productive
of greatness in matters involving the spending of money. The opposites
of these two 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 to discern the facts; it is evident
that things productive of virtue are noble, as tending towards virtue;
and also the effects of virtue, that is, the signs of its presence
and the acts to which it leads. And since the signs of virtue, and
such acts as it is the mark of a virtuous man to 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 just and actions done justly. (Not, however, actions justly done
to us; here justice is unlike the other virtues; 'justly' does not
always mean 'nobly'; when a man 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, those actions are noble for which the
reward is simply honour, or honour more than money. So are those in
which a man aims at something desirable for some 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. Noble also are those actions whose advantage may be enjoyed
after death, as opposed to those whose advantage is enjoyed during
one's lifetime: for the latter are more likely to be for one's own
sake only. Also, all actions done for the sake of others, since less
than 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 those things of which men
feel ashamed, for men are ashamed of saying, doing, or intending to
do shameful things. So when Alcacus said 

"Something I fain would say to thee, 

"Only shame restraineth me, "

Sappho wrote 

"If for things good and noble thou wert yearning, 

"If to speak baseness were thy tongue not burning, 

"No load of shame would on thine eyelids weigh; 

"What thou with honour wishest thou wouldst say. "

Those things, also, are noble for which men strive anxiously, without
feeling fear; for they feel thus about the good things which lead
to fair fame. Again, one quality or action is nobler than another
if it is that of a naturally finer being: thus a man's will be nobler
than a woman's. And those qualities are noble which give more pleasure
to other people than to their possessors; hence the nobleness of justice
and just actions. It is noble to 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 to surrender is a sign of courage. Victory, too,
and honour belong to the 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 to be remembered are noble, and
the more they deserve this, the nobler they are. So are the things
that continue 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 the 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 not to live at another's beck and call. We are also
to assume when we wish either to praise a man or blame him that qualities
closely allied to those 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
the passionate and excitable man is 'outspoken'; or that the arrogant
man is '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
to 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
to 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 the Athenians to an Athenian audience.'
If 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 represent as noble. After all, people regard the two things
as much the same. 

All actions are noble that are appropriate to the man who does them:
if, for instance, they are worthy 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 than the appropriate ones
would 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 I was and what I am'; and the epigram on
the victor at the Olympic games, 

"In time past, bearing a yoke on my shoulders, 

"of wood unshaven, "

and the encomium of Simonides, 

"A woman 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 words 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
upon 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 sure that he is the sort of man who would
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 as to bestow praise
and encomium upon him; the two latter 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 would be made in the latter case become encomiums
when differently expressed. When we know what 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 words. Thus
the statement 'A man 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 would urge people
to do; and when you want to urge the doing of anything, think what
you would praise a man for having done. Since suggestion may or may
not forbid an action, the praise into which we convert it must have
one or other of two 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. If 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
statues were the first to be put up in the market-place. And we may
censure bad men for the opposite reason. 

Again, if you cannot find enough to say of a man himself, you may
pit him against others, which is what Isocrates 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. It 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 deliberative 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 general lines 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 special law I mean
that written law which regulates the life of a particular community;
by general law, all those unwritten principles which are supposed
to be acknowledged 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
others corresponds to his particular faults of character.

However, this subject has already been cleared up in part in our discussion
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 some are
due to chance, the others to necessity; of these latter, again, some
are due to compulsion, the others to nature. Consequently all actions
that are not due to a man himself are due either to chance or to nature
or to compulsion. All actions that are due to a man himself and caused
by himself are due either to habit or to rational or irrational craving.
Rational craving is a craving for good, i.e. a wish-nobody wishes
for anything unless he thinks it good. Irrational 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. It 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 sometimes 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 important: 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 before
us. 

The things that happen by chance are all those whose cause cannot
be determined, 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
internal 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 some sense naturally
or from some other cause; it would seem that chance is at least partly
the cause of such events. Those things happen through compulsion which
take place contrary to the desire or reason of the doer, yet through
his own agency. Acts are done from habit which men do because they
have often done them before. Actions are due to reasoning when, in
view of any of the goods already mentioned, they appear useful either
as ends or as means to an 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 will be made clear when we
come to 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
I 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 I 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 examined
in connexion with 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. If 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, or to cause the soul to be brought
into the opposite state, is painful. It 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 often. Again, that is pleasant which
is not forced on us; for force is unnatural, and that is why what
is compulsory, painful, and it has been rightly said 

"All 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 we 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 we have the desire within us, since desire
is the craving for pleasure. Of the desires some are irrational, some
associated with reason. By irrational I mean those which do not arise
from any opinion held by the mind. Of this kind are those known as
'natural'; for instance, those originating in the body, such as the
desire for nourishment, namely hunger and thirst, and a separate kind
of desire answering to each kind of nourishment; and the desires connected
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. If this is so,
it is clear that memory and expectation also, being accompanied by
sensation, may be accompanied by pleasure. It follows that anything
pleasant is either present and perceived, past and remembered, or
future and expected, since we perceive present pleasures, remember
past ones, and expect future 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 words

"Sweet 'tis when rescued to remember pain, "

and 

"Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers

"All that he wrought and endured. "

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 

"Sweeter 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 future 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 imagination.
Indeed, 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. "

Revenge, too, is pleasant; it is pleasant to get anything that it
is painful to fail to get, and angry people suffer extreme pain when
they fail to get their revenge; but they enjoy the prospect of getting
it. Victory also is pleasant, and not merely to 'bad losers', but
to every one; the winner sees himself in the light of a champion,
and everybody has a more or less keen appetite for being that. The
pleasantness of victory implies of course that combative sports and
intellectual contests are pleasant (since in these it often happens
that some one wins) and also games like knuckle-bones, ball, dice,
and draughts. And similarly with the serious sports; some 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 to those who are accustomed
to them and have the capacity for them. Honour and good repute are
among the most pleasant things 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 at a 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 some other reason. Friends belong to the class
of pleasant things; it is pleasant to 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 that every
being that has a feeling for it desires to possess: to be loved means
to be valued for one's own personal qualities. To be admired 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 To do 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 what comes to us only at long intervals is pleasant,
whether it be a person or a thing; for it is a change from what we
had before, and, besides, what comes only at long intervals has the
value of rarity. Learning things and wondering at things are also
pleasant as a rule; wondering implies the desire of learning, so that
the object of wonder is an object of desire; while in learning one
is brought 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. It
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 wondering 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 the object imitated is not itself pleasant; for it is not
the object itself which here gives delight; the spectator draws inferences
('That is a so-and-so') and thus learns something fresh. Dramatic
turns of fortune and hairbreadth escapes from perils are pleasant,
because we feel all such things are wonderful. 

And since what is natural is pleasant, and things akin to each other
seem natural to each other, therefore all kindred and similar things
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 since 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 words. That is why we are usually fond of our flatterers,
[our lovers,] and honour; also of our children, for our children are
our own work. It is also pleasant to complete what is defective, for
the whole thing thereupon becomes our own work. And since power over
others is very pleasant, it is pleasant to be thought wise, for practical
wisdom secures us power over others. (Scientific wisdom is also pleasant,
because it is the knowledge of many wonderful things.) Again, since
most of us are ambitious, it must be pleasant to disparage our neighbours
as well as to have power over them. It is pleasant for a man to spend
his time over what he feels he can do best; just as 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, words, or deeds. We have discussed
the 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 the 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 without being found out, or that
if they are found out they can escape being punished, or that if they
are punished the disadvantage will be less than the gain for themselves
or those they care for. The general subject of apparent possibility
and impossibility will 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 without being punished for it if they possess eloquence,
or practical ability, or much legal experience, or a large body of
friends, or a great deal of money. Their confidence is greatest if
they personally possess the advantages mentioned: but even without
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 with their victims or with the
judges who try them. Their victims will in that case not be on their
guard against being wronged, and will make some arrangement with them
instead of prosecuting; while their judges will favour them because
they like them, either letting them off altogether or imposing light
sentences. They are not likely to be found out if their appearance
contradicts the charges that might be brought against them: for instance,
a weakling is unlikely to be charged with violent assault, or a poor
and ugly man with adultery. Public and open injuries are the easiest
to 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: here too no
precautions are taken. For all men guard against ordinary offences,
just as they guard against ordinary diseases; but 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 not to be detected; if you
have a great many, you will be watched, and therefore people will
think 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 crime by the way you do it or the
place you do it in, or by some 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 to lose. You may feel that the gain to be got by wrong-doing
is great or certain or immediate, and that the penalty is small or
uncertain or distant. It may be that the advantage to be gained is
greater than any possible retribution: as in the case of despotic
power, according to the popular view. You may consider your crimes
as bringing you solid profit, while their punishment is nothing more
than being called bad names. Or the opposite argument may appeal to
you: your crimes may bring you some credit (thus you may, incidentally,
be avenging your father or mother, like Zeno), whereas the punishment
may amount to a fine, or banishment, or something 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 the struggle.
You may get your pleasure on the 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. It may on the contrary appeal to you as it does
appeal to self-controlled and sensible people--that the pain and loss
are immediate, while the pleasure and profit come later and last longer.
You may feel able to make it appear that your crime was due to chance,
or to necessity, or to natural causes, or to 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 worse.

The above, then, are the various states of mind in which a man sets
about doing wrong to others. The kind of people to whom he does wrong,
and the ways in which he does it, must be considered next. The people
to whom he does it are those who have what he wants himself, whether
this means necessities or luxuries and materials for enjoyment. His
victims may be far off or near at hand. If they are near, he gets
his profit quickly; if they are far off, vengeance is slow, as those
think who plunder the Carthaginians. They may be those who are trustful
instead of being cautious and watchful, since all such people are
easy to elude. Or those who are too easy-going to have enough energy
to prosecute an offender. Or sensitive people, who are not apt to
show fight over questions of money. Or those who have been wronged
already by many people, and yet have not prosecuted; such men must
surely be the proverbial 'Mysian prey'. Or those who have either never
or often been wronged before; in neither case will they take precautions;
if they have never been wronged they think they never will, and if
they have often been wronged they feel that surely it cannot happen
again. Or those whose character has been attacked in the past, or
is exposed to attack in the future: they will be too much frightened
of the judges to make up their minds to prosecute, nor can they win
their case if they do: this is true of those who are hated or unpopular.
Another likely class of victim is those 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
those he cares for; as the proverb says, 'wickedness needs but a pretext'.
A man may wrong his enemies, because that is pleasant: he may equally
wrong his friends, because that is easy. Then there are those who
have no friends, and those who lack eloquence and practical capacity;
these will either not attempt to prosecute, or they will come to terms,
or failing that they will lose their case. There are those whom it
does not pay to waste time in waiting for trial or damages, such as
foreigners and small farmers; they will settle for a trifle, and always
be ready to leave off. Also those who have themselves wronged others,
either often, or in the same way as they are now being wronged themselves-for
it is felt that next to no wrong is done to people when it is the
same wrong as they have often themselves done to others: if, for instance,
you assault a man who has been accustomed to behave with violence
to others. So too with those who have done wrong to others, or have
meant to, or mean to, or are likely to do so; there is something fine
and pleasant in wronging such persons, it seems as though almost no
wrong were done. Also those by doing wrong to whom we shall be gratifying
our friends, or those we admire or love, or our masters, or in general
the people by reference to whom we mould our lives. Also those whom
we may wrong and yet be sure of equitable treatment. Also those against
whom we have had any grievance, or any previous differences with them,
as Callippus had when he behaved as he did to Dion: here too it seems
as if almost no wrong were being done. Also those who are on the point
of being wronged by others if we fail to wrong them ourselves, since
here we feel we have no time left for thinking the matter over. So
Aenesidemus is said to have sent the 'cottabus' prize to Gelon, who
had just reduced a town to slavery, because Gelon had got there first
and forestalled his own attempt. Also those by wronging whom we shall
be able to do many righteous acts; for we feel that we can then easily
cure the harm done. Thus Jason the Thessalian said that it is a duty
to do some unjust acts in order to be able to do many just ones.

Among the kinds of wrong done to others are those that are done universally,
or at least commonly: one expects to be forgiven for doing these.
Also those that can easily be kept dark, as where things that can
rapidly be consumed like eatables are concerned, or things that can
easily be changed in shape, colour, or combination, or things that
can easily be stowed away almost 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 wrongs of a kind that shame prevents the victim speaking
about, such as outrages done to the women in his household or to himself
or to his sons. Also those for which you would be thought very litigious
to prosecute any one-trifling wrongs, or wrongs for which people are
usually excused. 

The above is a fairly complete account of the circumstances under
which men 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

It will now be well to make a complete classification of just and
unjust actions. We may begin by observing that they have been defined
relatively to two kinds of law, and also relatively to two classes
of persons. By the two kinds of law I mean particular law and universal
law. Particular law is that which each community lays down and applies
to its own members: 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 with each
other. It 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 kill no living creature, says
that doing this is not just for some 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 immensity.
"

And as Alcidamas says in his Messeniac Oration.... 

The actions that we ought to do or not to do have also been divided
into two classes as affecting either the whole community or some one
of its members. From this point of view we can perform just or unjust
acts in either of two 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 may be divided into two classes,
those affecting the community, and those affecting one or more other
persons. We will next, before going further, remind ourselves of what
'being wronged' means. 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 man must (1) suffer actual harm, (2) suffer it against
his will. The various possible forms of harm are clearly explained
by our previous, separate 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 former case, he must be acting either from deliberate choice
or from passion. (Anger will be discussed when we speak of the passions
the motives for crime and the state of mind of the criminal have already
been discussed.) Now it often happens that a man will admit an act,
but will not admit the prosecutor's label for the act nor the facts
which that label implies. He will admit that he took a thing but not
that he 'stole' it; that he struck some 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 enemy, 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 or to 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. It 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 some such purpose as to insult the man struck or gratify
the striker himself. Nor does taking a thing without the owner's knowledge
always amount to 'theft', but only if it is taken with the intention
of keeping it and injuring the owner. And as with these charges, so
with all the others. 

We saw that 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. Its 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 presented, 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. If, 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 inspired 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
what he meant; not to consider the actions of the accused so much
as his intentions, nor this or that detail so much as the whole story;
to ask not what a man is now but what he has always or usually been.
It 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 invented 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 worse of two acts of wrong done to others is that which is prompted
by the worse disposition. Hence the most trifling acts may be the
worst 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 would shrink from committing. Sometimes,
however, the worse 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 some 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 would not fix a penalty less than the
victim had fixed for himself. Again, a man's crime is worse 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 it as 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 worse 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 would commit it anywhere. Further, the worse
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. It may however be argued otherwise,
that the crime is worse 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 all.-So
much, then, for the comparative badness of criminal actions.

Part 15

There are also the so-called 'non-technical' means of persuasion;
and we must now take a cursory view of these, since they are specially
characteristic of forensic oratory. They are five in number: laws,
witnesses, contracts, tortures, oaths. 

First, then, let us take laws and see how they are to be used in persuasion
and dissuasion, in accusation and defence. If the written law tells
against our case, clearly we must appeal to the universal law, and
insist on its greater equity and justice. We must argue that the juror's
oath 'I will give my verdict according to honest opinion' means that
one will not simply follow the letter of the written law. We must
urge that the principles of equity are permanent and changeless, and
that the universal law does not change either, for it is the law of
nature, whereas written 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 unwritten law:

"Not of to-day or yesterday they are, 

"But live eternal: (none can date their birth.) 

"Not I would fear the wrath 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 written 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 unwritten law in
preference to the written. Or perhaps that the law in question contradicts
some 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. If however the written
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 law that are accounted best.-So far as the laws are concerned,
the above discussion is probably sufficient. 

As to witnesses, they are of two 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 I 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
slack in the family of Critias, or Solon would never have written,

"Pray thee, bid the red-haired Critias do what 

"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 some disputed 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,
'It 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. If 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. If 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 or to our
opponent; and either to questions of fact or to 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 or an enemy or neutral, or has
a good, bad, or indifferent reputation, and any other such distinctions-we
must construct upon the same general lines 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
dealing with witnesses, for the credit to be attached to contracts
depends upon the character of those who have signed them or have the
custody of them. The contract being once admitted genuine, we must
insist on its importance, if it supports our case. We may argue that
a contract 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. If, however, the contract tells against us and for our opponents,
in the first place those arguments are suitable which we can use to
fight a law that tells against us. We do not regard ourselves as bound
to observe a bad law which 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 contract; 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 tell lies 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 trustworthy, 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. A man 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 sworn either by himself or by his opponent.

If 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. 

If you refuse to accept an oath, you may argue that an oath is always
paid for; that you would of course have taken it if you had been a
rascal, since if you are a rascal you had better make something by
it, and you would in that case have to swear in order to succeed.
Thus your refusal, you argue, must be due to high principle, not to
fear of perjury: and you may aptly quote the saying of Xenophanes,

"'Tis not fair that he who fears not God 

"should challenge him who doth. "

It is as if a strong man were to challenge a weakling to strike,
or be struck by, him. 

If you agree to accept an oath, you may argue that you trust yourself
but not your opponent; and that (to invert the remark 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 would be monstrous if you yourself
were unwilling to accept an oath in a case where you demand that the
judges should do so before giving their verdict. If 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. 

Now that we see how we are to argue in each case separately, we see
also how we 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; or to do neither.
These are of course combinations of the cases already mentioned, and
so your arguments also must be combinations of the arguments already
mentioned. 

If you have already sworn 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 words.
But if it is your opponent who has already sworn 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 men take
an oath before administering the laws. 'My opponents insist that you,
the judges, must abide by the oath you have sworn, 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.] 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

BOOK II

Part 1 

We have now considered the materials to be used in supporting or
opposing a political measure, in pronouncing eulogies or censures,
and for prosecution and defence in the law courts. We have considered
the received opinions on which we may best base our arguments so as
to convince our hearers-those opinions with which our enthymemes 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.

But since rhetoric exists to affect the giving of decisions-the hearers
decide between one political speaker and another, and a legal verdict
is a decision-the orator must not only try to make the argument of
his speech demonstrative and worthy of belief; he must also make his
own character look right and put his hearers, who 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 important 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; when they are feeling angry or hostile, they think either
something totally different or the same thing with a different intensity:
when they feel friendly to the man who comes before them for judgement,
they regard him as having done little wrong, if any; when 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: whereas
if they are indifferent or annoyed, they do not think so.

There are three things which 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 what they really think; or finally, they are both sensible
and upright, but not well disposed to their hearers, and may fail
in consequence to recommend what they know to be the best course.
These are the only possible cases. It follows that any one who 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 which we must
now turn. 

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 what we have to say about each of them under three heads.
Take, for instance, the emotion of anger: here we must discover (1)
what the state of mind of angry people is, (2) who the people are
with whom they usually get angry, and (3) on what grounds they get
angry with them. It is not enough to know one or even two of these
points; unless we know all three, we shall be unable to arouse anger
in any one. The same is true of the other emotions. So just as earlier
in this work we 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
what concerns oneself or towards what concerns one's friends. If this
is a proper definition of anger, it must always be felt towards some
particular individual, e.g. Cleon, and not 'man' in general. It must
be felt because the other has done or intended to do something to
him or one of his friends. It must always be attended by a certain
pleasure-that which arises from the expectation of revenge. For since
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. "

It is also attended by a certain pleasure because the thoughts dwell
upon 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 just from the fact that you do not aim at something
for yourself: clearly you do not think that he can do you harm, for
then you would be afraid of him instead of slighting him, nor yet
that he can do you any good worth mentioning, for then you would be
anxious to make friends with him. (3) Insolence 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 insolent man is that he thinks
himself greatly superior to others when ill-treating them. That is
why youths and rich men are insolent; 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. A man expects to be specially
respected 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 

"Great is the wrath of kings, whose father is Zeus almighty,
"

and 

"Yea, 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 owe him good
treatment, and these are the people whom he has treated or is treating
well, or means or has meant to treat well, either himself, or through
his friends, or through others at his request. 

It 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 some one works against him, or fails
to work 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 man is predisposed, by the emotion
now controlling him, to his own particular anger. Further, we are
angered if we 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 we are under these conditions the more easily
we are stirred. 

These, then, are the frames of mind in which men are easily stirred
to anger. The persons with whom we get angry are those who laugh,
mock, or jeer at us, for such conduct is insolent. Also those who
inflict injuries upon 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 we 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 we suspect that
we are in fact, or that people think we are, lacking completely or
to any effective extent in the qualities in question. For when we
are convinced that we excel in the qualities for which we are jeered
at, we can ignore the jeering. Again, we are angrier with our friends
than with other people, since we feel that our friends ought to treat
us well 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 we think that they feel contempt for us, or they would
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
to feel contempt for us; those who oppose us seem to think us inferior
to themselves, and those who do not return our kindnesses seem to
think that those kindnesses were conferred by inferiors. And we feel
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 who 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, which is why 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 whom we care. Again we are angry with those who 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 who are indifferent to the pain they give us: this is why
we get angry with bringers of bad news. And with those who listen
to stories about us or keep on looking at our weaknesses; this seems
like either slighting us or hating us; for those who love us share
in all our distresses and it must distress any one to keep on looking
at his own weaknesses. Further, with those who slight us before five
classes of people: namely, (1) our rivals, (2) those whom we admire,
(3) those whom we wish to admire us, (4) those for whom we feel reverence,
(5) those who feel reverence for us: if any one slights us before
such persons, we feel particularly angry. Again, we feel angry with
those who slight us in connexion with what 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 which 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 adversaries 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 whom they feel calm, and by what means they are
made so. Growing calm may be defined as a settling down or quieting
of anger. Now we get angry with those who slight us; and since slighting
is a voluntary act, it is plain that we feel calm towards those who
do nothing of the kind, or who do or seem to do it involuntarily.
Also towards those who intended to do the opposite of what 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
what they have done as satisfaction, and cease to be angry. The punishment
of servants shows this: those who contradict us and deny their offence
we punish all the more, but we cease to be incensed 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
towards us slight us and show contempt for us: anyhow, we do not feel
shame before those of whom we are thoroughly contemptuous. Also we
feel calm towards those who humble themselves before us and do not
gainsay us; we 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 we are serious, because then we feel that we are treated seriously
and not contemptuously. Also towards those who have done us more kindnesses
than we have done them. Also towards those who pray to us and beg
for mercy, 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 worthy 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 we fear
or respect, as long as we fear or respect them; you cannot be afraid
of a person and also at the same time angry with him. Again, we feel
no anger, or comparatively little, with those who have done what they
did through anger: we 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 we 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 some one, at a 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 I 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 were 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 worse things than they in their anger would have
themselves inflicted upon him; for they feel as if they were already
avenged. Or if they feel that they themselves are in the wrong and
are suffering justly (for anger is not excited by what is just), since
men no longer think then that they are suffering without justification;
and anger, as we have seen, means this. Hence we ought always to inflict
a preliminary punishment in words: if that is done, even slaves are
less aggrieved by the actual punishment. We also feel calm if we 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 to do with
individuals. This is plain from the definition. Hence the poet has
well written: 

"Say that it was Odysseus, sacker of cities, "

implying that Odysseus would not have considered himself avenged
unless the Cyclops perceived both by whom and for what he had been
blinded. Consequently we do not get angry with any one who cannot
be aware of our anger, and in particular we cease to be angry with
people once they are dead, for we feel that the worst has been done
to them, and that they will neither feel pain nor anything else that
we in our anger aim at making them feel. And therefore the poet has
well made Apollo say, in order to put a stop to the anger of Achilles
against the dead Hector, 

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

It 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,
or as worthy of reverence, or as benefactors, or as involuntary agents,
or as much distressed at what they have done. 

Part 4

Let us now turn 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 what you believe to be good things, not for your own sake
but for his, and being inclined, so far as you can, to bring these
things about. A friend is one who feels thus and excites these feelings
in return: those who think they feel thus towards each other think
themselves friends. This being assumed, it follows that your friend
is the sort of man who shares your pleasure in what is good and your
pain in what 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 what 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 who 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 show themselves each other's friends. Again, we feel
friendly to those who have treated us well, either ourselves or those
we care for, whether on a large scale, or readily, or at some particular
crisis; provided it was for our own sake. And also to those who we
think wish to treat us well. And also to our friends' friends, and
to those who like, or are liked by, those whom we like ourselves.
And also to those who are enemies to those whose enemies we are, and
dislike, or are disliked by, those whom we dislike. For all such persons
think the things good which we think good, so that they wish what
is good for us; and this, as we saw, is what friends must do. And
also to those who are willing to treat us well where 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 who work for their living, especially
farmers and others who work 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 whose 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 whom we admire or who admire us. And also those
with whom it is pleasant to live and spend our days: such are the
good-tempered, and those who are not too ready to show us our mistakes,
and those who are not cantankerous or quarrelsome-such people are
always wanting to fight us, and those who 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 sure we do possess. And towards those
who are cleanly in their person, their dress, and all their way of
life. And towards those who do not reproach us with what we have done
amiss to them or they have done to help us, for both actions show
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
some 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 before them for doing
what is conventionally wrong: as well as towards those before 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 love them; if therefore we do
not have it, it looks as if we did love 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 some 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 because of what we take
to be their character. Anger is always concerned with individuals-a
Callias or a Socrates-whereas hatred is directed also against classes:
we all hate any thief and any informer. 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
felt, since their presence causes no pain. And anger is accompanied
by pain, hatred is not; the angry man feels pain, but the hater does
not. Much may happen to make the angry man pity those who offend him,
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.

It 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 disputed whether
an action was due to anger or to 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 some destructive
or painful evil in the future. Of destructive or painful evils only;
for there are some evils, e.g. wickedness or stupidity, the prospect
of which does not frighten us: I mean only such as amount to great
pains or losses. And even these only if they appear not remote but
so near as to be imminent: we do not fear things that are a very long
way off: for instance, we all know we shall die, but we are not troubled
thereby, because death is not close at hand. From this definition
it will follow that fear is caused 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'. Such 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 sure 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
mercy; 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 to do 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 grown 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 know when they are upon
us, we can never be sure they are at a safe distance. All terrible
things are more terrible if they give us no chance of retrieving a
blunder either no chance at all, or only one that depends on our enemies
and not ourselves. Those things are also worse which we cannot, or
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. If fear is associated with the expectation that something
destructive will happen to us, plainly nobody will 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
upon us; nor shall we be afraid at times when we think ourselves safe
from them. It 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 some 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 at an
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.
It is the opposite of fear, and what causes it is the opposite of
what causes fear; it is, therefore, the expectation associated with
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 wronged others nor been
wronged 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 reverses, or have often met
danger and escaped it safely. For there are two reasons why human
beings face danger calmly: they may have no experience of it, or they
may have means to deal with 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 with 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
that make men formidable-wealth, physical strength, strong bodies
of supporters, extensive territory, and the possession of all, or
the most important, appliances of war. Also if we have wronged no
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 wrongers but
the wronged, and that the divine power is always supposed to be on
the side of the wronged. 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 now turn to Shame and Shamelessness; what follows will explain
the things that cause these feelings, and the persons before 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. If
this definition be granted, it follows that we feel shame at such
bad things as we think are disgraceful to ourselves or to 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 wronging people about money; for these acts are due to
injustice. Also, having carnal intercourse with forbidden persons,
at wrong times, or in wrong 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 would 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 those worse 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 order that it may seem like begging;
and going on begging in spite of failure: 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' I 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
of having done to us, having had done, or being about to have done
to us acts that involve us in dishonour and reproach; as when we surrender
our persons, or lend ourselves to vile deeds, e.g. when we submit
to outrage. And acts of yielding to the lust of others are shameful
whether willing or unwilling (yielding to force being an instance
of unwillingness), since unresisting submission to them is due to
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 the disgrace itself and not from its consequences, and
we only care what opinion is held of us because of the 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:
those who admire us, those whom we admire, those by whom we wish to
be admired, those with whom we are competing, and those whose opinion
of us we respect. We admire those, and wish those to admire us, who
possess any good thing that is highly esteemed; or from whom we are
very anxious to get something that they are able to 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 those who have been well
educated. And we feel more shame about a thing if it is done openly,
before all men's eyes. Hence the proverb, 'shame dwells in the eyes'.
For this reason we feel most shame before those who will always be
with us and those who notice what we do, since in both cases eyes
are upon us. We also feel it before those not open to the same imputation
as ourselves: for it is plain that their opinions about it are the
opposite of ours. Also before those who are hard on any one whose
conduct they think wrong; for what a man does himself, he is said
not to 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 to tell everybody about you; not telling others is as good
as not be lieving you wrong. People are likely to tell others about
you if you have wronged them, since they are on the look out to harm
you; or if they speak evil of everybody, for those who attack the
innocent will be still more ready to attack the guilty. And before
those whose main occupation is with their neighbours' failings-people
like satirists and writers of comedy; these are really a kind of evil-speakers
and tell-tales. And before those who have never yet known us come
to grief, since their attitude to us has amounted to admiration so
far: that is why we feel ashamed to refuse those a favour who ask
one for the first time-we have not as yet lost credit with them. Such
are those who are just beginning to wish to be our friends; for they
have seen our best side only (hence the appropriateness of Euripides'
reply to the Syracusans): and such also are those among our old acquaintances
who know nothing to our discredit. And we are ashamed not merely of
the actual shameful conduct mentioned, but also of the evidences of
it: not merely, for example, of actual sexual intercourse, but also
of its evidences; and not merely of disgraceful acts but also of disgraceful
talk. Similarly we feel shame not merely in presence of the persons
mentioned but also of those who will tell them what we have done,
such as their servants or friends. And, generally, we feel no shame
before those upon whose opinions we quite look down as untrustworthy
(no one feels shame before small children or animals); nor are we
ashamed of the same things before intimates as before strangers, but
before the former of what seem genuine faults, before the latter of
what seem conventional ones. 

The conditions under which we shall feel shame are these: first, having
people related to us like those before whom, as has been said, we
feel shame. These are, as was stated, persons whom we admire, or who
admire us, or by whom we wish to be admired, or from whom we desire
some service that we shall not obtain if we forfeit their good opinion.
These persons may be actually looking on (as Cydias represented them
in his speech on land assignments in Samos, 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 some close connexion. Generally, we feel shame
before 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
before 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 order 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? Is it lest some
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 some 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, some 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, or are
giving, the kind of help described, in the kind of need described.
We can also see how to eliminate the idea of kindness and make our
opponents appear unkind: we may maintain that they are being or have
been helpful simply to promote their own interest-this, as has been
stated, is not kindness; or that their action was accidental, or was
forced upon 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 not a kindness even if the doer
does not know how the case stands. In considering this subject we
must look at all the categories: an act may be an act of kindness
because (1) it is a particular thing, (2) it has a particular magnitude
or (3) quality, or (4) is done at a particular time or (5) place.
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,
or an 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, destructive 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. It 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 escaped
from it; elderly men, owing to their good sense and their experience;
weak men, especially men inclined 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 two 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 fortune. 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 destructive 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. 

The grounds, then, on which we feel pity are these or like these.
The people we pity are: those whom we know, if only they are not very
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 principle
that what we fear for ourselves excites our pity when it happens to
others. Further, since it is when the sufferings of others are close
to us that they excite our pity (we cannot remember what disasters
happened a hundred centuries ago, nor look forward to what will happen
a hundred centuries hereafter, and therefore feel little pity, if
any, for such things): it follows that those who heighten the effect
of their words with suitable gestures, tones, dress, and dramatic
action generally, are especially successful in exciting pity: they
thus put the disasters before our eyes, and make them seem close 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 words 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 before our eyes, makes their misfortunes
seem close to ourselves. 

Part 9

Most directly opposed to pity is the feeling called Indignation. 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. It 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. It 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 two feelings have this in common, that they must be due
not to some 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. If 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 parricides
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
these feelings are associated with the same type of moral character.
And their contraries are associated with the contrary type; the man
who is delighted by others' misfortunes is identical with the man
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 Indignation-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. Indignation is pain caused by the sight
of undeserved good fortune. It is, then, plain to begin with that
there are some 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. Indignation 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 for men of family,
not for parvenus, to make distinguished marriages. Indignation may
therefore properly be felt when any one gets what is not appropriate
for him, though he may be a good man enough. It may also be felt when
any one sets himself up against his superior, especially against his
superior in some 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, Indignation 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
to gain particular ends, especially if we are ambitious for what others
are getting without deserving to get it. And, generally, if we think
that we ourselves deserve a thing and that others do not, we are disposed
to be indignant with those others so far as that thing is concerned.
Hence servile, worthless, unambitious persons are not inclined to
Indignation, since there is nothing they can believe themselves to
deserve. 

From all this it is plain what sort of men those are at whose misfortunes,
distresses, or failures we ought to feel pleased, or at least not
pained: by considering the facts described we see at once what their
contraries are. If therefore our speech puts the judges in such a
frame of mind as that indicated and shows that those who claim pity
on certain definite grounds do not deserve to secure pity but do deserve
not to secure it, it will be impossible for the judges to feel pity.

Part 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 the good things already mentioned;
we feel it towards our equals; not with the idea of getting something
for ourselves, but because the other people have it. We shall feel
it if we have, or think we have, equals; and by 'equals' I mean equals
in birth, relationship, age, disposition, distinction, or wealth.
We feel envy also if we fall but 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 to themselves. Also if we are
exceptionally distinguished for some particular thing, and especially
if that thing is wisdom or good fortune. Ambitious men are more envious
than those who are not. So also those who profess wisdom; they are
ambitious to be thought wise. Indeed, generally, those who aim at
a reputation for anything are envious on this particular point. And
small-minded men are envious, for everything seems great to them.
The good things which excite envy have already been mentioned. The
deeds or possessions which arouse the love of reputation and honour
and the desire for fame, and the various gifts of fortune, are almost
all subject to envy; and particularly if we desire the thing ourselves,
or think we are entitled to it, or if having it puts us a little above
others, or not having it a little below them. It is clear also what
kind of people we envy; that was included in what has been said already:
we envy those 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 the people just mentioned-we
do not compete with men who lived a hundred centuries ago, or those
not yet born, or the dead, or those who dwell near the Pillars of
Hercules, or those whom, in our opinion or that of others, we take
to be far below us or far above us. So too we compete with those who
follow the same ends as ourselves: we compete with our rivals in sport
or in love, and generally with those who are after the same things;
and it is therefore these whom we are bound to 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 to 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;
this annoys us, and excites envy in us. We also envy those who have
what we ought to have, or have got what we did have once. Hence old
men envy younger men, and those who have spent much envy those who
have spent little on the same thing. And men who have not got a 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. If 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. It 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. It 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 to men whose state of mind is good. Also
by those whom all others think deserving. We also feel it about anything
for which our ancestors, relatives, 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 as to 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
may be produced or dissipated, and upon which depend the persuasive
arguments connected with the emotions. 

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 fortunes. By emotions I mean anger, desire, and
the like; these we have discussed already. By moral qualities I 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 I mean youth, the prime of life, and old age. By fortune
I mean birth, wealth, power, and their opposites-in fact, good fortune
and ill fortune. 

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 often gets the better
of them, for owing to their love of honour they cannot bear being
slighted, and are indignant if they imagine themselves unfairly treated.
While they love honour, they love victory still more; for youth is
eager for superiority over others, and victory is one form of this.
They love both more than they love money, which indeed they love 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
often been cheated. They are sanguine; 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 before it and a short past behind
it: on the first day of one's life one has nothing at all to remember,
and can only look forward. They are easily cheated, owing to the sanguine
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 exalted 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 exalted notions. They would always rather do noble
deeds than useful ones: 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 love too much and hate too much,
and the same thing with everything else. They think they know everything,
and are always quite sure about it; this, in fact, is why they overdo
everything. If they do wrong to others, it is because they mean to
insult them, not to do them actual harm. They are ready to pity others,
because they think every one an honest man, or anyhow better than
he is: they judge their neighbour by their own harmless natures, and
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 worse 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 some
day hate and hate as though they will some day love. They are small-minded,
because they have been humbled by life: their desires are set upon
nothing more exalted or unusual 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 wrong,
or anyhow turn out worse than one expects; and partly because of their
cowardice. They live by memory rather than by hope; for what is left
to them of life is but little as compared with the long past; and
hope is of the future, memory 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 inspired 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. If they wrong others,
they mean to injure them, not to insult them. Old men may feel pity,
as well as young men, 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. 

Such are the characters of Young Men and Elderly Men. People always
think well of speeches adapted to, and reflecting, their own character:
and we can now see how to compose our speeches so as to adapt both
them and ourselves to our audiences. 

Part 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
the extremes of either. They have neither that excess of confidence
which amounts to rashness, nor too much timidity, but the right amount
of each. They neither trust everybody nor distrust everybody, but
judge people correctly. Their lives will be guided not by the sole
consideration either of what is noble or of what is useful, but by
both; neither by parsimony nor by prodigality, but 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 the young and the old; the young are brave but
intemperate, the old temperate but cowardly. To put it generally,
all the valuable qualities that youth and age divide between them
are united in the 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; the mind about forty-nine. 

Part 15

So much for the types of character that distinguish youth, old age,
and the prime of life. We will now turn to those Gifts of Fortune
by which human character is affected. First let us consider Good Birth.
Its effect on character is to make those 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 will look down even on those who are as good as his own ancestors,
because any far-off distinction is greater than the same thing close
to us, and better to boast about. Being well-born, which means coming
of a fine stock, must be distinguished from nobility, which means
being true to the family nature-a quality not usually found in the
well-born, most of whom are poor creatures. In the generations of
men as in the fruits of the earth, there is a varying yield; now and
then, where the stock is good, exceptional men are produced for a
while, and then decadence sets in. A clever stock will degenerate
towards the insane type of character, like the descendants of Alcibiades
or of the elder Dionysius; a steady stock towards the fatuous and
torpid type, like the descendants of Cimon, Pericles, and Socrates.

Part 16

The type of character produced by Wealth lies on the surface for all
to see. Wealthy men are insolent and arrogant; their possession of
wealth affects their understanding; they feel as if they had every
good thing that exists; wealth becomes a sort 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 the luxury in which they live and the prosperity which they display;
ostentatious and vulgar, because, like other people's, their minds
are regularly occupied with the object of their love and admiration,
and also because they think that other people's idea of happiness
is the same as their own. It 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 the saying of Simonides about
wise men and rich men, in answer to Hiero's wife, who asked him whether
it was better to grow rich or wise. 'Why, rich,' he said; 'for I see
the wise men spending their days at the rich men's doors.' Rich men
also consider themselves worthy to hold public office; for they consider
they already have the things that give a claim to office. In a word,
the type of character produced by wealth is that of a prosperous fool.
There is indeed one difference between the type of the newly-enriched
and those who have long been rich: the newly-enriched have all the
bad qualities mentioned in an exaggerated and worse form--to be newly-enriched
means, so to speak, no education in riches. The wrongs they do others
are not meant to injure their victims, but spring from insolence or
self-indulgence, e.g. those that end in assault or in adultery.

Part 17

As to Power: here too it may fairly be said that the type of character
it produces is mostly obvious enough. Some elements in this type it
shares with the wealthy type, others are better. Those in power are
more ambitious and more manly in character than the wealthy, because
they aspire to do the great deeds that their power permits them to
do. Responsibility makes them more serious: they have to keep paying
attention to the duties their position involves. They are dignified
rather than arrogant, for the respect in which they are held inspires
them with dignity and therefore with moderation-dignity being a mild
and becoming form of arrogance. If they wrong others, they wrong them
not on a small but on a great scale. 

Good fortune in certain of its branches produces the types of character
belonging to the conditions just described, since these conditions
are in fact more or less the kinds of good fortune that are regarded
as most important. It may be added that good fortune leads us to gain
all we can in the way of family happiness and bodily advantages. It
does indeed make men more supercilious and more reckless; but there
is one excellent quality that goes with it-piety, and respect for
the divine power, in which they believe because of events which are
really the result of chance. 

This account of the types of character that correspond to differences
of age or fortune may end here; for to arrive at the opposite types
to those described, namely, those of the poor, the unfortunate, and
the powerless, we have only to ask what the opposite qualities are.

Part 18

The use of persuasive speech is to lead to decisions. (When we 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 to do or not to do something, as when we scold a man for
his conduct or try to change his views: the single person is as much
your 'judge' as if he were one of many; we may say, without qualification,
that any one is your judge whom you have to persuade. Nor does it
matter whether we are arguing against an actual opponent or against
a mere proposition; in the latter case we still have to use speech
and overthrow the opposing arguments, and we attack these as we should
attack an actual opponent. Our principle holds good of ceremonial
speeches also; the 'onlookers' for whom such a speech is put together
are treated as the judges of it. Broadly speaking, however, the only
sort of person who can strictly be called a judge is the man who decides
the issue in some matter of public controversy; that is, in law suits
and in political debates, in both of which there are issues to be
decided. In the section on political oratory an account has already
been given of the types of character that mark the different constitutions.

The manner and means of investing speeches with moral character may
now be regarded as fully set forth. 

Each of the main divisions of oratory has, we have seen, its own 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 determined
completely by what means speeches may be invested with the required
moral character. We are now to proceed to discuss the arguments common
to all oratory. All orators, besides their special lines of argument,
are bound to use, for instance, the topic of the Possible and Impossible;
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 principles
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 general lines 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 Impossible. It 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 two contraries are equally
possible, in so far as they are contraries. That if of two similar
things one is possible, so is the other. That if the harder of two
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 two things whose existence
depends on each other is possible, so is the other; for instance,
if 'double', then 'half', and if 'half', then 'double'. That if a
thing can be produced without art or preparation, it can be produced
still more certainly by the careful application of art to it. Hence
Agathon has said: 

"To some 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 Isocrates said that it would
be a strange thing if he could not discover a thing that Euthynus
had found out. As for Impossibility, 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 two 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 external 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 upon 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 upon
good things. Again, that if a thing was 'going to happen', it has
happened; if a man was 'going to do something', he has done it, for
it is likely that the intention was carried out. That if one thing
has happened which naturally happens before 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
some are inevitable and some 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 before
it has already happened; thus, if it is clouding over, it is likely
to rain. That if the means to an 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 deliberative
oratory we have spoken about the relative greatness of various goods,
and about the greater and lesser in general. Since therefore in each
type oratory the object under discussion is some kind of good-whether
it is utility, nobleness, or justice-it is clear that every orator
must obtain the materials of amplification through these channels.
To go further than this, and try to establish abstract laws of greatness
and superiority, is to argue without an object; in practical life,
particular facts count more than generalizations. 

Enough has now been said about these questions of possibility and
the reverse, of past or future fact, and of the relative greatness
or smallness of things. 

Part 20

The special forms of oratorical argument having now been discussed,
we have next to treat of those which are common to all kinds of oratory.
These are of two main kinds, 'Example' and 'Enthymeme'; for the 'Maxim'
is part of an enthymeme. 

We will first treat of argument by Example, for it has the nature
of induction, which is the foundation of reasoning. This form of argument
has two 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 two varieties, the illustrative parallel and the
fable (e.g. the fables of Aesop, those from Libya). As an 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. If 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.' 

Instances 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 wound up a long talk by telling them
the fable of the horse who had a field all to himself. Presently there
came 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, 'Yes, if you will let 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 himself the slave of the 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. If 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 miseries 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 declined the offer; and when the hedgehog asked why, she
replied, 'These fleas are by this time full of me and not sucking
much blood; if you take them away, others will come with fresh appetites
and drink up all the blood I have left.' 'So, men of Samos', said
Aesop, 'my client will do you no further harm; he is wealthy already.
But if you put him to death, others will come along who are not rich,
and their peculations will 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 will in
fact frame them just as you 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 will 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.
If we can argue by Enthymeme, we should use our Examples as subsequent
supplementary evidence. They should not precede the Enthymemes: that
will give the argument an inductive air, which only rarely suits the
conditions of speech-making. If they follow the 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. It 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 now turn to the use of Maxims, in order to see upon what subjects
and occasions, and for what kind of speaker, they will appropriately
form part of a speech. This will appear most clearly when we have
defined a maxim. It 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
not a maxim--but only about questions of practical conduct, courses
of conduct to be chosen or avoided. Now an Enthymeme is a syllogism
dealing with such practical subjects. It is therefore roughly true
that the premisses or conclusions of Enthymemes, considered apart
from the rest of the argument, are Maxims: e.g. 

"Never should any man whose wits are sound 

"Have his sons taught more wisdom than their fellows. "

Here we have a Maxim; add the reason or explanation, and the whole
thing is an Enthymeme; thus- 

"It makes them idle; and therewith they earn 

"Ill-will and jealousy throughout the city. "

Again, 

"There is no man in all things prosperous, "

and 

"There is no man among us all is free, "

are maxims; but the latter, taken with what follows it, is an Enthymeme-

"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 may or 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 view expressed is already a known truth, e.g.

"Chiefest of blessings is health for a man, as it seemeth to me,
"

this being the general opinion: or because, as soon as the view is
stated, it is clear at a glance, e.g. 

"No love is true save that which loves for ever. "

Of the Maxims that do have a supplement attached, some 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
words 'mortal man' give the reason. Similarly, with the words 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 disputed 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, I 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 the Locrians, 'Insolence
is better avoided, lest 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 man to use
them is-like telling stories-unbecoming; to use them in handling things
in which one has no experience is silly and ill-bred: a fact sufficiently
proved 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 working up feelings of horror and indignation in our hearers;
especially by way of preface, or after the facts have been proved.
Even hackneyed and commonplace maxims are to be used, if they suit
one's purpose: just because they are commonplace, every one seems
to agree with them, and therefore they are taken for truth. Thus,
any one who is calling on his men to risk an engagement without obtaining
favourable omens may quote 

"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.
"

Some 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 (I 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, 'It is not true that we ought to know
ourselves: anyhow, if this man had known himself, he would never have
thought himself fit for an army command.' It 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 wording of our maxim. Failing this,
we should add our reason: e.g. having said 'We should treat our friends,
not as 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, I 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 I 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. I will explain
what I 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 some 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 principles: 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 some
general consideration of the proper way of looking for them, and then
proceed to what is a distinct question, the lines of argument to be
embodied in them. It has already been pointed out that the Enthymeme
is a syllogism, and in what sense it is so. We have also noted the
differences between 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 waste words in saying what is manifest.
It is this simplicity that makes the uneducated more effective than
the educated when addressing popular audiences-makes them, as the
poets tell us, 'charm the crowd's ears more finely'. Educated men
lay down broad general principles; uneducated men argue from common
knowledge and draw obvious 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 whose 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 forward 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 some other subject, we must know some,
if not all, of the facts about the subject on which we are to speak
and argue. Otherwise we can have no materials out of which to construct
arguments. I mean, for instance, how could we advise the Athenians
whether they should go to war or not, if we did not know their strength,
whether it was naval or military or both, and how great it is; what
their revenues amount to; who their friends and enemies are; what
wars, too, they have waged, and with what 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 what they did for the Heracleidae, or
any other facts like that? All eulogy is based upon the noble deeds--real
or imaginary--that stand to the credit of those eulogized. On the
same principle, invectives are based on facts of the opposite kind:
the orator looks to see what 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 recorded against them. So, too, in a court of
law: whether we are prosecuting or defending, we must pay attention
to the existing facts of the case. It makes no difference whether
the subject is the Lacedaemonians or the Athenians, a man or a god;
we must do the same thing. Suppose it to be Achilles whom 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, whether
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,
or to advise him about what is or is not to his interest. The same
thing applies to any subject whatever. Thus, in handling the question
whether justice is or is not a good, we must start with the real facts
about justice and goodness. We see, then, that this is the only way
in which any one ever proves anything, whether 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 of the 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 upon it: for the more
actual facts we have at our command, the more easily we prove our
case; and the more closely they bear on the subject, the more they
will seem to belong to that speech only instead of being commonplaces.
By 'commonplaces' I mean, for example, eulogy of Achilles because
he is a human being or a demi-god, or because he joined the expedition
against Troy: these things are true of many others, so that this kind
of eulogy applies no better to Achilles than to Diomede. The special
facts here needed are those that are true of Achilles alone; such
facts as that he slew Hector, the bravest of the Trojans, and Cycnus
the invulnerable, who prevented all the Greeks from landing, and again
that he was the youngest man who joined the expedition, and was not
bound by oath to join it, and so on. 

Here, again, we have our first principle of selection of Enthymemes-that
which refers to the lines of argument selected. We will now consider
the various elementary classes of enthymemes. (By an 'elementary class'
of enthymeme I mean the same thing as a 'line of argument'.) We will
begin, as we must begin, by observing that there are two kinds of
enthymemes. One kind proves some affirmative or negative proposition;
the other kind disproves one. The difference between the two kinds
is the same as that between syllogistic proof and disproof in dialectic.
The demonstrative enthymeme is formed by the conjunction of compatible
propositions; the refutative, by the conjunction of incompatible propositions.

We may now be said to have in our hands the lines of argument for
the various special subjects that it is useful or necessary to handle,
having selected the propositions suitable in various cases. We have,
in fact, already ascertained the lines of argument applicable to enthymemes
about good and evil, the noble and the base, justice and injustice,
and also to those about types of character, emotions, and moral qualities.
Let us now lay hold of certain facts about the whole subject, considered
from a different and more general point of view. In the course of
our discussion we will take note of the distinction between lines
of proof and lines of disproof: and also of those lines of argument
used in what seems to be enthymemes, but are not, since they do not
represent valid syllogisms. Having made all this clear, we will proceed
to classify Objections and Refutations, showing how they can be brought
to bear upon enthymemes. 

Part 23

1. One line of positive proof is based upon consideration of the opposite
of the thing in question. Observe whether that opposite has the opposite
quality. If it has not, you refute the original proposition; if it
has, you establish it. E.g. 'Temperance is beneficial; for licentiousness
is hurtful'. Or, as in the Messenian speech, 'If war is the cause
of our present troubles, peace is what we need to put things right
again'. Or- 

"For if not even evil-doers should 

"Anger us if they meant not what they did, 

"Then can we owe no gratitude to such 

"As were constrained to do the good they did us. "

Or- 

"Since in this world liars may win belief, 

"Be sure of the opposite likewise-that this world 

"Hears many a true word and believes it not. "

2. Another line of proof is got by considering some modification of
the key-word, and arguing that what can or cannot be said of the one,
can or cannot be said of the other: e.g. 'just' does not always mean
'beneficial', or 'justly' would always mean 'beneficially', whereas
it is not desirable to be justly put to death. 

3. Another line of proof is based upon correlative ideas. If it is
true that one man noble or just treatment to another, you argue that
the other must have received noble or just treatment; or that where
it is right to command obedience, it must have been right to obey
the command. Thus Diomedon, the tax-farmer, said of the taxes: 'If
it is no disgrace for you to sell them, it is no disgrace for us to
buy them'. Further, if 'well' or 'justly' is true of the person to
whom a thing is done, you argue that it is true of the doer. But it
is possible to draw a false conclusion here. It may be just that A
should be treated in a certain way, and yet not just that he should
be so treated by B. Hence you must ask yourself two distinct questions:
(1) Is it right that A should be thus treated? (2) Is it right that
B should thus treat him? and apply your results properly, according
as your answers are Yes or No. Sometimes in such a case the two answers
differ: you may quite easily have a position like that in the Alcmaeon
of Theodectes: 

"And was there none to loathe thy mother's crime? "

to which question Alcmaeon in reply says, 

"Why, there are two 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 the lawsuit about Demosthenes and the men who killed
Nicanor; as they were judged to have killed him justly, it was thought
that he was killed justly. And in the case of the man who was killed
at Thebes, the judges were requested to decide whether it was unjust
that he should be killed, since if it was not, it was argued that
it could not have been unjust to kill him. 

4. Another line of proof is the 'a fortiori'. Thus it may be argued
that if even the gods are not omniscient, certainly human beings are
not. The principle here is that, if a quality does not in fact exist
where it is more likely to exist, it clearly does not exist where
it is less likely. Again, the argument that a man who strikes his
father also strikes his neighbours follows from the principle that,
if the less likely thing is true, the more likely thing is true also;
for a man is less likely to strike his father than to strike his neighbours.
The argument, then, may run thus. Or it may be urged that, if a thing
is not true where it is more likely, it is not 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 show that a thing
is or is not true. This argument might also be used in a case of parity,
as in the lines: 

"Thou hast pity for thy sire, who has lost his sons: 

"Hast none for Oeneus, whose brave son is dead? "

And, again, 'if Theseus did no wrong, neither did Paris'; or 'the
sons of Tyndareus did no wrong, neither did Paris'; or 'if Hector
did well to slay Patroclus, Paris did well to slay Achilles'. And
'if other followers of an art are not bad men, neither are philosophers'.
And 'if generals are not 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 to think of his own city's reputation,
you ought all to think of the reputation of Greece as a whole'.

5. Another line of argument is based on considerations of time. Thus
Iphicrates, in the case against Harmodius, said, 'if before doing
the deed I had bargained that, if I did it, I should have a statue,
you would have given me one. Will you not give me one now that I have
done the deed? You must not make promises when you are expecting a
thing to be done for you, and refuse to fulfil them when the thing
has been done.' And, again, to induce the Thebans to let 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
would have promised to do it. It is monstrous, therefore, that just
because he threw away his advantage then, and trusted their honour,
they should not let him pass through now'. 

6. Another line is to apply to the other speaker what he has said
against yourself. It is an excellent turn to give to a debate, as
may be seen in the Teucer. It was employed by Iphicrates in his reply
to Aristophon. 'Would you', he asked, 'take a bribe to betray the
fleet?' 'No', said Aristophon; and Iphicrates replied, 'Very good:
if you, who are Aristophon, would not betray the fleet, would I, who
am Iphicrates?' Only, it must be recognized beforehand that the 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 sort of thing to him. The purpose is to discredit
the prosecutor, who as a rule would have it appear that his character
is better than that of the defendant, a pretension which it is desirable
to upset. But the use of such an argument is in all cases ridiculous
if you are attacking others for what you do or would do yourself,
or are urging others to do what you neither do nor would do yourself.

7. Another line of proof is secured by defining your terms. Thus,
'What is the supernatural? Surely it is either a god or the work of
a god. Well, any one who believes that the work of a god exists, cannot
help also believing that gods exist.' Or take the argument of Iphicrates,
'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 than his opponent
was. 'At any rate, my deeds are more akin to those 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
those who are not satisfied with the enjoyment of one love.' A further
example is to be found in the reason given by Socrates for not going
to the court of Archelaus. He said that 'one is insulted by being
unable to requite benefits, as well as by being unable to requite
injuries'. All the persons mentioned define their term and get at
its essential meaning, and then use the result when reasoning on the
point at issue. 

8. Another line of argument is founded upon the various senses of
a word. Such a word is 'rightly', as has been explained in the Topics.
Another line is based upon logical division. Thus, 'All men do wrong
from one of three motives, A, B, or C: in my case A and B are out
of the question, and even the accusers do not allege C'.

10. Another line is based upon induction. Thus from the case of the
woman of Peparethus it might be argued that women 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 Ismenias and Stilbon, when Dodonis
proved that it was Ismenias 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: 'If 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 secure other people's safety are not to be employed
to secure 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 woman;
the Lacedaemonians actually made Chilon a member of their senate,
though they are the least literary of men; the Italian Greeks honoured
Pythagoras; the inhabitants of Lampsacus gave public burial to Anaxagoras,
though he was an alien, and honour him even to this day. (It 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 upon 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 Dread
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 would 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 consulted Zeus at Olympia, asked Apollo at Delphi 'whether
his opinion was the same as his father's', implying that it would
be shameful for him to contradict his father. Thus too Isocrates argued
that Helen must have been a good woman, because Theseus decided that
she was; and Paris a good man, because the goddesses chose him before
all others; and Evagoras also, says Isocrates, 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 profaned? What gods recognized
by the state has he not honoured?' 

13. Since it happens that any given thing usually has both good and
bad consequences, another line of argument consists in using those
consequences as a reason for urging that a thing should or should
not be done, for prosecuting or defending any one, for eulogy or censure.
E.g. education leads both to unpopularity, which is bad, and to wisdom,
which is good. Hence you either argue, 'It is therefore not well to
be educated, since it is not well to be unpopular': or you answer,
'No, it is well to be educated, since 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 to urge or discourage
a course of action that may be done in either of two opposite ways,
and have to apply the method just mentioned to both. The difference
between this one and the last is that, whereas in the last any two
things are contrasted, here the things contrasted are opposites. For
instance, the priestess enjoined upon her son not to take to public
speaking: 'For', she said, 'if you say what is right, men will hate
you; if you say what is wrong, the gods will hate you.' The reply
might be, 'On the contrary, you ought to take to public speaking:
for if you say what is right the gods will love you; if you say what
is wrong, men will love you.' This amounts to the proverbial 'buying
the marsh with the salt'. It is just this situation, viz. when each
of two opposites has both a good and a bad consequence opposite respectively
to each other, that has been termed divarication. 

15. Another line of argument is this: The things people approve of
openly are not those 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, to establish
the point of view which your opponent has not adopted. This is the
most effective of the forms of argument that contradict common opinion.

16. Another line is that of rational correspondence. E.g. Iphicrates,
when they were trying to compel his son, a youth under the prescribed
age, to perform one of the state duties because he was tall, said
'If you count tall boys men, you will next be voting short men boys'.
And Theodectes in his Law said, 'You make citizens of such mercenaries
as Strabax and Charidemus, as a reward of their merits; will you not
make exiles of such citizens as those who have done irreparable harm
among the mercenaries?' 

17. Another line is the argument that if two results are the same
their antecedents are also the same. For instance, it was a saying
of Xenophanes that to assert that the gods had birth is as impious
as to say that they die; the consequence of both statements is that
there is a time when the gods do not exist. This line of proof assumes
generally that the result of any given thing is always the same: e.g.
'you are going to decide not about Isocrates, but about the value
of the whole profession of philosophy.' Or, 'to give earth and water'
means slavery; or, 'to share in the Common Peace' means obeying orders.
We are to make either such assumptions or their opposite, as suits
us best. 

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 reverse their previous choice. E.g. the following enthymeme: 'When
we were exiles, we fought in order to return; now we have returned,
it would be strange to choose exile in order not to have to fight.'
one occasion, that is, they chose to be true to their homes at the
cost of fighting, and on the other to avoid fighting at the cost of
deserting their homes. 

19. Another line of argument is the assertion that some possible motive
for an event or state of things is the real one: e.g. that a gift
was given in order to cause pain by its withdrawal. This notion underlies
the lines: 

"God gives to many great prosperity, 

"Not of good God towards 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 witnesses 

"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 deliberative
oratory, namely, to consider inducements and deterrents, and the motives
people have for doing or avoiding the actions in question. These are
the conditions which 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 will 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 whole Art of Rhetoric both of Pamphilus
and of Callippus. 

21. Another line of argument refers to things which 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 which 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 what Androcles of the deme
Pitthus said in his well-known arraignment of the law. The audience
tried to shout him down when he observed that the laws required a
law to set them right. 'Why', he went on, 'fish need salt, improbable
and incredible as this might seem for creatures reared in salt water;
and olive-cakes need oil, incredible as it is that what 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 words that it anywhere
displays; and this in any of the three following connexions. (1) Referring
to our opponent's conduct, e.g. 'He says he is devoted to you, yet
he conspired with the Thirty.' (2) Referring to our own conduct, e.g.
'He says I am litigious, and yet he cannot prove that I have been
engaged in a single lawsuit.' (3) Referring to both of us together,
e.g. 'He has never even lent any one a penny, but I have ransomed
quite a number of you.' 

23. Another line that is useful for men and causes that have been
really or seemingly slandered, is to show why the facts are not as
supposed; pointing out that there is a reason for the false impression
given. Thus a woman, who had palmed off her son on another woman,
was thought to be the lad's mistress because she embraced him; but
when her action was explained the charge was shown to be groundless.
Another example is from the Ajax of Theodectes, where Odysseus tells
Ajax the reason why, 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
recorded as a criminal on the slab in the Acropolis, and of erasing
the record in the time of the Thirty Tyrants: to which Leodamas replied,
'Impossible: for the Thirty would have trusted me all the more if
my quarrel with the commons had been inscribed on the slab.'

25. Another line is to consider whether the accused person can take
or could have taken a better course than that which he is recommending
or taking, or has taken. If he has not taken this better course, it
is clear that he is not guilty, since no one deliberately and consciously
chooses what 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 was far from clear.

26. Another line is, when a contemplated action is inconsistent with
any past action, to examine them both together. Thus, when the people
of Elea asked Xenophanes if they should or should not sacrifice to
Leucothea and mourn for her, he advised them not to mourn for her
if they thought her a goddess, and not to sacrifice to her if they
thought her a mortal woman. 

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
away. In defence she argues that it is not her children, but Jason,
whom she would have slain; for it would 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 whole 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 always bold in battle'; of Polus, 'you are always 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 writes 

"Pentheus-a name foreshadowing grief (penthos) to come. "

The Refutative Enthymeme has a greater reputation than the Demonstrative,
because within a small space it works out two opposing arguments,
and arguments put side by side are clearer to the audience. But of
all syllogisms, whether refutative or demonstrative, those are most
applauded of which we foresee the 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 to see the point of them as soon as the last word
has been uttered. 

Part 24

Besides genuine syllogisms, there may be syllogisms that look genuine
but are not; and since an enthymeme is merely a syllogism of a particular
kind, it follows that, besides genuine enthymemes, there may be those
that look genuine but are not. 

1. Among the lines of argument that form the Spurious Enthymeme the
first is that which arises from the particular words employed.

(a) One variety of this is when-as in dialectic, without having gone
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 must 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
the form of wording here that causes the illusion mentioned. In order
to produce the effect of genuine reasoning by our form of wording
it is useful to summarize the results of a number of previous reasonings:
as 'some 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
some fresh conclusion. 

(b) Another variety is based on the use of similar words for different
things; e.g. the argument that the 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 the
dog, the 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 not said to be worth money but to be worthy of
esteem-the phrase 'worthy of esteem' also having the meaning of 'worth
speech'. 

2. Another line is to assert of the whole what is true of the parts,
or of the parts what is true of the whole. A whole and its parts are
supposed to be identical, though often they are not. You have therefore
to adopt whichever of these two lines better suits your purpose. That
is how Euthydemus argues: e.g. that any one knows that there is a
trireme in the Peiraeus, since he knows the separate details that
make up this statement. There is also the argument that one who knows
the letters knows the whole word, since the word is the same thing
as the letters which compose it; or that, if a double portion of a
certain thing is harmful to health, then a single portion must not
be called wholesome, since it is absurd that two good things should
make one bad thing. Put thus, the enthymeme is refutative; put as
follows; demonstrative: 'For one good thing cannot be made up of two
bad things.' The whole line of argument is fallacious. Again, there
is Polycrates' saying that Thrasybulus put down thirty tyrants, where
the speaker adds them up one by one. Or the argument in the Orestes
of Theodectes, where the argument is from part to whole:

"'Tis right that she who slays her lord should die. "

'It is right, too, that the son should avenge his father. Very good:
these two things are what Orestes has done.' Still, perhaps the two
things, once they are put together, do not form a right act. The fallacy
might also be said to be due to omission, since the speaker fails
to say by whose hand a husband-slayer should die. 

3. Another line is the use of indignant language, whether to support
your own case or to overthrow your opponent's. We do this when we
paint a highly-coloured picture of the situation without having proved
the facts of it: if the defendant does so, he produces an impression
of his innocence; and if the prosecutor goes into a passion, he produces
an impression of the defendant's guilt. Here there is no genuine enthymeme:
the 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; which, 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 what 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 invited that Achilles was 'angered' with the Greeks at
Tenedos? As a fact, what angered him was the 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 the 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 wherever they please, and that such
privileges are at the 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 which the privileges
are enjoyed. Hence this line too falls under the head of fallacies
by omission. 

7. Another line consists in representing as causes things which are
not causes, on the ground that they happened along with or before
the 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 the policy of Demosthenes was the
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. the argument that Paris was justified in taking Helen, since
her father left her free to choose: here the freedom was presumably
not perpetual; it could only refer to her first choice, beyond which
her father's authority could not 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 absolute with that which is not absolute
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 the unknown can be known, on the ground that it can be known
to he unknown: so also in rhetoric a spurious enthymeme may be based
on the confusion of some particular probability with absolute 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 imposture comes from not adding any clause specifying
relationship or reference or manner; so here it arises because the
probability in question is not general but specific. It is of this
line of argument that Corax's Art of Rhetoric is composed. If the
accused is not open to the charge-for instance if a weakling be tried
for violent assault-the defence is that he was not likely to do such
a thing. But if he is open to the charge-i.e. if he is a strong man-the
defence is still that he was not likely to do such a thing, since
he could be sure that people would think he was likely to do it. And
so with any other charge: the accused must be either open or not open
to it: there is in either case an appearance of probable innocence,
but whereas in the latter case the probability is genuine, in the
former it can only be asserted in the special sense mentioned. This
sort of argument illustrates what is meant by making the worse argument
seem the better. Hence people were right in objecting to the training
Protagoras undertook to give them. It was a fraud; the probability
it handled was not genuine but spurious, and has a place in no art
except Rhetoric and Eristic. 

Part 25

Enthymemes, genuine and apparent, have now been described; the next
subject is their Refutation. 

An argument may be refuted either by a counter-syllogism or by bringing
an objection. It is clear that counter-syllogisms can be built up
from the same lines of arguments as the original syllogisms: for the
materials of syllogisms are the ordinary opinions of men, and such
opinions often contradict each other. Objections, as appears in the
Topics, may be raised in four ways-either by directly attacking your
opponent's own 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 own statement' I mean, for instance,
this: if his enthymeme should assert that love is always good, the
objection can be brought in two 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
evil loves as well as good ones. 

2. An objection 'from a contrary statement' is raised when, 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 shown that ill-used men always hate their ill-users, to reply,
'That proves nothing, for well-used men do not always love those who
used them well'. 

4. The 'decisions' mentioned are those proceeding from well-known
men; for instance, if the enthymeme employed has concluded that 'that
allowance ought to be made for drunken offenders, since they did not
know what 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 upon one or other of four kinds of alleged fact:
(1) Probabilities, (2) Examples, (3) Infallible Signs, (4) Ordinary
Signs. (1) Enthymemes based upon Probabilities are those which argue
from what is, or is supposed to be, usually true. (2) Enthymemes based
upon Example are those which proceed by induction from one or more
similar cases, arrive at a general proposition, and then argue deductively
to a particular inference. (3) Enthymemes based upon Infallible Signs
are those which argue from the inevitable and invariable. (4) Enthymemes
based upon ordinary Signs are those which argue from some universal
or particular proposition, true or false. 

Now (1) as a Probability is that which happens usually but not always,
Enthymemes founded upon Probabilities can, it is clear, always be
refuted by raising some objection. The refutation is not always genuine:
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 as to refute it as not inevitable.
Any argument based upon what 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; which, as we said, is a false piece of reasoning. For they ought
to decide by considering not merely what must be true but also what
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
is not hound to be true: he must do so by showing that it is not likely
to be true. For this purpose his objection must state what is more
usually true than the statement attacked. It may do so in either of
two ways: either in respect of frequency or in respect of exactness.
It 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. If we have a negative instance, the argument is
refuted, in so far as it is proved not inevitable, even though the
positive examples are more similar and more frequent. And if the positive
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 some way or other. 

(4) It will be impossible to refute Infallible 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. If there is no doubt
that it does, and that it is an Infallible Sign, refutation now becomes
impossible: for this is equivalent to a demonstration which is clear
in every respect. 

Part 26

Amplification and Depreciation are not an element of enthymeme. By
'an element of enthymeme' I 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 used to show that a thing is great or small; just as
there are other kinds used 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 Constructive. For it is clear that refutation consists either
in offering positive 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 show that 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
some 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 completed
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. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

BOOK III

Part 1 

In making a speech one must study three points: first, the means
of producing persuasion; second, the style, or language, to be used;
third, the proper arrangement of the various parts of the speech.
We have already specified the sources of persuasion. We have shown
that these are three in number; what they are; and why there are only
these three: for we have shown that persuasion must in every case
be effected either (1) by working on the emotions of the judges themselves,
(2) by giving them the right impression of the speakers' character,
or (3) by proving the truth of the statements made. 

Enthymemes also have been described, and the sources from which they
should be derived; there being both special and general lines of argument
for enthymemes. 

Our next subject will be the style of expression. For it is not enough
to know what we ought to say; we must also say it as we ought; much
help is thus afforded towards producing the right impression of a
speech. The first question to receive attention was naturally the
one that comes first naturally-how persuasion can be produced from
the facts themselves. The second is how to set these facts out in
language. A third would be the proper method of delivery; this is
a thing that affects the success of a speech greatly; but hitherto
the subject has been neglected. Indeed, it was long before it found
a way into the arts of tragic drama and epic recitation: at first
poets acted their tragedies themselves. It 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 of Teos among others.)
It is, essentially, a matter of the right management of the voice
to express the various emotions-of speaking loudly, softly, or between
the two; of high, low, or intermediate pitch; of the various rhythms
that suit various subjects. These are the three things-volume of sound,
modulation of pitch, and rhythm-that a speaker bears in mind. It is
those who do bear them in mind who usually win prizes in the dramatic
contests; and just as in drama the actors now count for more than
the poets, so it is in the contests of public life, owing to the defects
of our political institutions. No systematic treatise upon the rules
of delivery has yet been composed; indeed, even the study of language
made no progress till late in the day. Besides, delivery is-very properly-not
regarded as an elevated subject of inquiry. Still, the whole business
of rhetoric being concerned with appearances, we must pay attention
to the subject of delivery, unworthy 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 to fight our case with no help beyond the bare
facts: nothing, therefore, should matter except the proof of those
facts. Still, as has been already said, other things affect the result
considerably, owing to the defects of our hearers. The arts of language
cannot help having a small but real importance, whatever it is we
have to expound to others: the way in which a thing is said does affect
its intelligibility. Not, however, so much importance as people think.
All such arts are fanciful and meant to charm the hearer. Nobody uses
fine language when teaching geometry. 

When the principles of delivery have been worked out, they will produce
the same effect as on the stage. But only very slight attempts to
deal with them have been made and by a few people, as by Thrasymachus
in his 'Appeals to Pity'. Dramatic ability is a natural gift, and
can hardly be systematically taught. The principles of good diction
can be so taught, and therefore we have men of ability in this direction
too, who win prizes in their turn, as well as those speakers who excel
in delivery-speeches of the written or literary kind owe more of their
effect to their direction than to their thought. 

It was naturally the poets who first set the movement 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 were formed, and others as well. Now
it was because poets seemed to win fame through their fine language
when their thoughts were 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 poetical language 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 altered its character. Just
as iambics were adopted, 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. It is therefore
ridiculous to imitate a poetical manner which the poets themselves
have dropped; and it is now plain that we 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 proved
by the fact that speech which fails to convey a plain meaning will
fail to do just what speech has to do. It must also be appropriate,
avoiding both meanness and undue elevation; poetical language 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 positive adornment too, are
secured by using the other words mentioned in the Art of Poetry. Such
variation from what is usual makes 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.
It is therefore well 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 remote from
ordinary life. In prose passages they are far less often fitting because
the subject-matter is less exalted. 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 sometimes 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 persuasive, artificiality is the contrary; for our hearers are
prejudiced and think we have some design against them, as if we were
mixing their wines for them. It is like the difference between 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 show the way to his successors.

Language is composed of nouns and verbs. Nouns are of the various
kinds considered in the treatise on Poetry. Strange words, compound
words, and invented words must be used sparingly and on few occasions:
on what occasions we shall state later. The reason for this restriction
has been already indicated: they depart from what 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 with
advantage. This we gather from the fact that these two classes of
terms, the proper or regular and the metaphorical-these and no others-are
used by everybody in conversation. We can now see that a good writer
can produce a style that is distinguished without being obtrusive,
and is at the same time clear, thus satisfying our definition of good
oratorical prose. Words of ambiguous meaning are chiefly useful to
enable the sophist to mislead his hearers. Synonyms are useful to
the poet, by which I mean words whose ordinary meaning is the same,
e.g. 'porheueseai' (advancing) and 'badizein' (proceeding); these
two are ordinary words and have the same meaning. 

In the Art of Poetry, as we have already said, will be found definitions
of these kinds of words; a classification of Metaphors; and mention
of the fact that metaphor is of great value both in poetry and in
prose. Prose-writers must, however, pay specially careful attention
to metaphor, because their other resources are scantier than those
of poets. Metaphor, moreover, gives style clearness, charm, and distinction
as nothing else can: and it is not a thing whose use can be taught
by one man to another. Metaphors, like epithets, must be fitting,
which means that they must fairly correspond to the thing signified:
failing this, their inappropriateness will be conspicuous: the want
of harmony between two things is emphasized by their being placed
side by side. It is like having to ask ourselves what dress will suit
an old man; certainly not the crimson cloak that suits a young man.
And if you wish to pay a compliment, you must take your metaphor from
something better in the same line; if to disparage, from something
worse. To illustrate my meaning: since opposites are in the same class,
you do what I have suggested if you say that a man who begs 'prays',
and a man who prays 'begs'; for praying and begging are both varieties
of asking. So Iphicrates called Callias a 'mendicant priest' instead
of a 'torch-bearer', and Callias replied that Iphicrates must be uninitiated
or he would have called him not a 'mendicant priest' but a 'torch-bearer'.
Both are religious titles, but one is honourable and the other is
not. Again, somebody calls actors 'hangers-on of Dionysus', but 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 now call themselves 'purveyors'. We can thus call a crime
a mistake, or a 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 word '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 words conveying it fail to indicate
sweetness of vocal utterance. Thus Dionysius the Brazen in his elegies
calls poetry 'Calliope's screech'. Poetry and screeching are both,
to be sure, vocal utterances. But the metaphor is bad, because the
sounds of 'screeching', unlike those of poetry, are discordant and
unmeaning. Further, in using metaphors to give names to nameless things,
we must draw them not from remote but from kindred and similar things,
so that the kinship is clearly perceived as soon as the words are
said. Thus in the celebrated riddle 

"I marked how a man glued bronze with fire to another man's body,
"

the process is nameless; but both it and gluing are a kind of application,
and that is why the application of the 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 words 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 foul language,
because in whatever words you put a 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, two different words will represent a thing in two different
lights; so on this ground also one term must be held fairer or fouler
than another. For both of two 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
some other physical sense. It is better, for instance, to say 'rosy-fingered
morn', than 'crimson-fingered' or, worse 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'; or a 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 diminutives, 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 diminutives 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 words. 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 would be issue-fraught' and 'issue-fraught
he made the persuasion of his words', and 'sombre-hued is the floor
of the sea'.The way all these words 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 words. 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.
It is appropriate enough for a poet to talk of 'white milk', in prose
such epithets are sometimes lacking in appropriateness or, when spread
too thickly, plainly reveal the author turning his prose into poetry.
Of course we must use some epithets, since they lift our style above
the usual level and give it an air of distinction. But we must aim
at the due mean, or the result will be worse than if we took no trouble
at all; we shall get something actually bad instead of something merely
not good. That is why the epithets of Alcidamas seem so tasteless;
he does not use them as the seasoning of the meat, but as the meat
itself, so numerous and swollen and aggressive are they. For instance,
he does not say 'sweat', but 'the moist sweat'; not 'to the Isthmian
games', but 'to the world-concourse of the Isthmian games'; not 'laws',
but 'the laws that are monarchs of states'; not 'at a run', but 'his
heart impelling him to speed of foot'; not 'a school of the Muses',
but 'Nature's school of the Muses had he inherited'; and so 'frowning
care of heart', and 'achiever' not of 'popularity' but of 'universal
popularity', and 'dispenser of pleasure to his audience', and 'he
concealed it' not 'with boughs' but 'with boughs of the forest trees',
and 'he clothed' not 'his body' but 'his body's nakedness', and 'his
soul's desire was counter imitative' (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 wickedness'. We thus see how the
inappropriateness of such poetical language imports absurdity and
tastelessness into speeches, as well as the obscurity that comes from
all this verbosity-for when the sense is plain, you only obscure and
spoil its clearness by piling up words. 

The ordinary use of compound words is where there is no term for a
thing and some compound can be easily formed, like 'pastime' (chronotribein);
but if this is much done, the prose character disappears entirely.
We now see why the language of compounds is just the thing for writers
of dithyrambs, who love sonorous noises; strange words for writers
of epic poetry, which is a proud and stately affair; and metaphor
for iambic verse, the metre which (as has been already' said) is widely
used to-day. 

(4) There remains the fourth region in which bad taste may be shown,
metaphor. Metaphors like other things may be inappropriate. Some 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 obscure. For instance, Gorgias talks
of 'events that are green and full of sap', and says 'foul was the
deed you sowed and evil the 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 the reasons given, to carry the hearer
with them. The address of Gorgias to the swallow, when she had let
her droppings fall on him as she flew overhead, is in the best tragic
manner. He said, 'Nay, shame, O Philomela'. Considering her as a bird,
you could not call her act shameful; considering her as a girl, you
could; and so it was a good gibe to address her as what she was once
and not as what she is. 

Part 4

The Simile also is a metaphor; the difference is but slight. When
the poet says of Achilles that he 

"Leapt on the foe as a lion, "

this is a simile; when he says of him 'the lion leapt', it is a metaphor-here,
since both are courageous, he has transferred to Achilles the name
of 'lion'. Similes are useful in prose as well as in verse; but not
often, since they are of the nature of poetry. They are to be employed
just as metaphors are employed, since they are really the same thing
except for the difference mentioned. 

The following are examples of similes. Androtion said of Idrieus that
he was like a terrier let off the chain, that flies at you and bites
you-Idrieus too was savage now that he was let out of his chains.
Theodamas compared Archidamus to an Euxenus who could not do geometry-a
proportional simile, implying that Euxenus is an Archidamus who can
do geometry. In Plato's Republic those who strip the dead are compared
to curs which bite the stones thrown at them but do not touch the
thrower, and there is the simile about the Athenian people, who are
compared to a ship's captain who is strong but a little deaf; and
the one about poets' verses, which are likened to persons who lack
beauty but possess youthful freshness-when the freshness has faded
the 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 the Boeotians to holm-oaks, because they were ruining
one another by civil wars just as one oak causes another oak's fall.
Demosthenes said that the Athenian people were like sea-sick men on
board ship. Again, Demosthenes compared the political orators to nurses
who swallow the bit of food themselves and then smear the children's
lips with the spittle. Antisthenes compared the lean Cephisodotus
to frankincense, because it was his consumption that gave one pleasure.
All these ideas may be expressed either as similes or as metaphors;
those 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. 

Part 5

Such, then, are the ingredients of which speech is composed. The foundation
of good style is correctness of language, which falls under five heads.
(1) First, the proper use of connecting words, and the arrangement
of them in the natural sequence which some of them require. For instance,
the connective 'men' (e.g. ego men) requires the correlative de (e.g.
o de). The answering word must be brought in before the first has
been forgotten, and not be widely separated from it; nor, except in
the few cases where this is appropriate, is another connective to
be introduced before the one required. Consider the sentence, 'But
as soon as he told me (for Cleon had come begging and praying), took
them along and set out.' In this sentence many connecting words are
inserted in front of the one required to complete the sense; and if
there is a long interval before 'set out', the result is obscurity.
One merit, then, of good style lies in the right use of connecting
words. (2) The second lies in calling things by their own special
names and not by vague general ones. (3) The third is to avoid ambiguities;
unless, indeed, you definitely desire to be ambiguous, as those do
who have nothing to say but are pretending to mean something. Such
people are apt to put that sort 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.
"

Diviners use these vague generalities about the matter in hand because
their predictions are thus, as a rule, less likely to be falsified.
We are more likely to be right, in the game of 'odd and even', if
we simply guess 'even' or 'odd' than if we guess at the actual number;
and the oracle-monger is more likely to be right if he simply says
that a thing will happen than 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
some such object as that mentioned. (4) A fourth rule is to observe
Protagoras' classification of nouns into male, female, and inanimate;
for these distinctions also must be correctly given. 'Upon her arrival
she said her say and departed (e d elthousa kai dialechtheisa ocheto).'
(5) A fifth rule is to express plurality, fewness, and unity by the
correct wording, e.g. 'Having come, they struck me (oi d elthontes
etupton me).' 

It is a general rule that a written composition should be easy to
read and therefore easy to deliver. This cannot be so where there
are many connecting words or clauses, or where punctuation is hard,
as in the writings of Heracleitus. To punctuate Heracleitus is no
easy task, because we often cannot tell whether a particular word
belongs to what precedes or what follows it. Thus, at the outset of
his treatise he says, 'Though this truth is always men understand
it not', where it is not clear with which of the two clauses the word
'always' should be joined by the punctuation. Further, the following
fact leads to solecism, viz. that the sentence does not work out properly
if you annex to two terms a third which does not suit them both. Thus
either 'sound' or 'colour' will fail to work out properly with some
verbs: 'perceive' will apply to both, 'see' will not. Obscurity is
also caused if, when you intend to insert a number of details, you
do not first make your meaning clear; for instance, if you say, 'I
meant, after telling him this, that and the other thing, to set out',
rather than something of this kind 'I meant to set out after telling
him; then this, that, and the other thing occurred.' 

Part 6

The following suggestions will help to give your language impressiveness.
(1) Describe a thing instead of naming it: do not say 'circle', but
'that surface which extends equally from the middle every way'. To
achieve conciseness, do the opposite-put the name instead of the description.
When mentioning anything ugly or unseemly, use its name if it is the
description that is ugly, and describe it if it is the name that is
ugly. (2) Represent things with the help of metaphors and epithets,
being careful to avoid poetical effects. (3) Use plural for singular,
as in poetry, where one finds 

"Unto havens Achaean, "

though only one haven is meant, and 

"Here are my letter's many-leaved folds. "

(4) Do not bracket two words under one article, but put one article
with each; e.g. 'that wife of ours.' The reverse to secure conciseness;
e.g. 'our wife.' Use plenty of connecting words; conversely, to secure
conciseness, dispense with connectives, while still preserving connexion;
e.g. 'having gone and spoken', and 'having gone, I spoke', respectively.
(6) And the practice of Antimachus, too, is useful-to describe a thing
by mentioning attributes it does not possess; as he does in talking
of Teumessus 

"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 or to bad
qualities, according to which your subject requires. It 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'. 

Part 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 must we add ornamental epithets to
commonplace nouns, or the effect will be comic, as in the works of
Cleophon, who can use phrases as absurd as 'O queenly fig-tree'. To
express emotion, you will employ the language of anger in speaking
of outrage; the language of disgust and discreet reluctance to utter
a word 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
the 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
to be true, whether it is so or not. 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' I include differences of age,
as boy, man, or old man; of sex, as man or woman; of nationality,
as Spartan or Thessalian. By 'dispositions' I here mean those dispositions
only which determine the character of a man's for it is not every
disposition that does this. If, then, a speaker uses the very words
which are in keeping with a particular disposition, he will reproduce
the corresponding character; for a rustic and an educated man will
not say the same things nor speak in the same way. Again, some impression
is made upon an audience by a device which speech-writers employ to
nauseous excess, when they say 'Who does not know this?' or 'It is
known to everybody.' The hearer is ashamed of his ignorance, and agrees
with the speaker, so as to have a share of the knowledge that everybody
else possesses. 

All the variations of oratorical style are capable of being used in
season or out of season. The best way to counteract any exaggeration
is the well-worn device by which the speaker puts in some 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. I mean for instance,
if your words are harsh, you should not extend this harshness to your
voice and your countenance and have everything else in keeping. If
you do, the artificial character of each detail becomes apparent;
whereas if you adopt one device and not another, you are using art
all the same and yet nobody notices it. (To be sure, if mild sentiments
are expressed in harsh tones and harsh sentiments in mild tones, you
become comparatively unconvincing.) Compound words, fairly plentiful
epithets, and strange words 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 Isocrates, 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 inspired 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 the hearer's trust by its artificial
appearance, and at the same time it diverts his attention, making
him watch for metrical recurrences, just as children catch up the
herald's question, 'Whom does the freedman choose as his advocate?',
with the answer 'Cleon!' On the other hand, unrhythmical language
is too unlimited; we do not want the limitations of metre, but some
limitation we must have, or the effect will be vague and unsatisfactory.
Now it is number that limits all things; and it is the numerical limitation
of the forms of a composition that constitutes rhythm, of which metres
are definite sections. Prose, then, is to be rhythmical, but not metrical,
or it will become not prose but verse. It should not even have too
precise a prose rhythm, and therefore should only be rhythmical to
a certain extent. 

Of the various rhythms, the heroic has dignity, but lacks the tones
of the spoken language. The iambic is the very language of ordinary
people, so that in common talk iambic lines occur oftener than any
others: but in a speech we need dignity and the power of taking the
hearer out of his ordinary self. The trochee is too much akin to wild
dancing: we can see this in tetrameter verse, which is one of the
trochaic rhythms. 

There remains the paean, which speakers began to use in the time of
Thrasymachus, though they had then no name to give it. The paean is
a third class of rhythm, closely akin to both the 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 to one respectively. Between
the two last ratios comes the ratio of one-and-a-half to one, which
is that of the paean. 

Now the other two kinds of rhythm must be rejected in writing prose,
partly for the reasons given, and partly because they are too metrical;
and the paean must be adopted, since from this alone of the rhythms
mentioned no definite metre arises, and therefore it is the least
obtrusive of them. At present the same form of paean is employed at
the beginning a at the end of sentences, whereas the end should differ
from the beginning. There are two opposite kinds of paean, one of
which is suitable to the beginning of a sentence, where it is indeed
actually used; this is the kind that begins with a long syllable and
ends with three short ones, as 

"Dalogenes | eite Luki | an, "

and 

"Chruseokom | a Ekate | pai Dios. "

The other paean begins, conversely, with three short syllables and
ends with a long one, as 

"meta de lan | udata t ok | eanon e | oanise nux. "

This kind of paean makes a real close: a short syllable can give
no effect of finality, and therefore makes the rhythm appear truncated.
A sentence should break off with the long syllable: the fact that
it is over should be indicated not by the scribe, or by his period-mark
in the margin, 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, with 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 method formerly; not many do so now. By 'free-running' style
I 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 I mean a portion of speech that has in itself a beginning
and an end, being at the same time not too big to be taken in at a
glance. Language of this kind is satisfying and easy to follow. It
is satisfying, because it is just the reverse of indefinite; and moreover,
the hearer always feels that he is grasping something and has reached
some definite conclusion; whereas it is unsatisfactory to see nothing
in front of you and get nowhere. It 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 remember.
That is why verse, which is measured, is always more easily remembered
than prose, which is not: the measures of verse can be numbered. The
period must, further, not be completed until the sense is complete:
it must not be capable of breaking off abruptly, as may happen with
the following iambic lines of Sophocles- 

"Calydon's soil is this; of Pelops' land 

"(The smiling plains face us across the strait.) "

By a wrong division of the words the hearer may take the meaning to
be the reverse of what it is: for instance, in the passage quoted,
one might imagine that Calydon is in the Peloponnesus. 

A Period may be either divided into several members or simple. The
period of several members is a portion of speech (1) complete in itself,
(2) divided into parts, and (3) easily delivered at a single breath-as
a whole, that is; not by fresh breath being taken at the division.
A member is one of the two parts of such a period. By a 'simple' period,
I mean that which has only one member. The members, and the whole
periods, should be neither curt nor long. A member which 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, so to speak, stumble. If, on the other hand, you go on too
long, you make him feel left behind, just as people who when walking
pass beyond the boundary before 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 

"Is like to fall into them first; 

"And long-winded preludes do harm to us all, 

"But the preluder catches it worst. "

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 two kinds.
It is either simply divided, as in 'I have often wondered at the conveners
of national gatherings and the founders of athletic contests'; or
it is antithetical, where, in each of the two members, one of one
pair of opposites is put along with one of another pair, or the same
word is used to bracket two opposites, as 'They aided both parties-not
only those who stayed behind but those who 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'. Here
the contrasted words are 'staying behind' and 'accompanying', 'enough'
and 'larger'. So in the example, 'Both to those who want to get property
and to those who desire to enjoy it' where 'enjoyment' is contrasted
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 won 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 what some one said about
Peitholaus and Lycophron in a law-court, 'These men used to sell you
when they were at home, and now they have come to you here and bought
you'. All these passages have the structure described above. Such
a form of speech is satisfying, because the significance of contrasted
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 two opposing conclusions side by side that you prove one of
them false. 

Such, then, is the nature of antithesis. Parisosis is making the two
members of a period equal in length. Paromoeosis is making the extreme
words of both members like each other. This must happen either at
the beginning or at the end of each member. If at the beginning, the
resemblance must always be between whole words; at the end, between
final syllables or inflexions of the same word or the same word 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 word is 

"axios de staoenai chalkous ouk axios on chalkou; "

Of the same word repeated, 

"su d' auton kai zonta eleges kakos kai nun grafeis kakos.
"

Of one syllable, 

"ti d' an epaoes deinon, ei andrh' eides arhgon; "

It 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 I 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 practice; 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: words
express ideas, and therefore those words are the most agreeable that
enable us to get hold of new ideas. Now strange words simply puzzle
us; ordinary words 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
been said before, is a metaphor, differing from it only in the way
it is put; and just because it is longer it is less attractive. Besides,
it does not say outright that 'this' is 'that', and therefore the
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 word '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 two kinds do convey to us a sort of information: but the
obvious and the obscure kinds convey nothing, either at once or later
on. It 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 upon their
own private interests', where there is an antithesis between war and
peace. It is also good to use metaphorical words; but the metaphors
must not be far-fetched, or they will be difficult to grasp, nor obvious,
or they will have no effect. The words, too, ought to set the scene
before 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 would not have the Athenians let Greece 'lose one of
her two eyes'. When Chares was pressing for leave to be examined 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'. Iphicrates,
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 worth
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 fortune had fastened him in the pillory of
disease'. Cephisodotus called warships 'painted millstones'. Diogenes
the Dog called 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,
and a graphic one again. Cephisodotus bade the Athenians take care
not to hold too many 'parades'. Isocrates used the same word of those
who 'parade at the national festivals.' Another example occurs in
the Funeral Speech: 'It is fitting that Greece should cut off her
hair beside the tomb of those who fell at Salamis, 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 weep when valour was being
buried in their grave, it would have been a metaphor, and a graphic
one; but the coupling of 'their valour' and 'her freedom' presents
a kind of antithesis as well. 'The course of my words', said Iphicrates,
'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 would 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 within 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

It 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' I 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
'with 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 swiftness. So with Homer's common practice of giving
metaphorical life 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 

"Flying 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
because they are made into living beings; shameless behaviour and
fury and so on are all forms of activity. And the poet has attached
these ideas to the things by means of proportional metaphors: as the
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 drawn, as has been said already, from things that
are related 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 secures things from below
and the other from above. And to speak of states as 'levelled' is
to identify two 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, 'Yes, to be sure; I never thought of that'. The liveliness
of epigrammatic remarks is due to the meaning not being just what
the words 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 words that one
finds in the comic writers. The effect is produced even by jokes depending
upon changes of the letters of a word; this too is a surprise. You
find this in verse as well as in prose. The word which comes is not
what the hearer imagined: thus 

"Onward he came, and his feet were shod with his-chilblains,
"

where one imagined the word would be 'sandals'. But the point should
be clear the moment the words are uttered. Jokes made by altering
the letters of a word consist in meaning, not just what you say, but
something that gives a twist to the word 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 Isocrates, 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 would be nothing clever is saying 'empire
is empire'. Isocrates means more than that, and uses the word with
a new meaning. So too with the former saying, which denies that arche
in one sense was arche in another sense. In all these jokes, whether
a word is used in a second sense or metaphorically, the joke is good
if it fits the facts. For instance, Anaschetos (proper name) ouk anaschetos:
where you say that what is so-and-so in one sense is not so-and-so
in another; well, if the man is unpleasant, the joke fits the facts.
Again, take- 

"Thou must not be a stranger stranger than Thou should'st.
"

Do not the words 'thou must not be', &c., amount to saying that the
stranger must not always be strange? Here again is the use of one
word in different senses. Of the same kind also is the much-praised
verse of Anaxandrides: 

"Death is most fit before you do 

"Deeds that would 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
the more briefly and antithetically such sayings can be expressed,
the 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 without being commonplace-two requirements not always satisfied
simultaneously. Thus 'a man should die having done no wrong' is true
but dull: 'the right man should marry the right woman' is also true
but dull. No, there must be both good qualities together, as in 'it
is fitting to die when you are not fit for death'. The more a saying
has these qualitis, the livelier it appears: if, for instance, its
wording 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 two relations like the proportional metaphor.
Thus: a shield, we say, is the 'drinking-bowl of Ares', and a bow
is the 'chordless lyre'. This way of putting a metaphor is not 'simple',
as it would be if we called the 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
with water dropping on it, since both eyes and flame keep winking.
A simile 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. It is in these
respects that poets fail worst when they fail, and succeed best when
they succeed, i.e. when they give the resemblance pat, as in

"Those legs of his curl just like parsley leaves; "

and 

"Just like Philammon struggling with his punchball. "

These are all similes; and that similes are metaphors has been stated
often already. 

Proverbs, again, are metaphors from one species to another. Suppose,
for instance, a man to start some undertaking in hope of gain and
then to lose by it later on, 'Here we have once more the man of Carpathus
and his hare', says he. For both alike went through the said experience.

It has now been explained fairly completely how liveliness is secured
and why it has the 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 the 'black eye' is compared to
a mulberry because of its colour, the exaggeration lying in the quantity
of mulberries suggested. The phrase 'like so-and-so' may introduce
a hyperbole under the form of a simile. Thus 

"Just like Philammon struggling with his punchball "

is equivalent to 'you would have thought he was Philammon struggling
with his punchball'; and 

"Those legs of his curl just like parsley leaves "

is equivalent to 'his legs are so curly that you would have thought
they were not legs but parsley leaves'. Hyperboles are for young men
to use; they show vehemence of character; and this is why angry people
use them more than other people. 

"Not though he gave me as much as the dust 

"or the sands of the sea... 

"But her, the daughter of Atreus' son, I never will marry,

"Nay, not though she were fairer than Aphrodite the Golden,

"Defter of hand than Athene... "

(The Attic orators are particularly fond of this method of speech.)
Consequently it does not suit an elderly speaker. 

Part 12

It should be observed that each kind of rhetoric has its own appropriate
style. The style of written prose is not that of spoken oratory, nor
are those of political and forensic speaking the same. Both written
and spoken have to be known. To know the latter is to know how to
speak good Greek. To know the former means that you are not obliged,
as otherwise you are, to hold your tongue when you wish to communicate
something to the general public. 

The written style is the more finished: the spoken better admits of
dramatic delivery-like the kind of oratory that reflects character
and the kind that reflects emotion. Hence actors look out for plays
written in the latter style, and poets for actors competent to act
in such plays. Yet poets whose plays are meant to be read are read
and circulated: Chaeremon, for instance, who is as finished as a professional
speech-writer; and Licymnius among the dithyrambic poets. Compared
with those of others, the speeches of professional writers sound thin
in actual contests. Those of the orators, on the other hand, are good
to hear spoken, but look amateurish enough when they pass into the
hands of a reader. This is just because they are so well suited for
an actual tussle, and therefore contain many dramatic touches, which,
being robbed of all dramatic rendering, fail to do their own proper
work, and consequently look silly. Thus strings of unconnected words,
and constant repetitions of words and phrases, are very properly condemned
in written speeches: but not in spoken speeches-speakers use them
freely, for they have a dramatic effect. In this repetition there
must be variety of tone, paving the way, as it were, to dramatic effect;
e.g. 'This is the villain among you who deceived you, who cheated
you, who meant to betray you completely'. This is the sort of thing
that Philemon the actor used to do in the Old Men's Madness of Anaxandrides
whenever he spoke the words 'Rhadamanthus and Palamedes', and also
in the prologue to the Saints whenever he pronounced the pronoun 'I'.
If one does not deliver such things cleverly, it becomes a case of
'the man who swallowed a poker'. So too with strings of unconnected
words, e.g.'I came to him; I met him; I besought him'. Such passages
must be acted, not delivered with the same quality and pitch of voice,
as though they had only one idea in them. They have the further peculiarity
of suggesting that a number of separate statements have been made
in the time usually occupied by one. Just as the use of conjunctions
makes many statements into a single one, so the omission of conjunctions
acts in the reverse way and makes a single one into many. It thus
makes everything more important: e.g. 'I came to him; I talked to
him; I entreated him'-what a lot of facts! the hearer thinks-'he paid
no attention to anything I said'. This is the effect which Homer seeks
when he writes, 

"Nireus likewise from Syme (three well-fashioned ships did bring),

"Nireus, the son of Aglaia (and Charopus, bright-faced king),

"Nireus, the comeliest man (of all that to Ilium's strand).
"

If many things are said about a man, his name must be mentioned many
times; and therefore people think 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 preserved his memory, though
he nowhere says a word about him afterwards. 

Now the style of oratory addressed to public assemblies is really
just like scene-painting. The bigger the throng, the more distant
is the point of view: so that, in the one and the other, high finish
in detail is superfluous and seems better away. The forensic style
is more highly finished; still more so is the style of language addressed
to a single judge, with whom there is very little room for rhetorical
artifices, since he can take the whole thing in better, and judge
of what is to the point and what is not; the struggle is less intense
and so the judgement is undisturbed. This is why the same speakers
do not distinguish themselves in all these branches at once; high
finish is wanted least where dramatic delivery is wanted most, and
here the speaker must have a good voice, and above all, a strong one.
It is ceremonial oratory that is most literary, for it is meant to
be read; and next to it forensic oratory. 

To analyse style still further, and add that it must be agreeable
or magnificent, is useless; for why should it have these traits any
more than 'restraint', 'liberality', or any other moral excellence?
Obviously agreeableness will be produced by the qualities already
mentioned, if our definition of excellence of style has been correct.
For what other reason should style be 'clear', and 'not mean' but
'appropriate'? If it is prolix, it is not clear; nor yet if it is
curt. Plainly the middle way suits best. Again, style will be made
agreeable by the elements mentioned, namely by a good blending of
ordinary and unusual words, by the rhythm, and by-the persuasiveness
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 two parts. You must state your case, and you must prove
it. You cannot either state your case and omit to prove it, or prove
it without having first stated it; since any proof must be a proof
of something, and the only use of a preliminary statement is the proof
that follows it. Of these two parts the first part is called the Statement
of the case, the second part the Argument, just 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
the technical sense? or a reply to a forensic opponent? or an 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 two policies. They may occur then;
so may even accusation and defence, often enough; but they form no
essential part of a political speech. Even forensic speeches do not
always need epilogues; not, for instance, a short speech, nor one
in which the facts are easy to remember, the effect of an epilogue
being always a reduction in the apparent length. It 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 than Introduction, Statement, Argument, and
Epilogue. 'Refutation of the Opponent' is part of the arguments: so
is 'Comparison' of the 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 proves something. The Introduction does nothing
like this; nor does the Epilogue-it merely reminds us of what has
been said already. If 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'. But we ought only to bring in a new name if it indicates
a real species with distinct specific qualities; otherwise the practice
is pointless and silly, like the way Licymnius invented names in his
Art of Rhetoric-'Secundation', 'Divagation', 'Ramification'.

Part 14

The Introduction is the beginning of a speech, corresponding to the
prologue in poetry and the prelude in flute-music; they are all beginnings,
paving the way, as it were, for what is to follow. The musical prelude
resembles the introduction to speeches of display; as flute players
play first some brilliant passage they know well and then fit it on
to the opening notes of the piece itself, so in speeches of display
the writer should proceed in the same way; he should begin with what
best takes his fancy, and then strike up his theme and lead into it;
which is indeed what is always done. (Take as an example the introduction
to the Helen of Isocrates-there is nothing in common between the 'eristics'
and Helen.) And here, even if you travel far from your subject, it
is fitting, rather than that there should be sameness in the entire
speech. 

The usual subject for the introductions to speeches of display is
some piece of praise or censure. Thus Gorgias writes in his Olympic
Speech, 'You deserve widespread admiration, men of Greece', praising
thus those who start,ed the festival gatherings.' Isocrates, on the
other hand, censures them for awarding distinctions to fine athletes
but giving no prize for intellectual ability. Or one may begin with
a piece of advice, thus: 'We ought to honour good men and so I myself
am praising Aristeides' or 'We ought to honour those who are unpopular
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 the law-courts; that is to say, with appeals
to the audience to excuse us if our speech is about something paradoxical,
difficult, or hackneyed; like Choerilus in the lines- 

"But now when allotment of all has been made... "

Introductions to speeches of display, then, may be composed of some
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. 

Introductions to forensic speeches, it must be observed, have the
same value as the prologues of dramas and the introductions to epic
poems; the dithyrambic prelude resembling the 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 the hearers of it in advance instead of keeping
their minds in suspense. Anything vague puzzles them: so give them
a grasp of the beginning, and they can hold fast to it and follow
the argument. So we find- 

"Sing, O goddess of song, of the Wrath... 

"Tell me, O Muse, of the hero... 

"Lead me to tell a new tale, how there came great warfare to Europe

"Out of the Asian land... "

The tragic poets, too, let us know the pivot of their play; if not
at the outset like Euripides, at least somewhere in the preface to
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 the aim of
the speech is; and therefore no introduction ought to be employed
where the subject is not long or intricate. 

The other kinds of introduction employed are remedial in purpose,
and may be used in any type of speech. They are concerned with the
speaker, the 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 the 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
of his speech. The reason for this is not far to seek. The defendant,
when he is going to bring himself on the stage, must clear away any
obstacles, and therefore must begin by removing any prejudice felt
against him. But if you are to excite prejudice, you must do so at
the close, 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 receptive; 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 important, surprising,
or agreeable; and you should accordingly convey to him the impression
that what you have to say is of this nature. If you wish to distract
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. It 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 put a 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 least 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 I beg you to note this
point-it concerns you quite as much as myself'; or 

"I 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'. It is plain that such introductions are addressed
not to ideal hearers, but to hearers as we find them. The use of introductions
to excite prejudice or to dispel misgivings is universal-

"My lord, I will not say that eagerly... "

or 

"Why all this preface? "

Introductions 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 I 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
oratory makes them very rare. The subject is known already, and therefore
the facts of the case need no introduction; but you may have to say
something on account of yourself or to your opponents; or those present
may be inclined to treat the matter either more or less seriously
than you wish them to. You may accordingly have to excite or dispel
some prejudice, or to make the matter under discussion seem more or
less important 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!'

Part 15

In dealing with prejudice, one class of argument is that whereby you
can dispel objectionable suppositions about yourself. It makes no
practical difference whether such a supposition has been put into
words or not, so that this distinction may be ignored. Another way
is to meet any of the issues directly: to deny the alleged 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 sort of questions on which the dispute hinges.
Thus Iphicrates replying to Nausicrates, admitted that he had done
the deed alleged, and that he had done Nausicrates harm, but not that
he had done him wrong. Or you may admit the wrong, 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 would 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-'I should indeed
be a detestable person if I 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 I be a profligate
because I am well-groomed? Then so-and-so must be one too.' Another,
if other people have been calumniated by the same man or some 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, 'It 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 written a line encouraging perjury- 

"My tongue hath sworn: 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.
'If I have not already answered for my words there, I 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
Teucer is closely bound to Priam, since his mother Hesione was Priam's
sister. Teucer replies that Telamon his father was Priam's enemy,
and that he himself did not betray the spies to Priam. Another method,
suitable for the calumniator, is to praise some trifling merit at
great length, and then attack some important failing concisely; or
after mentioning a number of good qualities to 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 to make use of them to 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
the best man for the purpose; and you might reply to this that it
was, on the contrary, because he was the only hero so worthless that
Diomedes need not fear his rivalry. 

Part 16

We may now pass from the subject of calumny to that of Narration.

Narration in ceremonial oratory is not continuous but intermittent.
There must, of course, be some survey of the actions that form the
subject-matter of the speech. The speech is a composition containing
two parts. One of these is not provided by the orator's art, viz.
the actions themselves, of which the orator is in no sense author.
The other part is provided by his namely, the 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 narrative
continuous is that the case thus expounded is hard to 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 to recall well-known deeds among others;
and because they are well-known, the hearer usually needs no narration
of them; none, for instance, if your object is the praise of Achilles;
we all know the facts of his life-what you have to do is to apply
those facts. But if your object is the praise of Critias, you must
narrate his deeds, which not many people know of... 

Nowadays it is said, absurdly enough, that the narration should be
rapid. Remember what the man said to the baker who asked whether he
was to make the 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
to 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 will lead the hearer to believe that the thing has happened,
or that the man has caused injury or wrong to some one, or that the
facts are really as important 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. 'I kept telling him to 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
that the judges will enjoy. 

The defendant will make less of the narration. He has to maintain
that the thing has not happened, or did no harm, or was not unjust,
or not so bad as is alleged. He must 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 wrong. Further, we must speak
of events as past and gone, except where they excite pity or indignation
by being represented 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 the Epic Cycle as treated by Phayllus,
and the 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;
the quality of purpose indicated determines the quality of character
depicted and is itself determined by the end pursued. Thus it is that
mathematical discourses depict no character; they have nothing to
do with moral purpose, for they represent nobody as pursuing any end.
On the other hand, the Socratic dialogues do depict character, being
concerned with moral questions. This end will 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 words seem inspired so much by intelligence,
in the manner now current, as by moral purpose: e.g. 'I willed this;
aye, it was my moral purpose; true, I 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
the Antigone, where Antigone says she had cared more for her brother
than for husband or children, since if the latter perished they might
be replaced, 

"But since my father and mother in their graves 

"Lie dead, no brother can be born to me. "

If you have no such cause to suggest, just say that you are aware
that no one will believe your words, but the fact remains that such
is our nature, however hard the world may find it to 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 with fury and shaking his fists'. These details carry
conviction: the audience take the truth of what they know as so much
evidence for the truth of what they do not. Plenty of such details
may be found in Homer: 

"Thus did she say: but the old woman 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 with your adversary;
but do not let them see what you are about. How easily such impressions
may be conveyed we can see from the way in which we get some inkling
of things we know nothing of by the mere look of the messenger bringing
news of them. Have some narrative in many different parts of your
speech; and sometimes let there be none at the beginning of it.

In political oratory there is very little opening for narration; nobody
can 'narrate' what has not yet happened. If there is narration at
all, it will be of past events, the recollection of which is to help
the hearers to make better plans for the future. Or it may be employed
to attack some one's character, or to eulogize him-only then you will
not be doing what the political speaker, as such, has to do.

If 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 will be expected. Thus Carcinus' Jocasta, in his
Oedipus, keeps guaranteeing the truth of her answers to the inquiries
of the man who is seeking her son; and so with 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, which must
fall under one of four heads. (1) If you maintain that the act was
not committed, your main task in court is to prove this. (2) If you
maintain that the act did no harm, prove this. If you maintain that
(3) the act was less than is alleged, or (4) justified, prove these
facts, just as you would prove the act not to have been committed
if you were maintaining that. 

It should be noted that only where the question in dispute falls under
the first of these heads can it be true that one of the two parties
is necessarily a rogue. Here ignorance cannot be pleaded, as it might
if the dispute were whether the act was justified or not. This argument
must therefore be used in this case only, not in the others.

In ceremonial speeches you will develop your case mainly by arguing
that what 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 when they are not easily credible or when 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 will do no good, or
is not so important as its proposer thinks. Note any falsehoods about
irrelevant matters-they will look 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 with future events, of which it can do no more than
quote past events as examples. Forensic oratory deals with what is
or is not now true, which can better be demonstrated, because not
contingent-there is no contingency in what has now already happened.
Do not use a continuous succession of enthymemes: intersperse them
with other matter, or they will spoil one another's effect. There
are limits to their number- 

Friend, you have spoken as much as a sensible man would 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, whose conclusions are more familiar and believable
than the premisses from which they draw them. And avoid the enthymeme
form when you are trying to rouse feeling; for it will either kill
the feeling or will itself fall flat: all simultaneous motions tend
to cancel each other either completely or partially. Nor should you
go after the enthymeme form in a passage where you are depicting character-the
process of demonstration can express neither moral character nor moral
purpose. Maxims should be employed in the Arguments-and in the Narration
too-since these do express character: 'I have given him this, though
I am quite aware that one should "Trust no man".' Or if you are appealing
to the emotions: 'I do not regret it, though I have been wronged;
if he has the profit on his side, I 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 comparative ease. Then again, political oratory
affords few chances for those leisurely digressions in which you may
attack your adversary, talk about yourself, or work 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 Isocrates, who makes regular attacks upon people
in the course of a political speech, e.g. upon the Lacedaemonians
in the Panegyricus, and upon Chares in the speech about the allies.
In ceremonial oratory, intersperse your speech with bits of episodic
eulogy, like Isocrates, 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
upon moral discourse: after all, it is more fitting for a good man
to display himself as an honest fellow than as a subtle reasoner.
Refutative enthymemes are more popular than demonstrative ones: their
logical cogency is more striking: the facts about two opposites always
stand out clearly when the two are nut side by side. 

The 'Reply to the Opponent' is not a separate 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.
If, 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. If you speak later, you must first, by
means of refutation and counter-syllogism, attempt some answer to
your opponent's speech, especially if his arguments have been well
received. For just as our minds refuse a favourable reception to a
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 I be of Goddesses... 

"Never, I ween, would Hera... "

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 without seeming abusive or ill-bred.
Put such remarks, therefore, into the mouth of some third person.
This is what Isocrates 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 will come to terms in the hour of success;
for they will gain most if they do'. Expressed as an enthymeme, this
would run, 'If we ought to come to terms when doing so will enable
us to gain the greatest advantage, then we ought to come to terms
in the hour of success.' 

Part 18

Next as to Interrogation. 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 Lampon about
the way of celebrating the rites of the Saviour Goddess. Lampon declared
that no uninitiated person could be told of them. Pericles then asked,
'Do you know them yourself?' 'Yes', answered Lampon. '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 some 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 show that your opponent is contradicting either his own
words or what every one believes. A fourth is when it is impossible
for him to meet your question except by an evasive answer. If he answers
'True, and yet not true', or 'Partly true and partly not true', or
'True in one sense but not in another', the audience thinks he is
in difficulties, and applauds his discomfiture. In other cases do
not attempt interrogation; for if your opponent gets in an objection,
you are felt to have been worsted. You cannot ask a series of questions
owing to the incapacity of the audience to follow them; and for this
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, before 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 Topics. 

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?'
'Yes', said Sophocles, 'for there was nothing better to do.' Again,
the Lacedaemonian, when he was being examined 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 propose the same measures as they?'-'Yes.'-'Well then, would
not you too be justly put to death?'-'Not at all', said he; 'they
were bribed to do it, and I 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. 

As to jests. These are supposed to be of some service in controversy.
Gorgias said that you should kill your opponents' earnestness with
jesting and their jesting with earnestness; in which he was right.
jests have been classified in the Poetics. Some are becoming to a
gentleman, others are not; see that you choose such as become you.
Irony 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 minimize the leading facts, (3) excite the required state of emotion
in your hearers, and (4) refresh their memories. 

(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 two 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 proved, the natural thing to do next is
to magnify or minimize their importance. The facts must be admitted
before 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,
anger, hatred, envy, emulation, pugnacity. The lines of argument to
be used for these purposes also have been previously mentioned.

(4) Finally you have to review what you have already said. Here you
may properly do what some wrongly recommend doing in the introduction-repeat
your points frequently so as to 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; I said so-and-so,
and this is why I said it'. Or with modest irony, e.g. 'He certainly
said so-and-so, but I said so-and-so'. Or 'How vain he would have
been if he had proved all this instead of that!' Or put 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.
'I have done. You have heard me. The facts are before you. I ask for
your judgement.' 

THE END

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