Version: 1.0
Last Updated: 2024-11-11
Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics is one of the foundational works of ethical inquiry. In preparation for writing my book >Complete Thyself: Aristotle on Human Fulfillment, in 2024 I engaged in a close re-reading of Aristotle's text, primarily using the translation by Joe Sachs and frequently referring to the Greek original. This guide was originally published as a series of blog posts entitled "Walking with Aristotle", which I've reworked into a single document in case it might prove useful to other readers of Aristotle. However, do note that my interests and interpretations can be idiosyncratic; see the books mentioned in my suggestions for further exploration for more standard scholarship. Throughout this guide, I mention my preferred renderings of certain Greek words, which are collected together in a separate glossary. If you have any questions about this guide, feel free to contact me.
In the first five chapters of Book I, Aristotle lays out some preliminary considerations for our journey with him.
First, what is the goal of our inquiry? It is to elucidate the highest good achievable through action, not merely in theory but also in practice so that we can become better human beings. And "everyone agrees" that this highest good is living well and acting well, which is the same thing as εὐδαιμονία / eudaimonia (commonly translated as "happiness", although I prefer Fulfillment).
Second, what level of precision should we expect from our inquiry? There is much disagreement and inconsistency about these matters (e.g., on its own wealth is a good thing, but depending on who has the money the result of great wealth could be a great evil). Thus the best we can do is to provide a rough outline of the highest good.
Third, in what direction will our journey proceed? We are travelling inductively from what's near and familiar to us toward the ultimate sources and principles of things, rather than deductively from the ultimate sources and principles toward what's near and familiar to us. Thus we'll judge theories based on the degree to which they accord with human actions and the human way of life, not judge human actions and the human way of life based on the degree to which they accord with some pre-existing theory.
Fourth, what kind of person is our ideal conversation partner? Someone who has a certain level of maturity (e.g., whose actions and commitments are guided by their best experiential understanding of human capacities and the highest good) and who cares to keep improving as a human being. Pointedly not someone who acts badly (e.g., who is pushed along by their every random feeling and impulse) and who needs to be convinced to become good, because the claims of wisdom have no hold on such a person.
Here Aristotle also introduces, almost by the way, a number of concepts that will loom large in our conversation with him:
He also briefly mentions four ways of life that the ancient Greeks traditionally considered and contrasted with each other: the lives of money-making, of pleasure and enjoyment, of honor and status through civic leadership, and of inquiry and contemplation.
We'll see how many of these ideas come together as we take this long walk with Aristotle.
After the preliminaries in Nicomachean Ethics I.1-5, Aristotle considers a rather abstract question: is there some universal good or "Form of the Good" that is common to all good things? Aristotle's friends in Plato's Academy thought so, but in pursuit of truth Aristotle finds that he must disagree, for several reasons.
First, because "good is meant in as many ways as being is", we can't provide a unified account of the good that explains the goodness of entities that are inherently valuable (e.g., god), good qualities (e.g., the excellences of character), good amounts (e.g., the right level of wealth), good relations (e.g., the usefulness of a tool in relation to a given task), good occasions (e.g., the opportune moment to praise someone), good places (e.g., a dwelling), etc.
Second, if there were one Form of the Good then one kind of knowledge or understanding would encompass them all. However, in fact, the opportune moment (say) in war is studied by the craft of generalship, whereas in health it is studied by the craft of medicine.
Third, it's unclear how knowledge of the universal good (even if we could even acquire it) would actually help weavers or carpenters or doctors to better practice their craft; the gulf between the universal and the particular is too wide: a doctor treats human beings or a particular person, not "the good" in general.
In short, the universal good is not the kind of thing that a human being could know or do or have; what we are seeking is the highest good achievable through human action, not an abstraction beyond our ken. Although Aristotle has his unworldly moments, as we'll see, in general his inquiries stay grounded in human life and human experience.
Book I, Chapter 7 of the Nicomachean Ethics is one of the most consequential and intensively studied passages in all of Aristotle's writings, so it will behoove us to look at it closely. It's a rather knotty line of reasoning, but I'll try to describe it as briefly and simply as I can.
Aristotle picks up where he left off before I.6, reminding us that every type of craft and activity seeks its own characteristic τέλος / telos (often translated as end or purpose). For our purposes here I'll translate τέλος as Completion, since that aligns so well with the working title of my forthcoming book on Aristotle: Complete Thyself. As one example, the doctor's activity and the craft of medicine achieve what they are seeking and reach their completion in the health of the patient. By contrast, the τέλος of generalship is victory, the τέλος of housebuilding is the completed house, etc.
Yet, paradoxically, not all the completions are complete. The purpose of the house is not just to sit there unoccupied, but to be a home, to be the primary place where a family pursues its life activities together; those are the activities that truly complete the house. Similarly, health is not an end in itself but a necessary precondition for the activities of one's life, and victory is not an end in itself but a necessary precondition for the freedom of a community or a nation to pursue peaceful activities.
Aristotle argues that the highest good achievable through human action must be something whole and complete. The criteria he specifies include: other goods (like health and wealth) are pursued for its sake, it is always chosen for its own sake (never for the sake of something else), all by itself it makes life valuable and worthwhile, it lacks nothing significant or meaningful, and it is the ultimate completion for all of our activities.
That's a tall order, but Aristotle proposes a natural candidate for this complete good: εὐδαιμονία / eudaimonia. Traditionally rendered as "happiness" and often in more recent scholarship as "flourishing", I translate it as Fulfillment. However, he notes, we need say more about what exactly this fulfillment is - and we'll be able to get closer to a correct account if we can grasp the nature of a human being's ἔργον / ergon (task, work, job, characteristic activity). It might sound strange to say that a human being has a task to complete or a job to do, but Aristotle argues that if that weren't true then by their fundamental nature people would be ἀργόν / argon: idle, inert, inactive, indolent, lazy, languishing, etc. Moreover, it doesn't make sense that every part of a person - eyes, heart, hands, feet, and so on - has a characteristic activity, whereas the overall person does not.
So what could this task be? Well, he says, it must be something distinctively human, not something we share with plants (a life of growth, nutrition, and reproduction) or animals (a life of perception and locomotion). Thus it must be some sort of active life of the part in us that has λόγος / logos, i.e., our thinking, speaking, reasoning capacities for understanding things. Yet Understanding [ἐπιστήμη / episteme] is meant in two ways: it's one thing to merely have understanding (e.g., a mathematician while eating lunch with a friend), but it's another thing to actively use that understanding (e.g., a mathematician while actively solving problems). It's this pure activity - this being-at-work or working-at-a-task [ἐνέργεια / energeia] - that matters most.
Here Aristotle warms my musician's heart by introducing the example of playing the kithara, the distant ancestor of the modern guitar. Just as it's the serious [σπουδαῖος / spoudaios] guitarist who plays the guitar well and beautifully, so it's the person who takes life seriously who lives well and beautifully, whose actions are accompanied by a correct account of what it is to be a human being, whose soul is in good shape, whose activity or being-at-work is in accordance with human excellence. And not just for a day or a year, but for a lifetime. Thus the complete good is not some abstract rule like Plato's Form of the Good, but the best human life we can achieve.
This, at least, is Aristotle's rough outline of the complete good. It's precise enough for our purposes, he says, because our philosophical conversation in the Nicomachean Ethics only needs to be useful for the practical work of becoming better human beings; we need to know only what the best life consists in, not every theoretical detail of why it is that way. Thus we're less like geometers (who need a precise mathematical definition of right angles) and more like house-builders (who need to make sure that the walls are perpendicular to the foundation). Indeed, you could say that we're life-builders, whose task is to realize the highest good achievable through human action.
Amidst all the excitement (for philosophy scholars!) about the "function argument" in Nicomachean Ethics I.7, Chapter 8 is often overlooked. Yet there are valuable insights here, too.
To start with, Aristotle re-uses a traditional division of the good things of human life into those which are external (e.g., wealth, fame, prestige), those which pertain to the body (e.g., health, strength, good looks), and those which pertain to the soul (e.g., character, knowledge, wisdom). The latter are the most "governing" or "authoritative" [κυριος / kurios] goods and the ones that are "especially" or "most of all" [μάλιστα / malista] good things. The active working-at-a-task [ἐνέργεια / energeia] that he lauded in Chapter 7 counts as a good of the soul [ψυχή / psyche], so this is another a sign that it is the complete good.
He also observes that his account is in harmony with those who say that the complete good accords with excellence of character, for what matters is not merely having such a trait [ἕξις / hexis] but actively putting it into practice, which again is one kind of working-at-a-task. It's the people who take action in the correct [ὀρθός / orthos] ways who succeed at the task of living.
He goes on to argue that people who live well in this fundamental sense also enjoy life. The reason is that those who take life seriously - who love and practice what is beautifully right - also inherently value and pursue the best activities [άρἰσται ἐνέργειαι / aristai energeiai], and these are what is enjoyable "by nature".
Yet Aristotle emphasizes that it's not enough to be a good person: you also need external goods to some extent in order to truly flourish and lead a blessed life (e.g., you can't be generous if you have nothing to give). Aristotle definitely recognizes that people who live in poverty, who have no friends or family, who are powerless in the face of a tyrannical government, who are extremely ugly, whose children are incorrigibly bad (etc.) can have a rough go of it in life. But these external goods can depend on the whims of fortune, which raises the question of how much control you really has over your level of fulfillment in life...
Having mentioned in Nicomachean Ethics I.8 the desirability of external goods such as wealth and reputation, Aristotle naturally moves on to consider the causes of human flourishing. Is fulfillment something that can be learned through training and habituation, or is it a matter of fate or even chance? Well, he says, if flourishing and fulfillment [εὐδαιμονία / eudaimonia] consist in a certain kind of activity [ἐνέργεια / energeia], specifically working at the task [ἔργον / ergon] of living a complete human life in accordance with inherent thrivings of mind and character, then there must be effort involved. Although this kind of beautifully right [καλός / kalos] activity is consistent with human nature, still it needs to be acquired and practiced. This is why we don't say that a child has attained fulfillment: it's necessary to achieve reasonably complete excellence [ἀρετή / aretē] of mind and character in a reasonably complete life in order to be truly fulfilled.
But can't the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune throw even a fulfilled person off course? Aristotle introduces the example of Priam, the elderly king of Troy in Homer's Iliad, whose city is destroyed, whose children are killed, and whose people are scattered by the Greek army. Priam led a blessed life until close to the end, when it all fell apart. This seems to be evidence for the ancient saying, attributed to Solon, that we ought to "call no man happy until after he has died"; and yet, although Aristotle grants the force of such examples, he also believes that the person who takes life seriously and succeeds at the task of being human will bear misfortune as beautifully and harmoniously as possible, since such a person is not easily dislodged from excellences attained through long years of striving to be good.
Even more importantly, such a person will make serious and beautiful use of whatever gifts of good fortune they are granted, for instance through admirable acts of generosity (more on that when we get to Book IV).
Because thriving of character is something acquired, it is also laudable: we praise people for their good deeds and good works, especially if they engage in these activities reliably, since that requires consistent endeavor and thoughtful deliberation throughout life.
By contrast, human fulfillment is not praised but prized: it is even better than virtue, and is thought to be glorious [τιμίων / timiōn] and divine [θείων / theiōn]. The reason is this: a life that fulfills our deepest human capacities and potentials is the complete good and therefore is the source and cause and culmination of all good things; as Aristotle puts it in a striking phrase, it is the completion of everything and complete in every way (1101a18-19).
Here Aristotle ends for the time being his direct consideration of the nature of human fulfillment [εὐδαιμονία / eudaimonia]. Beginning in I.13 and proceeding all the way through the end of Book V, he will delve deeply into the excellences or thrivings of character, supplemented by Book VI on the so-called "intellectual virtues" of wisdom and sagacity.
In Book I, Chapter 13 of the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle turns in earnest to an investigation of ἀρετή / aretē - traditionally translated as 'virtue', more recently by some scholars as 'excellence', and by yours truly as 'thriving'. I have my reasons for this novel rendering, among them a similarity between the ancient Greek verb ἀρετάω (attested several times in Homer's Odyssey) and the core meaning of the English verb thrive as "to grow or develop well" (OED). Interestingly, the OED points out that thrive can also mean "to be successful or eminent in arms or war", which is akin to ἀρετή in the sense of martial strength and excellence (cf. Latin virtūs).
Thus to acquire and apply the thrivings of mind and character is to grow and develop well in your mental and behavioral traits and practices. Just as physical exercise gets your body in great shape, so intellectual and ethical exercise gets your soul in great shape.
But what is the basic nature of the soul or psyche - i.e., your essential aliveness as a human being? Aristotle argues that although human faculties are inseparable from each other in nature (i.e., in actual human beings), we can distinguish three "parts" or aspects of human aliveness. The first is directed to the meeting of physical needs like growth, nutrition, and metabolism; this part, which we have in common with plants and animals, is entirely without thinking-and-speech [λόγος / logos]. The second is directed to perceptual awareness, locomotion, the satisfaction of impulses and wants, the pursuit of pleasure, the avoidance of pain, etc.; this part, which we have in common with other animals, can in humans be guided or persuaded by λόγος to do the right thing. The third engages in the guiding and persuading of the second, which it can do because it has a conceptual understanding of the sources and causes of human nature and the human good; this is thinking-and-speaking pure and simple, i.e., reason.
The development of mind and character is closely bound up with several phenomena we'll be exploring as we walk with Aristotle through the Nicomachean Ethics. Here he emphasizes the roles of learning by doing, experience and maturation over the course of your lifetime, and the formation of habits or practices through enculturation during childhood (which, he says, makes all the difference). Although later he will strongly feature choice, commitment, deliberation, and wisdom, even early on he talks about the importance of sizing up and adapting your behavior to a particular situation; this gives the lie to those scholars who have claimed that habituation or enculturation is a mindless process of rote imitation. For Aristotle, no truly human activity can ever be mindless.
In II.2 and II.3, he further observes that over time the development of mind and character can be stunted and impeded by going beyond or falling short of what's proportionate in each situation, while feeling and acting in proportion can produce, develop, and preserve the relevant traits. The key is to be satisfied with the enjoyment that inherently accompanies the activity itself, whereas avidly pursuing pleasures or cravenly avoiding pains in isolation from those activities will inevitably lead you astray. As we saw in our discussion of Nicomachean Ethics I.7, activity [ἐνέργεια / energeia] is central to human fulfillment [εὐδαιμονία / eudaimonia]. Further, it is by engaging in the right sorts of activity that you strengthen your ethical muscles, just as the person who engages in physical exercise becomes more fit for such exercise.
Finally, in II.4 Aristotle wonders how it is that one acquires a thriving of character. Don't you need to be temperate already (for example) in order to act in a temperate way? Well, he says, it could be as it is in the crafts, where you slowly learn the craft under the guidance of someone who has already acquired the relevant skills. Yet character traits differ from crafts because knowing what to do is the least of the matter: more importantly, you need to commit to temperate actions in themselves (not in order to impress people or whatever) and you need to do so steadfastly, such that you're not easily swayed from acting temperately. You become this way by consistently performing temperate actions: there's no way you can become temperate by not in fact acting temperately.
Yet Aristotle says most people in fact do try to avoid acting temperately and justly and so on - they'd rather talk than do. Even worse, they think that they're living philosophically and taking life seriously by engaging in idle talking and theorizing, whereas what they really need to do is apply the right treatment (θεραπεία / therapeia, whence our word 'therapy') to themselves so that they can get their soul in good shape.
In the next few chapters, Aristotle will provide a more complete analysis of the nature of character traits.
Following up on his initial inquiry into ἀρετή / aretē, Aristotle digs further into thrivings of character. Are they feelings or emotions like anger, fear, and jealousy? No, because those things are ephemeral motions in the psyche that we experience without having chosen them, which is why people aren't praised or blamed for what they happen to feel. Are they capacities or predispositions? No, because although an irritable person (say) might be predisposed to be annoyed, irritability is something like a temporary mood based in a capacity that everyone has. Are they stable traits [ἕξεις / hexeis]? Yes, because traits are formed through a long series of actions and commitments and therefore can be described as chosen; this is why people are responsible for their character. It is the serious [σπουδαῖος / spoudaios] thrivings and worthless [φαῦλος / phaulos] failings of character that cause us to actively conduct ourselves well or badly in relation to the feelings, all of which involve either pleasure (e.g., affection) or pain (e.g., hatred).
Every thriving of character brings the psyche into a better condition and a state of completion, since it activates the relevant human capacities (such as rationality and sociality). It also makes such a person's activities serious [σπουδαῖος / spoudaios], since a thriving of character comes fully to life and to completion in action. The underlying principle is that when we conduct ourselves badly in relation to the feelings, we overdo it (e.g., feeling too much pity) or underdo it (e.g., not feeling enough confidence); this pushes us off balance, whereas reacting proportionately preserves and reinforces a good condition of the soul. When we attain this kind of balance, we get things right [κατορθοῦται / katothoutai].
Tangentially, Aristotle notes that this kind of account [λόγος / logos] might be true in general, but it's especially important that we apply it to particulars. Thus in II.7 he goes beyond the traditional Greek "four virtues" - courage, moderation, justice, and wisdom - by briefly previewing a whole list of thrivings such as generosity, gentleness, and truthfulness. (We need not dwell on these now, since he will go through them in great detail later on.)
Given the many domains of action and feeling in which we might need to attain balance between falling short and going too far, developing good character could be difficult; indeed, Aristotle implies that it's the task [ἔργον / ergon] of a lifetime. Yet he does offer a few suggestions at this point, such as deliberately aiming away from your natural tendencies (as one might do to cultivate empathy) and paying close attention to particulars so that you can correctly size up the situations you find yourself in. As we'll see, policies of this kind are part of practical wisdom or what we moderns might call situational judgment.
Toward the end of Book II of the Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle states that character traits are things that we choose. Here in the first half of Book III, he provides a deeper analysis of related issues: the extent to which actions are willing or unwilling, the nature of deliberation and choice, etc. Although the discussion is somewhat technical in spots and has given scholars much to chew on, in the end it has a number of practical implications.
The basic question is this: are you the ultimate source [ἀρχή / archē] of your actions and character traits? Aristotle is not impressed by arguments to the effect that you're not to blame if you do bad things while in a highly emotional state such as rage (because you could have controlled your anger) or while in ignorance of the right way to act (because it's your responsibility as an adult human being to understand the good). At root, you have a choice about how to live: it's not enough to merely wish for virtue and happiness and fulfillment; instead you need to make beautifully right commitments in life and actively deliberate about how to realize those commitments. This requires discernment and reflection to close the gap between the ideal and the real - or, as he puts it, to make your goal or completion [τέλος / telos] of finding fulfillment [εὐδαιμονία / eudaimonia] actually determinate or well-defined [ὡρισμένον / hōrismenon] in particular actions. The worthy person who takes life seriously finds a way to do this, whereas the worthless [φαῦλος / phaulos] person who tolerates injustice or wallows in decadence finds excuses for doing the wrong thing. One such excuse is the misguided belief that repeated action of a certain kind, whether good or bad, won't lead to the formation of a character trait; by contrast, Aristotle says, you'd need to be utterly lacking in awareness to not understand that people complete themselves [διατελοῦσι / diatelousi] through their activities (1114a9).
Yet he observes that actions and traits are willing in different ways: an action is up to us and under our control from start [ἀρχή / archē] to finish [τέλος / telos], whereas a trait is willingly begun (presumably through said actions) even though it's not easy to trace exactly how we add to it over time. However, whether and how we use or apply a trait in our actions is always up to us, so a trait still ends up being something willing.
At this point, Aristotle has finished his consideration of the preliminaries and is ready to dig into the thrivings of character, starting with courage.
The first thriving of character that Aristotle discusses at length is courage. Why?
To start with, we mustn't forget the cultural and historical context: that of small city-states plagued by endemic warfare (e.g., Athens and Megara, 40km apart, were in conflict on and off for centuries). For good reason, the Greek word ἀνδρεία means both courage and manliness: if the menfolk did not demonstrate bravery in battle, a town could be destroyed, with the men likely killed and the women and children sold into slavery. For the ancients, courage was serious business.
More fundamentally, courage illustrates a number key points that Aristotle wishes to make about human character:
Finally, it's important to understand the restricted reference of his definition of courage: roughly speaking, he says that the character trait of courage enables you to feel the appropriate level of fear and confidence when confronted with the possibility of dying in battle. It's true that he does mention other varieties of courage, since you can be brave when you might lose anything you hold valuable, such as your health (e.g., when diagnosed with a dread disease) or social status (e.g., when speaking out against injustice); yet he says that these varieties are merely analogous to (we might say extensions of) the core or "focal" sense of the term.
We moderns can find this approach disconcerting, for we often try to formulate the most comprehensive definition covering the widest range of cases. By contrast, Aristotle usually works to identify the primary instance of a phenomenon, and then treats all the other instances as analogous to the paradigm. In practice this might be a distinction without a difference, but it's important to keep it in mind as we work our way through Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics.
That's a lot to squeeze into three short chapters! We'll see Aristotle build upon these insights as he works his way through the other virtues, starting in III.10-12 with moderation.
After his discussion of courage, Aristotle moves immediately to another of the traditional four virtues in ancient Greece: moderation. Although Aristotle never said that we should pursue moderation in everything, he did think that moderation is crucial to human fulfillment. Among other considerations, courage is paradigmatically displayed in war, but we engage in war only for the sake of peace; thus we need to understand and practice the character traits that maintain peace, among which moderation plays a central role.
The Greek word rendered here as 'moderation' is σωφροσύνη / sōphrosunē, which is notoriously difficult to translate (there's a whole book on the topic by Helen North, which of course I've read in my copious research into Aristotle's ethics). Following his usual procedure of attempting to identify the primary cases, Aristotle settles on situations in which human beings are drawn to bodily pleasures that we have in common with other animals, especially those that involve the senses of taste or touch. As he says, we don't call someone immoderate or decadent [ἀκόλαστος / akolastos] if they have a passion for listening to music or viewing beautiful artworks, but we do if they are overly attached to eating, drinking, or sex. Similar reasoning applies to, say, a passion for honor or for learning; in such domains, the enjoyment is more mental than physical.
As with all character traits, the thriving or excellence lies somewhere between behaviors that fall short and those that go too far: here, moderation is intermediate between an admittedly rare insensitivity to bodily pleasures and an all-too-human tendency to indulgence. We are naturally geared to seek pleasure, which is why leading a more moderate, temperate life is a positive achievement. That life consists in feeling and acting in ways that are consistent with bodily health, good physical condition, reasonable expense, and - as always - that aim at what is beautifully right [καλός / kalos].
By contrast, the person who succumbs to decadence essentially has a policy of greedily grabbing every pleasure that comes his way (even if they are repulsively wrong) and is downright pained by a lack of constant titillation. In this fashion, the decadent person destroys the harmony that should naturally obtain between reason and desire - he literally loses his mind, since etymologically σωφροσύνη / sōphrosunē means to preserve one's capacity to think and be mindful.
Both courage and moderation deal fundamentally with enjoyable and distressful emotions: fear and hope in the case of courage, bodily gratification in the case of moderation. From here, in Book IV Aristotle will progress to excellences of character that focus primarily on admirably appropriate actions, such as generosity and kindness.
Next Aristotle turns to generosity. A more literal rendering of the Greek word ἐλευθεριότης / eleutheriotēs might be "free-giving", since it is derived from ἐλευθερία / eleutheria, the Greek word for freedom. We'll talk more about freedom farther along in our walk with Aristotle, but for now it's worth noting that Aristotle's conception of freedom is not purely political but also includes personal aspects of character, action, and thinking.
The paradigmatic sense of generosity is giving - and, interestingly, earning - money in appropriate ways. (Presumably in an extended sense we could speak of being generous with one's time or attention or other resources.) The two opposites of generosity - both falling short and going too far of what's beautifully right in this domain - are stinginess and wastefulness: the stingy person thinks money is a more serious matter than it really is, whereas the wasteful person doesn't take it seriously enough and thus might not have enough to live on, which is self-destructive.
Aristotle introduces two key principles in Chapter I:
A further wrinkle is that for Aristotle, giving is personal (the ancient Greeks didn't have non-profit foundations, so generosity was one-to-one). The character of the recipient matters a great deal. A wasteful person doesn't necessarily give too great an amount, but might give to the wrong kind of person, such as a sycophant or someone who brings pleasure in unwholesome ways.
Similar considerations apply to getting or earning money. Here you are the recipient, and your character matters, too: Aristotle observes that it doesn't befit a free person to engage in shameful lines of work (his examples are pimps and loan sharks). This insight might prove helpful later on when we consider Aristotle's discussion of leisure [σχολή / scholē].
In Chapter 2, Aristotle talks about a special flavor of generosity he calls magnificence, which applies only to people who possess great wealth - the kind of public benefactors who could fittingly fund a dramatic festival, a diplomatic delegation, or a warship (in classical Greece such things were paid for by rich people individually, not through general taxation). The magnificent person knows how to spend money on a grand scale without being gaudy or chintzy; what's beautifully right about this rather specialized excellence of character is its sense of grandeur [μέγεθος / megethos].
In this respect, Chapter 2 on magnificence [μεγαλοπρεπεία / megaloprepeia] serves as a segue to Chapter 3 on greatness of soul [μεγαλοψυχία / megalopsuchia]. That's a topic fraught with controversy, which is why I'll cover it separately in the next stage of our Aristotelian journey.
As hinted last time, Book IV, Chapter 3 of the Nicomachean Ethics has its oddities. Aristotle's discussion of μεγαλοψυχία / megalopsuchia or greatness of soul (traditionally translated as "pride") has, I suspect, turned many people away from the valuable insights to be found throughout his writings because his "great-souled man" comes across as a haughty, arrogant prig that few of us would want as a friend.
What's going on here? Based on my reading of the scholarly literature, I see a few possibilities...
The virtue of magnificence [μεγαλοπρεπεία / megaloprepeia] that Aristotle talked about in Chapter 2 applies only to exceptionally wealthy people, so it might make sense that he would then talk about a virtue (greatness of soul or μεγαλοψυχία / megalopsuchia) that applies only to exceptionally powerful or high-status people. The μεγα / mega in both words means "big", and only the "big man" has the wealth or status to demonstrate these excellences. Indeed, some scholars have suggested that Aristotle included magnificence and greatness of soul as a sop to the Macedonian kings and princes and generals he interacted with, such as King Philip, Alexander the Great, and Antipater.
That strikes me as going too far, because the great-souled man (along with the man of more moderate status described in IV.4) has some things going for him. In particular, he has a true, accurate grasp of his own worth and thus avoids both the boasting attitude of the vain person and the shrinking self-deprecation of the small-souled person.
In his brilliant book Revaluing Ethics: Aristotle's Dialectical Pedagogy, Thomas W. Smith contends that Aristotle comes not to praise μεγαλοψυχία but to bury it. As we saw in the "ergon argument" of NE I.7, the essence of human fulfillment is activity [ἐνέργεια / energeia] in accordance with the underlying task [ἔργον / ergon] of being human; straying from that path makes your life not flourishing but languishing, inactive, inert (ἀργόν = not-ἔργον). Yet the great-souled man is so obsessed with status / honor [τιμή / timē] and self-sufficiency [αὐτάρκεια / autarkeia] that he ends up being inactive in precisely this way (cf. the word ἀργόν at NE 1124b24).
If the "great-souled man" is not the ideal but is actually deficient in his way of life, how and why has he gone astray? The problem seems to be an excessive focus on honor; yes, τιμή / timē is the highest of the external goods to this point in the analysis, but external goods are second-class citizens, ethically speaking: the first-class citizens are internal qualities and attainments like knowledge/understanding, wisdom, craft/skill, and character (each of these is what Aristotle calls a ἕξις / hexis or acquired trait), which find their highest application in our close, loving relationships [φιλία / philia] with other people; as we'll see later, love - not honor - is the greatest of the external goods.
Smith argues that Aristotle's intent in the Nicomachean Ethics is to lead his audience of aristocratic Greek men away from their unreflective attachment to traditional virtues like manliness/courage, love of honor, and greatness of soul, instead leading them toward a more examined life. Observe how Aristotle says that the great-souled man is "not much given to wonder, for nothing is great [μέγα] to him" (NE 1125a2-3). But the love and practice of wisdom (i.e., philosophy) begins in wonder, especially wonder about the highest, grandest, most beautiful aspects of existence: personal relationships, human societies, artistic creation, aesthetic experience, scientific investigation, contemplation of the divine, and the like.
So which is it? Is greatness of soul the crown/adornment [κόσμος / kosmos] of the virtues, or an ultimately inert and meaningless bauble (another meaning of κόσμος) that prevents us from finding fulfillment in life? Only by walking further along with the path with Aristotle will we get closer to the answer...
Following the intellectual drama of Aristotle's chapter on greatness of soul, the rest of Book IV covers gentleness (of which the contraries are an angry or docile disposition) and a few social excellences like benevolence, modesty, and wit. It might not be coincidental that all of these act as counterweights to the haughty arrogance we just witnessed in the great-souled man.
The discussion of gentleness and anger (IV.5) has several interesting wrinkles. For one, Aristotle observes that the gentle-minded person is undisturbed [ἀταράχος / atarachos] and not led by passions, using the root of the word that Epicurus will later emphasize in his ethics of serenity or ataraxia. Here Aristotle also graphically illustrates the many ways that a person can go astray emotionally: the irritable person gets angry quickly and at the wrong kinds of people, but just as quickly cools off; the hot-head is sharp-tempered toward everyone; the bitter person doesn't let go of angry feelings; the harsh person gets angry for the wrong reasons; and so forth.
The social excellences that Aristotle considers in IV.6-8 are traditionally thought of as minor virtues, yet they set the stage for his exploration of justice in Book V and friendship/love [φιλία / philia] in Books VIII and IX. All of them lend authenticity/truth [ἀλἠθεια / alētheia], decency/humaneness [ἐπιείκεια / epieikeia, and grace/civility [χάρις / charis] to social relations, living harmoniously, and sharing words and deeds with the other people in our daily life and community. They are not matters for legislation, but "a free and gracious person will conduct his life this way, since he is like a law unto himself" (NE 1128a31-32). Especially as he grows older, this kind of decent person won't experience feelings of shame because he won't engage in shameful acts in the first place - instead, in all the many and various situations of life he will deviate as little as possible from what is admirably appropriate and beautifully right.
At this point, having sketched out a number of character traits outside the traditional "big four" of ancient Greek culture, Aristotle will devote the entirety of Book V to an examination of justice.
There's something unsatisfying, almost clinical, about Book V of the Nicomachean Ethics (which also happens to be Book IV of the Eudemian Ethics - more on that some other time). Whereas in Books II through IV his exploration of various character traits repeatedly emphasized the importance of action and feeling for the sake of what's beautifully right, that quasi-aesthetic perspective gives way here to dry discussions of proportionality, reciprocity, compensation, and the like. To me this indicates the severe limitations of justice as a virtue, not its centrality to ethics and the good life. Because the technical details of Aristotle's analysis here can be rather mind-numbing, I'll treat this book in a rather cursory fashion, focusing on the aspects that are of more general interest.
In V.1, Aristotle begins by observing that, in one sense, justice is complete virtue: for justice is doing what the law enjoins, and the law disallows the most extreme vices (cowardice in the form of military desertion, immoderation in the form of adultery, anger in the form of assault, etc.). Yet in practice this isn't all that helpful, because few of us go so far astray that we do what's repulsively wrong; it's in the great middle ground where we need more specific guidance to identify and enact what's beautifully right - yet here the law is silent.
Eventually, in V.10, Aristotle points in a more beautiful direction: yes, justice is good, but even better is ἐπιείκεια / epieikeia, which I would translate as humaneness. Because the law needs to keep things simple and can't cover all situations, it addresses only what is true universally or for the most part; but as Aristotle has said repeatedly, the truest judgment always resides in the particulars. Humaneness sets things straight [ἐπανόρθωμα / epanorthōma] and speaks correctly [ὀρθῶς / orthōs], making what is ill-defined under the law well-defined in action; thus it is more just than justice, as it were - it is the best form of justice, because it honors not the letter but the spirit of the law.
Stepping back from the often-boring details of Book V, as I've done here, enables us to see the dialectical trajectory that Aristotle takes in the Nicomachean Ethics. Looking backward, in IV.7 Aristotle had remarked that certain people are truthful in their words and deeds even when there's no advantage to be gained, since they act that way from an acquired character trait and take inherent pleasure in doing what's beautifully right (just as deceitful people take a perverse pleasure in lying, cf. NE 1127b16). And, as noted last time, in IV.8 he had said that "a free and gracious person will conduct his life this way, since he is like a law unto himself". The ethical person who takes life seriously doesn't consider mere legislation to be the ultimate guidance, but instead follows a higher law.
Looking forward, Aristotle's brief consideration of humaneness will lead in two separate but complementary directions. First, in Book VI he will delve deeply into deliberation, practical wisdom, and what makes for a correct account [ὀρθός λόγος / orthos logos] of our actions and feelings. Then, in Books VIII and IX he will thoroughly explore the even more complete humaneness present within love-and-friendship [φιλία / philia] in all its forms. Glancing even further ahead, by the end of the Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle will weave these two strands of wisdom and love back together when he shows that the love of wisdom (i.e., φιλο-σοφία / philo-sophia) is absolutely essential to human fulfillment.
Having briefly previewed the rest of our walk through the Nicomachean Ethics, next time we'll pick up with Book VI on the so-called "intellectual virtues", with a special focus on practical wisdom.
Here we are, halfway through the Nicomachean Ethics. Because the path becomes rather steep and stony at this point, we're going to slow down and step carefully so that we don't tumble down the side of the mountain. Hey, no one ever promised that walking with Aristotle was going to be a leisurely stroll in the park!
In Book VI, Aristotle turns to the so-called "intellectual virtues" - personal excellences that enable you to understand the world around you, think things through, and make better decisions. To give you a flavor of what he's talking about, at the very beginning of Chapter 3 he lists five such thrivings: craft [τέχνη / technē], understanding [ἐπιστήμη / epistēmē], wisdom [φρόνησις / phronēsis], sagacity [σοφία / sophia], and insight [νοῦς / nous]. These are all acquired traits by which the soul "truths" [ἀληθεύει / alētheuei], in ways that we will explore in depth as we keep climbing.
If you're wondering why we need to concern ourselves with intellectual virtues at all, recall that, on Aristotle's view, the actions and feelings which are admirably appropriate and beautifully right must be deliberately chosen in accord with the "correct account" [ὀρθός λόγος / orthos logos]. This indicates that at least a few excellences of thought might be involved, such as an understanding [ἐπιστήμη / epistēmē] of human nature and the human good, insight [νοῦς / nous] into particular situations, and the wisdom [φρόνησις / phronēsis] to make good choices and commitments.
However, of these, only insight [νοῦς / nous] is said to "govern" action and truth; the other two governing factors are perception/awareness [ἄισθησις / aisthēsis] and reaching/yearning [ὄρεξις / orexis]. Although Aristotle earlier said that action-guiding judgment is a matter of perceiving the particulars of a situation, perception isn't enough for us because whereas animals have perception they don't engage in "taking action" [πρᾶξις / praxis] in the way that humans do. The source of taking action is choice or commitment [προαίρεσις / prohairesis]; in turn, the source of choice or commitment is a goal-oriented combination of reaching/yearning and the sort of account [λόγος / logos] that grounds deliberation and reflection. Because an account is involved, so are insight [νοῦς / nous] and thinking [διανοία / dianoia]. In order for your actions to be of serious worth [σπουδαῖος / spoudaios], the account needs to be true [ἀληθής / alēthēs] and the reaching/yearning needs to be correct [ὀρθός / orthos]. Thus doing well [εὐπραξία / eupraxia], which is nearly synonymous with fulfillment [εὐδαιμονία / eudaimonia], requires both character and thinking. The underlying cause seems to be that craft [τέχνη / technē], which Aristotle says doesn't involve character, always has its completion [τέλος / telos] outside itself (e.g., in an artifact), whereas the specifically human kind of activity has its completion within itself and exists for its own sake.
How can we thread our way through this boulder-field of concepts? Hopefully things will become clearer as we make our way up the mountain, but for now I see a few takeaways:
We'll explore these ideas more comprehensively as we move along in our walk with Aristotle.
As we pick our way through this boulder-field, let's glance at two of the concepts that Aristotle introduced in VI.1-2: understanding [ἐπιστήμη / epistēmē] and craft [τέχνη /technē]. Aristotle's purpose here is not to examine these phenomena in detail, but to set up a contrast with wisdom [φρόνησις / phronēsis] and sagacity [σοφία / sophia], which will become the primary focus later in Book VI.
As Aryeh Kosman and Myles Burnyeat identified years ago, for Aristotle understanding a thing is actually understanding how to explain or spell out or give an account [λόγος / logos] of why it is the way it is. As a result, understanding is an "explanatory trait" [ἕξις ἀπὀδειξις / hexis apodeixis]. Here and elsewhere, Aristotle states that this kind of knowing applies to things that cannot be otherwise, since it leads to a pure awareness [θεωρία / theoria] of something's nature.
The contrast Aristotle draws is with things that can be otherwise, especially the objects of craft and of action: you deliberate about how to make something or do something only if your deliberations might make a difference in the world. This is why Aristotle says that craft is a production-oriented trait "with an account" or "suffused with thinking" [μετὰ λόγου / meta logou] and, similarly, that wisdom is an action-oriented trait meta logou. Whereas providing an account for the way things are is plain and simple what understanding accomplishes, that's not the central purpose or organizing principle for craft and action.
Although many scholars reduce these distinctions to a difference between theoretical knowledge and practical or productive knowledge, or to a difference between the contemplative life and the active life, as I see it that's not exactly what's going on here. In VI.1, Aristotle had talked about two parts or aspects of the mind: the "understanding part", which is aware of [θεωρεῖν / theorein] things that cannot be otherwise, and the "deliberative part", which is aware of [θεωρεῖν / theorein] things that can be otherwise. Looking ahead slightly, in VI.5 he will mention that statesmen like Pericles "are aware of [θεωρεῖν / theorein] what is good for themselves and for human beings" more generally. This indicates that ancient Greek theoria is not exclusively "theoretical" in our modern sense; instead, Aristotle appears to be making use of an underlying concept of conceptual awareness (recall his widespread references to "meta logou"), which plays a key role not only in theoretical inquiry but also in productive making and practical doing.
As we move forward in Book VI and beyond, we'll see that these insights are crucially important to human fulfillment and the examined life.
In VI.5, Aristotle finally turns to a deeper analysis of φρόνησις / phronēsis. I render this term as "wisdom", whereas others render it as "practical wisdom" (the standard these days), "practical judgment" (Joe Sachs), or "prudence" (prevalent in older translations). The wise person - the φρόνιμος / phronimos - is "able to deliberate beautifully about things that are good and advantageous, not in part, such as the sort of things that are conducive to health or strength, but the sort of things that are conducive to living well as a whole" (1140a25-28, Sachs translation). By the way, here "conducive" renders πρὸς / pros, the same preposition we find in πρὸς τὸ τέλος / pros to telos, which is Aristotle's phrase for "that which takes us closer to completion" or "that which is toward the goal" - where the goal is living well as a whole, i.e., success [εὐπραξία / eupraxia] or fulfillment [εὐδαιμονία / eudaimonia].
For Aristotle, wisdom is a truth-seeking trait that is suffused with thinking and directed toward taking action. Wisdom is allied with moderation [σωφροσύνη / sōphrosunē] because moderation saves wisdom by preserving the kind of ὑπόληψις / hupolēpsis that is involved in deliberation. What does this term mean? In his translation of the Nicomachean Ethics, Joe Sachs renders it as "judgment", but that seems too definitive. In his commentary on Book VI and in his paper "Hupolêpsis, Doxa, and Epistêmê in Aristotle", C.D.C. Reeve renders it as "supposition", but that doesn't strike me as all that helpful, either. The root sense is taking something up or considering it in an open-minded manner, such that you might go one way or the other (cf. ἐπαμφοτερἰζωμεν / epamphoterizōmen in the Magna Moralia, 1197a30-31). Thus hupolēpsis as consideration is a precursor to drawing a conclusion, forming a judgment, or making a commitment [προαίρεσις / proharesis] - but not the result of the act of consideration.
As we saw in our discussion of Nicomachean Ethics Book III.10-12, moderation saves this kind of "mindedness" because it helps us avoid the greed for pleasure and the fear of pain. Here Aristotle expands on that idea in rather dramatic fashion, since he says that these passions destroy [διαφθέρει / diaphtherei], deform [διαστρέφει / diastrephei], and disable [διεφθαρμένοι / diephtharmenoi] your character, your capacity to deliberate, and your knowledge of the human good. It seems these passions do this by short-circuiting open-minded consideration of the situation and the alternatives it presents. For the decadent person whose policy is to unthinkingly pursue every pleasure that comes along, no consideration or deliberation takes place - this person bypasses thinking altogether, which is why their actions are not μετὰ λόγου / meta logou: they can't actually provide an account for what they do. By contrast, the wise person never completely bypasses their capacity for thought, even when they react quickly in a given situation, because they have beforehand deliberately formed commitments to doing what's beautifully right. Plus, they are aware that the truest judgment always resides in the particulars, where is where wisdom really comes into its own.
At the end of VI.5, Aristotle highlights several differences between wisdom [φρόνησις / phronēsis] and craft [τέχνη / technē]. First, he says that although there is a virtue [ἀρετή / aretē] associated with the beautifully right use of a craft, the craft itself is not a virtue or excellence or thriving of the soul; however, wisdom in itself is indeed such an thriving. Second, wisdom is not merely a trait that is suffused with thinking or that can provide an account [μετὰ λόγου / meta logou], but is intimately bound up with character; as Aristotle says, a sign of this you can forget a craft but there is no forgetting [λήθη / lēthē] of wisdom. This might indicate that wisdom is most of all the kind of thing that is true, since the Greek word for truth [ἀλήθη / alēthē] means, at root, "unforgetting". Perhaps we'll see later in our walk with Aristotle whether this bud will bloom into something of greater significance for people who take life seriously.
Having puzzled through the beginnings of Aristotle's analysis of wisdom [φρόνησις / phronēsis], in Book VI.6-8 we will climbs further up this steep section of the trail to discuss not only wisdom but also sagacity [σοφία / sophia].
In the single paragraph that makes up VI.6, Aristotle says that when we truly have understanding [ἐπιστήμη / epistēmē] of something, we can reliably engage in spelling out [ἀπὀδειξις / apodeixis] why it is the way it is. Yet not everything can be spelled out: at some point in the chain of explanation we come to aspects of reality that can only be seen, albeit not perceptually but intellectually. He calls these the sources [ἀρχαί / archai] of things and says that the mental trait or practice [ἕξις / hexis] involved is insight [νοῦς / nous].
According to Aristotle, we need both understanding and insight in order to have precise and reliable "truthing" [ἀληθεύειν / alētheuein] of the most significant [τίμιος / timios] and serious [σπουδαῖος / spoudaios] aspects of reality and human experience, which are unchanging. He identifies this combination as σοφία / sophia, which I render as "sagacity". By contrast, wisdom [φρόνησις / phronēsis] concerns things we can deliberate about and change through our actions.
It's a common misconception, I think, that on Aristotle's account sagacity is limited to the truths of mathematics, astronomy, theology, and the like - and that it doesn't apply to the sublunary realm of living things and human beings. Yet according to Aristotle animal species are eternal and unchanging (a topic for another time) and we can't decide to be other than we are; thus disciplines such as biology, psychology, and ethics are just as much objects of sagacity as the more rarified sciences.
Indeed, Aristotle claims that even action-guiding wisdom [φρόνησις / phronēsis] needs to grasp not only the particulars of specific situations but also the universals of human nature and the human good. This might even imply that you can't be consistently good in your actions unless you have some measure of sagacity in your thoughts. Nevertheless, the primary focus of action and decision remains with the particulars, which is why it's necessary to have experience [ἐμπειρία / empeiria] of life in order to be wise. In a field like mathematics, experience isn't required and young people can succeed admirably, whereas in ethics and action young people are full of theoretical talk (1142a21, cf. 1105b13) but haven't yet integrated the lessons of experience into their practice of life.
In the chapters that follow (VI.9-11), Aristotle will further analyze the constituent faculties and activities of action-guiding wisdom.
Here toward the end of Book VI Aristotle looks at several skills and traits that are either constituents of wisdom or similar to wisdom in certain respects: deliberative excellence [εὐβουλία / euboulia], astuteness [σύνεσις / sunesis], thoughtfulness [γνωμή / gnōmē], and sensitivity [συνγνωμή / sungnōmē].
Deliberative excellence is not conceptual understanding [ἐπιστήμη / epistēmē] since it deals with particulars, but neither is it mere opinion [δόξα / doxa] or guesstimation since the person who deliberates well about what to do can provide an account [λόγος / logos] for their actions and commitments. Instead, it's a matter of correctly [ὀρθῶς / orthōs] thinking things through [διανοία / dianoia] about what gets us closer to our goals [τὰ πρὸς τὸ τέλος / ta pros to telos]. Yet there are two kinds of goal: particular goals we might just happen to have, and the overall goal of living well. Deliberative excellence "plain and simple" [ἁπλῶς / haplōs] is closely connected to wisdom [φρόνησις / phronēsis], since both are concerned with "the sort of things that are conducive to living well as a whole" (1140a28).
Astuteness [σύνεσις / sunesis] is quickness in perceiving situations in which we get stuck or reach an impasse [ἀπορία / aporia] and thus cause us to deliberate or take counsel. Although astuteness isn't exactly wisdom, it enables us to more readily and appropriately use the wisdom we already possess.
Thoughtfulness [γνωμή / gnōmē] and sensitivity [συνγνωμή/ sungnōmē] consist in correctly [ὀρθῶς / orthōs] discerning what is humane [ἐπιεικός / epieikos]. In Book V, Aristotle had observed that humaneness "sets things straight" and "speaks correctly" [ὀρθῶς / orthōs], thus honoring the spirit of justice rather than the mere letter.
All of these mental traits - along with insight [νοῦς / nous] - converge on the same point: that doing what's beautifully right [καλός / kalos] is not a matter of following abstract rules but of apprehending the particular possibilities inherent in each opportune moment [καιρός / kairos] we live through. Indeed, because the particulars are the sources [ἀρχαί / archai] of our insight into why we take action in life, it's important to pay heed to people who have a great deal of experience [ἐμπειρία / empeiria] of life. Such people grasp the truth in significant ways, even if they can't exactly spell out why they do what they do; thus their actions and statements provide valuable material for ethical reflection and the examined life.
In the remaining chapters (12-13) of Book VI, Aristotle will put these various strands together and provide provisional answers about the nature of wisdom and sagacity.
In the final two chapters of Nicomachean Ethics Book VI, Aristotle asks some probing questions about thrivings of mind and character.
First, although sagacity [σοφία / sophia] provides understanding [ἐπιστήμη / epistēmē] and insight [νοῦς / nous] into the sources and causes of things, is it of any use in the pursuit of fulfillment [εὐδαιμονία / eudaimonia]? Actually, yes. Aristotle reasons that even if sagacity and wisdom did not have practical uses, still they would be valuable because they are excellences of their respective parts or tasks of the thinking soul: grasping the nature of what is in the case of sagacity, and deliberating about how to act in the case of wisdom. Eudaimonia is not merely a feeling (or even a series of positive emotional experiences extended over a lifetime), but the complete development and thriving of your core human capacities, i.e., not happiness in the modern sense but deep and true fulfillment.
Second, because excellences of character like courage and moderation are acquired traits [ἕξεις / hexeis], can they function well enough simply with occasional external guidance from others, thus obviating the need to individually cultivate practical wisdom [φρόνησις / phronēsis]? Well, no: the task of living a fully human life is brought to completion by one's own wisdom of mind and excellence of character. Specifically, virtue [ἀρετή / aretē] establishes the correctness of the target [σκοπός / skopos] you're trying to hit in life, and wisdom establishes the correctness of what brings you closer to doing so.
To further explain the role of wisdom, Aristotle contrasts it with mere cleverness [δεινότης / deinotēs]. The clever person can figure out how to achieve any goal, no matter whether it's beautifully right [καλός / kalos] or repulsively wrong [αἰσχρός / aischros]. The wise person has this ability, too, but it operates in service of the ultimate source [ἀρχή / archē] of action, which is the completion [τέλος / telos] of human capacities and the best thing achievable in action. Whereas corruption [μοχθηρία / mochthēria] of character warps a person's insights into the source of human action and goodness, excellence [ἀρετή / aretē] of character preserves and reinforces such insights, along with the actions that flow from them. Thus Aristotle maintains that it is impossible to be wise without being good.
A similar contrast can be drawn between virtue in the authoritative sense [κυρίος / kurios] and inborn [φυσικός / phusikos] virtue. Some people seem to be naturally courageous or temperate or generous - isn't that good enough? No, because the person who has such inborn virtues can easily go astray without insight [νοῦς / nous]. Indeed, these natural propensities to action merely resemble the excellences of character, whereas virtue in the authoritative sense comes about only through the direction of practical wisdom and the correct account [ὀρθός λόγος / orthos logos] of one's activities. Yet Aristotle takes things even one step further than Socrates, who said that there is no virtue without wisdom: for he claims that virtue is utterly suffused with the correct account [μετὰ τοῦ ὀρθοῦ λόγου / meta tou orthou logou]. Thus Aristotle concludes not only that is it impossible to be wise without being good, but also that it is impossible to be good without being wise.
Notice that Aristotle formulates no rules for action, nor does he say exactly what the correct account or best form of practical reasoning [συλλογισμός / sullogismos] is. As I see it, that's because the person who takes life seriously - the σπουδαῖος / spoudaios - uses both sagacity and wisdom to gain insight into the universal sources of the human good and into the particular opportunities for manifesting the good in specific situations. Although it certainly helps to grasp some general patterns of human behavior and principles for action (that's what the excellences of character are all about), there are no hard-and-fast rules for bridging the gap because each situation is unique. This is especially true in human relationships, which are fundamental to the good life because we are social animals; we'll see this come to fruition in Books VIII and IX, a little farther along in our walk with Aristotle.
At the end of Nicomachean Ethics Book VI, Aristotle sketched out an ideal of human flourishing, in the form of the seriously good person who seamlessly combines excellence of mind and character, practical wisdom [φρόνησις / phronēsis] and ethical thriving [ἀρετή / aretē]. Yet human experience is not always so seamless. There are many ways to go astray in life, which in Book VII Aristotle boils down to three: corruption [μοχθηρία / mochthēria] of character, lack of self-restraint [άκρασία / akrasia], and, rarely, a deficient state that borders on an animal-like existence [θεριότης / theriotēs].
Aristotle spends most of Book VII puzzling over akrasia, commonly translated as unrestraint (e.g., by Joe Sachs), lack of self-restraint, weakness of the will, moral weakness, or (my current preference) self-indulgence. Unlike the ethically corrupted person, who has a settled commitment to doing what's repulsively wrong [αἰσχρός / aischros] in one or more domains of life, the akratic person has an understanding of and commitment to what is beautifully right [καλός / kalos], yet doesn't always follow through in action. Aristotle adduces two main reasons for this kind of self-indulgence: impulsiveness [προπετεία / propeteia] and weakness [ἀσθένια / asthenia]. He says that impulsive people don't deliberate about their activities in the first place because they live by emotion; by contrast, weak-willed people, although they deliberate ahead of time, get carried away by their emotions and thus in the end stand aside from their deliberations and commitments. He seems to imply that self-indulgent behavior is especially common in the young, whose character traits and practices are not yet fully formed, although it could manifest itself in immature people of all ages.
Just as the self-indulgent person is different from the ethically corrupted person, so the self-restrained person [έγκρατής / enkratēs] is different from the ethically thriving person. Unlike the self-indulgent person, the self-restrained person doesn't give in to their unseemly passions and emotions but instead stands by their deliberations and commitments; yet unlike the seriously good person, whose thoughts and actions and emotions are in harmony, the self-restrained person has unseemly passions and emotions that need to be actively, even steadfastly overcome.
At some level, all three of these - the ethically thriving person, the self-restrained person, and the self-indulgent person - know what's right; yet they differ in their ability to act on what they know. Socrates thought it was impossible to know what's right and not act aright, so he held that weakness of the will doesn't exist: the self-indulgent person may seem to know, but doesn't really know (in their bones, as we would say). Aristotle gets through this impasse by drawing a distinction between having knowledge and actively using that knowledge; thus he argues that in the heat of the moment the self-indulgent person doesn't maintain awareness [θεωρία / theōria] of what's beautifully right [καλός / kalos] and of what makes a human life complete [τέλειος / teleios] and fulfilled [εὐδαίμων / eudaimōn]. He likens an episode of self-indulgence to falling asleep, getting drunk, or a bout of insanity: in all of these cases, one is temporarily under the influence of something - a passion (anger, lust, etc.), fatigue, a drug, or a malady - from which one needs to recover, awaken, sober up, or heal before one's knowledge is fully activated and at work [ἐνεργεῖν / energein] again in the authoritative sense [κυρίος / kurios].
How does the wise person [φρόνιμος / phronimos] - the ethically serious person [σπουδαῖος / spoudaios] - avoid such episodes? Aristotle provides two clues. First, they foresee the snares of their worst passions ahead of time and thus awaken themselves and their reasoning (1150b23-24) so that they are prepared to counteract the influence of such passions, rather as Odysseus prepared his crew for their encounter with the Sirens. Second, over time they cultivate settled traits [ἕξεις / hexeis] and practices of beautifully right behavior, so that they don't need to face each situation as if it were something completely new; instead, as they mature and become more complete [τέλειος / teleios], their deliberations and commitments and activities become consistent and reliable, like a second nature (1152a31).
In the remainder of Book VII, Aristotle turns to an analysis of pleasures/joys and pains/distresses, since character is bound up with how we handle positive and negative emotions in life.
Early on in the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle observed that thrivings and corruptions of character are centrally concerned with managing life's pleasures and pains, joys and distresses; as two examples, the cowardly person fails to act courageously out of a desire to avoid even necessary pains, whereas the decadent person fails to act moderately out of a desire to pursue even unnecessary pleasures. Here in Book VII, Aristotle expands on those observations and provides a stronger foundation for his claims.
The key insight is that pleasures and pains are bound up with the activities they accompany, since activities have their own inherent pleasures. The pleasure of, say, solving a challenging math problem is quite different from the pleasure of drinking a big glass of cold water after working outside in the hot sun. More specifically, not all pleasures involve the satisfaction of a craving (e.g., eating sweets) or relieving a pain (e.g., recovering from an illness), for some pleasures arise simply from activating a capacity (e.g., learning a skill) or exercising a natural faculty (e.g., seeing). Because the latter pleasures are not dependent on an outcome whose value lies outside the activity itself, they are good in themselves; they can even be beautifully right (1151b19, 1154a9). Thus Aristotle defines enjoyment or pleasure as the natural, unimpeded activity [ἐνέργεια / energeia] of an acquired trait [ἕξις / hexis], of which he identifies at least six: craft [τέχνη / technē], understanding [ἐπιστήμη / epistēmē], insight [νοῦς / nous], wisdom [φρόνησις / phronēsis], sagacity [σοφία / sophia], and the various forms of ethical thriving [ἀρετή / aretē]. (The status of craft here is somewhat ambiguous; I'll write about that some other time.)
According to Aristotle, the pleasures that are good in themselves cannot really be taken to excess (1154a13-14); however, his argument isn't clear to me. He might be saying that although you could engage in too much thinking or seeing or what have you (to the exclusion of other important activities), you can't pursue the pleasures of thinking or seeing to excess because those pleasures arise and are pursued only in and through activities that are good in themselves; the reason might be that they are constituents of human fulfillment [εὐδαιμονία / eudaimonia] and also are natural manifestations of deeply human capacities and traits. By contrast, the pleasures of eating, drinking, and sex can be taken to excess (which is why we need the virtue of moderation) since they are bound up with activities that human beings share with the other animals and thus are not distinctively human.
Similarly, Aristotle's focus on unimpeded activity is intriguing, but I don't fully understand it yet, either. What are the impediments to the natural activities of our acquired traits? Are they purely external (e.g., physical, social, political) or can they also be internal (e.g., psychological)? Does the lack of impediments lead to what Mihalyi Csikszentmihalyi called the state of flow?
These matters might become clearer when we get to Book X, where Aristotle presents a separate and somewhat different account of pleasure. But first we'll go through Books VIII and IX, which provide Aristotle's highly influential analysis of human relationships, especially the activity he calls philia (usually rendered as "friendship" even though it includes love, acquaintanceship, brotherhood, etc.).
Books VIII and IX of the Nicomachean Ethics are devoted to philia. The translators all say this word means friendship - but I think they're wrong. According to Aristotle, the paradigm case of philia is a mother's love for her children (1161b27). Going out on a limb (as I am wont to do), I therefore render philia as love.
Why does Aristotle dedicate one-fifth of the Nicomachean Ethics to love? In the first sentence of Book VIII, he asserts that love is a kind of virtue [ἀρετή τις / aretē tis] or suffused with virtue [μετ᾽ ἀρετήν / met' aretēn], and that it is most necessary for our way of life [βίος / bios]. Because human beings are social animals, all of our goals and activities take on greater significance if they are pursued and shared with other people - especially the people who are dear to us and with whom we live, work, think, feel, and act.
Hearkening back to his earlier analysis of the good, Aristotle looks into "what is loved" (φιλετόν / philētos) and distinguishes three kinds: what is useful [χρήσιμον / chrēsimon], what is enjoyable [ἡδὺς / hēdus], and what is good [ἀγαθός / agathos]. Thus there are three associated kinds of personal relationship: that based on usefulness (e.g., work colleagues), that based on enjoyment (e.g., poker buddies), and that based on goodness of character (e.g., best friends). The first two kinds tend to be unstable and relatively short-lived, since what we find pleasant or useful can change over time, as can our emphasis on one or the other at different times of life: younger people seek what's enjoyable and older people seek what's useful.
By contrast, the complete [τέλειος / teleios] kind of love exists between people who are good in themselves and similar in excellence of character, since they wish what's best for each other and take action to make it so. Because character is stable and long-lasting, so is the relationship rooted in good character. The individuals who share in such a relationship certainly benefit from it and enjoy it, but use and pleasure are not the purpose of their love.
A close relationship like this is not merely a feeling of mutual goodwill and affection, though. Its completeness is further enhanced by time, intimate acquaintance [συνήθεια / sunētheia], mutual disclosure, trust, shared activities, and frequent or continual proximity.
Indeed, just as with excellence of character, so too love can be seen from two perspectives: that of the underlying trait [ἕξις / hexis] and that of the living activity [ἐνέργεια / energeia]. Although the trait is a necessary foundation, the activity that expresses the trait is more primary and more significant, for activity involves commitment [προαίρεσις / prohairesis], and commitment in turn flows from deliberation and is suffused with our thoughts [μετὰ λόγου / meta logou] and values.
Such is the ideal of Aristotelian love as sketched out in Nicomachean Ethics VIII.1-5. In the remainder of Book VIII and in Book IX, Aristotle will consider a number of qualifications and complexities with regard to human relationships, since not all of our interactions exemplify the ideal. More on that next time.
Following up on his presentation of an ideal of human relationships, in Nicomachean Ethics VIII.6-8 Aristotle starts to investigate some of the variables that lead to less than ideal outcomes. Because ideally love and friendship in all their many forms entail a kind of equality, one of these variables is inequality between the two people involved, with respect to common attributes such as wealth, power, social class, fame, beauty, etc. As a modern example, consider the employees of a large corporation: it's highly unlikely, perhaps even unheard of, that the CEO will have a close relationship with the guy in the mailroom; the power gap is simply too wide. Or, to take the example that Aristotle uses, a ruler who is blessed with great wealth, absolute power, noble birth, and good looks usually surrounds himself with those who are useful (henchmen and servants and the like) and those who are pleasant (flatterers and entertainers and the like), but not with people of excellent character who take life seriously. Indeed, although the seriously good person is inherently both useful and enjoyable, such a person is not inclined to befriend a ruler unless the ruler is also superior in virtue, and that doesn't happen often.
Aristotle then extends this line of thinking to other relationships that, at least in the patriarchal society of ancient Greece, involved less drastic yet still significant forms of inequality: father and son, parent and child, husband and wife, etc. Yet he suggests a way in which these relationships can be equalized: not in the love accorded to a person because of that person's role (e.g., a parent naturally deserves more love than a child, since the parent is the source of the child's very being), but in the activity [ἐνέργεια / energeia] of loving [φιλεῖν / philein]. It is in this activity that the excellence [ἀρετή / aretē] of love resides, not in passively receiving love. Furthermore, this kind of equality is more long-lasting [μόνιμος / monimos] and humane [ἐπιεικής / epieikēs], since it is based on stable character traits rather than relatively ephemeral qualities of usefulness and enjoyment. Here again, as throughout Aristotle's reflections on things human, giving trumps receiving, creating trumps using, and activity trumps passivity. We'll see more implications of this principle as we walk along through the remainder of the Nicomachean Ethics.
Moving on from his discussions of ideal relationships and then unequal relationships, Aristotle first takes a detour into different forms of political community (monarchy, aristocracy, democracy, etc.). This likely strikes us as strange, until Aristotle explains that philia holds societies together even more than justice does; in this context, I would translate the term as brotherhood (a somewhat attenuated kind of loving in especially short supply these days, it seems!). The idea is that philia exists to the extent that two or more people share common goals and activities, such as workmates (Aristotle's example is actually shipmates on a commercial venture), fellow soldiers, neighbors, participants in a religious order, or members of a social club. And all of these specific varieties of association exist under the broad framework of the overall society in which one lives.
Aristotle observes that it is in relationships based on personal gain and usefulness that complaints and reproaches are most likely to arise. Consider life in a modern organization, where you might help a colleague with a project of theirs but not receive the same level of assistance with a project of your own; this kind of disparity, compounded over time, can cause you to rethink the entire relationship. By contrast, Aristotle says there are no complaints in stable relationships based on good character, mutual caring, and the pursuit of what's beautifully right as opposed to what's personally advantageous. A further cause of disagreement can occur when one person thinks the relationship is based on character but the other thinks it is based on usefulness or pleasure.
Yet Aristotle emphasizes that these matters can be extremely subtle: it can be difficult to figure out where you really stand, whether another person truly shares your values, when it makes sense to break off a relationship, etc. This is why we can't formulate hard-and-fast rules and instead need to develop a certain kind of wisdom [φρόνησις / phronēsis] about human relationships.
In his translation of the Nicomachean Ethics, Joe Sachs notes that at IX.4 Aristotle turns away from the factors that cause certain relationships to fall short or fall apart and instead turns toward the central factors that unify the experience of philia. These include: loving someone for their own sake, wishing that they might have all good things in life, actually doing or giving some of those good things for them, wanting them to live and to live well, wishing to spend time together and share in the activities of life, valuing the same things, sharing in the joys and sorrows of life, etc.
Once again, Aristotle observes that mothers feel and do these things most of all; yet he further observes that the humane [ἐπιεικής / epieikēs] person who takes life seriously also feels and does these things with regard to himself. The reason is that such a person has internal agreement [ὁμογνωνόνει / homognōmonei = "knowing alike"] and consistently reaches out for the same things throughout life. This consistency is directed by his entire soul and is pursued for the sake of his thinking activity [νοοῦν / nooun] or the thinking part of the soul [διανοητικός / dianoētikos] - for this seems most of all to be a person and this most especially needs to be maintained and preserved (recall Aristotle's discussion in III.10-12 of σωφροσύνη / sōphrosunē, which literally means "mind-keeping").
In IX.5 and IX.6, Aristotle discusses two of the main ingredients for close relationships: well-mindedness [εὐνοία / eunoia, usually rendered "goodwill"] and like-mindedness [ὁμονοία / homonoia]. Note the connection between these terms and the Greek word for mind [νοῦς / nous]. It's almost as if those who are dear to each other share the same mind across two bodies. That's not really the case, of course; but according to Aristotle it is our mind and thoughts, including well-mindedness and like-mindedness, that figure centrally in love and friendship.
Like-mindedness is not the mere holding of similar opinions [ὁμοδόξια / homodoxia] about any arbitrary topic, such as one might find among scientists or co-religionists or political partisans. Instead, it involves having common goals, forming similar judgments, making similar choices, and acting on those choices together. This leads naturally to one of the most important aspects of philia: taking action for the sake of someone who is dear to you, which in VIII.6-8 he called the activity [ἐνέργεια / energeia] of loving [φιλεῖν / philein] and which here he calls doing good deeds [εύέργεται / euergetai, literally "well-acting"]. It is through activity that we are what we are, and the person who acts well for the sake of someone they love creates something beautifully right [καλός / kalos] through this kind of activity (1168a10).
All of this shows that love [φιλία / philia] is not only a feeling [πάθος / pathos], but also a complete activity [ἐνέργεια / energeia] and thriving [ἀρετή / aretē] of the whole person. That's likely why Aristotle thought it was important to devote 20% of the Nicomachean Ethics to the topic.
Up until now Aristotle has considered love for other people, but in IX.8 Aristotle asks some probing questions about love of self. All the central qualities of love (summarized in the previous section) seem to apply most of all to oneself, such that love toward others seems to grow out of self-love. But how can this be? After all, it also seems that the worthless [φαῦλος / phaulos] person whose character is corrupted [μοχθηρός / mochthēros] acts out of pure selfishness. The conflict between these appearances sets up what Aristotle calls an impasse [ἀπορία / aporia], and we'll need to find a way through it in order to make further progress toward wisdom and sagacity.
Harkening back to distinctions he introduced in I.8, Aristotle claims that the worthless person succumbs to greed [πλεονεξία / pleonexia] regarding the kinds of external goods that people fight over: wealth, fame, honor, power, and so on. By constrast, the person who takes life seriously cultivates internal goods like character, knowledge, and wisdom. Because these internal goods are the most beautifully right things in life, the person who is especially serious [σπουδαῖος / spoudaios] about them goes after the very best things and therefore has the highest degree of self-love. Although we don't happen to call such a person a self-lover, in fact that's what he or she is.
Moreoever, it is beautifully right actions that gratify the most authoritative [κυρίος / kurios] part of the soul, which is the mind; as a result, the serious person's doings and feelings are suffused with thinking [μετὰ λόγου / meta logou] and the correct account [ὀρθός λόγος / orthos logos] of human life. Thus the person who takes life seriously experiences inner harmony, whereas the worthless person experiences disharmony and constant regrets over doing what ought not to be done.
Finally (although Aristotle doesn't spell it out fully here), the person who engages in the thoroughgoing love and practice of what's beautifully right inherently values and enacts what is most to be loved and cherished [φιλητός / philētos] in life - the very concept he introduced as of paramount importance at the beginning of his discussion of philia in VIII.1. Therefore if we're seeking a relationship based on character rather than use or pleasure, the true self-lover makes for the best friend, whereas the false self-lover is poor material indeed.
In IX.9-12, Aristotle finishes off his consideration of love and friendship by wondering how many close relationships one really needs, the times in life when such relationships are most valuable, etc.
The first question is whether the person who leads a life of fulfillment (εὐδαιμονία / eudaimonia) needs any friends at all. One of the conditions for fulfillment, discussed in I.7, is that the complete good is characterized by αὐτάρκεια / autarkeia, typically rendered as "self-sufficiency" although I prefer "wholeness". Aristotle points out that it's absurd to say the fulfilled person wouldn't need close relationships, because we think such a person has all good things and loved ones are the greatest of external goods (not honor as the great-souled man thought back in IV.3-4). The reason is that human beings are inherently social and we're naturally made for sharing the activities of life [συζήν / suzēn] with other people. Indeed, we can be more continuously [συνεχῶς / sunechōs] active if we are active with others; since fulfillment consists of activity [ἐνέργεια / energeia], and since activity consistent with core human capacities and directed by thriving of character is both beautifully right and enjoyable, the more active we are the more fulfilled we are. Thus the person who takes life seriously needs loved ones who are just as serious [σπουδαῖος / spoudaios].
Furthermore, because for human beings living in the most authoritative sense simply is awareness [ἄισθησις / aisthesis] and thinking [νοήσις / noēsis], sharing the activities of life consists most of all in conversing [λόγος / logos] together and thinking things through [διανοία / dianoia] together.
Yet we can't expect to build close relationships with very many people; going through life together might not be completely exclusive, but it's a rather special state of affairs. Indeed, Aristotle notes that the celebrated friendships are all pairs - say, Achilles and Patroklus in the Iliad or, to choose a slightly more modern example, Michel de Montaigne and Étienne de La Boétie as recounted in Montaigne's essay Of Friendship. We're fortunate to find even a few such friends in life, perhaps only one.
Although we say that "a friend in need is a friend indeed", Aristotle says that it's more beautifully right [καλός / kalos] to share in good fortune than in bad fortune, because as mentioned in IX.4-7 success [εὐπραξία / eupraxia] enables us to demonstrate in "well-action" [εὐέργεται / euergetai] that we stand in a relation of "well-mindedness" [εὐνοία / eunoia] toward our friends.
Finally, Aristotle observes that whatever we think are the essential activities of life are the ones that we prefer to pursue with those who are dear to us: athletes exercise together, musicians make music together, philosophers philosophize together, etc. Moreover, these activities have a reinforcing effect: if the activities are bad then they further corrupt the people who engage in them, whereas if the activities are good then by putting the friendship into action [ἐνεργοῦντες / energountes] the friends straighten each other out [διορθοῦντες / diorthountes] and thus become better together. This ethical component is a big reason why philia was valued so highly in ancient Greece.
Thus we come to the end of Aristotle's analysis of love and friendship. We have one more book of the Nicomachean Ethics to cover in our walk with Aristotle, starting with his second discussion of pleasure and enjoyment in X.1-5.
In X.1-5 Aristotle revisits the topic of pleasure, reiterating some of the points he made in VII.11-14 (e.g., that every activity has its own inherent pleasure) but also extending them in several ways.
Aristotle presents evidence indicating that the enjoyment of an activity completes [τελειοῖ / teleioi] that activity. When we perceive with the senses or conceive with the mind, we are most completely active or "at work" if we are engaged with the most beautiful [καλός / kalos] and serious [σπουδαῖος / spoudaios] objects of awareness. The reason seems to be that we enjoy both the active being of what we perceive/conceive (say, the aliveness of a bird in flight) and our own active awareness of what we perceive/conceive. Although Aristotle doesn't put it quite this way, we could say that enjoyment is a form of awareness: it consists in awareness of the world and (since, as we saw in IX.9-12, for human beings living simply is perceiving and thinking) awareness of our own aliveness.
Furthermore, because pleasures are bound up with the activities they complete, they in turn are brought to completion in ways that correspond to the activities: the inherent [οἰκείος / oikeios] pleasures of sight differ from those of hearing or taste or touch, the pleasures of the mind differ from those of the senses, there are various pleasures of the mind (e.g., recollecting, imagining, hoping, learning, contemplating), etc. Thus pleasures are not interchangeable but deserve to be valued and pursued in ways that do justice to the nature of the underlying activities.
Based on these factors, Aristotle argues that the most complete activity is the most enjoyable: for instance, it's more pleasurable to deeply understand a significant concept than to become acquainted with a trivial fact, or to witness a seriously worthy person performing a beautifully right action than to witness a worthless, morally corrupt person performing a repulsively ugly action. Naturally, there are many kinds of corruption and damage that human beings can experience, but corrupt/damaged people and their feelings and pleasures are not the standard of value in human life. Instead, the measure [κανόν / kanon] of what is truly enjoyable is the kind of person who is completely developed, mature, serious, worthy, good, beautifully right, wise, sagacious, fulfilled, etc.
These considerations lead up to Aristotle's final integrations in the remainder of Book X.
In these rather dense chapters, the last of the Nicomachean Ethics except for X.9, Aristotle returns to the topic of human fulfillment [εὐδαιμονία / eudaimonia], drawing several conclusions that sound surprising to modern ears:
Ancient philosophy scholars usually interpret these chapters as a straightforward argument for their way of life, but I'm somewhat skeptical about that. Much hinges on our reading of the term θεωρία / theoria, which is usually translated as contemplation but which I render as conceptual awareness to distinguish it from the perceptual awareness [ἄισθησις / aisthesis] that humans share with non-human animals. Another big question is whether the little preposition κατὰ should be read in a restrictive sense (only the activities of intellectual insight and conceptual awareness are necessary and sufficient for complete fulfillment) or, as I would, in a directive sense (the best and most enjoyable way of life needs to be guided by intellectual insight and conceptual awareness). Finally, as we saw in VI.6-8, I maintain that sagacity [σοφία / sophia] is not limited to understanding of and insight into topics like mathematics and astronomy but includes the biological sciences and the foundations of human action, since the core aspects of human nature are unchanging.
If we put these things together, we end up with an argument not for a passive life of pure contemplation untouched by human concerns, but for the examined life. That's how I see it, anyway - I'll provide a more in-depth treatment of the matter in my forthcoming book Complete Thyself: Aristotle on Human Fulfillment.
Here at the very end of the Nicomachean Ethics, after tens of thousands of words about human fulfillment, Aristotle somewhat wryly observes that words are powerless to encourage most people to understand and enact what is good and beautifully right, for they live by their feelings and respond more readily to correction and punishment than to wisdom and insight.
So who is the Nicomachean Ethics for? As he said in the beginning and reiterates here, it's for people of good character who have been raised well and already love what's beautifully right, but need to understand and practice it even more fully. This is especially important in our interactions with other people individually (thus Aristotle's major focus on love and friendship) and in society (where brotherhood is even more valuable than justice). This last topic leads Aristotle to end the Ethics by introducing politics as the crowning achievement and completion of the philosophic study of human affairs. So even though in X.6-8 he seems to have claimed that the best life is contemplative or a life of inquiry, immediately he brings things back to earth by reinforcing the centrality of sociality in human existence.
Although it might therefore seem that ethics is merely the handmaiden of politics, those who have read Aristotle's Politics know he ends that work by deeply considering the central role of education in the health of the community. Yet it's little noted by scholars that Aristotle makes a similar argument at the conclusion of the Nicomachean Ethics. Because character is so dependent on a good upbringing, early learning about the truly human way of life is key. Yet he says that we must maintain these beautifully right doings and feelings as adults, too, by practicing and applying what we've learned and enculturating [ἐθίζεσθαι / ethizesthai] ourselves to the highest possibilities of human existence. This kind of ethical education needs to be tailored to each person since the applications of what we learn are more precise when the practices are individualized [ἰδία / idia]. Only after achieving this kind of ethical improvement is it appropriate for someone who wants to gain greater skill and awareness in ethical understanding [ἐπιστήμη / episteme] to proceed to the study of ethical universals, since that enables such a person to give the kind of care [ἐπιμελεία / epimeleia] that can help others (friends, family, students, etc.) to become better people.
These musings, rarely remarked upon by ancient philosophy scholars, indicate to me that Aristotle saw himself as offering just this kind of care to the people in his own life and even to those who would read his writings after his passing. This hunch is reinforced by the fact that he immediately goes on to criticize the sophists of his day, who professed to know and teach how to improve their paying students and society at large but who didn't practice what they preached. For Aristotle, the deception [ἀπάτη / apatē] involved in sophistry is the very opposite of sagacity [σοφία / sophia], for the sophist lacks a commitment to truth whereas the sagacious person is dedicated above all to φιλοσοφία / philosophy as the love of wisdom and the search for truth, not only in theoretical inquiry but in practical experience. By reading this passage - and the whole of the Nicomachean Ethics - with care and attention, we come to see that Aristotle was deeply committed to philosophy as a way of life, just as Plato and Socrates were before him.
THE END