virtue ethics essay definition

9.4 Virtue Ethics

Learning objectives.

By the end of this section, you will be able to:

• Identify the central principles of virtue ethics.
• Distinguish the major features of Confucianism.
• Evaluate Aristotle’s moral theory.

Virtue ethics takes a character-centered approach to morality. Whereas Mohists and utilitarians look to consequences to determine the rightness of an action and deontologists maintain that a right action is the one that conforms to moral rules and norms, virtue ethicists argue that right action flows from good character traits or dispositions. We become a good person, then, through the cultivation of character, self-reflection, and self-perfection.

There is often a connection between the virtuous life and the good life in virtue ethics because of its emphasis on character and self-cultivation. Through virtuous development, we realize and perfect ourselves, laying the foundation for a good life. In Justice as a Virtue , for example, Mark LeBar (2020) notes that “on the Greek eudaimonist views (including here Plato, Aristotle, the Stoics, and Epicurus) our reasons for action arise from our interest in [ eudaimonia , or] a happy life.” The ancient Greeks thought the aim of life was eudaimonia . Though eudaimonia is often translated as “happiness,” it means something closer to “a flourishing life.” Confucianism , with its strong emphasis on repairing the fractured social world, connects the promotion of virtuous development and social order. Confucians believe virtuous action is informed by social roles and relationships, such that promoting virtuous development also promotes social order.

Confucianism

As discussed earlier, the Warring States period in ancient China (ca. 475–221 BCE) was a period marked by warfare, social unrest, and suffering. Warfare during this period was common because China was comprised of small states that were not politically unified. New philosophical approaches were developed to promote social harmony, peace, and a better life. This period in China’s history is also sometimes referred to as the era of the “Hundred Schools of Thought” because the development of new philosophical approaches led to cultural expansion and intellectual development. Mohism, Daoism, and Confucianism developed in ancient China during this period. Daoism and Confucianism would later spread to Japan, Korea, and Vietnam, where they would be adopted and changed in response to local social and cultural circumstances.

Confucius (551–479 BCE) rose from lowly positions to become a minister in the government of a province in eastern China. After a political conflict with the hereditary aristocracy, Confucius resigned his position and began traveling to other kingdoms and teaching. Confucius’s teachings centered on virtue, veering into practical subjects such as social obligations, ritual performance, and governance. During his lifetime, Confucius despaired that his advice to rulers fell on deaf ears: “How can I be like a bitter gourd that hangs from the end of a string and can not be eaten?” (Analects 17:7). He did not foresee that his work and ideas would influence society, politics, and culture in East Asia for over 2000 years.

Confucius is credited with authoring or editing the classical texts that became the curriculum of the imperial exams, which applicants had to pass to obtain positions in government. His words, sayings, and exchanges with rulers and his disciples were written down and recorded in the Lun Yu , or the Analects of Confucius , which has heavily influenced the moral and social practice in China and elsewhere.

Relational Aspect of Virtue

Like Mohism, Confucianism aimed to restore social order and harmony by establishing moral and social norms. Confucius believed the way to achieve this was through an ordered, hierarchical society in which people know their place in relationship to other people. Confucius said, “There is government, when the prince is prince, and the minister is minister; when the father is father, and the son is son” (Analects, 7:11). In Confucianism, relationships and social roles shape moral responsibilities and structure moral life.

A cornerstone of Confucian virtue is filial piety . Confucius felt that the role of the father was to care for and educate his son, but the duty of the son must be to respect his father by obediently abiding by his wishes. “While a man's father is alive, look at the bent of his will; when his father is dead, look at his conduct. If for three years he does not alter from the way of his father, he may be called filial” (Analects, 1:11). Indeed, when the Duke of Sheh informed Confucius that his subjects were so truthful that if their father stole a sheep, they would bear witness to it, Confucius replied, “Among us, in our part of the country, those who are upright are different from this. The father conceals the misconduct of the son, and the son conceals the misconduct of the father. Uprightness is to be found in this.” The devotion of the son to the father is more important than what Kant would call the universal moral law of truth telling.

There is therefore an important relational aspect of virtue that a moral person must understand. The virtuous person must not only be aware of and care for others but must understand the “human dance,” or the complex practices and relationships that we participate in and that define social life (Wong 2021). The more we begin to understand the “human dance,” the more we grasp how we relate to one another and how social roles and relationships must be accounted for to act virtuously.

Ritual and Ren

Important to both early and late Confucian ethics is the concept of li (ritual and practice). Li plays an important role in the transformation of character. These rituals are a guide or become a means by which we develop and start to understand our moral responsibilities. Sacrificial offerings to parents and other ancestors after their death, for example, cultivate filial piety. By carrying out rituals, we transform our character and become more sensitive to the complexities of human interaction and social life.

In later Confucian thought, the concept of li takes on a broader role and denotes the customs and practices that are a blueprint for many kinds of respectful behavior (Wong 2021). In this way, it relates to ren , a concept that refers to someone with complete virtue or specific virtues needed to achieve moral excellence. Confucians maintain that it is possible to perfect human nature through personal development and transformation. They believe society will improve if people abide by moral and social norms and focus on perfecting themselves. The aim is to live according to the dao . The word dao means “way” in the sense of a road or path of virtue.

Junzi and Self-Perfection

Confucius used the term junzi to refer to an exemplary figure who lives according to the dao . This figure is an ethical ideal that reminds us that self-perfection can be achieved through practice, self-transformation, and a deep understanding of social relationships and norms. A junzi knows what is right and chooses it, taking into account social roles and norms, while serving as a role model. Whenever we act, our actions are observed by others. If we act morally and strive to embody the ethical ideal, we can become an example for others to follow, someone they can look to and emulate.

The Ethical Ruler

Any person of any status can become a junzi . Yet, it was particularly important that rulers strive toward this ideal because their subjects would then follow this ideal. When the ruler Chi K’ang consulted with Confucius about what to do about the number of thieves in his domain, Confucius responded, “If you, sir, were not covetous, although you should reward them to do it, they would not steal” (Analects, 7:18).

Confucius thought social problems were rooted in the elite’s behavior and, in particular, in their pursuit of their own benefit to the detriment of the people. Hence, government officials must model personal integrity, understand the needs of the communities over which they exercised authority, and place the welfare of the people over and above their own (Koller 2007, 204).

In adherence to the ethical code, a ruler’s subjects must show obedience to honorable people and emulate those higher up in the social hierarchy. Chi K’ang, responding to Confucius’s suggestion regarding thievery, asked Confucius, “What do you say to killing the unprincipled for the good of the principled?” Confucius replied that there was no need to kill at all. “Let your evinced desires be for what is good, and the people will be good.” Confucius believed that the relationship between rulers and their subjects is and should be like that between the wind and the grass. “The grass must bend, when the wind blows across it” (Analects, 7:19).

Japanese Confucianism

Although Confucianism was initially developed in China, it spread to Japan in the mid-sixth century, via Korea, and developed its own unique attributes. Confucianism is one of the dominant philosophical teachings in Japan. As in China, Japanese Confucianism focuses on teaching individual perfection and moral development, fostering harmonious and healthy familial relations, and promoting a functioning and prosperous society. In Japan, Confucianism has been changed and transformed in response to local social and cultural factors. For example, Confucianism and Buddhism were introduced around the same time in Japan. It is therefore not uncommon to find variations of Japanese Confucianism that integrate ideas and beliefs from Buddhism. Some neo-Confucian philosophers like Zhu Xi, for example, developed “Confucian thinking after earlier study and practice of Chan Buddhism” (Tucker 2018).

Aristotelianism

Aristotle (384–322 BCE) was a preeminent ancient Greek philosopher. He studied with Plato (ca. 429–347 BCE) at the Academy , a fraternal organization where participants pursued knowledge and self-development. After Plato’s death, Aristotle traveled, tutored the boy who would later become Alexander the Great, and among other things, established his own place of learning, dedicated to the god Apollo (Shields 2020).

Aristotle spent his life in the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom. His extant works today represent only a portion of his total life’s work, much of which was lost to history. During his life, Aristotle was, for example, principal to the creation of logic, created the first system of classification for animals, and wrote on diverse topics of philosophical interest. Along with his teacher, Plato, Aristotle is considered one of the pillars of Western philosophy.

Human Flourishing as the Goal of Human Action

In the first line of Book I of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics , he observes that “[every] art and every inquiry, and similarly every action and pursuit, is thought to aim at some good” (Aristotle [350 BCE] 1998, 1094a). If everything we do aims at some good, he argues, then there must be a final or highest good that is the end of all action (life’s telos ), which is eudaimonia , the flourishing life (Aristotle [350 BCE] 1998, 1097a34–b25). Everything else we pursue is pursued for the sake of this end.

Connections

See the chapter on epistemology for more on the topic of eudaimonia .

Nicomachean Ethics is a practical exploration of the flourishing life and how to live it. Aristotle, like other ancient Greek and Roman philosophers (e.g., Plato and the Stoics), asserts that virtuous development is central to human flourishing. Virtue (or aretê ) means “excellence. We determine something’s virtue, Aristotle argued, by identifying its peculiar function or purpose because “the good and the ‘well’ is thought to reside in the function” (Aristotle [350 BCE] 1998, 1097b25–1098a15). We might reasonably say, for example, that a knife’s function is to cut. A sharp knife that cuts extremely well is an excellent (or virtuous) knife. The sharp knife realizes its function and embodies excellence (or it is an excellent representation of knife-ness).

Aristotle assumed our rational capacity makes us distinct from other (living) things. He identifies rationality as the unique function of human beings and says that human virtue, or excellence, is therefore realized through the development or perfection of reason. For Aristotle, virtuous development is the transformation and perfection of character in accordance with reason. While most thinkers (like Aristotle and Kant) assign similar significance to reason, it is interesting to note how they arrive at such different theories.

Deliberation, Practical Wisdom, and Character

To exercise or possess virtue is to demonstrate excellent character. For ancient Greek and Roman philosophers, the pursuit of intentional, directed self-development to cultivate virtues is the pursuit of excellence. Someone with a virtuous character is consistent, firm, self-controlled, and well-off. Aristotle characterized the virtuous character state as the mean between two vice states, deficiency and excess. He thought each person naturally tends toward one of the extreme (or vice) states. We cultivate virtue when we bring our character into alignment with the “mean or intermediate state with regard to” feelings and actions, and in doing so we become “well off in relation to our feelings and actions” (Homiak 2019).

Being virtuous requires more than simply developing a habit or character trait. An individual must voluntarily choose the right action, the virtuous state; know why they chose it; and do so from a consistent, firm character. To voluntarily choose virtue requires reflection, self-awareness, and deliberation. Virtuous actions, Aristotle claims, should “accord with the correct reason” (Aristotle [350 BCE] 1998, 1103b30). The virtuous person chooses what is right after deliberation that is informed by practical wisdom and experience. Through a deliberative process we identify the choice that is consistent with the mean state.

The Role of Habit

Aristotle proposed that humans “are made perfect by habit” (Aristotle [350 BCE] 1998, 1103a10–33). Habit therefore plays an important role in our virtuous development. When we practice doing what’s right, we get better at choosing the right action in different circumstances. Through habituation we gain practice and familiarity, we bring about dispositions or tendencies, and we gain the requisite practical experience to identify the reasons why a certain action should be chosen in diverse situations. Habit, in short, allows us to gain important practical experience and a certain familiarity with choosing and doing the right thing. The more we reinforce doing the right thing, the more we grow accustomed to recognizing what’s right in different circumstances. Through habit we become more aware of which action is supported by reason and why, and get better at choosing it.

Habit and repetition develop dispositions. In Nicomachean Ethics , for example, Aristotle reminds us of the importance of upbringing. A good upbringing will promote the formation of positive dispositions, making one’s tendencies closer to the mean state. A bad upbringing, in contrast, will promote the formation of negative dispositions, making one’s tendencies farther from the mean state (Aristotle [350 BCE] 1998, 1095b5).

Read Like a Philosopher

Artistotle on virtue.

Read this passage from from Book II of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics , considering what Aristotle means when he states that moral virtues come about as a result of habit. How should individuals make use of the two types of virtue to become virtuous?

Virtue, then, being of two kinds, intellectual and moral, intellectual virtue in the main owes both its birth and its growth to teaching (for which reason it requires experience and time), while moral virtue comes about as a result of habit, whence also its name (ethike) is one that is formed by a slight variation from the word ethos (habit). From this it is also plain that none of the moral virtues arises in us by nature; for nothing that exists by nature can form a habit contrary to its nature. For instance, the stone which by nature moves downwards cannot be habituated to move upwards, not even if one tries to train it by throwing it up ten thousand times; nor can fire be habituated to move downwards, nor can anything else that by nature behaves in one way be trained to behave in another. Neither by nature, then, nor contrary to nature do the virtues arise in us; rather we are adapted by nature to receive them, and are made perfect by habit. Again, of all the things that come to us by nature we first acquire the potentiality and later exhibit the activity (this is plain in the case of the senses; for it was not by often seeing or often hearing that we got these senses, but on the contrary we had them before we used them, and did not come to have them by using them); but the virtues we get by first exercising them, as also happens in the case of the arts as well. For the things we have to learn before we can do them, we learn by doing them, e.g. men become builders by building and lyreplayers by playing the lyre; so too we become just by doing just acts, temperate by doing temperate acts, brave by doing brave acts. This is confirmed by what happens in states; for legislators make the citizens good by forming habits in them, and this is the wish of every legislator, and those who do not effect it miss their mark, and it is in this that a good constitution differs from a bad one. Again, it is from the same causes and by the same means that every virtue is both produced and destroyed, and similarly every art; for it is from playing the lyre that both good and bad lyreplayers are produced. And the corresponding statement is true of builders and of all the rest; men will be good or bad builders as a result of building well or badly. For if this were not so, there would have been no need of a teacher, but all men would have been born good or bad at their craft. This, then, is the case with the virtues also; by doing the acts that we do in our transactions with other men we become just or unjust, and by doing the acts that we do in the presence of danger, and being habituated to feel fear or confidence, we become brave or cowardly. The same is true of appetites and feelings of anger; some men become temperate and good-tempered, others self-indulgent and irascible, by behaving in one way or the other in the appropriate circumstances. Thus, in one word, states of character arise out of like activities. This is why the activities we exhibit must be of a certain kind; it is because the states of character correspond to the differences between these. It makes no small difference, then, whether we form habits of one kind or of another from our very youth; it makes a very great difference, or rather all the difference.

Social Relationships and Friendship

Aristotle was careful to note in Nicomachean Ethics that virtuous development alone does not make a flourishing life, though it is central to it. In addition to virtuous development, Aristotle thought things like success, friendships, and other external goods contributed to eudaimonia .

In Nicomachean Ethics , Aristotle points out that humans are social (or political) beings (Aristotle [350 BCE] 1998, 1097b10). It’s not surprising, then, that, like Confucius, Aristotle thinks social relations are important for our rational and virtuous development.

When we interact with others who have common goals and interests, we are more likely to progress and realize our rational powers. Social relations afford us opportunities to learn, practice, and engage in rational pursuits with other people. The ancient Greek schools (e.g., Plato’s Academy, Aristotle’s Lyceum , and Epicurus’s Gardens) exemplify the ways individuals benefit from social relations. These ancient schools offered a meeting place where those interested in knowledge and the pursuit of wisdom could participate in these activities together.

Through social relations, we also develop an important sense of community and take an interest in the flourishing of others. We see ourselves as connected to others, and through our interactions we develop social virtues like generosity and friendliness (Homiak 2019). Moreover, as we develop social virtues and gain a deeper understanding of the reasons why what is right, is right, we realize that an individual’s ability to flourish and thrive is improved when the community flourishes. Social relations and political friendships are useful for increasing the amount of good we can do for the community (Kraut 2018).

The important role Aristotle assigns to friendship in a flourishing life is evidenced by the fact that he devotes two out of the ten books of Nicomachean Ethics (Books VIII and IX) to a discussion of it. He notes that it would be odd, “when one assigns all good things to the happy man, not to assign friends, who are thought the greatest of external goods” (Aristotle [350 BCE] 1998, 1169a35–b20). Aristotle distinguishes between incidental friendships and perfect friendships . Incidental friendships are based on and defined by either utility or pleasure. Such friendships are casual relationships where each person participates only because they get something (utility or pleasure) from it. These friendships neither contribute to our happiness nor do they foster virtuous development.

Unlike incidental friendships, perfect friendships are relationships that foster and strengthen our virtuous development. The love that binds a perfect friendship is based on the good or on the goodness of the characters of the individuals involved. Aristotle believed that perfect friends wish each other well simply because they love each other and want each other to do well, not because they expect something (utility or pleasure) from the other. He points out that “those who wish well to their friends for their sake are most truly friends” (Aristotle [350 BCE] 1998, 1156a27–b17). Aristotle argues that the happy man needs (true) friends because such friendships make it possible for them to “contemplate worthy [or virtuous] actions and actions that are [their] own” (Aristotle [350 BCE] 1998, 1169b20–1170a6). This affords the good individual the opportunity to contemplate worthy actions that are not their own (i.e., they are their friend’s) while still thinking of these actions as in some sense being their own because their friend is another self. On Aristotle’s account, we see a true friend as another self because we are truly invested in our friend’s life and “we ought to wish what is good for his sake” (Aristotle [350 BCE] 1998, 1155b17–1156a5).

Perfect friendships afford us opportunities to grow and develop, to better ourselves—something we do not get from other relationships. Aristotle therefore argues that a “certain training in virtue arises also from the company of the good” (Aristotle [350 BCE] 1998, 1170a6–30). Our perfect friend provides perspective that helps us in our development and contributes to our happiness because we get to participate in and experience our friend’s happiness as our own. Perhaps it is not surprising, then, that Aristotle considered true friends “the greatest of external goods” (Aristotle [350 BCE] 1998, 1169a35–b20).

As an Amazon Associate we earn from qualifying purchases.

This book may not be used in the training of large language models or otherwise be ingested into large language models or generative AI offerings without OpenStax's permission.

Want to cite, share, or modify this book? This book uses the Creative Commons Attribution License and you must attribute OpenStax.

Access for free at https://openstax.org/books/introduction-philosophy/pages/1-introduction

• Authors: Nathan Smith
• Publisher/website: OpenStax
• Book title: Introduction to Philosophy
• Publication date: Jun 15, 2022
• Location: Houston, Texas
• Book URL: https://openstax.org/books/introduction-philosophy/pages/1-introduction
• Section URL: https://openstax.org/books/introduction-philosophy/pages/9-4-virtue-ethics

© Dec 19, 2023 OpenStax. Textbook content produced by OpenStax is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution License . The OpenStax name, OpenStax logo, OpenStax book covers, OpenStax CNX name, and OpenStax CNX logo are not subject to the Creative Commons license and may not be reproduced without the prior and express written consent of Rice University.

McCombs School of Business

• Español ( Spanish )

Videos Concepts Unwrapped View All 36 short illustrated videos explain behavioral ethics concepts and basic ethics principles. Concepts Unwrapped: Sports Edition View All 10 short videos introduce athletes to behavioral ethics concepts. Ethics Defined (Glossary) View All 58 animated videos - 1 to 2 minutes each - define key ethics terms and concepts. Ethics in Focus View All One-of-a-kind videos highlight the ethical aspects of current and historical subjects. Giving Voice To Values View All Eight short videos present the 7 principles of values-driven leadership from Gentile's Giving Voice to Values. In It To Win View All A documentary and six short videos reveal the behavioral ethics biases in super-lobbyist Jack Abramoff's story. Scandals Illustrated View All 30 videos - one minute each - introduce newsworthy scandals with ethical insights and case studies. Video Series

Ethics Defined UT Star Icon

Virtue Ethics

Virtue Ethics is a normative philosophical approach that urges people to live a moral life by cultivating virtuous habits.

Virtue ethics is a philosophy developed by Aristotle and other ancient Greeks. It is the quest to understand and live a life of moral character.

This character-based approach to morality assumes that we acquire virtue through practice. By practicing being honest, brave, just, generous, and so on, a person develops an honorable and moral character. According to Aristotle, by honing virtuous habits, people will likely make the right choice when faced with ethical challenges.

To illustrate the difference among three key moral philosophies, ethicists Mark White and Robert Arp refer to the film The Dark Knight where Batman has the opportunity to kill the Joker. Utilitarians, White and Arp suggest, would endorse killing the Joker. By taking this one life, Batman could save multitudes. Deontologists, on the other hand, would reject killing the Joker simply because it’s wrong to kill. But a virtue ethicist “would highlight the character of the person who kills the Joker. Does Batman want to be the kind of person who takes his enemies’ lives?” No, in fact, he doesn’t.

So, virtue ethics helps us understand what it means to be a virtuous human being. And, it gives us a guide for living life without giving us specific rules for resolving ethical dilemmas.

Related Terms

Integrity is an indispensable moral virtue that includes acting with honesty, fairness, and decency.

Moral Philosophy

Moral Philosophy studies what is right and wrong, and related philosophical issues.

Stay Informed

Support our work.

PHIL103: Moral and Political Philosophy

Virtue Ethics

History of virtue.

Like much of the Western tradition, virtue theory seems to have originated in ancient Greek philosophy.

Virtue ethics began with Socrates, and was subsequently developed further by Plato, Aristotle, and the Stoics. Virtue ethics refers to a collection of normative ethical philosophies that place an emphasis on being rather than doing. Another way to say this is that in virtue ethics, morality stems from the identity or character of the individual, rather than being a reflection of the actions (or consequences thereof) of the individual. Today, there is debate among various adherents of virtue ethics concerning what specific virtues are morally praiseworthy. However, most theorists agree that morality comes as a result of intrinsic virtues. Intrinsic virtues are the common link that unites the disparate normative philosophies into the field known as virtue ethics. Plato and Aristotle's treatment of virtues are not the same. Plato believes virtue is effectively an end to be sought, for which a friend might be a useful means. Aristotle states that the virtues function more as means to safeguard human relations, particularly authentic friendship, without which one's quest for happiness is frustrated.

Discussion of what were known as the Four Cardinal Virtues – wisdom, justice, fortitude, and temperance – can be found in Plato's  Republic . The virtues also figure prominently in Aristotle's moral theory (see below). Virtue theory was inserted into the study of history by moralistic historians such as Livy, Plutarch, and Tacitus. The Greek idea of the virtues was passed on in Roman philosophy through Cicero and later incorporated into Christian moral theology by St. Ambrose of Milan. During the scholastic period, the most comprehensive consideration of the virtues from a theological perspective was provided by St. Thomas Aquinas in his  Summa Theologiae  and his  Commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics .

Though the tradition receded into the background of European philosophical thought in these past few centuries, the term "virtue" remained current during this period, and in fact appears prominently in the tradition of classical republicanism or classical liberalism. This tradition was prominent in the intellectual life of 16th-century Italy, as well as 17th- and 18th-century Britain and America; indeed the term "virtue" appears frequently in the work of Niccolò Machiavelli, David Hume, the republicans of the English Civil War period, the 18th-century English Whigs, and the prominent figures among the Scottish Enlightenment and the American Founding Fathers.

Contemporary "aretaic turn"

Although some Enlightenment philosophers (e.g. Hume) continued to emphasise the virtues, with the ascendancy of utilitarianism and deontology, virtue theory moved to the margins of Western philosophy. The contemporary revival of virtue theory is frequently traced to the philosopher Elizabeth Anscombe's 1958 essay "Modern Moral Philosophy". Following this:

• In the 1976 paper "The Schizophrenia of Modern Ethical Theories", Michael Stocker summarises the main aretaic criticisms of deontological and consequentialist ethics.
• Philippa Foot, who published a collection of essays in 1978 entitled  Virtues and Vices.
• Alasdair MacIntyre has made an effort to reconstruct a virtue-based theory in dialogue with the problems of modern and postmodern thought; his works include  After Virtue  and  Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry .
• Paul Ricoeur has accorded an important place to Aristotelian teleological ethics in his hermeneutical phenomenology of the subject, most notably in his book  Oneself as Another .
• Theologian Stanley Hauerwas has also found the language of virtue quite helpful in his own project.
• Rosalind Hursthouse has published  On Virtue Ethics .
• Roger Crisp and Michael Slote have edited a collection of important essays titled  Virtue Ethics .
• Martha Nussbaum and Amartya Sen have employed virtue theory in theorising the capability approach to international development.
• Julia Annas wrote  The Morality of Happiness  (1993).
• Lawrence C. Becker identified current virtue theory with Greek Stoicism in  A New Stoicism.  (1998).

The  aretaic turn  in moral philosophy is paralleled by analogous developments in other philosophical disciplines. One of these is epistemology, where a distinctive virtue epistemology has been developed by Linda Zagzebski and others. In political theory, there has been discussion of "virtue politics", and in legal theory, there is a small but growing body of literature on virtue jurisprudence. The aretaic turn also exists in American constitutional theory, where proponents argue for an emphasis on virtue and vice of constitutional adjudicators.

Aretaic approaches to morality, epistemology, and jurisprudence have been the subject of intense debates. One criticism that is frequently made focuses on the problem of guidance; opponents, such as Robert Louden in his article "Some Vices of Virtue Ethics", question whether the idea of a virtuous moral actor, believer, or judge can provide the guidance necessary for action, belief formation, or the decision of legal disputes.

University of Notre Dame

Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews

• Home ›
• Reviews ›

Intellectual Virtue: Perspectives from Ethics and Epistemology

DePaul, Michael and Linda Zagzebski (eds.), Intellectual Virtue: Perspectives from Ethics and Epistemology , Oxford University Press, 2003, 306 pp, $55.00 (hbk), ISBN 0199252734.

Reviewed by Jennifer Lackey, Northern Illinois University

While there is a vast amount of writing on the concept of a virtue and its role in various areas of philosophy, this literature is fairly fragmented, with historians, ethicists, and epistemologists rarely engaged in direction conversation with one another. In light of this, Intellectual Virtue: Perspectives from Ethics and Epistemology is a most welcome collection of essays in which virtue epistemologists and virtue ethicists—including ethicists grounded in the history of philosophy—for the first time take up various issues in consultation with each other. The volume is divided into five parts and contains eleven articles by some of the leading scholars in both ethics and epistemology; the overall quality of the contributions is very high. Since there is not a single theme uniting all of the articles (other than focusing on virtue), I shall begin by providing a brief summary of each contribution to the volume. I shall then offer some critical remarks on a thesis that is espoused, both directly and indirectly, by several of the authors included in this collection.

In the first essay of the volume, “The Structure of Virtue,” Julia Annas focuses on two aspects of virtue as they figure in the virtue ethics tradition: skill and success. She shows that unlike Aristotle, the majority of the ancient tradition regarded virtue as a kind of skill. Moreover, though virtue requires success, there is the overall aim of an action and the immediate aim. While the Stoics claimed that success requires the attainment of the ultimate aim, Annas points out that knowledge requires the attainment of the immediate aim of forming a true belief. Because of this, Annas concludes that there is reason to doubt that virtue can be used as a basis for a definition of knowledge.

Nancy Sherman and Heath White argue in “Intellectual Virtue: Emotions, Luck, and the Ancients” that virtue epistemologists have neglected some of the central resources of classical virtue ethics; most notably, the role of affect in intellectual virtue, and the role of luck in acquiring knowledge. They defend the Aristotelian view that even though beliefs are not fully voluntary because the emotions that influence them are not, we can still be held responsible for our beliefs because we are not fully passive regarding our emotions. With respect to luck, Sherman and White argue that while the Stoics were largely correct that happiness is not a matter of luck, they were wrong to extend this view to knowledge. Because of this, they conclude that at least on this issue, virtue epistemology should be kept separate from virtue ethics.

In “Virtue Ethics: Radical or Routine?” David Solomon argues that there is an important distinction between two different kinds of virtue ethics. The routine approach focuses on the ordering of evaluative concepts and claims that the concept of virtue is more basic than the concepts of a right act or a good state of affairs that dominate traditional ethical theories. The radical form focuses on deeper questions about the nature and aim of ethics, including themes such as a suspicion of rules and principle and a focus on the importance of the whole life as the primary object of ethical evaluation. Solomon argues that a failure to appreciate this distinction between routine and radical forms of virtue ethics has led to confusion and misunderstanding among moral philosophers, and he urges virtue epistemologists to be sensitive to this type of distinction in epistemology so as to avoid similar confusion.

Jorge Garcia argues in “Practical Reason and its Virtues” that the instrumentalist conception of practical reasoning embraced by consequentialists is not capable of protecting humanity from the moral horrors of the twentieth century. Instead, Garcia proposes a theory of the moral life that has four characteristics: (1) it is role-centered, (2) virtue-based, (3) patient-focused, and (4) input-driven. According to Garcia, this approach, unlike that favored by consequentialists, has the resources to protect against tyranny.

In “Knowledge as Credit for True Belief,” John Greco attempts to resolve two central problems for fallibilistic epistemology—the lottery problem and Gettier problems—by focusing on the link between knowing that p and deserving credit for truly believing that p. Greco holds that S’s reliable cognitive character must be the most salient part of the cause explaining why S holds the true belief in question. In lottery scenarios, a subject does not know that she will lose the lottery because it is “just a matter of chance that S believes the truth”; accordingly, salient chance undermines deserving credit for getting things right about the outcome of the lottery (p. 124). In Gettier cases, Greco claims that “there is something odd or unexpected about the way that S comes to believe the truth” and, hence, that this kind of abnormality trumps the salience of S’s otherwise reliable cognitive character (p. 131). Thus, in both cases, we can explain why S fails to have the knowledge in question within the constraints of fallibilism.

Linda Zagzebski, in “Intellectual Motivation and the Good of Truth,” argues that the value of a motive can contribute value to the overall act that it motivates. Applying this to the cognitive realm, Zagzebski argues that an act of believing that is motivated by the love of the truth is more valuable than both an act of believing that has the aim of the love of truth but without the motive and an act of believing that brings about the consequence at which the love of truth aims but without the motive. Zagzebski then suggests that the value of the relevant motive can explain the additional value that knowledge has over mere true belief; in particular, it is only in the case of knowledge that a subject gets credit for believing the truth.

In “The Place of Truth in Epistemology,” Ernest Sosa takes up this same issue: what makes knowledge more valuable than mere true belief? He answers that a state of knowing, unlike that of mere true believing, is one in which the truth is grasped in a way that is creditable or attributable to the subject’s own skills and virtues, and thus to the agent herself. But then how do we explain the value of the beliefs possessed by an evil demon victim who conducts her epistemic life impeccably? In response, Sosa introduces the notion of “performance value,” which, in the epistemic realm, is the value of a belief performance that would normally produce true beliefs when operating in a suitable environment. So, even though performance value is understood in a truth-connected way, a state of believing can have this epistemic value even when it misses the mark of truth. This allows for a full account of epistemic value within an epistemology in which truth is the only fundamental value.

In “How to be a Virtue Epistemologist,” Christopher Hookway argues that virtue epistemology is currently distinguished from other epistemologies only by the thesis that knowledge and justification should be analyzed in terms of the virtues. This is in contrast to many virtue ethicists, who have launched a more dramatic critique by urging a shift away from focusing on the moral “ought” and toward what is needed for living well. Hookway then shows that virtue epistemologists could make a similar critique by urging a shift away from focusing on justification and knowledge and toward evaluating the activities of inquiry and deliberation.

Wayne Riggs argues in “Understanding ’Virtue’ and the Virtue of Understanding” that the highest epistemic good is a state that includes more than the achievement of true beliefs and the avoidance of false ones—it requires an understanding of important truths. Moreover, he argues that reliable success in leading to the truth cannot be a component of the intellectual virtues, since intellectual giants such as Newton and Galileo had many false beliefs. According to Riggs, the import of the virtues can be more fully appreciated when we move beyond a mere truth-directed epistemology in these ways.

Christine McKinnon argues in “Knowing Cognitive Selves” that the kinds of knowledge claims that we make of both other persons and ourselves do not meet the ideals of objectivity, impartiality, and value-neutrality traditionally required by epistemologists. Since these kinds of knowledge are important aspects of our cognitive lives, McKinnon urges us to rethink epistemology so as to accommodate them. To this end, she suggests that responsibilism has a methodological advantage over reliabilism since the latter assumes that reliability can be determined independently of the ways in which agents employ methods of belief-acquisition.

In the last article of the volume, “Humility and Epistemic Goods,” Robert Roberts and Jay Wood take a different direction than the other contributors by providing a detailed treatment of a single virtue: intellectual humility. They begin by situating humility in relation to its opposing vices, particularly vanity and arrogance. They then argue that, unlike those who are vain, humble people are not concerned with how they appear to others and, unlike those who are arrogant, humble people are interested in entitlements only insofar as they serve some valuable purpose. Roberts and Wood then consider several ways in which intellectual humility leads to various epistemic goods.

Now, since a review of this length does not permit a detailed discussion of each of these papers, I shall instead focus my evaluation on a theme that is found in several of the articles—namely, that knowledge is something for which we deserve credit. More precisely:

CREDIT: S knows that p only if S deserves credit for truly believing that p.

This thesis is espoused explicitly by Greco, Sosa, and Zagzebski (and Riggs in other works), and it is also one to which some of the other authors, such as Sherman and White and McKinnon, seem implicitly committed. Thus, focusing on CREDIT will make for a fairly comprehensive treatment of the book as whole.

I shall proceed as follows. I shall first formulate what I take to be the most plausible account of credit to support this thesis. I shall then argue that even with this plausible account in hand, some of the most ordinary and uncontentious cases of knowledge show CREDIT to be false.

Greco’s piece provides a nice place to begin since not only does he offer an explicit account of what he calls intellectual credit , his conception of credit also seems to be operative in the views of some of the other authors, such as Zagzebski, Riggs, and McKinnon. According to Greco:

IC: S deserves intellectual credit for believing the truth regarding p only if

a. believing the truth regarding p has intellectual value,

b. believing the truth regarding p can be ascribed to S, and

c. believing the truth regarding p reveals S’s reliable cognitive character.

The key condition of IC is (c), and there are at least two important aspects to this requirement. First, S’s deserving credit for truly believing that p requires that such a state of believing reveal S’s reliable cognitive character. Otherwise put, S’s reliable cognitive character must be the most salient part of the cause explaining why S holds the true belief in question. For instance, suppose that Martin comes to truly believe that drinking Bacardi rum enhances one’s sex appeal, but only because of the subliminal suggestions contained in their ads. Now, in order to even be properly receptive to the subliminal suggestions, at least some of Martin’s cognitive faculties—such as sense perception and memory—must be functioning reliably. But if asked why he truly believes that drinking Bacardi rum enhances one’s sex appeal, we would point not to the reliable functioning of his cognitive faculties, but to the subliminal suggestions of Bacardi’s ads. For though the former is a necessary condition of Martin’s holding the true belief in question, only the latter carries the explanatory burden of why he holds it. Hence, Martin’s belief about Bacardi’s rum fails (c)—that is, it fails to reveal his reliable cognitive character—despite the necessity of the reliability of his cognitive faculties.

Second, in order for S to deserve intellectual credit for truly believing that p, the belief in question must reveal S’s reliable cognitive character . To illustrate this general aspect of condition (c), Greco provides an example of “…a poor fielder [who] makes a spectacular catch. In this case he will be given credit of a sort—he will get pats on the back from his teammates and applause from the crowd. But it won’t be the same kind of credit that Griffey gets. Griffey makes spectacular catches all the time— his catches manifest his great skills. Not so when Albert Belle makes such a catch. If the catch is difficult, it is almost just good luck that he makes it” (p. 122). Applying this reasoning to the topic at hand, it looks as though Greco would deny knowledge to the intellectual analogue of Albert Belle because such a subject would be undeserving of the requisite kind of intellectual credit.

But why does Greco think that the right sort of credit is absent in this type of case? The reasoning underlying this assessment seems to go as follows:

(1) A mediocre fielder (thinker) who makes a spectacular catch (intellectual achievement) is acting out of his fielding (intellectual) character.

(2) If S’s accomplishment of Øing is out of S’s character, then S’s Øing is “almost just good luck.”

(3) If S’s accomplishment of Øing is the result of good luck, then S does not deserve credit for Øing.

(4) Therefore, a mediocre fielder (thinker) does not deserve credit for making a spectacular catch (intellectual achievement).

Premise (2), however, is surely not generally true, for acting out of character is not always due to good luck . For instance, compare the following:

Case 1: Because of his laziness and average abilities, Oliver has always been a mediocre chemist, receiving just passing grades in graduate school in chemistry, securing a dead-end job after graduation, and struggling to publish papers that are nearly entirely derivative from the work of others. But yesterday the fates were smiling down on Oliver: while he was in the lab doing work, Oliver stumbled upon a truly brilliant discovery through the purely lucky combination of two errors of reasoning.

Case 2: Because of her lack of self-confidence and average abilities, Dorothy has always been a mediocre chemist, receiving just passing grades in graduate school in chemistry, securing a dead-end job after graduation, and struggling to publish papers that are nearly entirely derivative from the work of others. Recently, however, Dorothy found herself in a very happy relationship that quite dramatically affected her perception of herself. This, in turn, gave her more confidence in her abilities as a chemist. As a result, yesterday was an incredible day for Dorothy: while she was in the lab doing work, she made a truly brilliant discovery through her own hard work, powers of reasoning, and skills as a researcher.

In cases 1 and 2, we have subjects who both, so to speak, “act out of their cognitive character”. In particular, both Oliver and Dorothy make brilliant discoveries in chemistry which are quite unexpected in light of their past mediocrity in this area. But while Oliver’s finding is primarily the result of luck and error, Dorothy’s emerges from her own faculties and skills combined with overcoming prior doubts and limitations. This type of phenomenon is common enough—an average tennis player has an outstanding game through intense concentration, an otherwise timid and cowardly person performs an act of incredible heroism out of profound love, a mediocre composer creates a sublime sonata after experiencing exquisite beauty. In all of these cases, a person’s accomplishment is not a matter of luck in any problematic way, despite being quite significantly out of character.

To be sure, there may be important differences between the intellectual credit that a subject such as Dorothy deserves and that found in the following:

Case 3: Meredith has always been regarded as an extraordinary chemist, receiving the highest possible grades in graduate school in chemistry, securing an outstanding job after graduation, and publishing articles in top ranked journals that are nearly entirely original and uniformly profound. While she was in the lab last week, Meredith made yet another truly brilliant discovery through her own powers of reasoning and skills as a researcher.

Notice: the cases of Dorothy and Meredith do not represent the difference between merely apparent credit and genuine credit, respectively. Rather, unlike Oliver whose discovery is primarily a matter of good fortune, the intellectual achievements of both Dorothy and Meredith result from the working of their own faculties and skills, and are thus creditable to them in a substantive sense. Of course, because Meredith’s accomplishment reflects a more richly developed cognitive character, the kind of intellectual credit that she deserves may be deeper than that had by Dorothy. But it should be clear that even if there are two different kinds of intellectual credit represented in these cases, only the weaker kind found in Case 2 could plausibly be said to be necessary for knowledge. For, surely Dorothy can know the content of the discovery she makes through her own hard work, powers of reasoning, and skills as a researcher, despite the fact that her lack of confidence has led her to produce only mediocre work in chemistry in the past. Thus, contrary to what is suggested by Greco’s example of Albert Belle, not only does Dorothy properly deserve intellectual credit for the true belief in question, it also represents the kind of credit that must be at issue when talking about knowledge.

There is, however, an even stronger conclusion that I think we can draw from these considerations; namely, that it is a mistake to follow Greco and other virtue theorists and analyze intellectual credit—at least the kind said to be necessary for knowledge—in terms of revealing a subject’s cognitive character . We think of a person’s character as being fairly stable; when significant changes occur in someone’s character, they usually evolve over a long period of time or are the result of a dramatic event. Because of this, when a person makes an unexpectedly spectacular achievement, it may be natural to regard it as being out of character and thereby incapable of revealing the person’s character. Accordingly, when credit is analyzed in terms of revealing a person’s character, such unexpectedly spectacular achievements turn out to be ones for which the subject in question fails to deserve credit, thereby leading to the consequence that mediocre thinkers cannot have knowledge of outstanding intellectual discoveries. But surely it is not just great people who deserve credit for or can have knowledge of great things. A person’s achievement can result from the working of her own faculties and skills and thus be properly creditable to her without necessarily revealing her character .

Thus, a more plausible account of the kind of intellectual credit said to be necessary for knowledge—one that seems to be what Sosa has in mind in his essay—should replace (c) of IC with the following:

c*. believing the truth regarding p reveals S’s relevant reliable cognitive faculties .

Otherwise put, S’s reliable cognitive faculties must be the most salient part of the cause explaining why S holds the true belief in question.

Even with (c) replaced with (c*), however, I shall now argue that CREDIT is false. To see this, consider the following:

Case 4: Having just arrived at the train station in Chicago, Morris wishes to obtain directions to the Sears Tower. He looks around, randomly approaches the first passerby that he sees, and asks how to get to his desired destination. The passerby, who happens to be a Chicago resident who knows the city extraordinarily well, provides Morris with impeccable directions to the Sears Tower.

There is nothing that is particularly unusual about Case 4, and it is nearly universally accepted that a situation such as Morris’s not only can but often does result in testimonial knowledge. Yet it is precisely this sort of case that shows CREDIT to be false. For notice: are Morris’s reliable cognitive faculties the most salient part of the cause explaining why he truly believes that the Sears Tower is, say, six blocks east? Not at all. Indeed, what explains why Morris got things right has nearly nothing of epistemic interest to do with him and nearly everything of epistemic interest to do with the passerby. In particular, it is the passerby’s experience with and knowledge of the city of Chicago that explains why Morris ended up with a true belief rather than a false belief. Moreover, notice that Morris “randomly” chose the passerby that he did, and so even the fact that he received the information from one source rather than another cannot be attributed to Morris. Thus, though it is plausible to say that Morris acquired knowledge from the passerby, there seems to be no substantive sense in which Morris deserves credit for holding the true belief that he does. Hence, CREDIT is false.

Nevertheless, although cases of this sort pose a difficulty for CREDIT, I suspect that something in the neighborhood is not only correct, but also expresses one of the features that makes knowledge more valuable than mere true belief. Moreover, despite the fact that I followed tradition and focused on problems with some of the views expressed in this volume, let me close by saying that Intellectual Virtue is a superb collection of essays that anyone interested in either epistemology or ethics should find both extremely valuable and engaging.

Aristotle’s Virtue Ethics Analysis Essay

Introduction, comparison of the ethics virtue theory with another ancient philosopher.

Virtue Theory is the speculation that true actions pursue from becoming an ethical person, and additionally by becoming an ethical person, it is automatically known what is right and wrong. When we identify what is really right or wrong, we have thrived as humans, and we have eudemonia. So, as regards to this, virtue ethics is one of the chief structures of normative ethics, and frequently called ethics. (Barnes, 1976) It contrasts deontology, which emphasizes rules and duties. A virtue is an admirable human characteristic such as courage, kindness or forgiveness that distinguishes good people from bad. Socrates sought a single virtue for human life, while Plato identified four central virtues that should be present in the ideal state. Aristotle said that a moral virtue is the middle value between two extremes. Christianity preaches virtues such as forgiveness and love to make a moral person.

If we compare the ethics virtue theory with other ancient philosopher, it transpires that for Socrates, the ultimate virtue is knowledge. With knowledge he argued, morality comes. If people had knowledge of what was good and bad, people would not sin. He said that all wrongdoing is involuntary, and that if people had knowledge of right and wrong, they would know not to sin. Plato said the soul had three parts. He said these were reason, emotion and desire. In order to become a moral person, Plato said we had to learn the three virtues to control these parts of the soul. These were wisdom, courage and self-control. With a virtue for each part of the soul, and an equal balance of each part of the soul, Plato said we would become moral people.

Wisdom would aid reason to think well, courage would override emotion, and self-control would manage desire. We see ho0w balancing the parts of the soul and having virtues would help us lead well lives in the muffin example. When faced with the option of an apple of a muffin, a good person would choose the apple, because the part of the soul that desired the muffin would be controlled by self-control, the part of the soul that was emotional would have the courage to make the decision, and to ignore the craving for the muffin, and the rational part of the soul would know that apples are better for the body than muffins, and so choose the apple. This way of thinking helps us to lead moral lives, according to Plato.

Aristotle developed a different way of thinking. He said that virtue was the middle action between two vices. So, for example, modesty would be a virtue as it comes between two extremes or vices; egotism and low self esteem. Another example would be working sensibly. The two vices of working would be overworking and laziness. The middle option would be working sensibly. This, according to Aristotle, is the correct choice of action.

He said we should act in the right way, at the right time, in the right amount towards the right persons for the correct reasons: “…To experience these emotions [fear, courage, desire, anger, pity, and pleasure] at the right times and on the right occasions and toward the right persons and for the right causes and in the right manner is the mean or the supreme good, which is characteristic of virtue.” (Bina Gupta, Jitendranath Mohanty, 2000, p193)

So if a person was upset, and another person wanted to help them, it would be correct to ask the person what was wrong because a mild amount of curiosity is between two vices, and to ask the person at the right time: when the person was able to talk about the problem without getting upset, and only talk to the appropriate people- not spread rumors about the problem. The second person should only get involved for the right reasons too- to help the upset person.

There is disagreement between philosophers and religions. Aristotle thought pride was a virtue, but Christian virtue theorists think it is a vice. Hume disliked chastity, but Christians view it as a virtue. The precise nature of each virtue is rarely discussed. Is courage in a bad cause really a virtue? Was it virtuous of the Nazi soldiers to conquer their fear in the Second World War and kill Allied troops to defend the Nazi cause? It is also debatable if honesty is a virtue, as that may mean never lying. If a psychotic murderer was chasing after your friend and you could save enough time for him to escape, and not be murdered by lying to the murderer about his whereabouts, would it not be more moral to lie? If we put virtue ethics to use in these moral situations, it seems to have dreadful consequences. Virtue ethics fails to look at these.

However it is does look at the individual, which other theories fail to do. This way we are able to use it practically without becoming unhappy or seemingly careless, as can happen with Kantian theory, when ‘duty’ overrides happiness or special relationships with friends. It also looks at down to earth situations- situations we are likely to be in, rather than he harsh moral situations of utilitarianism. (Barnes 1980) For example, instead of discussing saving passengers from a burning ship, we would look at whether it is correct to be quiet or talkative person- information we are more likely to use, that is more practical. Virtue ethics is fairly easy to understand, and applies to everyone capable of having a rational thinking personality. This means, everyone can use it practically, in their day-to-day lives, and many people do, without realizing what it is.

Aristotle evidently expects those who share the basic attitude to be rationally led by his arguments into recognizing not only the wisdom of the particular reform which he advocates, but the general potential which exists for progress in excellence, even at a fundamental level. Thus he can expect his mention of ‘sophists’ to trigger certain responses in his audience. Whoever he may have particularly in mind, his audience knows that sophists entered this fray long ago with claims to be specialist teachers of virtue and civic excellence. And however convincing the by now classic refutations of those claims by Socrates and Plato, no refutation could cancel the one unquestionable legacy of the sophistic movement: an awakening, namely, to self-awareness of immense human possibilities waiting to be tapped for good or ill through systematic education. Nothing could remove the sense once created of a gap at the centre of human life which unreflective values and practice, even at their best, would never fill from their own resources.

Furthermore, Aristotle holds that one cannot be considered in the full sense morally excellent unless one has practical wisdom too. The general ability is practical wisdom, and in defining moral virtue as a ‘prohairetic’ disposition for hitting the mean, Aristotle has so defined it that, in a person lacking practical wisdom, the qualities which would otherwise be moral virtues are not virtues strictly speaking, but potentials or prefigurations of virtues. (Burnet, 1900)

And since the soul, however complex, is a unity, not a concatenation of independently describable parts, we should perhaps be prepared eventually to find that just as practical wisdom cannot be understood without reference to the emotional part that is conditioned into character.

The morally mixed character need not be an incoherent personality, and the mixed ethical description is only too often true. Telling a child to be brave is telling him how he ought to be, and initially we say these things in simple situations where (as we give him to understand) he will do the all-round right thing if and only if he acts bravely. ‘Honest’, ‘courageous’, ‘generous’, etc. connote models, and the contraries counter models. (Kosman 1990)

Aristotle can conclude that the highest and best human activity is a pleasure in exactly the same sense of ‘pleasure’ as eating, drinking, and listening to music are pleasures when one enjoys them. The intensity of his argument puts it beyond doubt that in his view the conclusion is substantial. He would not concede that it rests on a turn of phrase. It is therefore not open to us not to take the doctrine seriously. If it is founded on conceptual confusion, then something important in the Ethics is founded on conceptual confusion.

Barnes J. 1980: “‘Aristotle and the Methods of Ethics’”, Revue Internationale de Philosophie 34 490-511.

Barnes, J. 1976. Introduction to revised edition of The Ethics of Aristotle, trans. J. A.K. Thomson: Harmondsworth.

Burnet, J. 1900.The Ethics of Aristotle. London.

Kosman L. A, 1990: “‘Being Properly Affected: Virtues and Feelings in Aristotle’s Ethics’”, in Rorty, 103-116.

Bina Gupta, Jitendranath Mohanty: (2000) Philosophical Questions: East and West: Rowman & Littlefield Pub Inc.

• Chicago (A-D)
• Chicago (N-B)

IvyPanda. (2024, March 6). Aristotle's Virtue Ethics Analysis. https://ivypanda.com/essays/aristotles-virtue-ethics-analysis/

"Aristotle's Virtue Ethics Analysis." IvyPanda , 6 Mar. 2024, ivypanda.com/essays/aristotles-virtue-ethics-analysis/.

IvyPanda . (2024) 'Aristotle's Virtue Ethics Analysis'. 6 March.

IvyPanda . 2024. "Aristotle's Virtue Ethics Analysis." March 6, 2024. https://ivypanda.com/essays/aristotles-virtue-ethics-analysis/.

1. IvyPanda . "Aristotle's Virtue Ethics Analysis." March 6, 2024. https://ivypanda.com/essays/aristotles-virtue-ethics-analysis/.

Bibliography

IvyPanda . "Aristotle's Virtue Ethics Analysis." March 6, 2024. https://ivypanda.com/essays/aristotles-virtue-ethics-analysis/.

• Consumer Buying Behavior - Muffin Consumption
• Aristotle’s and Socrates’ Account of Virtue
• Socrates by Aristophanes and Plato
• Philosophy: Aristotle on Moral Virtue
• Aristotle vs. Socrates: The Main Difference in the Concept of Virtue
• Aristotle’s Account of Pleasure
• Plato and Aristotle’s Views of Virtue in Respect to Education
• Information About Socrates: Analysis
• Greek Philosopher Socrates
• Socrates Influence on Plato’s Philosophy
• Body vs. Conscious Mind
• Unveiling the Strengths of Rorty’s Philosophy
• “In Praise of Idleness” by Bertrand Russell
• Analytic Philosophy, Its History and Branches
• Philosophy of Kantianism Critique

Ethics and Virtue

• Markkula Center for Applied Ethics
• Ethics Resources
• Ethical Decision Making

For many of us, the fundamental question of ethics is, "What should I do?" or "How should I act?" Ethics is supposed to provide us with "moral principles" or universal rules that tell us what to do. Many people, for example, read passionate adherents of the moral principle of utilitarianism: "Everyone is obligated to do whatever will achieve the greatest good for the greatest number." Others are just as devoted to the basic principle of Immanuel Kant: "Everyone is obligated to act only in ways that respect the human dignity and moral rights of all persons."

Moral principles like these focus primarily on people's actions and doings. We "apply" them by asking what these principles require of us in particular circumstances, e.g., when considering whether to lie or to commit suicide. We also apply them when we ask what they require of us as professionals, e.g., lawyers, doctors, or business people, or what they require of our social policies and institutions. In the last decade, dozens of ethics centers and programs devoted to "business ethics", "legal ethics", "medical ethics", and "ethics in public policy" have sprung up. These centers are designed to examine the implications moral principles have for our lives.

But are moral principles all that ethics consists of? Critics have rightly claimed that this emphasis on moral principles smacks of a thoughtless and slavish worship of rules, as if the moral life was a matter of scrupulously checking our every action against a table of do's and don'ts. Fortunately, this obsession with principles and rules has been recently challenged by several ethicists who argue that the emphasis on principles ignores a fundamental component of ethics--virtue. These ethicists point our that by focusing on what people should do or how people should act, the "moral principles approach" neglects the more important issue--what people should be. In other words, the fundamental question of ethics is not "What should I do?" but "What kind of person should I be?"

According to "virtue ethics", there are certain ideals, such as excellence or dedication to the common good, toward which we should strive and which allow the full development of our humanity. These ideals are discovered through thoughtful reflection on what we as human beings have the potential to become.

"Virtues" are attitudes, dispositions, or character traits that enable us to be and to act in ways that develop this potential. They enable us to pursue the ideals we have adopted. Honesty, courage, compassion, generosity, fidelity, integrity, fairness, self-control, and prudence are all examples of virtues.

How does a person develop virtues? Virtues are developed through learning and through practice. As the ancient philosopher Aristotle suggested, a person can improve his or her character by practicing self-discipline, while a good character can be corrupted by repeated self-indulgence. Just as the ability to run a marathon develops through much training and practice, so too does our capacity to be fair, to be courageous, or to be compassionate.

Virtues are habits. That is, once they are acquired, they become characteristic of a person. For example, a person who has developed the virtue of generosity is often referred to as a generous person because he or she tends to be generous in all circumstances. Moreover, a person who has developed virtues will be naturally disposed to act in ways that are consistent with moral principles. The virtuous person is the ethical person.

At the heart of the virtue approach to ethics is the idea of "community". A person's character traits are not developed in isolation, but within and by the communities to which he or she belongs, including family, church, school, and other private and public associations. As people grow and mature, their personalities are deeply affected by the values that their communities prize, by the personality traits that their communities encourage, and by the role models that their communities put forth for imitation through traditional stories, fiction, movies, television, and so on. The virtue approach urges us to pay attention to the contours of our communities and the habits of character they encourage and instill.

The moral life, then, is not simply a matter of following moral rules and of learning to apply them to specific situations. The moral life is also a matter of trying to determine the kind of people we should be and of attending to the development of character within our communities and ourselves.

This article appeared originally in Issues in Ethics V1 N3 (Spring 1988)

• Table of Contents
• Random Entry
• Chronological
• Editorial Information
• About the SEP
• Editorial Board
• How to Cite the SEP
• Special Characters
• Advanced Tools
• Support the SEP
• PDFs for SEP Friends
• Make a Donation
• SEPIA for Libraries
• Entry Contents

Bibliography

Academic tools.

• Friends PDF Preview
• Author and Citation Info
• Back to Top

Aristotle’s Ethics

Aristotle conceives of ethical theory as a field distinct from the theoretical sciences. Its methodology must match its subject matter—good action—and must respect the fact that in this field many generalizations hold only for the most part. We study ethics in order to improve our lives, and therefore its principal concern is the nature of human well-being. Aristotle follows Socrates and Plato in taking the virtues to be central to a well-lived life. Like Plato, he regards the ethical virtues (justice, courage, temperance and so on) as complex rational, emotional and social skills. But he rejects Plato’s idea that to be completely virtuous one must acquire, through a training in the sciences, mathematics, and philosophy, an understanding of what goodness is. What we need, in order to live well, is a proper appreciation of the way in which such goods as friendship, pleasure, virtue, honor and wealth fit together as a whole. In order to apply that general understanding to particular cases, we must acquire, through proper upbringing and habits, the ability to see, on each occasion, which course of action is best supported by reasons. Therefore practical wisdom, as he conceives it, cannot be acquired solely by learning general rules. We must also acquire, through practice, those deliberative, emotional, and social skills that enable us to put our general understanding of well-being into practice in ways that are suitable to each occasion.

1. Preliminaries

2. the human good and the function argument, 3.1 traditional virtues and the skeptic, 3.2 differences from and affinities to plato, 4. virtues and deficiencies, continence and incontinence, 5.1 ethical virtue as disposition, 5.2 ethical theory does not offer a decision procedure, 5.3 the starting point for practical reasoning, 6. intellectual virtues, 8. pleasure, 9. friendship, 10. three lives compared, a. single-authored overviews, b. anthologies, c.1 the chronological order of aristotle’s ethical treatises, c.2 the methodology and metaphysics of ethical theory, c.3 the human good and the human function, c.4 the nature of virtue and accounts of particular virtues, c.5 practical reasoning, moral psychology, and action, c.6 pleasure, c.7 friendship, c.8 feminism and aristotle, c.9 aristotle and contemporary ethics, d. bibliographies, primary literature, secondary literature, other internet resources, related entries.

Aristotle wrote two ethical treatises: the Nicomachean Ethics and the Eudemian Ethics . He does not himself use either of these titles, although in the Politics (1295a36) he refers back to one of them—probably the Eudemian Ethics —as “ ta êthika ”—his writings about character. The words “ Eudemian ” and “ Nicomachean ” were added later, perhaps because the former was edited by his friend, Eudemus, and the latter by his son, Nicomachus. In any case, these two works cover more or less the same ground: they begin with a discussion of eudaimonia (“happiness”, “flourishing”), and turn to an examination of the nature of aretê (“virtue”, “excellence”) and the character traits that human beings need in order to live life at its best. Both treatises examine the conditions in which praise or blame are appropriate, and the nature of pleasure and friendship; near the end of each work, we find a brief discussion of the proper relationship between human beings and the divine.

Though the general point of view expressed in each work is the same, there are many subtle differences in organization and content as well. Clearly, one is a re-working of the other, and although no single piece of evidence shows conclusively what their order is, it is widely assumed that the Nicomachean Ethics is a later and improved version of the Eudemian Ethics . (Not all of the Eudemian Ethics was revised: its Books IV, V, and VI re-appear as V, VI, VII of the Nicomachean Ethics .) Perhaps the most telling indication of this ordering is that in several instances the Nicomachean Ethics develops a theme about which its Eudemian cousin is silent. Only the Nicomachean Ethics discusses the close relationship between ethical inquiry and politics; only the Nicomachean Ethics critically examines Solon’s paradoxical dictum that no man should be counted happy until he is dead; and only the Nicomachean Ethics gives a series of arguments for the superiority of the philosophical life to the political life. The remainder of this article will therefore focus on this work. [Note: Page and line numbers shall henceforth refer to this treatise.]

A third treatise, called the Magna Moralia (the “Big Ethics”) is included in complete editions of Aristotle’s works, but its authorship is disputed by scholars. It ranges over topics discussed more fully in the other two works and its point of view is similar to theirs. (Why, being briefer, is it named the Magna Moralia ? Because each of the two papyrus rolls into which it is divided is unusually long. Just as a big mouse can be a small animal, two big chapters can make a small book. This work was evidently named “big” with reference to its parts, not the whole.) A few authors in antiquity refer to a work with this name and attribute it to Aristotle, but it is not mentioned by several authorities, such as Cicero and Diogenes Laertius, whom we would expect to have known of it. Some scholars hold that it is Aristotle’s earliest course on ethics—perhaps his own lecture notes or those of a student; others regard it as a post-Aristotelian compilation or adaption of one or both of his genuine ethical treatises.

Although Aristotle is deeply indebted to Plato’s moral philosophy, particularly Plato’s central insight that moral thinking must be integrated with our emotions and appetites, and that the preparation for such unity of character should begin with childhood education, the systematic character of Aristotle’s discussion of these themes was a remarkable innovation. No one had written ethical treatises before Aristotle. Plato’s Republic , for example, does not treat ethics as a distinct subject matter; nor does it offer a systematic examination of the nature of happiness, virtue, voluntariness, pleasure, or friendship. To be sure, we can find in Plato’s works important discussions of these phenomena, but they are not brought together and unified as they are in Aristotle’s ethical writings.

The principal idea with which Aristotle begins is that there are differences of opinion about what is best for human beings, and that to profit from ethical inquiry we must resolve this disagreement. He insists that ethics is not a theoretical discipline: we are asking what the good for human beings is not simply because we want to have knowledge, but because we will be better able to achieve our good if we develop a fuller understanding of what it is to flourish. In raising this question—what is the good?—Aristotle is not looking for a list of items that are good. He assumes that such a list can be compiled rather easily; most would agree, for example, that it is good to have friends, to experience pleasure, to be healthy, to be honored, and to have such virtues as courage at least to some degree. The difficult and controversial question arises when we ask whether certain of these goods are more desirable than others. Aristotle’s search for the good is a search for the highest good, and he assumes that the highest good, whatever it turns out to be, has three characteristics: it is desirable for itself, it is not desirable for the sake of some other good, and all other goods are desirable for its sake.

Aristotle thinks everyone will agree that the terms “ eudaimonia ” (“happiness”) and “ eu zên ” (“living well”) designate such an end. The Greek term “ eudaimon ” is composed of two parts: “ eu ” means “well” and “ daimon ” means “divinity” or “spirit”. To be eudaimon is therefore to be living in a way that is well-favored by a god. But Aristotle never calls attention to this etymology in his ethical writings, and it seems to have little influence on his thinking. He regards “ eudaimon ” as a mere substitute for eu zên (“living well”). These terms play an evaluative role, and are not simply descriptions of someone’s state of mind.

No one tries to live well for the sake of some further goal; rather, being eudaimon is the highest end, and all subordinate goals—health, wealth, and other such resources—are sought because they promote well-being, not because they are what well-being consists in. But unless we can determine which good or goods happiness consists in, it is of little use to acknowledge that it is the highest end. To resolve this issue, Aristotle asks what the ergon (“function”, “task”, “work”) of a human being is, and argues that it consists in activity of the rational part of the soul in accordance with virtue (1097b22–1098a20). One important component of this argument is expressed in terms of distinctions he makes in his psychological and biological works. The soul is analyzed into a connected series of capacities: the nutritive soul is responsible for growth and reproduction, the locomotive soul for motion, the perceptive soul for perception, and so on. The biological fact Aristotle makes use of is that human beings are the only species that has not only these lower capacities but a rational soul as well. The good of a human being must have something to do with being human; and what sets humanity off from other species, giving us the potential to live a better life, is our capacity to guide ourselves by using reason. If we use reason well, we live well as human beings; or, to be more precise, using reason well over the course of a full life is what happiness consists in. Doing anything well requires virtue or excellence, and therefore living well consists in activities caused by the rational soul in accordance with virtue or excellence.

Aristotle’s conclusion about the nature of happiness is in a sense uniquely his own. No other writer or thinker had said precisely what he says about what it is to live well. But at the same time his view is not too distant from a common idea. As he himself points out, one traditional conception of happiness identifies it with virtue (1098b30–1). Aristotle’s theory should be construed as a refinement of this position. He says, not that happiness is virtue, but that it is virtuous activity . Living well consists in doing something, not just being in a certain state or condition. It consists in those lifelong activities that actualize the virtues of the rational part of the soul.

At the same time, Aristotle makes it clear that in order to be happy one must possess others goods as well—such goods as friends, wealth, and power. And one’s happiness is endangered if one is severely lacking in certain advantages—if, for example, one is extremely ugly, or has lost children or good friends through death (1099a31–b6). But why so? If one’s ultimate end should simply be virtuous activity, then why should it make any difference to one’s happiness whether one has or lacks these other types of good? Aristotle’s reply is that one’s virtuous activity will be to some extent diminished or defective, if one lacks an adequate supply of other goods (1153b17–19). Someone who is friendless, childless, powerless, weak, and ugly will simply not be able to find many opportunities for virtuous activity over a long period of time, and what little he can accomplish will not be of great merit. To some extent, then, living well requires good fortune; happenstance can rob even the most excellent human beings of happiness. Nonetheless, Aristotle insists, the highest good, virtuous activity, is not something that comes to us by chance. Although we must be fortunate enough to have parents and fellow citizens who help us become virtuous, we ourselves share much of the responsibility for acquiring and exercising the virtues.

3. Methodology

A common complaint about Aristotle’s attempt to defend his conception of happiness is that his argument is too general to show that it is in one’s interest to possess any of the particular virtues as they are traditionally conceived. Suppose we grant, at least for the sake of argument, that doing anything well, including living well, consists in exercising certain skills; and let us call these skills, whatever they turn out to be, virtues. Even so, that point does not by itself allow us to infer that such qualities as temperance, justice, courage, as they are normally understood, are virtues. They should be counted as virtues only if it can be shown that actualizing precisely these skills is what happiness consists in. What Aristotle owes us, then, is an account of these traditional qualities that explains why they must play a central role in any well-lived life.

But perhaps Aristotle disagrees, and refuses to accept this argumentative burden. In one of several important methodological remarks he makes near the beginning of the Nicomachean Ethics , he says that in order to profit from the sort of study he is undertaking, one must already have been brought up in good habits (1095b4–6). The audience he is addressing, in other words, consists of people who are already just, courageous, and generous; or, at any rate, they are well on their way to possessing these virtues. Why such a restricted audience? Why does he not address those who have serious doubts about the value of these traditional qualities, and who therefore have not yet decided to cultivate and embrace them?

Addressing the moral skeptic, after all, is the project Plato undertook in the Republic : in Book I he rehearses an argument to show that justice is not really a virtue, and the remainder of this work is an attempt to rebut this thesis. Aristotle’s project seems, at least on the surface, to be quite different. He does not appear to be addressing someone who has genuine doubts about the value of justice or kindred qualities. Perhaps, then, he realizes how little can be accomplished, in the study of ethics, to provide it with a rational foundation. Perhaps he thinks that no reason can be given for being just, generous, and courageous. These are qualities one learns to love when one is a child, and having been properly habituated, one no longer looks for or needs a reason to exercise them. One can show, as a general point, that happiness consists in exercising some skills or other, but that the moral skills of a virtuous person are what one needs is not a proposition that can be established on the basis of argument.

This is not the only way of reading the Ethics , however. For surely we cannot expect Aristotle to show what it is about the traditional virtues that makes them so worthwhile until he has fully discussed the nature of those virtues. He himself warns us that his initial statement of what happiness is should be treated as a rough outline whose details are to be filled in later (1098a20–22). His intention in Book I of the Ethics is to indicate in a general way why the virtues are important; why particular virtues—courage, justice, and the like—are components of happiness is something we should be able to better understand only at a later point.

In any case, Aristotle’s assertion that his audience must already have begun to cultivate the virtues need not be taken to mean that no reasons can be found for being courageous, just, and generous. His point, rather, may be that in ethics, as in any other study, we cannot make progress towards understanding why things are as they are unless we begin with certain assumptions about what is the case. Neither theoretical nor practical inquiry starts from scratch. Someone who has made no observations of astronomical or biological phenomena is not yet equipped with sufficient data to develop an understanding of these sciences. The parallel point in ethics is that to make progress in this sphere we must already have come to enjoy doing what is just, courageous, generous and the like. We must experience these activities not as burdensome constraints, but as noble, worthwhile, and enjoyable in themselves. Then, when we engage in ethical inquiry, we can ask what it is about these activities that makes them worthwhile. We can also compare these goods with other things that are desirable in themselves—pleasure, friendship, honor, and so on—and ask whether any of them is more desirable than the others. We approach ethical theory with a disorganized bundle of likes and dislikes based on habit and experience; such disorder is an inevitable feature of childhood. But what is not inevitable is that our early experience will be rich enough to provide an adequate basis for worthwhile ethical reflection; that is why we need to have been brought up well. Yet such an upbringing can take us only so far. We seek a deeper understanding of the objects of our childhood enthusiasms, and we must systematize our goals so that as adults we have a coherent plan of life. We need to engage in ethical theory, and to reason well in this field, if we are to move beyond the low-grade form of virtue we acquired as children.

Read in this way, Aristotle is engaged in a project similar in some respects to the one Plato carried out in the Republic . One of Plato’s central points is that it is a great advantage to establish a hierarchical ordering of the elements in one’s soul; and he shows how the traditional virtues can be interpreted to foster or express the proper relation between reason and less rational elements of the psyche. Aristotle’s approach is similar: his “function argument” shows in a general way that our good lies in the dominance of reason, and the detailed studies of the particular virtues reveal how each of them involves the right kind of ordering of the soul. Aristotle’s goal is to arrive at conclusions like Plato’s, but without relying on the Platonic metaphysics that plays a central role in the argument of the Republic . He rejects the existence of Plato’s forms in general and the form of the good in particular; and he rejects the idea that in order to become fully virtuous one must study mathematics and the sciences, and see all branches of knowledge as a unified whole. Even though Aristotle’s ethical theory sometimes relies on philosophical distinctions that are more fully developed in his other works, he never proposes that students of ethics need to engage in a specialized study of the natural world, or mathematics, or eternal and changing objects. His project is to make ethics an autonomous field, and to show why a full understanding of what is good does not require expertise in any other field.

There is another contrast with Plato that should be emphasized: In Book II of the Republic , we are told that the best type of good is one that is desirable both in itself and for the sake of its results (357d–358a). Plato argues that justice should be placed in this category, but since it is generally agreed that it is desirable for its consequences, he devotes most of his time to establishing his more controversial point—that justice is to be sought for its own sake. By contrast, Aristotle assumes that if A is desirable for the sake of B , then B is better than A (1094a14–16); therefore, the highest kind of good must be one that is not desirable for the sake of anything else. To show that A deserves to be our ultimate end, one must show that all other goods are best thought of as instruments that promote A in some way or other. Accordingly, it would not serve Aristotle’s purpose to consider virtuous activity in isolation from all other goods. He needs to discuss honor, wealth, pleasure, and friendship in order to show how these goods, properly understood, can be seen as resources that serve the higher goal of virtuous activity. He vindicates the centrality of virtue in a well-lived life by showing that in the normal course of things a virtuous person will not live a life devoid of friends, honor, wealth, pleasure, and the like. Virtuous activity makes a life happy not by guaranteeing happiness in all circumstances, but by serving as the goal for the sake of which lesser goods are to be pursued. Aristotle’s methodology in ethics therefore pays more attention than does Plato’s to the connections that normally obtain between virtue and other goods. That is why he stresses that in this sort of study one must be satisfied with conclusions that hold only for the most part (1094b11–22). Poverty, isolation, and dishonor are normally impediments to the exercise of virtue and therefore to happiness, although there may be special circumstances in which they are not. The possibility of exceptions does not undermine the point that, as a rule, to live well is to have sufficient resources for the pursuit of virtue over the course of a lifetime.

Aristotle distinguishes two kinds of virtue (1103a1–10): those that pertain to the part of the soul that engages in reasoning (virtues of mind or intellect), and those that pertain to the part of the soul that cannot itself reason but is nonetheless capable of following reason (ethical virtues, virtues of character). Intellectual virtues are in turn divided into two sorts: those that pertain to theoretical reasoning, and those that pertain to practical thinking (1139a3–8). He organizes his material by first studying ethical virtue in general, then moving to a discussion of particular ethical virtues (temperance, courage, and so on), and finally completing his survey by considering the intellectual virtues (practical wisdom, theoretical wisdom, etc.).

All free males are born with the potential to become ethically virtuous and practically wise, but to achieve these goals they must go through two stages: during their childhood, they must develop the proper habits; and then, when their reason is fully developed, they must acquire practical wisdom ( phronêsis ). This does not mean that first we fully acquire the ethical virtues, and then, at a later stage, add on practical wisdom. Ethical virtue is fully developed only when it is combined with practical wisdom (1144b14–17). A low-grade form of ethical virtue emerges in us during childhood as we are repeatedly placed in situations that call for appropriate actions and emotions; but as we rely less on others and become capable of doing more of our own thinking, we learn to develop a larger picture of human life, our deliberative skills improve, and our emotional responses are perfected. Like anyone who has developed a skill in performing a complex and difficult activity, the virtuous person takes pleasure in exercising his intellectual skills. Furthermore, when he has decided what to do, he does not have to contend with internal pressures to act otherwise. He does not long to do something that he regards as shameful; and he is not greatly distressed at having to give up a pleasure that he realizes he should forego.

Aristotle places those who suffer from such internal disorders into one of three categories: (A) Some agents, having reached a decision about what to do on a particular occasion, experience some counter-pressure brought on by an appetite for pleasure, or anger, or some other emotion; and this countervailing influence is not completely under the control of reason. (1) Within this category, some are typically better able to resist these counter-rational pressures than is the average person. Such people are not virtuous, although they generally do what a virtuous person does. Aristotle calls them “continent” ( enkratês ). But (2) others are less successful than the average person in resisting these counter-pressures. They are “incontinent” ( akratês ). (The explanation of akrasia is a topic to which we will return in section 7.) In addition, (B) there is a type of agent who refuses even to try to do what an ethically virtuous agent would do, because he has become convinced that justice, temperance, generosity and the like are of little or no value. Such people Aristotle calls evil ( kakos , phaulos ). He assumes that evil people are driven by desires for domination and luxury, and although they are single-minded in their pursuit of these goals, he portrays them as deeply divided, because their pleonexia —their desire for more and more—leaves them dissatisfied and full of self-hatred.

It should be noticed that all three of these deficiencies—continence, incontinence, vice—involve some lack of internal harmony. (Here Aristotle’s debt to Plato is particularly evident, for one of the central ideas of the Republic is that the life of a good person is harmonious, and all other lives deviate to some degree from this ideal.) The evil person may wholeheartedly endorse some evil plan of action at a particular moment, but over the course of time, Aristotle supposes, he will regret his decision, because whatever he does will prove inadequate for the achievement of his goals (1166b5–29). Aristotle assumes that when someone systematically makes bad decisions about how to live his life, his failures are caused by psychological forces that are less than fully rational. His desires for pleasure, power or some other external goal have become so strong that they make him care too little or not at all about acting ethically. To keep such destructive inner forces at bay, we need to develop the proper habits and emotional responses when we are children, and to reflect intelligently on our aims when we are adults. But some vulnerability to these disruptive forces is present even in more-or-less virtuous people; that is why even a good political community needs laws and the threat of punishment. Clear thinking about the best goals of human life and the proper way to put them into practice is a rare achievement, because the human psyche is not a hospitable environment for the development of these insights.

5. The Doctrine of the Mean

Aristotle describes ethical virtue as a “ hexis ” (“state” “condition” “disposition”)—a tendency or disposition, induced by our habits, to have appropriate feelings (1105b25–6). Defective states of character are hexeis (plural of hexis ) as well, but they are tendencies to have inappropriate feelings. The significance of Aristotle’s characterization of these states as hexeis is his decisive rejection of the thesis, found throughout Plato’s early dialogues, that virtue is nothing but a kind of knowledge and vice nothing but a lack of knowledge. Although Aristotle frequently draws analogies between the crafts and the virtues (and similarly between physical health and eudaimonia ), he insists that the virtues differ from the crafts and all branches of knowledge in that the former involve appropriate emotional responses and are not purely intellectual conditions.

Furthermore, every ethical virtue is a condition intermediate (a “golden mean” as it is popularly known) between two other states, one involving excess, and the other deficiency (1106a26–b28). In this respect, Aristotle says, the virtues are no different from technical skills: every skilled worker knows how to avoid excess and deficiency, and is in a condition intermediate between two extremes. The courageous person, for example, judges that some dangers are worth facing and others not, and experiences fear to a degree that is appropriate to his circumstances. He lies between the coward, who flees every danger and experiences excessive fear, and the rash person, who judges every danger worth facing and experiences little or no fear. Aristotle holds that this same topography applies to every ethical virtue: all are located on a map that places the virtues between states of excess and deficiency. He is careful to add, however, that the mean is to be determined in a way that takes into account the particular circumstances of the individual (1106a36–b7). The arithmetic mean between 10 and 2 is 6, and this is so invariably, whatever is being counted. But the intermediate point that is chosen by an expert in any of the crafts will vary from one situation to another. There is no universal rule, for example, about how much food an athlete should eat, and it would be absurd to infer from the fact that 10 lbs. is too much and 2 lbs. too little for me that I should eat 6 lbs. Finding the mean in any given situation is not a mechanical or thoughtless procedure, but requires a full and detailed acquaintance with the circumstances.

It should be evident that Aristotle’s treatment of virtues as mean states endorses the idea that we should sometimes have strong feelings—when such feelings are called for by our situation. Sometimes only a small degree of anger is appropriate; but at other times, circumstances call for great anger. The right amount is not some quantity between zero and the highest possible level, but rather the amount, whatever it happens to be, that is proportionate to the seriousness of the situation. Of course, Aristotle is committed to saying that anger should never reach the point at which it undermines reason; and this means that our passion should always fall short of the extreme point at which we would lose control. But it is possible to be very angry without going to this extreme, and Aristotle does not intend to deny this.

The theory of the mean is open to several objections, but before considering them, we should recognize that in fact there are two distinct theses each of which might be called a doctrine of the mean. First, there is the thesis that every virtue is a state that lies between two vices, one of excess and the other of deficiency. Second, there is the idea that whenever a virtuous person chooses to perform a virtuous act, he can be described as aiming at an act that is in some way or other intermediate between alternatives that he rejects. It is this second thesis that is most likely to be found objectionable. A critic might concede that in some cases virtuous acts can be described in Aristotle’s terms. If, for example, one is trying to decide how much to spend on a wedding present, one is looking for an amount that is neither excessive nor deficient. But surely many other problems that confront a virtuous agent are not susceptible to this quantitative analysis. If one must decide whether to attend a wedding or respect a competing obligation instead, it would not be illuminating to describe this as a search for a mean between extremes—unless “aiming at the mean” simply becomes another phrase for trying to make the right decision. The objection, then, is that Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean, taken as a doctrine about what the ethical agent does when he deliberates, is in many cases inapplicable or unilluminating.

A defense of Aristotle would have to say that the virtuous person does after all aim at a mean, if we allow for a broad enough notion of what sort of aiming is involved. For example, consider a juror who must determine whether a defendant is guilty as charged. He does not have before his mind a quantitative question; he is trying to decide whether the accused committed the crime, and is not looking for some quantity of action intermediate between extremes. Nonetheless, an excellent juror can be described as someone who, in trying to arrive at the correct decision, seeks to express the right degree of concern for all relevant considerations. He searches for the verdict that results from a deliberative process that is neither overly credulous nor unduly skeptical. Similarly, in facing situations that arouse anger, a virtuous agent must determine what action (if any) to take in response to an insult, and although this is not itself a quantitative question, his attempt to answer it properly requires him to have the right degree of concern for his standing as a member of the community. He aims at a mean in the sense that he looks for a response that avoids too much or too little attention to factors that must be taken into account in making a wise decision.

Perhaps a greater difficulty can be raised if we ask how Aristotle determines which emotions are governed by the doctrine of the mean. Consider someone who loves to wrestle, for example. Is this passion something that must be felt by every human being at appropriate times and to the right degree? Surely someone who never felt this emotion to any degree could still live a perfectly happy life. Why then should we not say the same about at least some of the emotions that Aristotle builds into his analysis of the ethically virtuous agent? Why should we experience anger at all, or fear, or the degree of concern for wealth and honor that Aristotle commends? These are precisely the questions that were asked in antiquity by the Stoics, and they came to the conclusion that such common emotions as anger and fear are always inappropriate. Aristotle assumes, on the contrary, not simply that these common passions are sometimes appropriate, but that it is essential that every human being learn how to master them and experience them in the right way at the right times. A defense of his position would have to show that the emotions that figure in his account of the virtues are valuable components of any well-lived human life, when they are experienced properly. Perhaps such a project could be carried out, but Aristotle himself does not attempt to do so.

He often says, in the course of his discussion, that when the good person chooses to act virtuously, he does so for the sake of the “ kalon ”—a word that can mean “beautiful”, “noble”, or “fine” (see for example 1120a23–4). This term indicates that Aristotle sees in ethical activity an attraction that is comparable to the beauty of well-crafted artifacts, including such artifacts as poetry, music, and drama. He draws this analogy in his discussion of the mean, when he says that every craft tries to produce a work from which nothing should be taken away and to which nothing further should be added (1106b5–14). A craft product, when well designed and produced by a good craftsman, is not merely useful, but also has such elements as balance, proportion and harmony—for these are properties that help make it useful. Similarly, Aristotle holds that a well-executed project that expresses the ethical virtues will not merely be advantageous but kalon as well—for the balance it strikes is part of what makes it advantageous. The young person learning to acquire the virtues must develop a love of doing what is kalon and a strong aversion to its opposite—the aischron , the shameful and ugly. Determining what is kalon is difficult (1106b28–33, 1109a24–30), and the normal human aversion to embracing difficulties helps account for the scarcity of virtue (1104b10–11).

It should be clear that neither the thesis that virtues lie between extremes nor the thesis that the good person aims at what is intermediate is intended as a procedure for making decisions. These doctrines of the mean help show what is attractive about the virtues, and they also help systematize our understanding of which qualities are virtues. Once we see that temperance, courage, and other generally recognized characteristics are mean states, we are in a position to generalize and to identify other mean states as virtues, even though they are not qualities for which we have a name. Aristotle remarks, for example, that the mean state with respect to anger has no name in Greek (1125b26–7). Though he is guided to some degree by distinctions captured by ordinary terms, his methodology allows him to recognize states for which no names exist.

So far from offering a decision procedure, Aristotle insists that this is something that no ethical theory can do. His theory elucidates the nature of virtue, but what must be done on any particular occasion by a virtuous agent depends on the circumstances, and these vary so much from one occasion to another that there is no possibility of stating a series of rules, however complicated, that collectively solve every practical problem. This feature of ethical theory is not unique; Aristotle thinks it applies to many crafts, such as medicine and navigation (1104a7–10). He says that the virtuous person “sees the truth in each case, being as it were a standard and measure of them” (1113a32–3); but this appeal to the good person’s vision should not be taken to mean that he has an inarticulate and incommunicable insight into the truth. Aristotle thinks of the good person as someone who is good at deliberation, and he describes deliberation as a process of rational inquiry. The intermediate point that the good person tries to find is

determined by logos (“reason”, “account”) and in the way that the person of practical reason would determine it. (1107a1–2)

To say that such a person “sees” what to do is simply a way of registering the point that the good person’s reasoning does succeed in discovering what is best in each situation. He is “as it were a standard and measure” in the sense that his views should be regarded as authoritative by other members of the community. A standard or measure is something that settles disputes; and because good people are so skilled at discovering the mean in difficult cases, their advice must be sought and heeded.

Although there is no possibility of writing a book of rules, however long, that will serve as a complete guide to wise decision-making, it would be a mistake to attribute to Aristotle the opposite position, namely that every purported rule admits of exceptions, so that even a small rule-book that applies to a limited number of situations is an impossibility. He makes it clear that certain emotions (spite, shamelessness, envy) and actions (adultery, theft, murder) are always wrong, regardless of the circumstances (1107a8–12). Although he says that the names of these emotions and actions convey their wrongness, he should not be taken to mean that their wrongness derives from linguistic usage. He defends the family as a social institution against the criticisms of Plato ( Politics II.3–4), and so when he says that adultery is always wrong, he is prepared to argue for his point by explaining why marriage is a valuable custom and why extra-marital intercourse undermines the relationship between husband and wife. He is not making the tautological claim that wrongful sexual activity is wrong, but the more specific and contentious point that marriages ought to be governed by a rule of strict fidelity. Similarly, when he says that murder and theft are always wrong, he does not mean that wrongful killing and taking are wrong, but that the current system of laws regarding these matters ought to be strictly enforced. So, although Aristotle holds that ethics cannot be reduced to a system of rules, however complex, he insists that some rules are inviolable.

We have seen that the decisions of a practically wise person are not mere intuitions, but can be justified by a chain of reasoning. (This is why Aristotle often talks in term of a practical syllogism, with a major premise that identifies some good to be achieved, and a minor premise that locates the good in some present-to-hand situation.) At the same time, he is acutely aware of the fact that reasoning can always be traced back to a starting point that is not itself justified by further reasoning. Neither good theoretical reasoning nor good practical reasoning moves in a circle; true thinking always presupposes and progresses in linear fashion from proper starting points. And that leads him to ask for an account of how the proper starting points of reasoning are to be determined. Practical reasoning always presupposes that one has some end, some goal one is trying to achieve; and the task of reasoning is to determine how that goal is to be accomplished. (This need not be means-end reasoning in the conventional sense; if, for example, our goal is the just resolution of a conflict, we must determine what constitutes justice in these particular circumstances. Here we are engaged in ethical inquiry, and are not asking a purely instrumental question.) But if practical reasoning is correct only if it begins from a correct premise, what is it that insures the correctness of its starting point?

Aristotle replies: “Virtue makes the goal right, practical wisdom the things leading to it” (1144a7–8). By this he cannot mean that there is no room for reasoning about our ultimate end. For as we have seen, he gives a reasoned defense of his conception of happiness as virtuous activity. What he must have in mind, when he says that virtue makes the goal right, is that deliberation typically proceeds from a goal that is far more specific than the goal of attaining happiness by acting virtuously. To be sure, there may be occasions when a good person approaches an ethical problem by beginning with the premise that happiness consists in virtuous activity. But more often what happens is that a concrete goal presents itself as his starting point—helping a friend in need, or supporting a worthwhile civic project. Which specific project we set for ourselves is determined by our character. A good person starts from worthwhile concrete ends because his habits and emotional orientation have given him the ability to recognize that such goals are within reach, here and now. Those who are defective in character may have the rational skill needed to achieve their ends—the skill Aristotle calls cleverness (1144a23–8)—but often the ends they seek are worthless. The cause of this deficiency lies not in some impairment in their capacity to reason—for we are assuming that they are normal in this respect—but in the training of their passions.

Since Aristotle often calls attention to the imprecision of ethical theory (see e.g. 1104a1–7), it comes as a surprise to many readers of the Ethics that he begins Book VI with the admission that his earlier statements about the mean need supplementation because they are not yet clear ( saphes ). In every practical discipline, the expert aims at a mark and uses right reason to avoid the twin extremes of excess and deficiency. But what is this right reason, and by what standard ( horos ) is it to be determined? Aristotle says that unless we answer that question, we will be none the wiser—just as a student of medicine will have failed to master his subject if he can only say that the right medicines to administer are the ones that are prescribed by medical expertise, but has no standard other than this (1138b18–34).

It is not easy to understand the point Aristotle is making here. Has he not already told us that there can be no complete theoretical guide to ethics, that the best one can hope for is that in particular situations one’s ethical habits and practical wisdom will help one determine what to do? Furthermore, Aristotle nowhere announces, in the remainder of Book VI, that we have achieved the greater degree of accuracy that he seems to be looking for. The rest of this Book is a discussion of the various kinds of intellectual virtues: theoretical wisdom, science ( epistêmê ), intuitive understanding ( nous ), practical wisdom, and craft expertise. Aristotle explains what each of these states of mind is, draws various contrasts among them, and takes up various questions that can be raised about their usefulness. At no point does he explicitly return to the question he raised at the beginning of Book VI; he never says, “and now we have the standard of right reason that we were looking for”. Nor is it easy to see how his discussion of these five intellectual virtues can bring greater precision to the doctrine of the mean.

We can make some progress towards solving this problem if we remind ourselves that at the beginning of the Ethics , Aristotle describes his inquiry as an attempt to develop a better understanding of what our ultimate aim should be. The sketchy answer he gives in Book I is that happiness consists in virtuous activity. In Books II through V, he describes the virtues of the part of the soul that is rational in that it can be attentive to reason, even though it is not capable of deliberating. But precisely because these virtues are rational only in this derivative way, they are a less important component of our ultimate end than is the intellectual virtue—practical wisdom—with which they are integrated. If what we know about virtue is only what is said in Books II through V, then our grasp of our ultimate end is radically incomplete, because we still have not studied the intellectual virtue that enables us to reason well in any given situation. One of the things, at least, towards which Aristotle is gesturing, as he begins Book VI, is practical wisdom. This state of mind has not yet been analyzed, and that is one reason why he complains that his account of our ultimate end is not yet clear enough.

But is practical wisdom the only ingredient of our ultimate end that has not yet been sufficiently discussed? Book VI discusses five intellectual virtues, not just practical wisdom, but it is clear that at least one of these—craft knowledge—is considered only in order to provide a contrast with the others. Aristotle is not recommending that his readers make this intellectual virtue part of their ultimate aim. But what of the remaining three: science, intuitive understanding, and the virtue that combines them, theoretical wisdom? Are these present in Book VI only in order to provide a contrast with practical wisdom, or is Aristotle saying that these too must be components of our goal? He does not fully address this issue, but it is evident from several of his remarks in Book VI that he takes theoretical wisdom to be a more valuable state of mind than practical wisdom.

It is strange if someone thinks that politics or practical wisdom is the most excellent kind of knowledge, unless man is the best thing in the cosmos. (1141a20–22)

He says that theoretical wisdom produces happiness by being a part of virtue (1144a3–6), and that practical wisdom looks to the development of theoretical wisdom, and issues commands for its sake (1145a8–11). So it is clear that exercising theoretical wisdom is a more important component of our ultimate goal than practical wisdom.

Even so, it may still seem perplexing that these two intellectual virtues, either separately or collectively, should somehow fill a gap in the doctrine of the mean. Having read Book VI and completed our study of what these two forms of wisdom are, how are we better able to succeed in finding the mean in particular situations?

The answer to this question may be that Aristotle does not intend Book VI to provide a full answer to that question, but rather to serve as a prolegomenon to an answer. For it is only near the end of Book X that he presents a full discussion of the relative merits of these two kinds of intellectual virtue, and comments on the different degrees to which each needs to be provided with resources. In X.7–8, he argues that the happiest kind of life is that of a philosopher—someone who exercises, over a long period of time, the virtue of theoretical wisdom, and has sufficient resources for doing so. (We will discuss these chapters more fully in section 10 below.) One of his reasons for thinking that such a life is superior to the second-best kind of life—that of a political leader, someone who devotes himself to the exercise of practical rather than theoretical wisdom—is that it requires less external equipment (1178a23–b7). Aristotle has already made it clear in his discussion of the ethical virtues that someone who is greatly honored by his community and commands large financial resources is in a position to exercise a higher order of ethical virtue than is someone who receives few honors and has little property. The virtue of magnificence is superior to mere liberality, and similarly greatness of soul is a higher excellence than the ordinary virtue that has to do with honor. (These qualities are discussed in IV.1–4.) The grandest expression of ethical virtue requires great political power, because it is the political leader who is in a position to do the greatest amount of good for the community. The person who chooses to lead a political life, and who aims at the fullest expression of practical wisdom, has a standard for deciding what level of resources he needs: he should have friends, property, and honors in sufficient quantities to allow his practical wisdom to express itself without impediment. But if one chooses instead the life of a philosopher, then one will look to a different standard—the fullest expression of theoretical wisdom—and one will need a smaller supply of these resources.

This enables us to see how Aristotle’s treatment of the intellectual virtues does give greater content and precision to the doctrine of the mean. The best standard is the one adopted by the philosopher; the second-best is the one adopted by the political leader. In either case, it is the exercise of an intellectual virtue that provides a guideline for making important quantitative decisions. This supplement to the doctrine of the mean is fully compatible with Aristotle’s thesis that no set of rules, no matter how long and detailed, obviates the need for deliberative and ethical virtue. If one chooses the life of a philosopher, one should keep the level of one’s resources high enough to secure the leisure necessary for such a life, but not so high that one’s external equipment becomes a burden and a distraction rather than an aid to living well. That gives one a firmer idea of how to hit the mean, but it still leaves the details to be worked out. The philosopher will need to determine, in particular situations, where justice lies, how to spend wisely, when to meet or avoid a danger, and so on. All of the normal difficulties of ethical life remain, and they can be solved only by means of a detailed understanding of the particulars of each situation. Having philosophy as one’s ultimate aim does not put an end to the need for developing and exercising practical wisdom and the ethical virtues.

In VII.1–10 Aristotle investigates character traits—continence and incontinence—that are not as blameworthy as the vices but not as praiseworthy as the virtues. (We began our discussion of these qualities in section 4.) The Greek terms are akrasia (“incontinence”; literally: “lack of mastery”) and enkrateia (“continence”; literally “mastery”). An akratic person goes against reason as a result of some pathos (“emotion”, “feeling”). Like the akratic, an enkratic person experiences a feeling that is contrary to reason; but unlike the akratic, he acts in accordance with reason. His defect consists solely in the fact that, more than most people, he experiences passions that conflict with his rational choice. The akratic person has not only this defect, but has the further flaw that he gives in to feeling rather than reason more often than the average person.

Aristotle distinguishes two kinds of akrasia: impetuosity ( propeteia ) and weakness ( astheneia ). The person who is weak goes through a process of deliberation and makes a choice; but rather than act in accordance with his reasoned choice, he acts under the influence of a passion. By contrast, the impetuous person does not go through a process of deliberation and does not make a reasoned choice; he simply acts under the influence of a passion. At the time of action, the impetuous person experiences no internal conflict. But once his act has been completed, he regrets what he has done. One could say that he deliberates, if deliberation were something that post-dated rather than preceded action; but the thought process he goes through after he acts comes too late to save him from error.

It is important to bear in mind that when Aristotle talks about impetuosity and weakness, he is discussing chronic conditions. The impetuous person is someone who acts emotionally and fails to deliberate not just once or twice but with some frequency; he makes this error more than most people do. Because of this pattern in his actions, we would be justified in saying of the impetuous person that had his passions not prevented him from doing so, he would have deliberated and chosen an action different from the one he did perform.

The two kinds of passions that Aristotle focuses on, in his treatment of akrasia , are the appetite for pleasure and anger. Either can lead to impetuosity and weakness. But Aristotle gives pride of place to the appetite for pleasure as the passion that undermines reason. He calls the kind of akrasia caused by an appetite for pleasure “unqualified akrasia ”—or, as we might say, akrasia “full stop”; akrasia caused by anger he considers a qualified form of akrasia and calls it akrasia “with respect to anger”. We thus have these four forms of akrasia : (A) impetuosity caused by pleasure, (B) impetuosity caused by anger, (C) weakness caused by pleasure (D) weakness caused by anger. It should be noticed that Aristotle’s treatment of akrasia is heavily influenced by Plato’s tripartite division of the soul in the Republic . Plato holds that either the spirited part (which houses anger, as well as other emotions) or the appetitive part (which houses the desire for physical pleasures) can disrupt the dictates of reason and result in action contrary to reason. The same threefold division of the soul can be seen in Aristotle’s approach to this topic.

Although Aristotle characterizes akrasia and enkrateia in terms of a conflict between reason and feeling, his detailed analysis of these states of mind shows that what takes place is best described in a more complicated way. For the feeling that undermines reason contains some thought, which may be implicitly general. As Aristotle says, anger “reasoning as it were that one must fight against such a thing, is immediately provoked” (1149a33–4). And although in the next sentence he denies that our appetite for pleasure works in this way, he earlier had said that there can be a syllogism that favors pursuing enjoyment: “Everything sweet is pleasant, and this is sweet” leads to the pursuit of a particular pleasure (1147a31–30). Perhaps what he has in mind is that pleasure can operate in either way: it can prompt action unmediated by a general premise, or it can prompt us to act on such a syllogism. By contrast, anger always moves us by presenting itself as a bit of general, although hasty, reasoning.

But of course Aristotle does not mean that a conflicted person has more than one faculty of reason. Rather his idea seems to be that in addition to our full-fledged reasoning capacity, we also have psychological mechanisms that are capable of a limited range of reasoning. When feeling conflicts with reason, what occurs is better described as a fight between feeling-allied-with-limited-reasoning and full-fledged reason. Part of us—reason—can remove itself from the distorting influence of feeling and consider all relevant factors, positive and negative. But another part of us—feeling or emotion—has a more limited field of reasoning—and sometimes it does not even make use of it.

Although “passion” is sometimes used as a translation of Aristotle’s word pathos (other alternatives are “emotion” and “feeling”), it is important to bear in mind that his term does not necessarily designate a strong psychological force. Anger is a pathos whether it is weak or strong; so too is the appetite for bodily pleasures. And he clearly indicates that it is possible for an akratic person to be defeated by a weak pathos —the kind that most people would easily be able to control (1150a9–b16). So the general explanation for the occurrence of akrasia cannot be that the strength of a passion overwhelms reason. Aristotle should therefore be acquitted of an accusation made against him by J.L. Austin in a well-known footnote to his paper, “A Plea For Excuses”. Plato and Aristotle, he says, collapsed all succumbing to temptation into losing control of ourselves—a mistake illustrated by this example:

I am very partial to ice cream, and a bombe is served divided into segments corresponding one to one with the persons at High Table: I am tempted to help myself to two segments and do so, thus succumbing to temptation and even conceivably (but why necessarily?) going against my principles. But do I lose control of myself? Do I raven, do I snatch the morsels from the dish and wolf them down, impervious to the consternation of my colleagues? Not a bit of it. We often succumb to temptation with calm and even with finesse. (1957: 24, fn 13 [1961: 146])

With this, Aristotle can agree: the pathos for the bombe can be a weak one, and in some people that will be enough to get them to act in a way that is disapproved by their reason at the very time of action.

What is most remarkable about Aristotle’s discussion of akrasia is that he defends a position close to that of Socrates. When he first introduces the topic of akrasia , and surveys some of the problems involved in understanding this phenomenon, he says (1145b25–8) that Socrates held that there is no akrasia , and he describes this as a thesis that clearly conflicts with the appearances ( phainomena ). Since he says that his goal is to preserve as many of the appearances as possible (1145b2–7), it may come as a surprise that when he analyzes the conflict between reason and feeling, he arrives at the conclusion that in a way Socrates was right after all (1147b13–17). For, he says, the person who acts against reason does not have what is thought to be unqualified knowledge; in a way he has knowledge, but in a way does not.

Aristotle explains what he has in mind by comparing akrasia to the condition of other people who might be described as knowing in a way, but not in an unqualified way. His examples are people who are asleep, mad, or drunk; he also compares the akratic to a student who has just begun to learn a subject, or an actor on the stage (1147a10–24). All of these people, he says, can utter the very words used by those who have knowledge; but their talk does not prove that they really have knowledge, strictly speaking.

These analogies can be taken to mean that the form of akrasia that Aristotle calls weakness rather than impetuosity always results from some diminution of cognitive or intellectual acuity at the moment of action. The akratic says, at the time of action, that he ought not to indulge in this particular pleasure at this time. But does he know or even believe that he should refrain? Aristotle might be taken to reply: yes and no. He has some degree of recognition that he must not do this now, but not full recognition. His feeling, even if it is weak, has to some degree prevented him from completely grasping or affirming the point that he should not do this. And so in a way Socrates was right. When reason remains unimpaired and unclouded, its dictates will carry us all the way to action, so long as we are able to act.

But Aristotle’s agreement with Socrates is only partial, because he insists on the power of the emotions to rival, weaken or bypass reason. Emotion challenges reason in all three of these ways. In both the akratic and the enkratic, it competes with reason for control over action; even when reason wins, it faces the difficult task of having to struggle with an internal rival. Second, in the akratic, it temporarily robs reason of its full acuity, thus handicapping it as a competitor. It is not merely a rival force, in these cases; it is a force that keeps reason from fully exercising its power. And third, passion can make someone impetuous; here its victory over reason is so powerful that the latter does not even enter into the arena of conscious reflection until it is too late to influence action.

Supplementary Document: Alternate Readings of Aristotle on Akrasia

Aristotle frequently emphasizes the importance of pleasure to human life and therefore to his study of how we should live (see for example 1099a7–20 and 1104b3–1105a16), but his full-scale examination of the nature and value of pleasure is found in two places: VII.11–14 and X.1–5. It is odd that pleasure receives two lengthy treatments; no other topic in the Ethics is revisited in this way. Book VII of the Nicomachean Ethics is identical to Book VI of the Eudemian Ethics ; for unknown reasons, the editor of the former decided to include within it both the treatment of pleasure that is unique to that work (X.1–5) and the study that is common to both treatises (VII.11–14). The two accounts are broadly similar. They agree about the value of pleasure, defend a theory about its nature, and oppose competing theories. Aristotle holds that a happy life must include pleasure, and he therefore opposes those who argue that pleasure is by its nature bad. He insists that there are other pleasures besides those of the senses, and that the best pleasures are the ones experienced by virtuous people who have sufficient resources for excellent activity.

Book VII offers a brief account of what pleasure is and is not. It is not a process but an unimpeded activity of a natural state (1153a7–17). Aristotle does not elaborate on what a natural state is, but he obviously has in mind the healthy condition of the body, especially its sense faculties, and the virtuous condition of the soul. Little is said about what it is for an activity to be unimpeded, but Aristotle does remind us that virtuous activity is impeded by the absence of a sufficient supply of external goods (1153b17–19). One might object that people who are sick or who have moral deficiencies can experience pleasure, even though Aristotle does not take them to be in a natural state. He has two strategies for responding. First, when a sick person experiences some degree of pleasure as he is being restored to health, the pleasure he is feeling is caused by the fact that he is no longer completely ill. Some small part of him is in a natural state and is acting without impediment (1152b35–6). Second, Aristotle is willing to say that what seems pleasant to some people may in fact not be pleasant (1152b31–2), just as what tastes bitter to an unhealthy palate may not be bitter. To call something a pleasure is not only to report a state of mind but also to endorse it to others. Aristotle’s analysis of the nature of pleasure is not meant to apply to every case in which something seems pleasant to someone, but only to activities that really are pleasures. All of these are unimpeded activities of a natural state.

It follows from this conception of pleasure that every instance of pleasure must be good to some extent. For how could an unimpeded activity of a natural state be bad or a matter of indifference? On the other hand, Aristotle does not mean to imply that every pleasure should be chosen. He briefly mentions the point that pleasures compete with each other, so that the enjoyment of one kind of activity impedes other activities that cannot be carried out at the same time (1153a20–22). His point is simply that although some pleasures may be good, they are not worth choosing when they interfere with other activities that are far better. This point is developed more fully in Ethics X.5.

Furthermore, Aristotle’s analysis allows him to speak of certain pleasures as “bad without qualification” (1152b26–33), even though pleasure is the unimpeded activity of a natural state. To call a pleasure “bad without qualification” is to insist that it should be avoided, but allow that nonetheless it should be chosen in constraining circumstances. The pleasure of recovering from an illness, for example, is bad without qualification—meaning that it is not one of the pleasures one would ideally choose, if one could completely control one’s circumstances. Although it really is a pleasure and so something can be said in its favor, it is so inferior to other goods that ideally one ought to forego it. Nonetheless, it is a pleasure worth having—if one adds the qualification that it is only worth having in undesirable circumstances. The pleasure of recovering from an illness is good, because some small part of oneself is in a natural state and is acting without impediment; but it can also be called bad, if what one means by this is that one should avoid getting into a situation in which one experiences that pleasure.

Aristotle indicates several times in VII.11–14 that merely to say that pleasure is a good does not do it enough justice; he also wants to say that the highest good is a pleasure. Here he is influenced by an idea expressed in the opening line of the Ethics : the good is that at which all things aim. In VII.13, he hints at the idea that all living things imitate the contemplative activity of god (1153b31–2). Plants and non-human animals seek to reproduce themselves because that is their way of participating in an unending series, and this is the closest they can come to the ceaseless thinking of the unmoved mover. Aristotle makes this point in several of his works (see for example De Anima 415a23–b7), and in Ethics X.7–8 he gives a full defense of the idea that the happiest human life resembles the life of a divine being. He conceives of god as a being who continually enjoys a “single and simple pleasure” (1154b26)—the pleasure of pure thought—whereas human beings, because of their complexity, grow weary of whatever they do. He will elaborate on these points in X.8; in VII.11–14, he appeals to his conception of divine activity only in order to defend the thesis that our highest good consists in a certain kind of pleasure. Human happiness does not consist in every kind of pleasure, but it does consist in one kind of pleasure—the pleasure felt by a human being who engages in theoretical activity and thereby imitates the pleasurable thinking of god.

Book X offers a much more elaborate account of what pleasure is and what it is not. It is not a process, because processes go through developmental stages: building a temple is a process because the temple is not present all at once, but only comes into being through stages that unfold over time. By contrast, pleasure, like seeing and many other activities, is not something that comes into existence through a developmental process. If I am enjoying a conversation, for example, I do not need to wait until it is finished in order to feel pleased; I take pleasure in the activity all along the way. The defining nature of pleasure is that it is an activity that accompanies other activities, and in some sense brings them to completion. Pleasure occurs when something within us, having been brought into good condition, is activated in relation to an external object that is also in good condition. The pleasure of drawing, for example, requires both the development of drawing ability and an object of attention that is worth drawing.

The conception of pleasure that Aristotle develops in Book X is obviously closely related to the analysis he gives in Book VII. But the theory proposed in the later Book brings out a point that had received too little attention earlier: pleasure is by its nature something that accompanies something else. It is not enough to say that it is what happens when we are in good condition and are active in unimpeded circumstances; one must add to that point the further idea that pleasure plays a certain role in complementing something other than itself. Drawing well and the pleasure of drawing well always occur together, and so they are easy to confuse, but Aristotle’s analysis in Book X emphasizes the importance of making this distinction.

He says that pleasure completes the activity that it accompanies, but then adds, mysteriously, that it completes the activity in the manner of an end that is added on. In the translation of W.D. Ross, it “supervenes as the bloom of youth does on those in the flower of their age” (1174b33). It is unclear what thought is being expressed here, but perhaps Aristotle is merely trying to avoid a possible misunderstanding: when he says that pleasure completes an activity, he does not mean that the activity it accompanies is in some way defective, and that the pleasure improves the activity by removing this defect. Aristotle’s language is open to that misinterpretation because the verb that is translated “complete” ( teleein ) can also mean “perfect”. The latter might be taken to mean that the activity accompanied by pleasure has not yet reached a sufficiently high level of excellence, and that the role of pleasure is to bring it to the point of perfection. Aristotle does not deny that when we take pleasure in an activity we get better at it, but when he says that pleasure completes an activity by supervening on it, like the bloom that accompanies those who have achieved the highest point of physical beauty, his point is that the activity complemented by pleasure is already perfect, and the pleasure that accompanies it is a bonus that serves no further purpose. Taking pleasure in an activity does help us improve at it, but enjoyment does not cease when perfection is achieved—on the contrary, that is when pleasure is at its peak. That is when it reveals most fully what it is: an added bonus that crowns our achievement.

It is clear, at any rate, that in Book X Aristotle gives a fuller account of what pleasure is than he had in Book VII. We should take note of a further difference between these two discussions: In Book X, he makes the point that pleasure is a good but not the good. He cites and endorses an argument given by Plato in the Philebus : If we imagine a life filled with pleasure and then mentally add wisdom to it, the result is made more desirable. But the good is something that cannot be improved upon in this way. Therefore pleasure is not the good (1172b23–35). By contrast, in Book VII Aristotle strongly implies that the pleasure of contemplation is the good, because in one way or another all living beings aim at this sort of pleasure. Aristotle observes in Book X that what all things aim at is good (1172b35–1173a1); significantly, he falls short of endorsing the argument that since all aim at pleasure, it must be the good.

Book VII makes the point that pleasures interfere with each other, and so even if all kinds of pleasures are good, it does not follow that all of them are worth choosing. One must make a selection among pleasures by determining which are better. But how is one to make this choice? Book VII does not say, but in Book X, Aristotle holds that the selection of pleasures is not to be made with reference to pleasure itself, but with reference to the activities they accompany.

Since activities differ with respect to goodness and badness, some being worth choosing, others worth avoiding, and others neither, the same is true of pleasures as well. (1175b24–6)

Aristotle’s statement implies that in order to determine whether (for example) the pleasure of virtuous activity is more desirable than that of eating, we are not to attend to the pleasures themselves but to the activities with which we are pleased. A pleasure’s goodness derives from the goodness of its associated activity. And surely the reason why pleasure is not the criterion to which we should look in making these decisions is that it is not the good. The standard we should use in making comparisons between rival options is virtuous activity, because that has been shown to be identical to happiness.

That is why Aristotle says that what is judged pleasant by a good man really is pleasant, because the good man is the measure of things (1176a15–19). He does not mean that the way to lead our lives is to search for a good man and continually rely on him to tell us what is pleasurable. Rather, his point is that there is no way of telling what is genuinely pleasurable (and therefore what is most pleasurable) unless we already have some other standard of value. Aristotle’s discussion of pleasure thus helps confirm his initial hypothesis that to live our lives well we must focus on one sort of good above all others: virtuous activity. It is the good in terms of which all other goods must be understood. Aristotle’s analysis of friendship supports the same conclusion.

The topic of Books VIII and IX of the Ethics is friendship. Although it is difficult to avoid the term “friendship” as a translation of “ philia ”, and this is an accurate term for the kind of relationship he is most interested in, we should bear in mind that he is discussing a wider range of phenomena than this translation might lead us to expect, for the Greeks use the term, “ philia ”, to name the relationship that holds among family members, and do not reserve it for voluntary relationships. Although Aristotle is interested in classifying the different forms that friendship takes, his main theme in Books VIII and IX is to show the close relationship between virtuous activity and friendship. He is vindicating his conception of happiness as virtuous activity by showing how satisfying are the relationships that a virtuous person can normally expect to have.

His taxonomy begins with the premise that there are three main reasons why one person might like someone else. (The verb, “ philein ”, which is cognate to the noun “ philia ”, can sometimes be translated “like” or even “love”—though in other cases philia involves very little in the way of feeling.) One might like someone because he is good, or because he is useful, or because he is pleasant. And so there are three bases for friendships, depending on which of these qualities binds friends together. When two individuals recognize that the other person is someone of good character, and they spend time with each other, engaged in activities that exercise their virtues, then they form one kind of friendship. If they are equally virtuous, their friendship is perfect. If, however, there is a large gap in their moral development (as between a parent and a small child, or between a husband and a wife), then although their relationship may be based on the other person’s good character, it will be imperfect precisely because of their inequality.

The imperfect friendships that Aristotle focuses on, however, are not unequal relationships based on good character. Rather, they are relationships held together because each individual regards the other as the source of some advantage to himself or some pleasure he receives. When Aristotle calls these relationships “imperfect”, he is tacitly relying on widely accepted assumptions about what makes a relationship satisfying. These friendships are defective, and have a smaller claim to be called “friendships”, because the individuals involved have little trust in each other, quarrel frequently, and are ready to break off their association abruptly. Aristotle does not mean to suggest that unequal relations based on the mutual recognition of good character are defective in these same ways. Rather, when he says that unequal relationships based on character are imperfect, his point is that people are friends in the fullest sense when they gladly spend their days together in shared activities, and this close and constant interaction is less available to those who are not equal in their moral development.

When Aristotle begins his discussion of friendship, he introduces a notion that is central to his understanding of this phenomenon: a genuine friend is someone who loves or likes another person for the sake of that other person. Wanting what is good for the sake of another he calls “good will” ( eunoia ), and friendship is reciprocal good will, provided that each recognizes the presence of this attitude in the other. Does such good will exist in all three kinds of friendship, or is it confined to relationships based on virtue? At first, Aristotle leaves open the first of these two possibilities. He says:

it is necessary that friends bear good will to each other and wish good things for each other, without this escaping their notice, because of one of the reasons mentioned. (1156a4–5)

The reasons mentioned are goodness, pleasure, and advantage; and so it seems that Aristotle is leaving room for the idea that in all three kinds of friendships, even those based on advantage and pleasure alone, the individuals wish each other well for the sake of the other.

But in fact, as Aristotle continues to develop his taxonomy, he does not choose to exploit this possibility. He speaks as though it is only in friendships based on character that one finds a desire to benefit the other person for the sake of the other person.

Those who wish good things to their friends for the sake of the latter are friends most of all, because they do so because of their friends themselves, and not coincidentally. (1156b9–11)

When one benefits someone not because of the kind of person he is, but only because of the advantages to oneself, then, Aristotle says, one is not a friend towards the other person, but only towards the profit that comes one’s way (1157a15–16).

In such statements as these, Aristotle comes rather close to saying that relationships based on profit or pleasure should not be called friendships at all. But he decides to stay close to common parlance and to use the term “friend” loosely. Friendships based on character are the ones in which each person benefits the other for the sake of other; and these are friendships most of all. Because each party benefits the other, it is advantageous to form such friendships. And since each enjoys the trust and companionship of the other, there is considerable pleasure in these relationships as well. Because these perfect friendships produce advantages and pleasures for each of the parties, there is some basis for going along with common usage and calling any relationship entered into for the sake of just one of these goods a friendship. Friendships based on advantage alone or pleasure alone deserve to be called friendships because in full-fledged friendships these two properties, advantage and pleasure, are present. It is striking that in the Ethics Aristotle never thinks of saying that the uniting factor in all friendships is the desire each friend has for the good of the other.

Aristotle does not raise questions about what it is to desire good for the sake of another person. He treats this as an easily understood phenomenon, and has no doubts about its existence. But it is also clear that he takes this motive to be compatible with a love of one’s own good and a desire for one’s own happiness. Someone who has practical wisdom will recognize that he needs friends and other resources in order to exercise his virtues over a long period of time. When he makes friends, and benefits friends he has made, he will be aware of the fact that such a relationship is good for him. And yet to have a friend is to want to benefit someone for that other person’s sake; it is not a merely self-interested strategy. Aristotle sees no difficulty here, and rightly so. For there is no reason why acts of friendship should not be undertaken partly for the good of one’s friend and partly for one’s own good. Acting for the sake of another does not in itself demand self-sacrifice. It requires caring about someone other than oneself, but does not demand some loss of care for oneself. For when we know how to benefit a friend for his sake, we exercise the ethical virtues, and this is precisely what our happiness consists in.

Aristotle makes it clear that the number of people with whom one can sustain the kind of relationship he calls a perfect friendship is quite small (IX.10). Even if one lived in a city populated entirely by perfectly virtuous citizens, the number with whom one could carry on a friendship of the perfect type would be at most a handful. For he thinks that this kind of friendship can exist only when one spends a great deal of time with the other person, participating in joint activities and engaging in mutually beneficial behavior; and one cannot cooperate on these close terms with every member of the political community. One may well ask why this kind of close friendship is necessary for happiness. If one lived in a community filled with good people, and cooperated on an occasional basis with each of them, in a spirit of good will and admiration, would that not provide sufficient scope for virtuous activity and a well-lived life? Admittedly, close friends are often in a better position to benefit each other than are fellow citizens, who generally have little knowledge of one’s individual circumstances. But this only shows that it is advantageous to be on the receiving end of a friend’s help. The more important question for Aristotle is why one needs to be on the giving end of this relationship. And obviously the answer cannot be that one needs to give in order to receive; that would turn active love for one’s friend into a mere means to the benefits received.

Aristotle attempts to answer this question in IX.11, but his treatment is disappointing. His fullest argument depends crucially on the notion that a friend is “another self”, someone, in other words, with whom one has a relationship very similar to the relationship one has with oneself. A virtuous person loves the recognition of himself as virtuous; to have a close friend is to possess yet another person, besides oneself, whose virtue one can recognize at extremely close quarters; and so, it must be desirable to have someone very much like oneself whose virtuous activity one can perceive. The argument is unconvincing because it does not explain why the perception of virtuous activity in fellow citizens would not be an adequate substitute for the perception of virtue in one’s friends.

Aristotle would be on stronger grounds if he could show that in the absence of close friends one would be severely restricted in the kinds of virtuous activities one could undertake. But he cannot present such an argument, because he does not believe it. He says that it is “finer and more godlike” to bring about the well being of a whole city than to sustain the happiness of just one person (1094b7–10). He refuses to regard private life—the realm of the household and the small circle of one’s friends—as the best or most favorable location for the exercise of virtue. He is convinced that the loss of this private sphere would greatly detract from a well-lived life, but he is hard put to explain why. He might have done better to focus on the benefits of being the object of a close friend’s solicitude. Just as property is ill cared for when it is owned by all, and just as a child would be poorly nurtured were he to receive no special parental care—points Aristotle makes in Politics II.2–5—so in the absence of friendship we would lose a benefit that could not be replaced by the care of the larger community. But Aristotle is not looking for a defense of this sort, because he conceives of friendship as lying primarily in activity rather than receptivity. It is difficult, within his framework, to show that virtuous activity towards a friend is a uniquely important good.

Since Aristotle thinks that the pursuit of one’s own happiness, properly understood, requires ethically virtuous activity and will therefore be of great value not only to one’s friends but to the larger political community as well, he argues that self-love is an entirely proper emotion—provided it is expressed in the love of virtue (IX.8). Self-love is rightly condemned when it consists in the pursuit of as large a share of external goods—particularly wealth and power—as one can acquire, because such self-love inevitably brings one into conflict with others and undermines the stability of the political community. It may be tempting to cast Aristotle’s defense of self-love into modern terms by calling him an egoist, and “egoism” is a broad enough term so that, properly defined, it can be made to fit Aristotle’s ethical outlook. If egoism is the thesis that one will always act rightly if one consults one’s self-interest, properly understood, then nothing would be amiss in identifying him as an egoist.

But egoism is sometimes understood in a stronger sense. Just as consequentialism is the thesis that one should maximize the general good, whatever the good turns out to be, so egoism can be defined as the parallel thesis that one should maximize one’s own good, whatever the good turns out to be. Egoism, in other words, can be treated as a purely formal thesis: it holds that whether the good is pleasure, or virtue, or the satisfaction of desires, one should not attempt to maximize the total amount of good in the world, but only one’s own. When egoism takes this abstract form, it is an expression of the idea that the claims of others are never worth attending to, unless in some way or other their good can be shown to serve one’s own. The only underived reason for action is self-interest; that an act helps another does not by itself provide a reason for performing it, unless some connection can be made between the good of that other and one’s own.

There is no reason to attribute this extreme form of egoism to Aristotle. On the contrary, his defense of self-love makes it clear that he is not willing to defend the bare idea that one ought to love oneself alone or above others; he defends self-love only when this emotion is tied to the correct theory of where one’s good lies, for it is only in this way that he can show that self-love need not be a destructive passion. He takes it for granted that self-love is properly condemned whenever it can be shown to be harmful to the community. It is praiseworthy only if it can be shown that a self-lover will be an admirable citizen. In making this assumption, Aristotle reveals that he thinks that the claims of other members of the community to proper treatment are intrinsically valid. This is precisely what a strong form of egoism cannot accept.

We should also keep in mind Aristotle’s statement in the Politics that the political community is prior to the individual citizen—just as the whole body is prior to any of its parts (1253a18–29). Aristotle makes use of this claim when he proposes that in the ideal community each child should receive the same education, and that the responsibility for providing such an education should be taken out of the hands of private individuals and made a matter of common concern (1337a21–7). No citizen, he says, belongs to himself; all belong to the city (1337a28–9). What he means is that when it comes to such matters as education, which affect the good of all, each individual should be guided by the collective decisions of the whole community. An individual citizen does not belong to himself, in the sense that it is not up to him alone to determine how he should act; he should subordinate his individual decision-making powers to those of the whole. The strong form of egoism we have been discussing cannot accept Aristotle’s doctrine of the priority of the city to the individual. It tells the individual that the good of others has, in itself, no valid claim on him, but that he should serve other members of the community only to the extent that he can connect their interests to his own. Such a doctrine leaves no room for the thought that the individual citizen does not belong to himself but to the whole.

In Book I Aristotle says that three kinds of lives are thought to be especially attractive: one is devoted to pleasure, a second to politics, and a third to knowledge and understanding (1095b17–19). In X.6–9 he returns to these three alternatives, and explores them more fully than he had in Book I. The life of pleasure is construed in Book I as a life devoted to physical pleasure, and is quickly dismissed because of its vulgarity. In X.6, Aristotle concedes that physical pleasures, and more generally, amusements of all sorts, are desirable in themselves, and therefore have some claim to be our ultimate end. But his discussion of happiness in Book X does not start from scratch; he builds on his thesis that pleasure cannot be our ultimate target, because what counts as pleasant must be judged by some standard other than pleasure itself, namely the judgment of the virtuous person. Amusements will not be absent from a happy life, since everyone needs relaxation, and amusements fill this need. But they play a subordinate role, because we seek relaxation in order to return to more important activities.

Aristotle turns therefore, in X.7–8, to the two remaining alternatives—politics and philosophy—and presents a series of arguments to show that the philosophical life, a life devoted to theoria (contemplation, study), is best. Theoria is not the process of learning that leads to understanding; that process is not a candidate for our ultimate end, because it is undertaken for the sake of a further goal. What Aristotle has in mind when he talks about theoria is the activity of someone who has already achieved theoretical wisdom. The happiest life is lived by someone who has a full understanding of the basic causal principles that govern the operation of the universe, and who has the resources needed for living a life devoted to the exercise of that understanding. Evidently Aristotle believes that his own life and that of his philosophical friends was the best available to a human being. He compares it to the life of a god: god thinks without interruption and endlessly, and a philosopher enjoys something similar for a limited period of time.

It may seem odd that after devoting so much attention to the practical virtues, Aristotle should conclude his treatise with the thesis that the best activity of the best life is not ethical. In fact, some scholars have held that X.7–8 are deeply at odds with the rest of the Ethics ; they take Aristotle to be saying that we should be prepared to act unethically, if need be, in order to devote ourselves as much as possible to contemplation. But it is difficult to believe that he intends to reverse himself so abruptly, and there are many indications that he intends the arguments of X.7–8 to be continuous with the themes he emphasizes throughout the rest of the Ethics . The best way to understand him is to take him to be assuming that one will need the ethical virtues in order to live the life of a philosopher, even though exercising those virtues is not the philosopher’s ultimate end. To be adequately equipped to live a life of thought and discussion, one will need practical wisdom, temperance, justice, and the other ethical virtues. To say that there is something better even than ethical activity, and that ethical activity promotes this higher goal, is entirely compatible with everything else that we find in the Ethics .

Although Aristotle’s principal goal in X.7–8 is to show the superiority of philosophy to politics, he does not deny that a political life is happy. Perfect happiness, he says, consists in contemplation; but he indicates that the life devoted to practical thought and ethical virtue is happy in a secondary way. He thinks of this second-best life as that of a political leader, because he assumes that the person who most fully exercises such qualities as justice and greatness of soul is the man who has the large resources needed to promote the common good of the city. The political life has a major defect, despite the fact that it consists in fully exercising the ethical virtues, because it is a life devoid of philosophical understanding and activity. Were someone to combine both careers, practicing politics at certain times and engaged in philosophical discussion at other times (as Plato’s philosopher-kings do), he would lead a life better than that of Aristotle’s politician, but worse than that of Aristotle’s philosopher.

But his complaint about the political life is not simply that it is devoid of philosophical activity. The points he makes against it reveal drawbacks inherent in ethical and political activity. Perhaps the most telling of these defects is that the life of the political leader is in a certain sense unleisurely (1177b4–15). What Aristotle has in mind when he makes this complaint is that ethical activities are remedial: they are needed when something has gone wrong, or threatens to do so. Courage, for example, is exercised in war, and war remedies an evil; it is not something we should wish for. Aristotle implies that all other political activities have the same feature, although perhaps to a smaller degree. Corrective justice would provide him with further evidence for his thesis—but what of justice in the distribution of goods? Perhaps Aristotle would reply that in existing political communities a virtuous person must accommodate himself to the least bad method of distribution, because, human nature being what it is, a certain amount of injustice must be tolerated. As the courageous person cannot be completely satisfied with his courageous action, no matter how much self-mastery it shows, because he is a peace-lover and not a killer, so the just person living in the real world must experience some degree of dissatisfaction with his attempts to give each person his due. The pleasures of exercising the ethical virtues are, in normal circumstances, mixed with pain. Unalloyed pleasure is available to us only when we remove ourselves from the all-too-human world and contemplate the rational order of the cosmos. No human life can consist solely in these pure pleasures; and in certain circumstances one may owe it to one’s community to forego a philosophical life and devote oneself to the good of the city. But the paradigms of human happiness are those people who are lucky enough to devote much of their time to the study of a world more orderly than the human world we inhabit.

Although Aristotle argues for the superiority of the philosophical life in X.7–8, he says in X.9, the final chapter of the Ethics , that his project is not yet complete, because we can make human beings virtuous, or good even to some small degree, only if we undertake a study of the art of legislation. The final section of the Ethics is therefore intended as a prolegomenon to Aristotle’s political writings. We must investigate the kinds of political systems exhibited by existing Greek cities, the forces that destroy or preserve cities, and the best sort of political order. Although the study of virtue Aristotle has just completed is meant to be helpful to all human beings who have been brought up well—even those who have no intention of pursuing a political career—it is also designed to serve a larger purpose. Human beings cannot achieve happiness, or even something that approximates happiness, unless they live in communities that foster good habits and provide the basic equipment of a well-lived life.

The study of the human good has therefore led to two conclusions: The best life is not to be found in the practice of politics. But the well being of whole communities depends on the willingness of some to lead a second-best life—a life devoted to the study and practice of the art of politics, and to the expression of those qualities of thought and passion that exhibit our rational self-mastery.

• appearances: phainomena
• beautiful: kalon
• clear: saphes
• complete (verb, also: to perfect): telein
• condition: hexis
• continence (literally: mastery): enkrateia
• continent: enkratês
• disposition: hexis
• emotion: pathos
• evil: kakos , phaulos
• excellence: aretê
• feeling: pathos
• fine: kalon
• flourishing: eudaimonia
• friendship: philia ; philein (the verb cognate to the noun “ philia ”, can sometimes be translated “like” or even “love”)
• function: ergon
• good will: eunoia
• happiness: eudaimonia
• happy: eudaimon
• impetuosity: propeteia
• incontinence (literally: lack of mastery): akrasia
• incontinent: akratês
• intuitive understanding: nous
• live well: eu zên
• practical wisdom: phronêsis
• science: epistêmê
• standard: horos
• state: hexis
• task: ergon
• virtue: aretê
• weakness: astheneia
• work: ergon

Further Reading

Broadie 1991; Bostock 2000; Burger 2008; Gauthier & Jolif 1958–59; Hall 2019; Hardie 1980; Pakaluk 2005; Price 2011; Reeve 2012a; Urmson 1987.

Anton & Preus (eds.) 1991; Barnes, Schofield, & Sorabji (eds.) 1977; Bartlett & Collins (eds.) 1999; Engstrom & Whiting (eds.) 1996; Heinaman (ed.) 1995; Kraut (ed.) 2006b; Miller (ed.) 2011; Natali (ed.) 2009; Pakaluk & Pearson (eds.) 2010; Polansky (ed.) 2014; Roche (ed.) 1988c; Rorty (ed.) 1980; Sherman (ed.) 1999; Sim (ed.) 1995.

C. Studies of Particular Topics

Kenny 1978, 1979, 1992; Rowe 1971.

Barnes 1980; Berryman 2019; J.M. Cooper 1999 (ch. 12); Frede 2012; Heinaman (ed.) 1995; Irwin 1988b; Karbowski 2014b, 2015a, 2015b, 2019; Kontos 2011; Kraut 1998; McDowell 1995; Nussbaum 1985, 1986 (chs 8–9); Reeve 1992 (ch. 1), 2012b; Roche 1988b, 1992; Scott 2015; Segvic 2002; Shields 2012a; Zingano 2007b.

Annas 1993 (ch. 18); Barney 2008; Broadie 2005, 2007a; Charles 1999; Clark 1975 (14–27, 145–63); J.M. Cooper 1986 (chs 1, 3), 1999 (chs 9, 13); Curzer 1991; Gadamer 1986; Gerson 2004; Gomez-Lobo 1989; Heinaman 2002, 2007; Irwin 2012; Keyt 1978; Korsgaard 1986a, 1986b; Kraut 1979a, 1979b, 1989, 2002 (ch. 3); Lawrence 1993, 1997, 2001; G.R. Lear 2000; J. Lear 2000; MacDonald 1989; Natali 2010; Nussbaum 1986 (chs 11, 12); Purinton 1998; Reeve 1992 (chs 3, 4); Roche 1988a; Santas 2001 (chs 6–7); Scott 1999, 2000; Segvic 2004; Suits 1974; Van Cleemput 2006; Wedin 1981; N. White 2002, 2006; S. White 1992; Whiting 1986, 1988; Wielenberg 2004; Williams 1985 (ch. 3).

Brickhouse 2003; Brown 1997; Brunschwig 1996; Clark 1975 (84–97); N. Cooper 1989; Curzer 1990, 1995, 1996, 1997, 2005, 2012; Di Muzio 2000; Gardiner 2001; Gottlieb 1991, 1994a, 1994b, 1996, 2009; Halper 1999; Hardie 1978; Hursthouse 1988; Hutchinson 1986; Irwin 1988a; Jimenez 2020; Kraut 2002 (ch. 4), 2012, 2013; Leunissen 2012, 2013, 2017; Lorenz 2009; McKerlie 2001; Pakaluk 2004; Pearson 2006, 2007; Peterson 1988; Russell 2012a; Santas 2001 (ch. 8); Scaltsas 1995; Schütrumpf 1989; Sherman 1989, 1997; Sim 2007; Taylor 2004; Telfer 1989–90; Tuozzo 1995; Whiting 1996; Young 1988; Yu 2007.

Broadie 1998; Charles 1984, 2007; Coope 2012; J. Cooper 1986 (ch. 1), 1999 (chs 10, 11, 19); Dahl 1984; Destrée 2007; Engberg-Pedersen 1983; Fortenbaugh 1975; Gottlieb, 2021; Gröngross 2007; Hursthouse 1984; Kontos 2018; Kontos 2021; Kraut 2006a; Lorenz 2006; McDowell 1996a, 1996b, 1998; McKerlie 1998; Meyer 1993; Milo 1966; Moss 2011, 2012; Natali (ed.) 2009; Nussbaum 1986 (ch. 10); Olfert 2017; Pakaluk & Pearson (eds.) 2010; Pickavé & Whiting 2008; Politis 1998; Reeve 1992 (ch. 2), 2013; Segvic 2009a; Sherman 2000; Taylor 2003b; Walsh 1963; Zingano 2007a.

Gosling &Taylor 1982 (chs 11–17); Gottlieb 1993; Natali (ed.) 2009; Owen 1971; Pearson 2012; Rorty 1974; Taylor 2003a, 2003b; Urmson 1967; Warren 2009; Wolfsdorf 2013 (ch. 6).

Annas 1977, 1993 (ch. 12); Brewer 2005; J.M. Cooper 1999 (chs 14, 15); Hitz 2011; Kahn 1981; Milgram 1987; Nehamas 2010; Pakaluk 1998; Pangle 2003; Price 1989 (chs 4–7); Rogers 1994; Schollmeier 1994; Sherman 1987; Stern-Gillet 1995; Walker 2014; Whiting 1991.

Freeland 1998; Karbowski 2014a; Modrak 1994; Ward (ed.) 1996.

Bielskis 2020; Broadie 2006; Chappell (ed.) 2006; Garver 2006; Gill (ed.) 2005; Kraut 2018; LeBar 2013; MacIntyre 1999; Peters 2014; Russell 2012b; Stohr 2003, 2009; Wiggins 2009.

Lockwood 2005.

• 2012, Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics , Robert C. Bartlett, and Susan D. Collins (eds/trans.), Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.
• 2000, Nicomachean Ethics , Roger Crisp (ed./trans.), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CBO9780511802058
• 1999, Nicomachean Ethics , Terence H. Irwin (ed./trans.), Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co. With Introduction, Notes, and Glossary. Second edition.
• 2014, Nicomachean Ethics , C.D.C. Reeve, Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co.
• 1984, Nicomachean Ethics , W.D. Ross (trans.), revised by J.O. Urmson, in The Complete Works of Aristotle , The Revised Oxford Translation, vol. 2, Jonathan Barnes (ed.), Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984.
• 2002, Nicomachean Ethics , Christopher Rowe (trans.), Oxford: Oxford University Press, With philosophical introduction and commentary by Sarah Broadie.
• 2013, Eudemian Ethics , (Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy), Brad Inwood and Raphael Woolf (eds./trans.), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CBO9781139043281
• 2011, Eudemian Ethics , (Oxford World’s Classics), Anthony Kenny (ed./trans.), Oxford: Oxford University Press.
• 1984, Eudemian Ethics , J. Solomon (trans.), in The Complete Works of Aristotle , The Revised Oxford Translation, volume 2, Jonathan Barnes (ed.), Princeton: Princeton University Press.
• 1952, Eudemian Ethics , H. Rackham (trans.), in the Loeb Classical Library, Aristotle, vol. 20, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
• 1992, Aristotle’s Eudemian Ethics: Books I, II, and VIII , M.J. Woods (trans.), Second edition, Oxford: Clarendon Press.
• Annas, Julia, 1977, “Plato and Aristotle on Friendship and Altruism”, Mind , 86: 532–54. doi:10.1093/mind/LXXXVI.344.532
• –––, 1993, The Morality of Happiness , New York: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/0195096525.001.0001
• Anton, John P. & Anthony Preus (eds.), 1991, Aristotle’s Ethics: Essays in Ancient Greek Philosophy , vol. 5, Albany, NY: The State University of New York Press, 1991.
• Austin, J. L., 1957 [1961], “A Plea for Excuses: The Presidential Address”, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society , 57: 1–30. Reprinted in his Philosophical Papers , Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1961. doi:10.1093/aristotelian/57.1.1
• Barnes, Jonathan, 1980, “Aristotle and the Methods of Ethics”, Revue Internationale de la Philosophie , 34(133/134): 490–511.
• Barnes, Jonathan, Malcolm Schofield, and Richard Sorabji (eds.), 1977, Articles on Aristotle , vol. 2, Ethics and Politics , London: Duckworth, 1977.
• Barney, Rachel, 2008, “Aristotle’s Argument for a Human Function”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 34(Summer): 293–322.
• Bartlett, Robert C. & Susan D. Collins (eds.), 1999, Action and Contemplation , Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.
• Berryman, Sylvia, 2019, Aristotle on the Sources of Ethical Life , Oxford: Oxford University Press.
• Bielskis, Andrius, Eleni Leontsinia, and Kelvin Knight (eds.), 2020, Virtue Ethics and Contemporary Aristotelianism: Modernity, Conflict, and Politics , London: Bloomsbury Academic.
• Bobonich, Christopher and Pierre Destree (eds.), 2007, Akrasia in Greek Philosophy: From Socrates to Plotinus , Leiden: Brill.
• Bostock, David, 2000, Aristotle’s Ethics , Oxford: Oxford University Press.
• Brewer, Talbot, 2005, “Virtues We Can Share: Friendship and Aristotelian Ethical Theory”, Ethics , 115(4): 721–758. doi:10.1086/430489
• Brickhouse, Thomas C., 2003, “Does Aristotle Have a Consistent Account of Vice?” Review of Metaphysics , 57(1): 3–23.
• Broadie, Sarah, 1991, Ethics with Aristotle , New York: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/0195085604.001.0001
• –––, 1998, “Interpreting Aristotle’s Directions”, in Gentzler 1998: 291–306.
• –––, 2005, “On the Idea of the Summum Bonum ”, in Gill 2005: 41–58 (ch. 2). Reprinted in Broadie 2007b: 135–152 (ch. 9).
• –––, 2006, “Aristotle and Contemporary Ethics”, in Kraut 2006: 342–361. Reprinted in Broadie 2007b: 113–134. doi:10.1002/9780470776513.ch16
• –––, 2007a, “What Should We Mean by ‘The Highest Good’?”, in Broadie 2007b: 153–165 (ch. 10).
• –––, 2007b, Aristotle and Beyond: Essays on Metaphysics and Ethics , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CBO9780511551086
• Brown, Lesley, 1997, “What is the Mean Relative to Us in Aristotle’s Ethics?” Phronesis , 42: 77–93.
• Brunschwig, Jacques, 1996, “The Aristotelian Theory of Equity”, in Michael Frede & Gisela Striker (eds.), Rationality in Greek Thought , Oxford: Clarendon Press, pp. 115–155.
• Burger, Ronna, 2008, Aristotle’s Dialogue with Socrates: on the Nicomachean Ethics , Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.
• Chappell, Timothy (ed.), 2006, Values and Virtues: Aristotelianism in Contemporary Ethics , Oxford: Clarendon Press.
• Charles, David, 1984, Aristotle’s Philosophy of Action , London: Duckworth.
• –––, 1999, “Aristotle on Well-Being and Intellectual Contemplation”, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society (Supplementary Volume), 73: 205–223.
• –––, 2007, “Aristotle’s Weak Akrates: What does her Ignorance Consist in?”, in Bobonich and Destree 2007: 139–166.
• Clark, Stephen R.L., 1975, Aristotle’s Man: Speculations upon Aristotelian Anthropology , Oxford: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198245162.001.0001
• Coope, Ursula, 2012, “Why does Aristotle Think that Ethical Virtue is Required for Practical Wisdom?” Phronesis , 57(2): 142–163. doi:10.1163/156852812X628998
• Cooper, John M., 1986, Reason and Human Good in Aristotle , Indianapolis: Hackett.
• –––, 1999, Reason and Emotion: Essays on Ancient Moral Psychology and Ethical Theory , Princeton: Princeton University Press.
• Cooper, Neil, 1989, “Aristotle’s Crowning Virtue”, Apeiron , 22(3): 191–205. doi:10.1515/APEIRON.1989.22.3.191
• Curzer, Howard J., 1990, “A Great Philosopher’s Not So Great Account of Great Virtue: Aristotle’s Treatment of ‘Greatness of Soul’”, Canadian Journal of Philosophy , 20(4): 517–537.
• Curzer, Howard J., 1991, “The Supremely Happy Life in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics ”, Apeiron , 24(1): 47–69. doi:10.1515/APEIRON.1991.24.1.47
• –––, 1995, “Aristotle’s Account of the Virtue of Justice”, Apeiron , 28(3): 207–238. doi:10.1515/APEIRON.1995.28.3.207
• –––, 1996, “A Defense of Aristotle’s Doctrine that Virtue Is a Mean”, Ancient Philosophy , 16(1): 129–138. doi:10.5840/ancientphil199616116
• –––, 1997, “Aristotle’s Account of the Virtue of Temperance in Nicomachean Ethics III 10–11”, Journal of the History of Philosophy , 35(1): 5–25. doi:10.1353/hph.1997.0008
• –––, 2005, “How Good People Do Bad Things: Aristotle on the Misdeeds of the Virtuous”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 28(Summer): 233–272.
• –––, 2012, Aristotle and the Virtues , Oxford: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199693726.001.0001
• Dahl, Norman O., 1984, Practical Reason, Aristotle, and Weakness of Will , Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press.
• Destrée, Pierre, 2007, “Aristotle on the Causes of Akrasia”, in Bobonich and Destree 2007: 139–166.
• Di Muzio, Gianluca, 2000, “Aristotle on Improving One’s Character”, Phronesis , 45(3): 205–219. doi:10.1163/156852800510180
• Engberg-Pedersen, Troels, 1983, Aristotle’s Theory of Moral Insight , Oxford: Clarendon Press.
• Engstrom, Stephen and Jennifer Whiting (eds.), 1996, Aristotle, Kant, and the Stoics , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
• Fortenbaugh, W.W., 1975, Aristotle on Emotion , London: Duckworth.
• Frede, Dorothea, 2012, “The Endoxon Mystique: What Endoxa Are and What They are Not”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 43(Winter): 185–216.
• Freeland, Cynthia (ed.), 1998, Feminist Interpretations of Aristotle , University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press.
• Gadamer, Hans-Georg, 1986, The Idea of the Good in Platonic-Aristotelian Philosophy , New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
• Gardiner, Stephen M., 2001, “Aristotle’s Basic and Non-Basic Virtues”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 20(Summer): 261–295.
• Garver, Eugene, 2006, Confronting Aristotle’s Ethics: Ancient and Modern Morality , Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.
• Gauthier, R.A. & J.Y. Jolif, 1958–9, Aristote: L’Ethique à Nicomaque , 3 vols. Louvain: Publications Universitaires de Louvain.
• Gentzler, Jyl (ed.), 1998, Method in Ancient Philosophy , Oxford: Clarendon Press.
• Gerson, Lloyd, 2004, “Platonism in Aristotle’s Ethics”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 27(Winter): 217–48.
• Gill, Christopher (ed.), 2005, Virtue, Norms, and Objectivity: Issues in Ancient and Modern Ethics , Oxford: Clarendon Press.
• Gomez-Lobo, Alfonso, 1989, “The Ergon Inference”, Phronesis , 34(1): 170–84. doi:10.1163/156852889X00116
• Gosling, J.C.B. & C.C.W. Taylor, 1982, The Greeks on Pleasure , Oxford: Clarendon Press, Chapters 11–17. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198246664.001.0001
• Gottlieb, Paula, 1991, “Aristotle and Protagoras: The Good Human Being as the Measure of Goods”, Apeiron , 24(1): 25–45. doi:10.1515/APEIRON.1991.24.1.25
• –––, 1993, “Aristotle’s Measure Doctrine and Pleasure”, Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie , 75(1): 31–46. doi: 10.1515/agph.1993.75.1.31
• –––, 1994a, “Aristotle’s ‘Nameless’ Virtues”, Apeiron , 27(1): 1–15. doi:10.1515/APEIRON.1994.27.1.1
• –––, 1994b, “Aristotle on Dividing the Soul and Uniting the Virtues”, Phronesis , 39(3): 275–290. doi:10.1163/156852894321052081
• –––, 1996, “Aristotle’s Ethical Egoism”, Pacific Philosophical Quarterly , 77(1): 1–18. doi:10.1111/j.1468-0114.1996.tb00155.x
• –––, 2009, The Virtue of Aristotle’s Ethics , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CBO9780511581526
• –––, 2021, Aristotle on Thought and Feeling , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
• Gröngross, Gösta, 2007, “Listening to Reason in Aristotle’s Moral Psychology”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 32(Summer): 251–272.
• Hall, Edith, 2019, Aristotle’s Way: How Ancient Wisdom Can Change Your Life , London: The Bodley Head.
• Halper, Edward, 1999, “The Unity of the Virtues in Aristotle”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 17: 115–144.
• Hardie, W.F.R., 1978, “ Magnanimity in Aristotle’s Ethics”, Phronesis , 78(1): 63–79. doi:10.1163/156852878X00226
• –––, 1980, Aristotle’s Ethical Theory , second edition, Oxford: Clarendon Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198246329.001.0001
• Heinaman, Robert (ed.), 1995, Aristotle and Moral Realism , Boulder, CO: Westview.
• –––, 2002, “The Improvability of Eudaimonia in the Nicomachean Ethics”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 23: 99–145.
• –––, 2007, “Eudaimonia as an Activity in Nicomachean Ethics I.8–12”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 33(Winter): 221–254.
• Hitz, Zena, 2011, “Aristotle on Self-Knowledge and Friendship” Philosophers’ Imprint , 11(12): 1–28. [ Hitz 2011 available online ]
• Hursthouse, Rosalind, 1984, “Acting and Feeling in Character: Nicomachean Ethics 3.1”, Phronesis , 29(3): 252–266. doi:10.1163/156852884X00030
• –––, 1988, “Moral Habituation”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 6: 201–219.
• Hutchinson, D.S., 1986, The Virtues of Aristotle , London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
• Irwin, Terence H., 1988a, “Disunity in the Aristotelian Virtues”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , Supplementary Volume 1988: 61–78.
• –––, 1988b, Aristotle’s First Principles , Oxford: Clarendon Press. doi:10.1093/0198242905.001.0001
• –––, 2012, “Conceptions of Happiness in the Nicomachean Ethics ”, in Shields 2012b: 495–428
• Jimenez, Marta, 2020, Aristotle on Shame and Learning to Be Good , Oxford: Oxford University Press.
• Kahn, Charles H., 1981, “Aristotle and Altruism”, Mind , 90(357): 20–40. doi:10.1093/mind/XC.357.20
• Karbowski, Joseph, 2014a, “Aristotle on the Rational Abilities of Women”, Apeiron , 47(4): 435–460. doi:10.1515/apeiron-2013-0061
• –––, 2014b, “ Endoxa , Facts, and the Starting Points of the Nicomachean Ethics ”, in Karen Margrethe Nielsen and Devon Henry (eds.), Bridging the Gap Between Aristotle’s Science and Ethics , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CBO9780511846397.007
• –––, 2015a, “Is Aristotle’s Eudemian Ethics Quasi-Mathematical?” Apeiron , 48(3): 368–386. doi:10.1515/apeiron-2014-0046
• –––, 2015b, “ Phainomena as Witnesses and Examples: The Methodology of Eudemian Ethics I.6” Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 49: 193–225.
• –––, 2019, Aristotle’s Method in Ethics: Philosophy in Practice , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
• Kenny, Anthony, 1978, The Aristotelian Ethics: A Study of The Relationship between the Eudemian and Nicomachean Ethics of Aristotle , Oxford: Clarendon Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198245544.001.0001
• –––, 1979, Aristotle’s Theory of the Will , New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
• –––, 1992, Aristotle on the Perfect Life , Oxford: Clarendon Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198240174.001.0001
• Keyt, David, 1978, “Intellectualism in Aristotle”, Paideia , 7: 138–157.
• Kontos, Pavlos, 2011, Aristotle’s Moral Realism Reconsidered: Phenomenological Ethics , New York: Routledge.
• –––, (ed.), 2018, Evil in Aristotle , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
• –––, 2021, Aristotle on the Scope of Practical Reason: Spectators, Legislators, Hopes, and Evils , New York: Routledge.
• Korsgaard, Christine M., 1986a, “Aristotle on Function and Virtue”, History of Philosophy Quarterly , 3(3): 259–279.
• –––, 1986b, “Aristotle and Kant on the Source of Value”, Ethics , 96(3): 486–505. doi:10.1086/292771
• Kraut, Richard, 1979a, “Two Conceptions of Happiness”, Philosophical Review , 88(2): 167–197. doi:10.2307/2184505
• –––, 1979b, “The Peculiar Function of Human Beings”, Canadian Journal of Philosophy , 9(3): 53–62. doi:10.1080/00455091.1979.10716263
• –––, 1989, Aristotle on the Human Good , Princeton: Princeton University Press.
• –––, 1998, “Aristotle on Method and Moral Education”, in Gentzler 1998: 271–290.
• –––, 2002, Aristotle: Political Philosophy , Oxford: Oxford University Press.
• –––, 2006a, “Doing Without Morality: Reflections on the Meaning of Dein in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 30(Summer): 169–200.
• ––– (ed.), 2006b, The Blackwell Guide to Aristotle’s Ethics , Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. doi:10.1002/9780470776513
• –––, 2012, “Aristotle on Becoming Good: Habituation, Reflection, and Perception”, in Shields 2012b: 529–557.
• –––, 2013, “An Aesthetic Reading of Aristotle’s Ethics”, in Verity Harte and Melissa Lane (eds.), Politeia: Essays in Honour of Malcolm Schofield , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 231–250. doi:10.1017/CBO9781139096843.016
• –––, 2018, The Quality of Life: Aristotle Revised , Oxford: Oxford University Press.
• Lawrence, Gavin, 1993, “Aristotle and the Ideal Life”, Philosophical Review , 102(1): 1–34. doi:10.2307/2185651
• –––, 1997, “Nonaggregatability, Inclusiveness, and the Theory of Focal Value: Nicomachean Ethics I.7 1097b16–20”, Phronesis , 42(1): 32–76. doi:10.1163/156852897321163409
• –––, 2001, “The Function of the Function Argument”, Ancient Philosophy , 21(2): 445–475. doi:10.5840/ancientphil200121227
• Lear, Gabriel Richardson, 2000, Happy Lives and the Highest Good: An Essay on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics , Princeton: Princeton University Press.
• Lear, Jonathan, 2000, Happiness, Death, and the Remainder of Life , Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
• LeBar, Mark, 2013, The Value of Living Well , New York: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199931118.001.0001
• Leunissen, Mariska, 2012, “Aristotle on Natural Character and Its Implications for Moral Development”, Journal of the History of Philosophy , 50(4): 507–530. doi:10.1353/hph.2012.0062
• –––, 2013, “’Becoming good starts with nature’Aristotle on the Heritability and Advantages of Good Natural Character”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 44: 99–128.
• –––, 2017, From Natural Character to Moral Virtue in Aristotle , New York: Oxford University Press.
• Lockwood, Thornton C., 2005 “A Topical Bibliography of Scholarship on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics : 1880 to 2004”, Journal of Philosophical Research , 30: 1–116. doi:10.5840/jpr20053048
• Lorenz, Hendrik, 2006, The Brute Within: Appetitive Desire in Plato and Aristotle , Oxford: Clarendon Press. doi:10.1093/0199290636.001.0001
• –––, 2009, “Virtue of Character in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 37(Winter): 177–212.
• MacDonald, Scott, 1989, “Aristotle and the Homonymy of the Good”, Archiv Für Geschichte der Philosophie , 71(2): 150–174. doi:10.1515/agph.1989.71.2.150
• MacIntyre, Alasdair, 1999, Dependent Rational Animals: Why Human Beings Need the Virtues , Chicago: Open Court.
• McDowell, John, 1995, “Eudaimonism and Realism in Aristotle’s Ethics”, Heinaman 1995: 201–208. Reprinted in McDowell 2009: 23–40 (ch. 2).
• –––, 1996a, “Deliberation and Moral Development in Aristotle’s Ethics”, Engstrom & Whiting 1996: 19–35. Reprinted in McDowell 2009: 41–58 (ch. 3).
• –––, 1996b, “Incontinence and Practical Wisdom in Aristotle”, in Sabina Lovibond & Stephen G. Williams (eds.), Essays for David Wiggins: Identity, Truth and Value , Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 167–197. Reprinted in McDowell 2009: 59–76 (ch. 4).
• –––, 1998, “Some Issues in Aristotle’s Moral Psychology”, in Mind, Value, and Reality , Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, pp. 23–49.
• –––, 2009, The Engaged Intellect: Philosophical Essays , Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
• McKerlie, Dennis, 1998, “Aristotle and Egoism”, Southern Journal of Philosophy , 36(4): 531–555. doi:10.1111/j.2041-6962.1998.tb01769.x
• –––, 2001, “Aristotle’s Theory of Justice”, Southern Journal of Philosophy , 39(1): 119–141. doi:10.1111/j.2041-6962.2001.tb01809.x
• Meyer, Susan Sauvé, 1993, Aristotle on Moral Responsibility , Oxford: Blackwell.
• Milgram, Elijah, 1987, “Aristotle on Making Other Selves”, Canadian Journal of Philosophy , 17(2): 361–376. doi:10.1080/00455091.1987.10716441
• Miller, Jon (ed.), 2011, Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics: A Critical Guide , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
• Milo, Ronald D., 1966, Aristotle on Practical Knowledge and Weakness of Will , The Hague: Mouton.
• Modrak, Deborah, 1994, “Aristotle: Women, Deliberation, and Nature”, in Bat-Ami Bar On (ed.), Engendering Origins: Critical Feminist Readings in Plato and Aristotle , Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, pp. 207–22.
• Moss, Jessica, 2011, “‘Virtue Makes the Goal Right’ Virtue and Phronesis in Aristotle’s Ethics”, Phronesis , 56(3): 204–261. doi:10.1163/156852811X575907
• –––, 2012, Aristotle on the Apparent Good: Perception, Phantasia, Thought, and Desire , Oxford: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199656349.001.0001
• Natali, Carlo (ed.), 2009, Aristotle’s ‘Nicomachean Ethics’, Book VII , (Symposia Aristotelia), Oxford: Oxford University Press.
• –––, 2010, “ Posterior Analytics and the Definition of Happiness in NE I”, Phronesis , 55(4): 304–324. doi:10.1163/156852810X523905
• Nehamas, Alexander, 2010, “Aristotelian Philia , Modern Friendship”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 39: 213–47.
• Nussbaum, Martha C., 1985, “The Discernment of Perception: An Aristotelian Conception of Private and Public Rationality”, Proceedings of the Boston Area Colloquium in Ancient Philosophy , 1: 151–201. Reprinted in her Love’s Knowledge , New York: Oxford University Press, 1990, pp. 54–105. doi:10.1163/2213441785X00102
• –––, 1986, The Fragility of Goodness: Luck and Ethics in Greek Tragedy and Philosophy , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
• Olfert, Christiana, 2017, Aristotle on Practical Truth , New York: Oxford University Press.
• Owen, G.E.L., 1971, “Aristotelian Pleasures”, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society , 72: 135–152. Reprinted in his, Logic, Science and Dialectic: Collected Papers in Greek Philosophy , M. Nussbaum (ed.), Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, pp. 334–46.
• Pakaluk, Michael, 1998, Aristotle: Nicomachean Ethics, Books VIII and IX , (Clarendon Aristotle Series), Oxford: Clarendon Press.
• –––, 2004, “The Meaning of Aristotelian Magnanimity”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 26(Summer): 241–276.
• –––, 2005, Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics: An Introduction , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
• Pakaluk, Michael and Giles Pearson (eds.), 2010, Moral Psychology and Human Action in Aristotle , Oxford: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546541.001.0001
• Pangle, Lorraine Smith, 2003, Aristotle and the Philosophy of Friendship , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CBO9780511498282
• Pearson, Giles, 2006, “Aristotle on Acting Unjustly without Being Unjust”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 30(Summer): 211–234.
• –––, 2007, “Phronesis as a Mean in the Eudemian Ethics”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 32(Summer): 273–296.
• –––, 2012, Aristotle on Desire , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CBO9781139161770
• Peters, Julia, 2014, Aristotelian Ethics in Contemporary Perspective , New York: Routlege.
• Peterson, Sandra, 1988, “ ’Horos’ (limit) in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics ”, Phronesis , 33(1): 233–250. doi:10.1163/156852888X00180
• Pickavé, Martin and Jennifer Whiting, 2008, “Nicomachean Ethics 7.3 on Akratic Ignorance”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 34(Summer): 323–372.
• Polansky, Ronald (ed.), 2014, The Cambridge Companion to Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CCO9781139022484
• Politis, Vasilis, 1998, “Aristotle’s Advocacy of Non-Productive Action”, Ancient Philosophy , 18(2): 353–379. doi:10.5840/ancientphil199818238
• Price, A.W., 1989, Love and Friendship in Plato and Aristotle , New York: Oxford University Press, Chapters 4–7. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198248996.001.0001
• –––, 2011, Virtue and Reason in Plato and Aristotle , Oxford: Clarendon Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199609611.001.0001
• Purinton, Jeffrey S., 1998, “Aristotle’s Definition of Happiness (NE I.7 1098a16–18)”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 16: 259–298.
• Reeve, C.D.C., 1992, Practices of Reason: Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics , Oxford: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198235651.001.0001
• –––, 2012a, Action, Contemplation, and Happiness: An Essay on Aristotle , Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
• –––, 2012b, “Aristotle’s Philosophical Method”, in Shields 2012b: 150–170.
• –––, 2013, Aristotle on Practical Wisdom: Nicomachean Ethics VI , Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
• Roche, Timothy D., 1988a, “ Ergon and Eudaimonia in Nicomachean Ethics I: Reconsidering the Intellectualist Interpretation”, Journal of the History of Philosophy , 26(2): 175–194. doi:10.1353/hph.1988.0034
• –––, 1988b, “On the Alleged Metaphysical Foundation of Aristotle’s Ethics”, Ancient Philosophy , 8(1): 49–62. doi:10.5840/ancientphil19888120
• ––– (ed.), 1988c, Aristotle’s Ethics , The Southern Journal of Philosophy , Spindel Conference, Supplement 27(S1).
• –––, 1992, “In Defense of an Alternative View of the Foundation of Aristotle’s Moral Theory”, Phronesis , 37(1): 46–84. doi:10.1163/156852892321052650
• Rogers, Kelly, 1994, “Aristotle on Loving Another For His Own Sake”, Phronesis , 39(3): 291–302. doi:10.1163/156852894321052090
• Rorty, Amélie Oksenberg, 1974, “The Place of Pleasure in Aristotle’s Ethics”, Mind , 83(332): 481–93. doi:10.1093/mind/LXXXIII.332.481
• ––– (ed.), 1980, Essays on Aristotle’s Ethics , Berkeley: University of California Press.
• Rowe, C.J., 1971, The Eudemian and Nicomachean Ethics—a Study in the Development of Aristotle’s Thought , Cambridge: Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society, suppl. no. 3.
• Russell, Daniel C., 2012a, “Aristotle’s Virtues of Greatness”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , Supplementary Volume 2012, Virtue and Happiness: Essays in Honour of Julia Annas , pp. 115–147.
• –––, 2012b, Happiness for Humans , Oxford: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199583683.001.0001
• Santas, Gerasimos, 2001, Goodness and Justice: Plato, Aristotle, and the Moderns , Oxford: Blackwell Publishers.
• Scaltsas, Theodore, 1995, “Reciprocal Justice in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics ”, Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie , 77(3): 248–262. doi:10.1515/agph.1995.77.3.248
• Schollmeier, Paul, 1994, Other Selves: Aristotle on Personal and Political Friendship , Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.
• Schütrumpf, Eckart, 1989, “Magnanimity, Mεγαλοψυχία , and the System of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics ”, Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie , 71(1): 10–22. doi:10.1515/agph.1989.71.1.10
• Scott, Dominic, 1999, “Aristotle on Well-Being and Intellectual Contemplation: Primary and Secondary Eudaimonia”, Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volume , 73: 225–242.
• –––, 2000, “Aristotle on Posthumous Fortune”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 18(Summer): 211–230.
• –––, 2015, Levels of Argument: A Comparative Study of Plato’s Republic and Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics , Oxford: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199249640.001.0001
• Segvic, Heda, 2002, “Aristotle’s Metaphysics of Action”, Philosophiegeschichte und logische Analyse / Logical Analysis and History of Philosophy , 5: 23–53. Reprint in Segvic 2009b: 111–143 (ch. 5).
• –––, 2004, “Aristotle on the Varieties of Goodness”, Apeiron , 37: 151–176. Reprinted in Segvic 2009b: 89–110 (ch. 4).
• –––, 2009a, “Deliberation and Choice in Aristotle”, in Segvic 2009b: 144–171. Also appeared in Pakaluk and Pearson 2010: 159–186. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546541.003.0008
• –––, 2009b, From Protagoras to Aristotle: Essays in Ancient Moral Philosophy , Myles Burnyeat (ed.), Princeton: Princeton University Press.
• Sherman, Nancy, 1987, “Aristotle on Friendship and the Shared Life”, Philosophy and Phenomenological Research , 47(4): 589–613. doi:10.2307/2107230
• –––, 1989, The Fabric of Character: Aristotle’s Theory of Virtue , Oxford: Clarendon Press. doi:10.1093/0198239173.001.0001
• –––, 1997, Making a Virtue of Necessity: Aristotle and Kant on Virtue , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CBO9780511624865
• ––– (ed.), 1999, Aristotle’s Ethics: Critical Essays , Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield.
• –––, 2000, “Is the Ghost of Aristotle Haunting Freud’s House?” Proceedings of the Boston Area Colloquium in Ancient Philosophy , 16(1): 63–81. doi:10.1163/2213441700X00079
• Shields, Christopher, 2012a, “Goodness is Meant in Many Ways”, in G. Rudebusch and J. Hardy (eds.) Grundlagen der Antiken Ethik / Foundations of Ancient Ethics , Goettingen: Vanderhoek & Ruprecht, pp. 185–199.
• Shields, Christopher (ed.), 2012b, The Oxford Handbook of Aristotle , Oxford: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/oxfordhb/9780195187489.001.0001
• Sim, May (ed.), 1995, The Crossroads of Norm and Nature , Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield.
• –––, 2007, Remastering Morals with Aristotle and Confucius , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CBO9780511497841
• Stern-Gillet, Suzanne, 1995, Aristotle’s Philosophy of Friendship , Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.
• Stohr, Karen, 2003, “Moral Cacophony: When Continence is a Virtue”, Journal of Ethics , 7(4): 339–363. doi:10.1023/A:1026111711649
• –––, 2009, “Minding Others’ Business”, Pacific Philosophical Quarterly , 90(1): 116–139. doi:10.1111/j.1468-0114.2009.01331.x
• Suits, Bernard, 1974, “Aristotle on the Function of Man: Fallacies, Heresies and other Entertainments”, Canadian Journal of Philosophy , 4(1): 23–40. doi:10.1080/00455091.1974.10716919
• Taylor, C.C.W., 1988, “Urmson on Aristotle on Pleasure”, in J. Dancy, J. M. E. Moravcsik, and C. C. W. Taylor (eds.), Human Agency: Language, Duty, and Value. Philosophical Essays in Honor of J. O. Urmson , Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, pp. 120–132. Reprinted in Taylor 2008: 107–120 (ch. 7).
• –––, 2003a, “Pleasure: Aristotle’s Response to Plato”, in Robert Heinaman (ed.), Plato and Aristotle’s Ethics , Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, pp. 1–20.
• –––, 2003b, “Aristotle on the Practical Intellect”, (in German, trans. R. May, with the assistance of A. W. Müller), in T. Buchheim, H. Flashar, and R. A. H. King (eds.), Kann man heute noch etwas anfangen mit Aristoteles? , Hamburg: Meiner Verlag, pp. 142–162. Reprinted (in English) in Taylor 2008: 204–222 (ch. 12).
• –––, 2004, “Wisdom and Courage in the Protagoras and the Nicomachean Ethics”, (in Italian, trans. S. Casertano), in G. Casertano (ed.), Il Protagora di Platone: struttura e problematiche , Naples: Loffredo Editore, Naples, pp. 716–728. Reprinted (in English) in Taylor 2008: 281–294 (ch. 16).
• –––, 2008, Pleasure, Mind, and Soul: Selected Papers in Ancient Philosophy , Oxford: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199226399.001.0001
• Telfer, Elizabeth, 1989–90, “The Unity of Moral Virtues in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics ”, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society , 91: 35–48.
• Tuozzo, Thomas M., 1995, “Contemplation, the Noble, and the Mean: The Standard of Moral Virtue in Aristotle’s Ethics”, Apeiron , special issue Aristotle, Virtue and the Mean , 28(4): 129–154. doi:10.1515/APEIRON.1995.28.4.129.
• Urmson, J.O., 1967, “Aristotle on Pleasure”, in J.M.E. Moravcsik (ed.), Aristotle: A Collection of Critical Essays , Garden City, NY: Anchor Books, pp. 323–33.
• –––, 1987, Aristotle’s Ethics , Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
• Van Cleemput, 2006, “Aristotle on Eudaimonia in Nicomachean Ethics I”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 30(Summer): 127–158.
• Walker, Matthew D., 2014, “Aristotle on the Utility and Choiceworthiness of Friends”, Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie , 96(2): 151–182. doi:10.1515/agph-2014-0008
• Walsh, James, 1963, Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness , New York: Columbia University Press.
• Ward, Julie K. (ed.), 1996, Feminism and Ancient Philosophy , New York: Routledge.
• Warren, James, 2009, “Aristotle on Speusippus on Eudoxus on Pleasure”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 36(Summer): 249–282.
• Wedin, Michael V., 1981, “Aristotle on the Good for Man”, Mind , 90(358): 243–62. doi:10.1093/mind/XC.358.243
• White, Nicholas P., 2002, Individual and Conflict in Greek Ethics , Oxford: Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/0198250592.001.0001
• –––, 2006, A Brief History of Happiness , Malden, ME: Blackwell.
• White, Stephen. A., 1992, Sovereign Virtue , Stanford: Stanford University Press.
• Whiting, Jennifer, 1986, “Human Nature and Intellectualism in Aristotle”, Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie , 68(1): 70–95. doi:10.1515/agph.1986.68.1.70
• –––, 1988, “Aristotle’s Function Argument: A Defense”, Ancient Philosophy , 8(1): 33–48. doi:10.5840/ancientphil19888119
• –––, 1991, “Impersonal Friends”, Monist , 74(1): 3–29. doi:10.5840/monist19917414
• –––, 1996, “Self-Love and Authoritative Virtue: Prolegomenon to a Kantian Reading of Eudemian Ethics VIII.3”, in Engstrom & Whiting 1996: 162–99.
• Wielenberg, Erik J., 2004, “Egoism and Eudaimonia -Maximization in the Nicomachean Ethics ”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 26: 277–295.
• Wiggins, David, 2009, “What is the Order Among the Varieties of Goodness? A Question Posed by von Wright; and a Conjecture Made by Aristotle”, Philosophy , 84(2): 175–200. doi:10.1017/S0031819109000308
• Williams, Bernard, 1985, Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy , Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, Chapter 3.
• Wolfsdorf, David, 2013, Pleasure in Ancient Greek Philosophy , Chapter 6. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CBO9780511667510
• Young, Charles M., 1988, “Aristotle on Temperance” Philosophical Review , 97(4): 521–542. doi:10.2307/2185414
• Yu, Jiyuan, 2007, The Ethics of Confucius and Aristotle: Mirrors of Virtue , New York: Routledge.
• Zingano Marco, 2007a, “Akrasia and the Method of Ethics”, in Bobonich and Destree 2007: 167–192
• –––, 2007b, “Aristotle and the Problems of Method in Ethics”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy , 32(Summer): 297–330.

How to cite this entry . Preview the PDF version of this entry at the Friends of the SEP Society . Look up topics and thinkers related to this entry at the Internet Philosophy Ontology Project (InPhO). Enhanced bibliography for this entry at PhilPapers , with links to its database.

• Athenian Constitution , ed. Kenyon. (Greek)
• Athenian Constitution , ed. H. Rackham. (English)
• Economics , (Greek)
• Economics , (English)
• Eudemian Ethics , (Greek)
• Eudemian Ethics , (English)
• Metaphysics , (Greek)
• Metaphysics , (English)
• Nicomachean Ethics , ed. J. Bywater. (Greek)
• Nicomachean Ethics , ed. H. Rackham. (English)
• Poetics , (English)
• Politics , (Greek)
• Politics , (English)
• Rhetoric , ed. W. D. Ross. (Greek)
• Rhetoric , ed. J. H. Freese. (English)
• Virtues and Vices , ed. I. Bekker. (Greek)
• Virtues and Vices , ed. H. Rackham. (English)
• Nikomachische Ethik , in German, translated by Eugen Rolfes, Leipzig: F. Meiner, 1911, at the Projekt Gutenberg-DE

Aristotle | character, moral | egoism | ethics: virtue | friendship | Plato | pleasure | wisdom

Copyright © 2022 by Richard Kraut < rkraut1 @ northwestern . edu >

• Accessibility

Support SEP

Mirror sites.

View this site from another server:

• Info about mirror sites

The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy is copyright © 2023 by The Metaphysics Research Lab , Department of Philosophy, Stanford University

Library of Congress Catalog Data: ISSN 1095-5054

Log in using your username and password

• Search More Search for this keyword Advanced search
• Latest content
• Current issue
• JME Commentaries
• BMJ Journals More You are viewing from: Google Indexer

You are here

• Volume 29, Issue 5
• A virtue ethics approach to moral dilemmas in medicine
• Article Text
• Article info
• Citation Tools
• Rapid Responses
• Article metrics

• Correspondence to:
 P Gardiner, 5 London Road, Daventry, Northants NN11 4DA, UK; 
 patti{at}scottydoc.co.uk

Most moral dilemmas in medicine are analysed using the four principles with some consideration of consequentialism but these frameworks have limitations. It is not always clear how to judge which consequences are best. When principles conflict it is not always easy to decide which should dominate. They also do not take account of the importance of the emotional element of human experience. Virtue ethics is a framework that focuses on the character of the moral agent rather than the rightness of an action. In considering the relationships, emotional sensitivities, and motivations that are unique to human society it provides a fuller ethical analysis and encourages more flexible and creative solutions than principlism or consequentialism alone. Two different moral dilemmas are analysed using virtue ethics in order to illustrate how it can enhance our approach to ethics in medicine.

• virtue ethics
• four principles of medical ethics
• Raanan Gillon

https://doi.org/10.1136/jme.29.5.297

Statistics from Altmetric.com

Request permissions.

If you wish to reuse any or all of this article please use the link below which will take you to the Copyright Clearance Center’s RightsLink service. You will be able to get a quick price and instant permission to reuse the content in many different ways.

I am not a philosopher. Neither am I an experienced ethicist. I am, rather, a general practitioner (GP), who deals with moral issues and dilemmas every day of my working life. These range from the daily awareness of distributive justice as I sign every prescription, to discussing and balancing the complex issues involved in choices made by patients with terminal disease. I find many of these situations challenging and some quite perplexing.

This is why I decided to study medical ethics at Imperial College London (ICL), where I was privileged not only to meet Professor Raanan Gillon but to be taught by him as well.

When I qualified as a GP in 1984, I had experienced no formal ethical teaching or training at all. By 1994 when I prepared to sit my Royal College of General Practitioners (RCGP) membership exam I was delighted to find that ethical teaching was firmly on the GP educational agenda. In general practice training, young doctors are raised on the four principles! This approach was initially developed in the United States by Beauchamp and Childress 1 ; but has been widely and enthusiastically advocated in the UK by Professor Gillon. 2– 4 Although there is some mention of the consequentialist approach, it is the four principles that win the day as a universally acceptable and practical way of considering moral issues. For non-philosophers it is an attractive prospect, when faced with an ethical difficulty, to have some simple, intelligible, and applicable guiding principles against which to measure any moral problem.

I am now an examiner for the RCGP membership exam and expect all candidates to not only be conversant with the four principles but also to be able to apply them appropriately. It is a tremendous credit to Professor Gillon that he has been such an effective mover and shaper of ethical understanding and judgment in British general practice.

During my studies at ICL I was introduced to a number of ethical frameworks and approaches, some of which were completely new to me. My understanding of moral reasoning grew considerably, but one approach captivated me and, I shall argue, adds a unique and essential dimension to ethical considerations.

VIRTUE ETHICS

Virtue ethics resonates with my experience of life in which the nature of our character is of fundamental importance. Ethical principles that tell us what action to take do not take into account the nature of the moral agent. Although we must make moral decisions with much care and consideration, I do not consider it wise to strip this process of affect or attitude and focus on reason alone. Humans are sophisticated creatures with an ability to reason that is tempered by our emotional reactions. These reactions are an integral part of how we perceive and assess the world around us but they also influence our judgments. Virtue ethics recognises this important component of our moral experience. It explores how moral agents can learn by habitual practise how to develop good characteristics that will enable us to behave well. I found it a refreshing and exciting discovery that the character of the moral agent could be of pivotal importance.

I shall briefly explain the fundamental concepts of virtue ethics in order to then demonstrate how such an approach can be used when considering two different medical ethical problems.

Virtue ethics began with the ancient Greek philosophers Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. They searched for the elements that made a person good but in so doing they did not look at how a person acted but at what sort of character he had. They suggested that a good person who behaves well must develop virtues, which, through habitual use, become part of that person’s character.

The virtues

So what is a virtue? Perhaps the most useful definition is that offered by Rachels, who suggests that a virtue is “a trait of character, manifested in habitual action, that it is good for a person to have”. 5

Aristotle believed that a virtue lay in the middle of two contrary vices and described it as “the mean by reference to two vices: the one of excess and the other of deficiency”. 6 Courage—for example, lies between foolhardiness and cowardice. Compassion lies between callousness and indulgence.

There is no comprehensive list of virtues. The cardinal virtues expounded by ancient Greek philosophers are courage, prudence, temperance, and justice. The theological virtues, faith, hope, and charity are not widely explored in secular moral philosophy although Toon has reviewed them in a medical context and shows them to be very useful. 7 Beauchamp and Childress have considered five virtues applicable to the medical practitioner: trustworthiness, integrity, discernment, compassion, and conscientiousness (see reference 1, pp 32–8). Other modern philosophers have listed up to 24 possible virtues although some could be argued to be social rather than moral virtues. 8

Philosophers may, in time, distil the growing list down to those that are essential and of core importance in order that humans may thrive.

The meaning of life!

Aristotle believed that the purpose of human existence is to achieve a state of eudaemonia, which is a difficult word to translate. “Happiness” is too superficial and subjective. We may feel happy if we satisfy our desires but this is no guarantee of any enduring contentment. To be eudaemon is rather to have the sort of happiness that is deep, lasting, and worth having. It is a deeply rooted joy in the dynamic process of our lives. It is hard to find a single word to sum up this concept but the closest approximation is “flourishing”.

A human person flourishes and leads a good life when she fulfils the purpose and function of human beings. Philippa Foot encapsulated this wonderfully:

Men and women need to be industrious and tenacious of purpose not only so as to be able to house, clothe and feed themselves, but also to pursue human ends having to do with love and friendship. They need the ability to form family ties, friendships and special relations with neighbours. They also need codes of conduct. And how could they have all these things without virtues such as loyalty, fairness, kindness and in certain circumstances obedience?” 9

The virtue ethicist has a deep understanding of the social and interpersonal nature of our human existence and how this can affect and be influenced by our moral behaviour.

The place of reason

Aristotle suggests that reason is the function unique to humans that sets them apart from all other living creatures. We have a capacity to make choices based on reason, which the most intelligent of higher order creatures do not appear to possess. Animals do not recognise ends as such and do not have the capacity for choosing to do something that will lead to a less good end when faced with two options (see reference 9, pp 25–51). It is by reasoning that a person determines how to act and feel in ways appropriate to a given circumstance. It is not sufficient to possess virtues; one must have the capacity to know when and how to exhibit them. Thus the virtuous person uses rationality (practical wisdom) to decide how to be.

In order to flourish, to be eudaemon , a person will possess virtues and exercise them with practical wisdom in order to make good choices in acting well. The virtues will become integral to her character and so become part of her flourishing, not just a means to that end. She will flourish as she makes virtuous choices and becomes wise, courageous, compassionate, and self controlled. 10 So the virtues benefit the possessor as they become deeply entrenched in a person’s character such that she deeply desires to behave well.

The role of emotion

For centuries moral philosophers have approached ethical dilemmas by stripping away emotional responses and trying to reason out a solution, but our feelings are fundamental to our human experience. Indeed those with little or no emotional response are considered abnormal, untrustworthy, wicked or frankly dangerous—for example, those with psychopathic personality disorders.

In order to do something we must first perceive that an action is necessary. We must observe what’s going on and recognise the morally pertinent aspects of the situation but ethical perception is not only a cognitive process. Emotional reactions make us sensitive to particular circumstances, and thus illuminate our perceptions. It is possible to perceive a situation dispassionately but we would then have an incomplete appreciation of the circumstances. Our emotions influence how and what we see and are necessary to register and record facts with resonance and depth. Equally what we see shapes how and what we feel. Thus perception and affect are closely intertwined in informing our choices. Undoubtedly our emotions need cultivating so that we learn towards whom, when, and to what degree we should express them. We need to exercise critical judgment when assessing and displaying our emotional responses. Emotions are not to be accepted as instinctive unmanageable reactions but as sensitivities that inform our judgments.

The role of motivation

The virtuous person perceives a situation, judges what is right, and wants to act accordingly because it is in her disposition to act well.

It is not sufficient to follow rules irrespective of internal attitudes, feelings, and reason. The virtuous moral agent has a deep desire to behave well. This contrasts with Kant’s view: he believed it was more virtuous to act well from duty even if one is not disposed to do so. 11 This may allow good action, but it does not encourage us to live well, and develop virtuous characteristics.

Imagine being visited in hospital by a friend; if the friend comes because she is compassionate, judges that it is the right thing to do and wants to visit, is this not more pleasing for you than if she comes purely because it is her duty? 12 Is she not a kinder and more compassionate person if she wants to make your day better by visiting you than if she comes because she ought to? Do these qualities not enrich our lives as social beings with special relationships?

Virtue ethics’s account of motivation surely sits well with human society in which we develop special bonds and alliances that encourage us to behave well out of friendship, love, and loyalty. It is these elements that bind communities together and it is the weakening of such commitments that are seen when communities begin to fragment.

Let me now turn to two different moral dilemmas. In one, a patient requests a course of action at variance with the professional judgment of his doctor. In the second I consider the moral implications of permitting individuals to sell kidneys. I shall show that by using a virtue ethics approach we can thoroughly examine the ethical difficulty that these cases present and can deduce a morally good plan of action. 13

Case 1: The “standard” Jehovah’s Witness case

A competent adult patient loses a massive amount of blood from a blood vessel bleeding in an acute duodenal ulcer. The best chance of saving his life is an urgent blood transfusion along with operative intervention to arrest the bleeding. The patient refuses blood but asks for treatment instead with the best available non-blood products, and surgery, accepting the substantial risk that surgery without blood transfusion is much less likely to save his life than surgery with blood transfusion.

Health care professionals are usually motivated to improve the wellbeing of their patients. In pursuing this end, they must balance their expert knowledge and understanding with the preferences of their patients, taking into consideration the means by which that person has made their choice and ensuring they themselves do not transgress any medical moral code.

Doctors are bound by professional codes of practice with a strong emphasis on doing good and saving lives. Despite the current ubiquitous nature of the four principles, it is curious that since the 4th century, the various codes of practice and oaths sworn by doctors declare a commitment to virtuous behaviour. 14– 18

The main intention of medical oaths seems to be to declare the core values of the profession and to engender and strengthen the necessary resolve in doctors to exemplify professional integrity, including moral virtues such as compassion and honesty. 19

Doctors in the 21st century are encouraged to work in partnership with their patients, informing, guiding, advising, and helping them to make appropriate choices about how to deal with their illness. These choices are typically adapted to suit individuals, taking into consideration such factors as their health beliefs, cultural background, and social situation. The patient is likely to be deeply influenced by their upbringing, their personal priorities, the community in which they live, or indeed their faith. These factors may well influence them to make a choice that is at variance with the professional judgment of their doctor. This can be challenging when a patient chooses to reject a doctor’s guidance—for example, refusing treatment, which the doctor knows may adversely affect her patient’s wellbeing. Doctors are trained how to tolerate such uncertainty and the risks involved but when such a decision might affect the survival of the patient, the moral burden for the doctor can be tremendous.

The patient

If the patient is deemed competent to make decisions about his health, he is therefore competent to make decisions about his spiritual faith.

It is wise and prudent to respect the faith that an individual has chosen to follow of his own free will and under no duress. In a multicultural society, disparate groups will live more contentedly together and will thrive if they not only tolerate each other’s differences but also respect each other. If they are able to seek commonality in their value systems they will deepen the important bonds of friendship and comradeship that bind their communities together.

As we have recognised, patients’ understanding and beliefs will influence the priority they give to options in managing their health. In this situation the patient has chosen to prioritise what he believes is his eternal existence over that of his current physical health. He is prepared to take the risk that he might die in order to ensure, according to his own belief system, that he will have eternal life.

The virtuous doctor examines the facts of the case, identifies her emotional response, which will illuminate and deepen her assessment of the situation, and considers the motivation of the patient and herself.

She may feel disappointment that her professional judgment is rejected, frustration that she cannot do her job as she would wish to, anxiety that the patient may die unnecessarily, and sorrow for the patient’s family who may experience the death of their beloved relative.

Some of the emotional reaction is caused by the effect the patient’s decision has in frustrating her professional purpose while some is a response to the possible outcome for the patient and his family.

Is she motivated to transfuse him to improve her productivity figures or does she genuinely want to help this individual patient find a solution to this particular predicament?

Is the patient motivated freely and sincerely by faith or is there an element of coercion from his religious community or indeed his family?

Having considered all these elements she then reflects on the virtues that would be most helpful in these circumstances.

Compassion is “ . . . an active regard for another’s welfare with an imaginative awareness and emotional response of deep sympathy, tenderness and discomfort at another’s misfortune or suffering.” 1

In being compassionate, the doctor would imagine what it must be like to be a person who is prepared to risk death because of the sincerity and devotion to their faith. She is likely to recognise the courage of her patient, which in turn may provoke feelings of respect and admiration.

Trustworthiness is one of the corner stones of doctorpatient relationships. Patients bring their deepest and most personal concerns and problems, allow the most intimate of examinations, and confide their private vulnerabilities. They rely on the moral character and competence of their doctor and must be able to trust that their doctor will behave well.

The patient in our example has disclosed his profound faith and how much that influences his decisions about his future, even in the face of this dramatic and life threatening event. He has trusted his doctor with an insight into a profoundly personal part of his being. It is incumbent on all health care professionals to hold this trust securely and respond to it by being trustworthy.

In this situation it is very unlikely that we will be able to persuade the patient to change his ideology at this stage. If the doctor overrides the patient’s request and imposes her medical solution upon him, the patient will have difficulty in trusting his doctor again and indeed may not trust the medical profession in the future.

Discernment brings sensitive insight, understanding, and wise judgment to the situation. A discerning doctor would identify the complex emotional elements of the case, would be able to weigh up her motivation to look after her patient’s health as effectively as possible with the motivation of the patient whose life is founded on and underpinned by his faith even if devotion to his ideology costs him his life. She is likely to conclude that the discerning doctor would, with regret, respect the patient’s wishes and not enforce a blood transfusion.

Regret : it is of importance to recognise the place of regret. Tragic dilemmas are typically very hard because there is a conflict in the principles being applied when trying to find a solution—for example, abortion in the case of rape. In much of the ethical literature there is a drive to find the correct solution, to try to decide which principles should take precedence or which consequences are preferable. After considerable debate, a course of action is chosen and is deemed to be the right thing to do. The moral agent need worry no more; they have done the right thing.

It is likely, however, that whatever actually happens, there will be regret for those involved; regret for what might have been, for the situation arising in the first place or for the undesirable effects of the action on those involved. Virtue ethics, because of its focus on the agent rather than the act, encourages moral agents to take account of and express the pain and regret they may experience when negotiating solutions to tragic dilemmas. It displays a sensitivity and concern that may go some way towards helping those who are experiencing it to come to terms with the situation. While consequentialists and deontologists do undoubtedly experience regret it would be an enhancing addition to their approach to express it more explicitly rather than focus entirely on the rightness of their action. 20

In summary the virtue ethicist, after fully exploring the facts and considering the ethical sensitivities, would conclude that a compassionate, trustworthy, and discerning doctor would characteristically respect this patient’s’ wishes in this situation. This does not, however, amount to a rule.

One of the attractions of virtue ethics is the flexibility to assess each situation individually, searching for action guidance in considering what a characteristically virtuous person would do. This would be illuminated and informed by the relevant facts and individual ethical sensitivities of that circumstance. This allows and encourages creative solutions to very hard problems, which might be more difficult to find when applying rules and principles. If—for example, the adult patient in our case was a 19 year old born into a Jehovah’s Witness community who felt an obligation to make decisions based on his parents’ faith system while not truly believing it, the moral assessment might be quite different. The doctor may deduce that a different course of action would be virtuous.

Case 2: Selling kidneys for transplantation: should people be allowed to sell kidneys for transplantation? 13

Kidney donation is a vital process whereby people with renal failure who suffer chronic invalidity can, after transplantation, be restored to reasonable health, a substantially better quality of life, and improved life expectancy. Most donated organs are cadaverous, given by relatives of individuals who have died but still have viable internal organs. The supply of such kidneys is not enough to provide for those patients who wait and, not infrequently, die of renal failure while on the transplant waiting list. Some kidneys are donated from living individuals who are usually relatives, close friends or, more rarely, willing volunteers. There is, nevertheless, a serious shortage of organs for transplantation. Permitting willing volunteers to sell a kidney could address this shortage but this suggestion raises serious ethical issues.

The need for donor organs

This is an important factor to consider as, in the absence of demand, kidney sales would be unnecessary. There are likely to be many citizens who are unaware that there is such a shortage of donor kidneys and have not considered the implications for those in renal failure and their relatives. Nor is it likely that all members of the general public have thought in any depth about the implications of donating their own organs should they die prematurely. A high profile campaign to educate ordinary people about the need for cadaver donation, with assurances about the rigorous requirements when defining time of death, is likely to considerably raise awareness. This could make a big impact on organ supplies. Enticing people to sell one of their own kidneys is an ineffective way of trying to increase that supply and has major implications for the donor.

The rights of the individual

It has been argued that as long as there are no unpleasant consequences for other people and as long as it does no harm, an individual has the autonomous right to do as he chooses with his own body. Forcing an action on an unwilling participant is not acceptable—for example, indecent exposure, assault, or rape but choosing to indulge in bungie jumping certainly is! Let us put aside the argument of rights, principles, or consequences, however, and approach this suggestion from a virtue ethics perspective.

What are the facts of the situation?

What is likely to be the situation of a person who would want to sell their kidney? To whom might they wish to sell? How much will they be paid? What safeguards are in place to protect the health of the donor and the recipient? What are the circumstances of donors and what dependants have they? Are donors psychologically and emotionally stable? Have they been subject to any duress? We require these facts to begin our analysis.

What emotions does such a proposal arouse?

Affect and cognition both contribute to our perception and must be considered together to achieve a comprehensive assessment. There is an instinctive distaste for the proposal that an individual should sell an irreplaceable part of his body thus compromising his future health. Why should this be? For most of us, life is precious and we desire a long, happy, and healthy existence. In order to do this, we must look after and maintain our bodies. There are very many people, however, who choose not to do so by selecting unhealthy lifestyles. They judge that the short term gain is worth the long term risk of poor health or premature death. Similarly, the potential donor may consider that money now is worth the risk of surgery, complications, or long term ill health. Indeed it takes considerable courage to take this risk.

Perhaps any distaste is influenced by wider factors. An industry trading in organs is likely to attract volunteers who have so much to gain from the payment that they are willing to take a substantial risk with their lives. In short they will probably be very poor or deprived. Surely a business such as this plays on the vulnerability of the poor and desperate. This situation generates feelings of sadness and pity for the deprived but also anger towards those who might make money from such a business. Those who are affluent and powerful could potentially profit financially from the despair of the underprivileged.

What are the likely motivations of the people involved?

The risks to the donor of the operation and consequent life with only one kidney are substantial and would not be considered lightly.

The potential donor may be motivated by compassion for his dependants and decide that his health is worth risking for the benefit now to his family.

While he may well have concern for the recipient, it is unlikely that this is the driving force behind his decision because if this was a commercial enterprise there is no assurance that donors and recipients would ever know of each other as individuals.

It is not a realistic proposal that a person would feel so moved to improve the plight of those in renal failure that he would offer his kidney for sale. Donating one kidney may help one person only and does nothing for the plight of the thousands who are in renal failure. It is most likely that any potential donor is motivated by the financial reward.

Those who are willing to buy kidneys from willing donors could be so touched by the plight of those in renal failure that they are prepared to set up a commercial business to increase the supply of available organs. It could be set up in a carefully regulated fashion to ensure high quality medical care and follow up for donors and recipients alike. We must not assume the only motivation is money although it is unlikely that anyone would set up such a business to run at a loss. Should there be financial gain this makes it a more attractive and viable proposition.

It could be argued that those who set up such a business do so because they want to help those who are disadvantaged in society by offering them a way of making money. I do not think we need dwell long on this suggestion, as this is in reality a very ineffective way of tackling deprivation. Should this be their motivation it would be more likely that they would try to provide for such deprived people without expecting them to take such huge health risks.

I suggest that anyone setting up such a business has not thought through carefully the impact on those who are poor and marginalised in society. Is it likely that people who are financially secure would take such risks with their lives? I propose that the only supply of donors is likely to come from those who are poor, marginalised, or oppressed. The poorer and more desperate the person, the more attractive would be the offer to buy his kidney.

Which virtues might guide our behaviour in such a difficult dilemma?

Where is the justice in a society where some people are so poor or deprived they are prepared to sell their bodies for whatever function, be it kidney donation or prostitution? We have recognised that humans are social animals who thrive in communities where they establish special bonds of love and friendship. Those who experience deprivation or starvation devote their time and energy to their survival and have little reserves left to contribute to their community. So, if a society is to flourish, all individuals must achieve some minimally decent standards of living. This will require the community to be fair in its approach to the vulnerable, ensuring they are protected from exploitation and have some basic security. The creative and just way forward in this particular predicament might be to protect the vulnerable from exploitation while developing innovative ways of improving the supply of kidneys donated after death.

The compassionate person would care deeply about the plight of the deprived and marginalised. Although there may be occasions when such people have chosen to opt out of society’s usual structure—for example, the homeless, travellers, or drug addicts, there is always some reason why they have done so, which stems from deprivation, whether that be economic, emotional, or social. Compassion would have us care so deeply that we would be moved to improve their situation.

The compassionate person would also care deeply about those with renal failure who need medical care and wait for suitable transplant opportunities. This must be balanced with the chronic suffering of the deprived but the two needs are not mutually exclusive. The virtuous moral agent would compassionately appreciate the desperation of both groups.

She would practise discernment in sensitively understanding those needs and using wise judgment to balance her compassion for those in renal failure and the deprived who may be enticed into selling organs. Having considered the facts, the emotional response, and the motivations of all concerned, she would look for creative solutions that might address the needs of both groups.

Rather than permitting sale of kidneys, society would flourish better if it ensured that the poor were adequately provided for, and that the supply of organs was actively pursued through education and promotion of cadaverous donation.

In summary the virtue ethicist would recognise the needs of both groups, would balance compassion for them both with the need to behave fairly towards all individuals, and would discern that there are creative ways of resolving the need for kidney donations and the needs of the disadvantaged. They would recognise the compelling arguments for protecting the vulnerable and would most certainly recommend that we do not behave well as a society if we permit the sale of kidneys for profit.

In these examples I have chosen a number of virtues that seem useful for my analysis. There may be others of relevance such as integrity, conscientiousness, or hope, which could be relevant in a more lengthy and detailed examination. There is no limit to which or how many virtues should or can be scrutinised but the prudent virtue ethicist would try to select those of greatest pertinence to a particular predicament.

THE PLACE OF VIRTUE ETHICS

When I began studying medical ethics I hoped I would learn the right answers to difficult moral dilemmas. I discovered to my disappointment but perhaps with some relief, that there are none! Instead, there are many different ways of approaching difficult moral dilemmas, which help to tease out justification for a particular course of action.

Consequentialists do what will produce the best consequences but debate revolves around how to define what is best. 21

Deontologists adhere to correct moral principles but how are we to decide which are the right principles? Professor Gillon has extensively demonstrated that the four principles are acceptable to people from widely disparate cultures and religions. 4 But when they conflict how do we prioritise and decide which takes precedence?

Virtue ethics has a number of advantages over the four principles:

It recognises that emotions are an integral and important part of our moral perception.

It considers the motivation of the agent to be of crucial importance. Decisions are anchored in the characteristic virtuous disposition of the moral agent who typically wants to behave well.

As there are no rigid rules to be obeyed, it allows any choices to be adapted to the particulars of a situation and the people involved. Two people might both behave well when resolving the same situation in different ways.

This flexibility encourages the pursuit of creative solutions to tragic dilemmas.

Virtue ethicists recognise that tragic dilemmas can rarely be resolved to the complete satisfaction of all parties and that any conclusion is likely to leave some remainder of pain and regret .

I do not suggest that virtue ethics is an ethical framework that is superior to or replaces those of consquentialism and deontology. I do propose that it deeply enhances our approach to moral dilemmas. Is it possible that the virtues are the foundations of morally decent behaviour? If we develop secure foundations, by habitually practising virtuous characteristics such as honesty, discernment, courage, and integrity then a desire to fulfil our duties and obligations will follow naturally. The consequences of living a virtuous life are likely to be good as such behaviour contributes to the dynamic process of human flourishing.

Moral agents who develop virtuous characteristics by such habitual practice will find that their nature becomes the embodiment of the values that encourage human flourishing.

In the words of St Thomas Aquinas: “Virtue is that which makes its possessor good, and his work good likewise”. 22

• ↵ Beauchamp T , Childress J. Principles of biomedical ethics [5th ed]. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001 : 57–272.
• ↵ Gillon R. Philosophical medical ethics London: Wiley, 1985 .
• Gillon R . Medical ethics: four principles plus attention to scope. BMJ 1994 ; 309 : 184 –8. OpenUrl FREE Full Text
• ↵ Gillon R , Lloyd A, eds. Principles of health care ethics . London: Wiley, 1994 .
• ↵ Rachels J. The elements of moral philosophy. London: McGraw-Hill International, 1999 : 178.
• ↵ Aristotle. Nicomachean ethics [translated by Thompson JAK]. London: Penguin, 1976 .
• ↵ Toon P. Towards a philosophy of general practice. Occasional paper 78. London: Royal College of General Practitioners, 1999 .
• ↵ Comte-Sponville A. A short treatise on the great virtues. London: William Heinemann, 2002 .
• ↵ Foot P. Natural goodness. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001 .
• ↵ Sherman N. The fabric of character. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989 :7.
• ↵ Kant I . Good will, duty and the categorical imperative [translated by Abbott TK]. In: Sommers C, Sommers F, eds. Vice and virtue. London: Harcourt College Publishers, 2001 .
• ↵ Stocker M . The schizophrenia of modern ethical theories. J Philos 1976 ; 73 : 453 –66. OpenUrl CrossRef Web of Science
• ↵ Gillon R . Four scenarios. J Med Ethics 2003 ; 29 : 267 –8. OpenUrl FREE Full Text
• ↵ Hippocrates. The Hippocratic oath: text, translation, and interpretation [translated by Edelstein L]. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1943 .
• Maimonides . Oath and prayer of Maimonides [translated by Friedenwald H]. Bull Johns Hopkins Hosp 1917 ; 28 : 260 –1. OpenUrl
• Lasagna L. Hippocratic Oath—modern version. www.pbs.org/ and follow the links for the index (accessed 15 September 2002).
• Robin E. The Hippocratic oath updated. BMJ 1994 ; 309 : 952 . OpenUrl FREE Full Text
• ↵ World Medical Association. Declaration of Geneva. London: World Medical Association, 1995 .
• ↵ Hurwitz B , Richardson R. Swearing to care: the resurgence in medical oaths. BMJ 1997 ; 315 : 1671 –4. OpenUrl FREE Full Text
• ↵ Hurtshouse R. On virtue ethics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999 .
• ↵ Mill JS . Utilitarianism . In: Sommers C, Sommers F, eds. Vice and virtue . London: Harcourt College Publishers, 2001 .
• ↵ Aquinas St T. The Summa theologica of St Thomas Aquinas [translated by fathers of the English Dominican Province]. New York: Benziger Brothers, 1947 .

Read the full text or download the PDF:

Other content recommended for you.

• The virtues (and vices) of the four principles A V Campbell, Journal of Medical Ethics, 2003
• Defending the four principles approach as a good basis for good medical practice and therefore for good medical ethics Raanan Gillon, Journal of Medical Ethics, 2015
• Fidelity to the healing relationship: a medical student's challenge to contemporary bioethics and prescription for medical practice Blake C Corcoran et al., Journal of Medical Ethics, 2014
• Ethics needs principles—four can encompass the rest—and respect for autonomy should be “first among equals” R Gillon, Journal of Medical Ethics, 2003
• The bioethical principles and Confucius’ moral philosophy D F-C Tsai, Journal of Medical Ethics, 2005
• NHS constitution values for values-based recruitment: a virtue ethics perspective Johanna Elise Groothuizen et al., Journal of Medical Ethics, 2018
• What makes a good GP? An empirical perspective on virtue in general practice A Braunack-Mayer, Journal of Medical Ethics, 2005
• Surrogacy: beyond the commercial/altruistic distinction J Y Lee, Journal of Medical Ethics, 2022
• ‘I am in blood Stepp'd in so far…’: ethical dilemmas and the sports team doctor Brian Meldan Devitt et al., British Journal of Sports Medicine, 2010
• Teaching practical wisdom in medicine through clinical judgement, goals of care, and ethical reasoning Lauris Christopher Kaldjian, Journal of Medical Ethics, 2010

Your complimentary articles

You’ve read one of your four complimentary articles for this month.

You can read four articles free per month. To have complete access to the thousands of philosophy articles on this site, please

Virtue ethics and the New Testament

Which matter most: virtues or duties bob harrison thinks the early christians had the answer..

For some time, now, moral philosophers have been scratching their heads over an intriguing problem. This has been going on for something like half a century, and it will no doubt keep us perplexed until well into the new millennium, if not beyond. The really curious thing is, though, that the first generation of Christians, who included only a few who would call themselves philosophers, found, if not the solution, at least a solution to the puzzle . And, not being philosophers, they weren’t even aware of what they had done.

The story begins with Aristotle. His idea of ethics was in an important respect different from ours. Heirs as we are to Kant’s idea of duty – there is a right thing that one ought to do, as rational beings who respect other persons – and to Mill’s idea of utility – the right thing to do is that which produces the greatest good for the greatest number – we see ethics as concerned with actions. The function of ethics is to help me see what I ought to do in a given situation. Aristotle’s approach was different. His ethic is not so much concerned about helping me to see what I ought to do, as about what sort of person I ought to be.

Aristotle was concerned with character, and with the things that go to make up good and bad character; virtues and vices. His sort of ethic does not look at my action to see if it fulfils my duty, or produces a certain outcome, such as the greatest good of the greatest number, and therefore merits approval. Instead, it looks at me; at the character behind the actions, to see whether I merit approval.

Comparing Aristotle with more modern philosophers such as Kant and Mill, we are able to divide ethical theories into two kinds; act-centred theories and agent-centred theories. Kant’s and Mill’s approaches are act centred, because they concern themselves with our actions, whilst Aristotle’s is agent centred because it concerns itself with ourselves, and the character dispositions that prompt our actions.

Both approaches have ardent present-day advocates, and so both are alive and well. Aristotle’s supporters are dissatisfied with the answers ‘modern’ act-centred philosophy offers, and look for a more flexible, person-centred approach that takes more account of the subtle varieties of human motivation. These ‘virtue ethicists’ see ethics as being about people – moral agents – rather than merely about actions. Of course, your actions matter. But, for Aristotle and his present day advocates alike, they matter as expressions of the kind of person you are. They indicate such qualities as kindness, fairness, compassion, and so on, and it is these qualities and their corresponding vices that it is the business of ethics to approve or disapprove.

All this seems simple and uncontroversial; there are two ways of looking at an action to evaluate it morally. You can take the action in isolation and judge it, or take the agent and judge him or her. The complication is that the advocates of each approach tend to see their way as the right way (not an entirely unprecedented situation in philosophy, politics, cookery or chrysanthemum growing…). The present day virtue ethicists are sometimes especially uncompromising. In a seminal paper on virtue ethics, entitled ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’ 1 , G E M Anscombe writes:

‘… the concepts of obligation, and duty – moral obligation and moral duty, that is to say – and of what is morally right and wrong, and of the moral sense of ‘ought’, ought to be jettisoned if this is psychologically possible.’

and goes on to recommend that we jettison substantial chunks of the moral theories of Butler, Hume, Kant, Bentham and Mill, and adopt in preference a more Aristotelian approach to ethics.

Why should there be such rivalry? Why not a sort of pluralism, where you use one or the other approach as seems appropriate? The problem goes something like this. Virtue ethicists argue that act-centred ethics are narrow and bloodless. What is needed is a richer moral vocabulary than just ‘right and wrong’. There are subtle but important differences between actions that are good because they are kind and those that are good because they are generous, and those that are good because they are just. Likewise, there are subtle but important differences between actions that are bad because they are selfish and those that are bad because they are cruel and those that are bad because they are unfair. These, and many other, distinctions are lost when we talk simply about doing one’s duty, or promoting utility. Questions of motive and of character are lost, in these asceptic terms. Modern Moral Philosophy, in the pejorative sense in which Anscombe uses the term, won’t do: it is cold, technical and insensitive to the many kinds and degrees of value expressed in human actions.

On the other hand, Moderns argue that it is all very well saying that the important thing is to be a kind person, but we are only too familiar with occasions when two people will have very different ideas of what is the kind thing or the generous or fair thing to do in the situation. Virtue ethics and its warm human dimension, they could say, is all very well as an added quality on top of ethics, but you need cool ethical reasoning to determine the right thing to do: perhaps virtue ethics can point to the sensitive way to go about doing it, but there will always need to be something more precise, some less subjective guideline, to determine the right action.

How, then, do we reconcile the two positions? Do we let the philosophers fight it out until one side wins? (Wins? That would be an unprecedented outcome in philosophy…) Or is there some way of making effective use of the two insights in some kind of teamwork?

This is where the early Christians stumble in; stumble, because they were not setting themselves a philosophical exercise; merely trying to express the ethical implications of their spiritual experience.

The world of the early Christians already had virtue philosophy. Although for many centuries the writings of Aristotle were lost to us, his ideas were current in the Hellenistic world – part of the cultural legacy of old Greece in the Roman Empire.

The first Christians, however, were by birth heirs to an actcentred ethic, for they were Jews. The Ten Commandments and much more of the same ilk were their ethical environment. At first sight this was a Divine Command ethic, and in a sense it was. But it was not a Divine Command ethic if by that we mean something arbitrary; thrown out of the mind of God like something drawn out of a hat, so that he could have drawn out commands that endorsed adultery and murder as readily as commands that prohibited them. For one thing, there was the belief that God was essentially benevolent; he loved his creation and his every intention was for its good. Further, there is a clear strand of what today we could call respect for persons in, for example, the Ten Commandments. The prohibitions against murder, theft, adultery, and so forth can all be understood in such a light. Even the religious commandments – against idolatry, and enjoining religious duties – become clearly related to respect for persons when we bear in mind that to the Jew God was a person, and a unique person worthy of a unique kind of respect.

I mention all this, not because the respect for persons interpretation of the Old Testament is at all central to this discussion, but because I want to point out that the Jewish people did have, not a mere collection of randomly-generated divine fiats, but a coherent act-centred ethic. This was the ethic the Christians inherited.

But the ethic the Christians developed and passed on was different. When Jesus said ‘Blessed are the meek… the merciful’, he was not commenting on the value of certain specified acts. He was urging us to be a certain kind of person, exhibiting certain character dispositions. His ethic was agent centred; a virtue ethic.

One example of the way in which this ethic differs from, say, a Kantian act-centred ethic is the way in which we might expect a Kantian and a Christian to approach the question of cruelty to animals. The Kantian would most likely argue that one should not be cruel to animals, since doing so reinforces character dispositions that would make the agent more likely to be cruel to human beings. (‘A child who enjoys torturing small animals had better not be left alone with the baby’ 2 ) Although the animal, not being a rational agent, does not have rights, the outcome of ill-treating it might indirectly be cruelty to humans who, as rational agents, do have rights. The Christian, on the other hand, might not address the question of rights at all, but argue instead that we should not act cruelly to the animal, simply because it is wrong to be cruel, and good to be kind. The reasoning of the Christian in this case would be more direct than that of the Kantian, but in any case quite a different kind of argument; one concerned at at least as much with being as with doing.

There were both similarities and differences between Aristotle and Jesus. For Aristotle, the character dispositions, or virtues, were partly cultivated by oneself and this would be the major part, which would bring glory to the agent, for having cultivated them as well as practising them. They were also partly contributed from the outside, in the form of parental teaching, the example of respected peers, and so on. For Jesus, the contribution from outside was of paramount importance. It was the divinely-given religious experience of New Birth, which would bring glory to God, and which had profound life-changing implications for its recipient, whilst the self-cultivation aspect consisted in simply co-operating with the Holy Spirit in the working out of these implications.

St Paul developed these ideas. The relative importance of the active role of God, qua Holy Spirit, is reflected in Paul’s insistent doctrine of Justification by Faith. It is not our good works that save us, he says, but the work of the Holy Spirit, making of us new creatures. Our role in this is to believe, and accept new creation as God’s gift. What is especially interesting to us here, is what Paul does in handling the relationship between the Born Again person’s role in cultivating the virtues and the work of the Spirit. The initiative and the glory are both shifted away from the human agent, and (s)he becomes the recipient of a divine activity. The Christian equivalent of a list of virtues, in Paul’s letter to the Galatians, is described as ‘fruits of the spirit’. This expression, which seems pretty easy to understand at first reading is notoriously difficult on closer inspection, owing to the ambiguity of the word ‘spirit’, which could mean either God as Holy Spirit or the ‘spirit in which we act’. On either interpretation, I take the expression to mean the results of a work of God’s grace in a person’s life.

This, then, is the New Testament virtue-ethic; an agentcentred ethic: what matters is not merely fulfilling certain commandments, but being a certain kind of person, the person that you can only be with the help of a particular Godgiven religious experience, namely the New Birth.

But how does this solve the problem of reconciling an actcentred ethic with an agent-centred one? As I’ve already intimated, we must not look for a philosophical solution. The Biblical writers didn’t sit down and do a self-consciously philosophical exercise, for this was not what they were concerned with. They were concerned to give practical instruction to disciples of the new Faith. Instead of a breakthrough in philosophy, they sought, and seem to have found, a solution to the question: How do I balance the claims of a historic law whose moral principles I still believe in, against the invitation to live a liberated life whose motivating force will be not a code of rules, but an inner spiritual experience?

This essentially practical project led them to two courses of action. One was to live the new path of virtue, whilst using the standards dictated by the Old Law as reference points by which to check out their progress. A life of virtue would achieve results much the same as if one had succeeded, against all human weakness, in keeping the precepts of the old law.

An example of the way Paul uses the Old Testament to illuminate the New in this way is found in his letter to the Ephesians. 3 Urging his readers to ‘be made new in the attitude of your minds’ and ‘put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness’, all of which being good agent-centred stuff, he looks to the old rules for examples of what the new self’s behaviour will be like. The new self will eschew falsehood, and will not steal. (S)he will, indeed, go further than the old law demands. For example, where it demands that we abstain from taking God’s name in vain, the renewed person’s speech will be occupied with “what is helpful for building others up according to their needs.” It was expected, then, that the Christian would have an inner experience that would make a new person of him/her. But to check out whether it was the real thing, you could compare the results with the standards of behaviour expected by the old law. It should at least come up to those standards, since it was aiming at the same objective; a life pleasing to God.

The other course of action was to see the New Testament religious experience as the means to fulfil the objectives of the Old Testament law, in a way that conscious attempts to observe the law itself could not. The Christians saw the old rule-observing way as arduous, painful and ultimately selfdefeating. It was much less painful – and was ultimately more effective – to let your religious experience transform you so that you lived, in effect, the kind of life that the old law had aimed at. The Old Testament law had required obedience to the letter, which we, in our human frailty, could not achieve. The Christian’s new life, on the other hand, offered the opportunity to fulfil God’s moral objectives in spirit. ‘The letter kills’, says Paul, ‘but the spirit gives life.’ 4 And it gives life by attaining the objectives we sought vainly in legalism. ‘The commandments… are summed up in this one rule: “Love your neighbour as yourself”.’ Love does no harm to its neighbour, therefore love is the fulfilment of the law. 5

Their solution, then, consisted in raising a creative tension between the two approaches. The Old Testament act-centred approach says: Do certain acts and abstain from certain other acts and you will qualify as righteous in God’s sight, but it leaves the problem: How can we mere mortals live up to this exacting standard? The Christian’s answer is: by letting God work an inward transformation, a gradual renewal that can effect more than unaided human effort could. The New Testament agent-centred approach says: ‘Act in the way that exhibits the virtues which the Holy Spirit develops in you, the way of love, and you will find yourself fulfilling the ideals of the Old Testament.’ and in answer to the question: ‘What do I do if I don’t know what that entails?”, it says: “You can always flash back to the (Old Testament) Scriptures, with their guidelines.’ 6

In short, they found a place for both approaches. This is something we are not averse to ourselves. At the level of normative ethics, i.e. trying to decide on whether to unplug the life-support machine, on what is the right way to treat our employees and colleagues, on how I should treat my spouse in a certain situation, or perhaps a mere million or so other practical questions, we balance and trade off duty, utility and considerations of virtue, fairness and so forth. If we are philosophers we arrive at this mix at least partly by a process of philosophical enquiry. The early Christians arrived at a similar mix, but from their particular religious experience.

© Bob Harrison 1998

Bob Harrison is a former Pentecostal minister with a philosophy degree from Edinburgh University.

1 Philosophy , January 1958 2 Mary-Anne Warren, Moral Status (OUP 1997) p.51 3 Ephesians 4.22ff 4 II Corinthians 3.6 5 Romans 13.9,10 6 II Timothy 3.16,17

Advertisement

This site uses cookies to recognize users and allow us to analyse site usage. By continuing to browse the site with cookies enabled in your browser, you consent to the use of cookies in accordance with our privacy policy . X