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Part VI, Section II, Chapter I, 2
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According to Aristotle11, indeed, virtue did not so much consist in those moderate and right affections, as in the habit of this moderation. In order to understand this, it is to be observed, that virtue may be considered either as the quality of an action, or as the quality of a person. Considered as the quality of an action, it consists, even according to Aristotle, in the reasonable moderation of the affection from which the action proceeds, whether this disposition be habitual to the person or not. Considered as the quality of a person, it consists in the habit of this reasonable moderation, in its having become the customary and usual disposition of the mind. Thus the action which proceeds from an occasional fit of generosity is undoubtedly a generous action, but the man who performs it, is not necessarily a generous person, because it may be the single action of the kind which he ever performed. The motive and disposition of heart, from which this action was performed, may have been quite just and proper: but as this happy mood seems to have been the effect rather of accidental humour than of any thing steady or permanent in the character, it can reflect no great honour on the performer. When we denominate a character generous or charitable, or virtuous in any respect, we mean to signify that the disposition expressed by each of those appellations is the usual and customary disposition of the person. But single actions of any kind, how proper and suitable soever, are of little consequence to show that this is the case. If a single action was sufficient to stamp the character of any virtue upon the person who performed it, the most worthless of mankind might lay claim to all the virtues; since there is no man who has not, upon some occasions, acted with prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude. But though single actions, how laudable soever, reflect very little praise upon the person who performs them, a single vicious action performed by one whose conduct is usually very regular, greatly diminishes and sometimes destroys altogether our opinion of his virtue. A single action of this kind sufficiently shows that his habits are not perfect, and that he is less to be depended upon, than, from the usual train of his behaviour, we might have been apt to imagine.
Footnote 11:
See Aristotle Ethic. Nic. lib. ii. ch. 1., 2., 3. and 4.
Aristotle too12, when he made virtue to consist in practical habits, had it probably in his view to oppose the doctrine of Plato, who seems to have been of opinion that just sentiments and reasonable judgments concerning what was fit to be done or to be avoided, were alone sufficient to constitute the most perfect virtue. Virtue, according to Plato, might be considered as a species of science, and no man, he thought, could see clearly and demonstratively what was right and what was wrong, and not act accordingly. Passion might make us act contrary to doubtful and uncertain opinions, not to plain and evident judgments. Aristotle, on the contrary, was of opinion, that no conviction of the understanding was capable of getting the better of inveterate habits, and that good morals arose not from knowledge but from action.
Footnote 12:
See Aristotle Mag. Mor. lib. i. ch. 1.
III. According to Zeno13, the founder of the stoical doctrine, every animal was by nature recommended to its own care, and was endowed with the principle of self-love, that it might endeavour to preserve, not only its existence, but all the different parts of its nature, in the best and most perfect state of which they were capable.
Footnote 13:
See Cicero de finibus, lib. iii. also Diogenes Laertius in Zenone, lib. vii. segment 84.
The self-love of man embraced, if I may say so, his body and all its different members, his mind and all its different faculties and powers, and desired the preservation and maintenance of them all in their best and most perfect condition. Whatever tended to support this state of existence was, therefore, by nature pointed out to him as fit to be chosen; and whatever tended to destroy it, as fit to be rejected. Thus health, strength, agility, and ease of body, as well as the external conveniencies which could promote these, wealth, power, honours, the respect and esteem of those we live with, were naturally pointed out to us as things eligible, and of which the possession was preferable to the contrary. On the other hand, sickness, infirmity, unwieldiness, pain of body, as well as all the external inconveniencies which tended to occasion or bring on any of them, poverty, the want of authority, the contempt or hatred of those we live with; were, in the same manner, pointed out to us as things to be shunned and avoided. In each of those two different classes of objects there were some which appeared to be more the objects either of choice or rejection than others in the same class. Thus, in the first class, health appeared evidently preferable to strength, and strength to agility; reputation to power, and power to riches. And thus too, in the second class, sickness was more to be avoided than unwieldiness of body, ignominy than poverty, and poverty than the want of authority. Virtue and the propriety of conduct consisted in choosing and rejecting all different objects and circumstances according as they were by nature rendered more or less the objects of choice or rejection; in selecting always from among the several objects of choice presented to us, that which was most to be chosen, when we could not obtain them all: and in selecting too out of the several objects of rejection offered to us, that which was least to be avoided, when it was not in our power to avoid them all. By choosing and rejecting with this just and accurate discernment, by thus bestowing upon every object the precise degree of attention it deserved, according to the place which it held in this natural scale of things, we maintained, according to the Stoics, that perfect rectitude of conduct which constituted the essence of virtue. This was what they called to live consistently, to live according to nature, and to obey those laws and directions which nature, or the Author of nature, had prescribed for our conduct.
So far the Stoical idea of propriety and virtue is not very different from that of Aristotle and the ancient peripatetics. What chiefly distinguished those two systems from one another was the different degrees of self-command which they required. The peripatetics allowed of some degree of perturbation as suitable to the weakness of human nature, and as useful to so imperfect a creature as man. If his own misfortunes excited no passionate grief, if his own injuries called forth no lively resentment, reason, or a regard to the general rules which determined what was right and fit to be done, would commonly, they thought, be too weak to prompt him to avoid the one or to beat off the other. The Stoics, on the contrary, demanded the most perfect apathy, and regarded every emotion which could in the smallest degree disturb the tranquillity of the mind, as the effect of levity and folly. The Peripatetics seem to have thought that no passion exceeded the bounds of propriety as long as the spectator, by the utmost effort of humanity, could sympathize with it. The Stoics, on the contrary, appear to have regarded every passion as improper, which made any demand upon the sympathy of the spectator, or required him to alter in any respect the natural and ordinary state of his mind, in order to keep time with the vehemence of its emotions. A man of virtue, they seem to have thought, ought not to depend upon the generosity of those he lives with for pardon or approbation.
According to the Stoics, every event should, to a wise man, appear indifferent, and what for its own sake could be the object neither of desire, nor aversion, neither of joy, nor sorrow. If he preferred some events to others, if some situations were the objects of his choice, and others of his rejection,14 it was not, because he regarded the one as, in themselves, in any respect better than the other, or thought that his own happiness would be more complete in, what is called, the fortunate, than in what is commonly regarded as the distressful situation; but because the propriety of action, the rule which the gods had given him for the direction of his conduct, required him to choose and reject in this manner. Among the primary objects of natural inclination, or among those things which nature had originally recommended to us as eligible, was the prosperity, of our family, of our relations, of our friends, of our country, of mankind, and of the universe in general. Nature too had taught us that as the prosperity of two was preferable to that of one, that of many or of all must be infinitely more so. That we ourselves were but one, and that consequently wherever our prosperity was inconsistent with that, either of the whole, or of any considerable part of the whole, it ought, even in our own choice, to yield to what was so vastly preferable. As all the events in this world were conducted by the providence of a wise, powerful and good God, we might be assured that whatever happened, tended to the prosperity and perfection of the whole, if we ourselves, therefore, were in poverty, in sickness, or in any other calamity, we ought, first of all, to use our utmost endeavours, so far as justice and our duty to others would allow, to rescue ourselves from this disagreeable circumstance. But if after all we could do, we found this impossible, we ought to rest satisfied that the order and perfection of the universe required that we should in the mean time continue in this situation. And as the prosperity of the whole should, even to us, appear preferable to so insignificant a part as ourselves, our situation, whatever it was, ought from that moment to become the object of our choice, and even of our desire, if we would maintain that complete propriety and rectitude of sentiment and conduct in which the perfection of our nature consists. If, indeed, any opportunity of extricating ourselves should offer, it became our duty to embrace it. The order of the universe, it was evident, no longer required our continuance in this situation, and the great director of the world plainly called upon us to leave it, by so clearly pointing out the road which we were to follow. It was the same case with the adversity of our relations, our friends, our country. If without violating any more sacred obligation, it was in our power to prevent or to put an end to their calamity, it undoubtedly was our duty to do so. The propriety of action, the rule which Jupiter had given us for the direction of our conduct, evidently required this of us. But if it was altogether out of our power to do either, we ought then to consider this event as the most fortunate which could possibly have happened: Because we might be assured that it tended most to the prosperity and order of the whole: which was what we ourselves, if we were wise and equitable, ought most of all to desire. “In what sense, says Epictetus, are some things said to be according to our nature, and others contrary to it? It is in that sense in which we consider ourselves as separated and detached from all other things. For thus it may be said to be according to the nature of the foot to be always clean. But if you consider it as a foot, and not as something detached from the rest of the body, it must behove it sometimes to trample in the dirt, and sometimes to tread upon thorns, and sometimes too to be cut off for the sake of the whole body; and if it refuses this, it is no longer a foot. Thus too ought we to conceive with regard to ourselves. What are you? A man. If you consider yourself as something separated and detached, it is agreeable to your nature to live to old age, to be rich, to be in health. But if you consider yourself as a man, and as a part of a whole, upon account of that whole it will behoove you sometimes to be in sickness, sometimes to be exposed to the inconveniency of a sea voyage, sometimes to be in want; and at last, perhaps, to die before your time. Why then do you complain? Don’t you know that by doing so, as the foot ceases to be a foot, so you cease to be a man?”15
Footnote 14:
Some of these expressions sound a little awkward in the English language: they are literal translations of the technical terms of the Stoics.
Footnote 15:
Arrian. lib. II. c. 5.
This submission to the order of the universe, this entire indifference with regard to whatever concerns ourselves, when put into the balance with the interest of the whole, could derive its propriety, it is evident, from no other principle besides that, upon which I have endeavoured to show, the propriety of justice was founded. As long as we view our own interests with our own eyes, it is scarce possible that we should willingly acquiesce in their being thus sacrificed to the interests of the whole. It is only when we view those opposite interests with the eyes of others, that what concerns ourselves can appear to be so contemptible in the comparison, as to be resigned without any reluctance. To every body but the person principally concerned, nothing can appear more agreeable to reason and propriety than that the part should give place to the whole. But what is agreeable to the reason of all other men, ought not to appear contrary to his. He himself therefore ought to approve of this sacrifice, and acknowledge its conformity to reason. But all the affections of a wise man, according to the stoics, are perfectly agreeable to reason and propriety, and of their own accord coincide with whatever these ruling principles prescribe. A wise man, therefore, could never feel any reluctance to comply with this disposition of things.
IV. Besides these ancient, there are some modern systems, according to which virtue consists in propriety; or in the suitableness of the affection from which we act, to the cause or object which excites it. The system of Dr. Clarke, which places virtue in acting according to the relations of things, in regulating our conduct according to the fitness or incongruity which there may be in the application of certain actions to certain things, or to certain relations: That of Mr. Woolaston, which places it in acting according to the truth of things, according to their proper nature and essence, or in treating them as what they really are, and not as what they are not: that of my lord Shaftesbury, which places it in maintaining a proper balance of the affections, and in allowing no passion to go beyond its proper sphere; are all of them more or less inaccurate descriptions of the same fundamental idea.
The description of virtue which is either given, or at least meant and intended to be given in each of those systems, for some of the modern authors are not very fortunate in their manner of expressing themselves, is no doubt quite just, so far as it goes. There is no virtue without propriety, and wherever there is propriety, some degree of approbation is due. But still this description is imperfect. For though propriety is an essential ingredient in every virtuous action, it is not always the sole ingredient. Beneficent actions have in them another quality by which they appear not only to deserve approbation but recompense. None of those systems account either easily or sufficiently for that superior degree of esteem which seems due to such actions, or for that diversity of sentiment which they naturally excite. Neither is the description of vice more complete. For in the same manner, though impropriety is a necessary ingredient in every vicious action, it is not always the sole ingredient, and there is often the highest degree of absurdity and impropriety in very harmless and insignificant actions. Deliberate actions, of a pernicious tendency to those we live with, have, besides their impropriety, a peculiar quality of their own by which they appear to deserve, not only disapprobation, but punishment; and to be the objects, not of dislike merely, but of resentment and revenge: and none of those systems easily and sufficiently account for that superior degree of detestation which we feel for such actions.
Musean translation
Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from the complete sixth-edition English text of all parts (the appended Dissertation on the Origin of Languages is not included) for fidelity, the author’s force and cadence, and modern clarity.
According to Aristotle11, indeed, virtue consists less in moderate and proper affections themselves than in the habit of moderation. To understand this, we must distinguish virtue as a quality of an action from virtue as a quality of a person. As a quality of an action, it consists, even for Aristotle, in the reasonable moderation of the affection from which the action springs, whether or not the person habitually has that disposition. As a quality of a person, it consists in the habit of reasonable moderation, which has become the mind’s usual disposition. Thus an action prompted by an occasional burst of generosity is undoubtedly generous, but its author is not necessarily a generous person: it may be the only such action he has ever performed. The motive and disposition behind it may have been entirely proper; but if this happy frame of mind seems due to a passing mood rather than anything steady or lasting in his character, it brings him little honor. When we call someone generous, charitable, or virtuous in any respect, we mean that the disposition named is habitual. An isolated action, however proper, provides little evidence of that. If one action sufficed to mark its author with the character of any virtue, the most worthless people could claim them all: everyone has at times acted with prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude. Yet while individual actions, however praiseworthy, earn their authors very little praise, a single vicious action by someone whose conduct is usually upright greatly diminishes, and sometimes entirely destroys, our opinion of his virtue. Such an action sufficiently shows that his habits are imperfect and that he can be relied on less than his usual conduct had led us to believe.
11 See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, book ii, chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4.
Aristotle12 probably also intended, in making virtue consist in practical habits, to oppose Plato’s doctrine that sound sentiments and reasonable judgments about what should be done or avoided suffice for perfect virtue. For Plato, virtue could be considered a kind of knowledge: he thought no one could see clearly and conclusively what was right and wrong without acting accordingly. Passion might make us act against doubtful, uncertain opinions, but not against plain, evident judgments. Aristotle, by contrast, thought no intellectual conviction could overcome deep-rooted habits, and that good morals arise from action, not knowledge.
12 See Aristotle, Magna Moralia, book i, chapter 1.
III. According to Zeno13, founder of Stoicism, nature entrusted every animal to its own care and endowed it with self-love so that it would strive to preserve not merely its existence but every part of its nature in the best and most perfect condition possible.
13 See Cicero, On Ends, book iii; also Diogenes Laertius, on Zeno, book vii, section 84.
Human self-love embraces, so to speak, the body and all its members, the mind and all its faculties and powers, desiring to preserve and maintain them all in the best and most perfect condition. Nature therefore points out whatever supports this condition as worth choosing and whatever destroys it as worth rejecting. Health, strength, agility, and bodily ease, together with the external advantages that foster them—wealth, power, honors, and the respect and esteem of those around us—are naturally presented as desirable and preferable to their opposites. Conversely, sickness, weakness, physical awkwardness, and bodily pain, as well as external disadvantages that produce them—poverty, lack of authority, and the contempt or hatred of those around us—are presented as things to avoid. Within each class some things seem more worthy of choice or rejection than others. In the first, health is plainly preferable to strength, strength to agility, reputation to power, and power to wealth. In the second, sickness is more to be avoided than bodily awkwardness, disgrace than poverty, and poverty than lack of authority. Virtue and proper conduct consist in choosing or rejecting every object and circumstance according to how far nature has made it worthy of choice or rejection: choosing the most desirable among several desirable things when we cannot have them all, and the least objectionable among several undesirable things when we cannot avoid them all. In choosing and rejecting with such exact discernment, giving everything precisely the attention it deserves according to its position on this natural scale, we maintain, according to the Stoics, that perfect rightness of conduct which is the essence of virtue. This is what they meant by living consistently, living according to nature, and obeying the laws and directions nature, or its Author, has prescribed for our conduct.
So far the Stoic conception of propriety and virtue differs little from that of Aristotle and the ancient Peripatetics. What chiefly separates these systems is the degree of self-command they require. The Peripatetics allowed some disturbance of feeling as suited to human weakness and useful to so imperfect a creature as man. Without passionate grief over his misfortunes or lively resentment of injuries, they thought, reason or respect for general rules of proper conduct would usually be too weak to move him to avoid misfortunes or repel injuries. The Stoics instead demanded perfect freedom from disturbing passions, regarding every emotion that could unsettle the mind’s tranquility even slightly as a product of frivolity and folly. For the Peripatetics, it seems, a passion remained within the bounds of propriety so long as a spectator could sympathize with it by making the utmost humane effort. For the Stoics, by contrast, any passion was improper if it demanded a spectator’s sympathy or required him to change the natural, ordinary state of his mind to keep pace with its intensity. They seem to have thought a virtuous person ought not to rely on the generosity of others for pardon or approval.
According to the Stoics, every event should seem indifferent to a wise person, and in itself be the object neither of desire nor aversion, joy nor sorrow. If he preferred some events to others, choosing certain situations and rejecting others,14 it was not because he thought one inherently better than another, or believed he would be happier in what people call fortunate circumstances than in circumstances generally considered distressing. He did so because propriety of action—the rule the gods had given him to direct his conduct—required that choice. Among the primary objects of natural inclination, the things nature originally recommended as desirable, was the prosperity of our family, relatives, friends, country, humanity, and the universe as a whole. Nature also taught us that if the prosperity of two is preferable to that of one, the prosperity of many or all must be infinitely more so; and that since each of us is only one person, wherever our prosperity conflicts with that of the whole or any considerable part of it, we should choose to yield to what is so vastly preferable. Because every event is governed by the providence of a wise, powerful, and good God, we may be sure that whatever happens contributes to the prosperity and perfection of the whole. If we ourselves are poor, sick, or otherwise afflicted, we must first do everything we can, consistent with justice and our duty to others, to escape our plight. But if all our efforts fail, we should be satisfied that the order and perfection of the universe require us to remain in that condition for the time being. Since the prosperity of the whole should appear preferable even to us over that of so insignificant a part as ourselves, our condition, whatever it is, should from that moment become something we choose and even desire, if we are to preserve that complete propriety of sentiment and conduct in which our nature’s perfection consists. Should a chance to escape arise, however, our duty would be to take it. The order of the universe plainly no longer requires us to remain, and the world’s great director calls us away by clearly showing us the path. The same holds for misfortunes suffered by our relatives, friends, or country. If we can prevent or end their calamity without violating some more sacred obligation, we undoubtedly must. Propriety of action, the rule Jupiter has given us to direct our conduct, clearly demands it. But if preventing or ending it is wholly beyond our power, we should then consider that event the most fortunate that could have occurred. For we may be sure it contributes most to the prosperity and order of the whole, which, if wise and fair, we ourselves should desire above all. “In what sense,” asks Epictetus, “are some things called natural to us and others contrary to nature? Only in the sense in which we consider ourselves separate from everything else. Thus it might be said to be natural for a foot always to remain clean. But if you consider it as a foot, not something detached from the rest of the body, it will sometimes have to tread in mud, sometimes on thorns, and sometimes even be cut off for the sake of the whole body; if it refuses, it is no longer a foot. We should think the same about ourselves. What are you? A human being. If you consider yourself separate and detached, it suits your nature to live to old age, to be rich, and to be healthy. But if you consider yourself a human being and a part of a whole, for the sake of that whole you must sometimes be sick, sometimes face the hardships of a sea voyage, sometimes be in want, and perhaps at last die before your time. Why complain, then? Do you not know that by complaining you cease to be a human being, just as the foot ceases to be a foot?”15
14 Some of these expressions sound a little awkward in English: they are literal renderings of technical Stoic terms.
15 Arrian, book II, chapter 5.
This submission to the universe’s order, this utter indifference to our own concerns when weighed against the interests of the whole, can derive its propriety, evidently, only from the principle on which I have tried to show that justice rests. As long as we look at our interests through our own eyes, we can scarcely consent willingly to sacrifice them for the whole. Only when we view these conflicting interests through others’ eyes can our own seem so insignificant by comparison that we relinquish them without reluctance. To everyone but the person directly concerned, nothing seems more reasonable and proper than for the part to yield to the whole. What agrees with everyone else’s reason should not seem contrary to his own: he too ought to approve the sacrifice and recognize its reasonableness. Yet all the affections of a wise person, according to the Stoics, agree perfectly with reason and propriety, and naturally accord with what these governing principles prescribe. A wise person, therefore, can never be reluctant to accept this arrangement of things.
IV. Besides these ancient systems, there are modern ones that locate virtue in propriety, or in the fitness of the affection prompting an action to the cause or object exciting it. Dr. Clarke’s system locates virtue in acting according to the relations between things, fitting our conduct to the appropriateness or inappropriateness of applying certain actions to certain things or relations. Mr. Woolaston’s locates it in acting according to the truth of things, their actual nature and essence, treating them as what they are rather than what they are not. Lord Shaftesbury’s locates it in maintaining a proper balance among affections and keeping each passion within its proper sphere. All three are more or less inexact descriptions of the same fundamental idea.
The description of virtue given—or at least intended—in each of these systems, for some modern authors do not express themselves very successfully, is doubtless sound as far as it goes. There is no virtue without propriety, and wherever there is propriety some approval is deserved. Still, the description is incomplete. Though propriety is an essential element of every virtuous action, it is not always the only one. Beneficent actions have another quality that makes them seem to deserve not just approval but reward. None of these systems adequately or easily accounts for the higher esteem such actions deserve or for the distinct response they naturally awaken. Nor is their description of vice complete. Impropriety is likewise an essential element of every vicious action, but is not always its only element: utterly harmless and insignificant actions can display extreme absurdity and impropriety. Deliberate actions harmful to those around us have, besides their impropriety, a distinctive quality that makes them seem to deserve not only disapproval but punishment, and to provoke not merely dislike but resentment and revenge. None of these systems adequately or easily explains the greater abhorrence such actions inspire.
Plain English translation
Mouseia’s complete Plain English edition, made independently and directly from the complete sixth-edition English text of all parts (the appended Dissertation on the Origin of Languages is not included).
According to Aristotle11, virtue does not so much consist in moderate, appropriate feelings themselves as in being habitually moderate. To understand this, remember that we can call either an action or a person virtuous. When we are talking about an action, even Aristotle says its virtue consists in the reasonable moderation of the feeling behind it. It does not matter whether this is the person's usual disposition. When we are talking about a person, virtue means that reasonable moderation has become the person's regular, settled state of mind. An action arising from a passing moment of generosity is certainly generous. But the person who does it is not necessarily generous, because it may be the only such action he has ever performed. The motive and state of mind behind it may have been entirely proper. Yet if this welcome impulse seems to come from a passing mood rather than a steady, lasting character, the action brings the person little honor. When we call someone generous, charitable, or virtuous in some other respect, we mean the quality we name is part of that person's usual disposition. One action, however fitting, does little to establish this. If a single action were enough to make a person possess a virtue, even the worst people could claim every virtue. Everyone has, at times, acted with prudence, justice, temperance, and courage. Yet while even very praiseworthy individual actions bring their doers little praise, one vicious action by a person whose conduct is usually good greatly reduces our opinion of his virtue. Sometimes it destroys that opinion altogether. One such action shows that his habits are imperfect and that we can rely on him less than his usual behavior suggested.
See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, book ii, chapters 1., 2., 3. and 4.
Aristotle12 probably also meant his account of virtue as a practical habit to oppose Plato's teaching. Plato seems to have thought that sound feelings and reasonable judgments about what to do and avoid were enough for perfect virtue. For him, virtue could be considered a kind of knowledge. He believed no one could clearly and conclusively see right and wrong yet fail to act accordingly. Passion could lead us to act against doubtful, uncertain beliefs, but not against clear and certain judgments. Aristotle, by contrast, believed that intellectual conviction could not overcome deeply rooted habits. In his view, good morals came from action, not knowledge.
See Aristotle, Magna Moralia, book i, chapter 1.
III. According to Zeno13, the founder of Stoicism, nature entrusted every animal to its own care. It gave each one self-love so it would try to preserve both its life and every part of its nature in the best possible condition.
See Cicero, On Ends, book iii; also Diogenes Laertius on Zeno, book vii, section 84.
Human self-love includes, so to speak, the body and all its parts, as well as the mind and all its powers. It wants to keep all of them in their best possible condition. Nature therefore points us toward whatever helps sustain that condition as worth choosing, and away from whatever destroys it. Health, strength, physical agility and comfort, and the external advantages that support them—wealth, power, honors, and the respect and esteem of those around us—naturally seem worth choosing over their opposites. Illness, weakness, clumsiness, pain, and the external disadvantages that can bring these on—poverty, lack of authority, and the contempt or hatred of those around us—likewise seem worth avoiding. Some things within each group appear more worth choosing or avoiding than others. In the first group, health is clearly preferable to strength, and strength to agility; reputation is preferable to power, and power to wealth. In the second, illness is more worth avoiding than clumsiness, disgrace more than poverty, and poverty more than lack of authority. Virtue and proper conduct mean choosing or rejecting things and circumstances according to how far nature makes them worth choosing or rejecting. When we cannot have everything worth choosing, we choose what is most worth having. When we cannot avoid every unwanted thing, we choose what is least worth avoiding. If we make these choices with accurate judgment and give everything exactly the attention its place in this natural ranking deserves, then, according to the Stoics, we maintain the perfectly right conduct that is the essence of virtue. This is what they meant by living consistently, living according to nature, and obeying the laws and directions set for our conduct by nature or its Author.
Up to this point, the Stoic account of propriety and virtue is not very different from Aristotle's and that of the early Peripatetics. The main difference is how much self-command they demand. The Peripatetics allowed some emotional disturbance as appropriate to human weakness and useful for such imperfect beings as ourselves. They thought reason and general rules of right conduct would usually be too weak to make a person avoid misfortune or resist injury if these did not arouse deep grief or strong resentment. The Stoics, by contrast, demanded complete freedom from emotional disturbance. They considered even the slightest feeling that could unsettle peace of mind a sign of foolishness and lack of seriousness. The Peripatetics seem to have held that a feeling was not excessive as long as an observer making the greatest effort to understand could sympathize with it. The Stoics seem to have held that any feeling was improper if it demanded the observer's sympathy or required him to change his ordinary state of mind to match its force. They seem to have thought a virtuous person should not have to depend on others' generosity to be forgiven or approved.
For the Stoics, a wise person should regard every event as indifferent: no event in itself should be an object of desire or aversion, joy or sorrow. If he preferred some events to others and chose some circumstances while rejecting others,14 that was not because he thought one inherently better than another. Nor was it because he expected to be happier in what people call a fortunate position than in a position they call distressing. Rather, proper action and the rule the gods had given him required these choices. One of the basic things nature teaches us to care for is the welfare of our family, relatives, friends, country, humanity, and the universe as a whole. Nature also teaches us that the welfare of two is preferable to the welfare of one, and that the welfare of many or all is vastly more important. We ourselves are only one person. So when our welfare conflicts with the welfare of the whole or a substantial part of it, we should choose to give way to what matters far more. A wise, powerful, and good God guides every event in this world. We can therefore be sure that everything that happens serves the welfare and perfection of the whole. If we are poor, sick, or otherwise afflicted, we should first try as hard as we can to escape that condition, provided we do not violate justice or our duties to others. If we cannot escape despite all our efforts, we should accept that the order and perfection of the universe require us to remain in that condition for the time being. The welfare of the whole should matter even to us more than such a small part of it as ourselves. From that moment, therefore, we should choose and even desire our present condition, whatever it is, if we want to preserve the complete propriety of feeling and conduct in which human perfection consists. If an opportunity to escape appears, however, we have a duty to take it. Clearly, the order of the universe no longer requires us to stay. By showing us a way out, the world's great director calls on us to leave. The same applies to hardships affecting our relatives, friends, and country. If we can prevent or end their suffering without violating a more sacred duty, we certainly should. Proper conduct, the rule Jupiter gave us, clearly demands it. But if we can do neither, we should regard the event as the best that could possibly have occurred. We can be sure it does the most good for the welfare and order of the whole, which is what we should want above all if we are wise and fair. Epictetus says: “In what sense are some things called natural for us and others unnatural? Only when we think of ourselves as separate from everything else. Looked at alone, a foot could be said to be naturally clean all the time. But think of it as a foot, attached to the rest of the body. Sometimes it must step in dirt or on thorns. It may even have to be cut off to save the whole body. If it refuses, it is no longer a foot. We should think about ourselves in the same way. What are you? A human being. If you think of yourself alone, living to old age, being rich, and being healthy suit your nature. But if you think of yourself as human and as part of a whole, then for the sake of that whole you may sometimes need to be sick, endure the discomfort of a sea voyage, suffer want, and perhaps die before your time. Why complain? Don't you realize that if you do, you cease to be human, just as the foot ceases to be a foot?”15
Some of these phrases sound a little awkward in English because they are literal translations of Stoic technical terms.
Arrian, book II, chapter 5.
This submission to the universe's order, and this complete lack of concern for our own interests when they are weighed against the whole's, can only be proper because of the same principle I have argued underlies justice. If we look at our interests only from our own point of view, we can hardly consent willingly to their sacrifice for the whole. Only when we see these competing interests through other people's eyes can our own interests seem so small by comparison that we give them up without resistance. To everyone except the person directly concerned, nothing seems more reasonable or proper than a part giving way to the whole. What seems reasonable to everyone else should not seem unreasonable to that person. He should therefore approve the sacrifice himself and recognize its reasonableness. According to the Stoics, all a wise person's feelings fit reason and propriety perfectly. They willingly agree with whatever those governing principles require. A wise person, therefore, can never resist accepting this arrangement.
IV. Alongside these ancient views, some modern systems also hold that virtue consists in propriety: the feeling behind an action must fit its cause or object. Dr. Clarke's system locates virtue in acting according to the relations between things, or making one's conduct fit the kind of action appropriate or inappropriate to particular things or relationships. Mr. Woolaston's system locates virtue in acting according to the truth about things and their real nature and essence: treating them as they really are, not as something else. My lord Shaftesbury's system locates it in keeping our feelings properly balanced and not letting any passion go beyond its proper limits. Each is a more or less inaccurate description of the same basic idea.
The account of virtue given, or at least intended, by each of these systems is certainly right as far as it goes. Some of the modern writers simply do not express themselves very well. There can be no virtue without propriety, and propriety always deserves some approval. But the account remains incomplete. Propriety is essential to every virtuous action, but it is not always all that matters. Beneficent actions have another quality. They seem worthy not just of approval but of reward. None of these systems adequately or easily explains why such actions deserve greater esteem, or why they naturally arouse different feelings. Their account of vice is likewise incomplete. Impropriety is necessary to every vicious action, but is not always all that matters. Some harmless and trivial actions are highly absurd and improper. Deliberate actions harmful to those around us have a further quality besides being improper. They seem to deserve not just disapproval but punishment, and they arouse resentment and a desire for revenge, not merely dislike. None of these systems adequately or easily explains why we detest such actions so much more.