What does it mean to act virtuously? | Nicomachean Ethics, Book III

Does anyone ever choose vice? What does it mean to choose, anyway?

Today we continue our read-along of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. If you’re just now joining and want to catch up, here is the schedule we are following (with links to previous posts):

• July 1: Introducing the work, Aristotle’s life, etc.

• July 8: Book I

• July 15: Book II

• July 22: Book III

• July 29: Book IV

• August 5: Book V

• August 12: Book VI

• August 19: Book VII

• August 26: Book VIII

• September 2: Book IX

• September 9: Book X

• September 16: Retrospective

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Book III is an odd sort of book. We’ve just been treated to Aristotle analysis of virtue in Book II, and at this point you are probably ready to start actually discussing the virtues. After all, we are trying to become good, to become better people, and it would be nice to see what the target is. So when Aristotle then starts a prolonged digression about voluntary and involuntary actions, which takes up the first half of the book, it can be rather jarring.

Remember, though, that during this read-along we are assuming that Aristotle is always right — and a corollary of this is that we assume that Aristotle is doing what he is doing for a reason.

And there are a few reasons why you would want to discuss the difference between voluntary and involuntary actions, and to discuss the more narrow concept of choice, when writing about virtues. After all, only our voluntary actions are blameworthy; you cannot be blamed for something which is forced upon you. Our practices of praise and blame are fundamental to our moral lives. Children learn about praise and blame long before they learn about duty, honor, loyalty, consequences, etc. They learn it by being embedded in a moral community from birth.

Praise and blame extend well beyond childhood, too, and are closely tied up with the concept of punishment — all the more relevant since ethics is closely tied to the political art, the art of running a city.

Thus throughout the work, Aristotle speaks of the the lawgivers and who they punish, of what is nobly praised and blamed, and what is the received opinion about what is and is not out of our control.

I think this points to an important point about the Nicomachean Ethics that I am only now realizing. While other works of philosophy, and especially ethics, are reformist in their tendencies, wanting to make a difference in how we think about ethics, Aristotle has a very different goal. He is explicating – that is, making explicit and refining – what we already think and do. He’s making sense of our pre-existing moral practices.

This brings with it some problems, which we should keep in mind as readers. Ancient Greek moral practices are distinct from our own. Thus, Aristotle’s explication isn’t really an explication of our practices, but rather of how they existed in his particular time and place. But for now we can set that aside, and we’ll move on to some more substantial points about the text itself.

Intemperance

Voluntary actions arise from within the person

Involuntary actions are said to be the result of force and done on account of ignorance, which gives us a fairly easy characterization of voluntary actions: voluntary actions are not the result of force and are done with some level of appropriate knowledge. Or, as Aristotle puts it:

Since what is involuntary is that which is the result of force and done on account of ignorance, what is voluntary would seem to be something whose origin is in the person himself, who knows the particulars that constitute the action. (Book III.3,1111a)

One cannot be blamed for involuntary actions

And thus, we are only held responsible for things we do voluntarily.

There is one important distinction to make here pertaining to ignorance. Sometimes we act out of ignorance because we really could not know the facts of the matter, or we have been treacherously misled, or the fates conspire in a way we could not predict (as we often see in tragedies). This is forgivable ignorance.

There is another kind of ignorance, however, an ignorance for which we are responsible. Imagine a drunk man who commits a crime. He did not know what he was doing, right? And yet we blame him. The explanation, which Aristotle endorses, is that we blame him for putting himself in a state of ignorance. Lawgivers, he writes in chapter five, punish ignorance that depends on oneself, ‘for the origin is in oneself.’ That means that the becoming ignorant was voluntary.

This opens up another possibility. We have an idea of someone being responsible for their own ignorance through a lack of action. We say that someone really ought to have known better. We say that they were being careless. This intentional lack of care is itself blameworthy, and so while the mistakes that come downstream from this choice are not directly blameworthy, we ultimately can still blame the person in question.

Are we vicious voluntarily?

Vices, just like virtues, are characteristics. They themselves aren’t actions. They are character traits, ways that we are. And so the natural question arises: if we are vicious, was this voluntary? And if not, does this mean we are not blameworthy? If this is the conclusion we draw, then the whole moral enterprise is in tatters — nobody is actually to blame for anything.

This is where the idea of plasticity comes in. Human beings are malleable. We can change. And we alone out of all animals on this earth have the ability to intentionally change ourselves over a long period of time. We engage in plans of self-improvement. (Sometimes we even read a work of philosophy as part of this plan.) Our characteristics are not permanently fixed.

Sure, some of us start off with certain dispositions. But we are able to change. We are able to better ourselves. We are able to become virtuous. Thus, we can be blamed for being vicious, and thus for acting viciously, because it was voluntary. We could have engaged in a project of bettering ourselves, of becoming virtuous. Aristotle even wrote a handy little book on the subject.

Virtue is not (exactly) the mean

Aristotle eventually turns his discussion to specific virtues and vices — and in this case, those pertaining to fear and desire. That means we’re going to talk about courage and moderation. These are the virtues of the nonrational parts of the soul (III.10,1117b). But it is helpful to clarify something which was also noted in Book II.

A virtue is a mean between two vices. Imagine a line with two boundary points. Those points are the vices. You might now imagine that the point on the line that corresponds with virtue is exactly between those vices. But that isn’t quite right. The mean is found ‘in accord with correct reason,’ and since we are dealing with practical matters we aren’t concerned with this level of mathematical certitude. And indeed, some virtues are closer to one vice than the other. This point is discussed in more length in Book VI, but I wanted to flag it now.

What is courage?

At the beginning of Chapter 6, Aristotle says that courage is the mean between fear and confidence, and I’m not sure this is the best way to say this. Fear and confidence are emotions, and while emotions are heavily linked to characteristics, we need to distinguish between them. When I would teach the Nicomachean Ethics, I typically described courage as sitting between cowardice and recklessness.

Aristotle writes in terms of recklessness and cowardice a bit later in the book:

The coward, the reckless, and the courageous are concern with the same things, then, but they differ in relation to them. For the former two exceed and are deficient respectively, whereas the latter holds to the middle and in the way he ought. The reckless are also impetuous, and though prior to the dangers they are willing, in the midst of them they withdraw, whereas courageous men are keen in the deeds but quiet beforehand. (III.7,1115b)

While courage is closer to recklessness than cowardice, in that the courageous will not fear a great many things based on their nobility, it is not courageous to ‘rush impulsively into danger,’ Aristotle says in Book 7. This contrasts with the way that we often talk about courage, where someone taking an extreme chance in order to do something good is seen as laudable. While the courageous man (and Aristotle speaks of men here) is fearless when it comes to a noble death and to any situation that brings death suddenly to hand (III.6, 1115a), the courageous man still has to assess the likelihood of success. Similarly, Aristotle writes of those of good hope, saying they are not courageous (see roughly 1117a). Those of good hope are those who are confident in battle because they have previously been victorious; this is not courage, but rather mere confidence in success. ‘It belongs to the courageous man to endure what is and appears to be frightening to a human being because it is noble to do so and shameful not to’ (III.7,1117a).

What is moderation?

Moderate primarily concerns our relationship to pleasure and to desire, and in particular the bodily pleasures. The pleasures of the soul - ambition, for instance, are different than the bodily. And in particular, moderation concerns itself with pleasures which invoke in us desire — much of this will have to do with food and drink. These pleasures are also the pleasures which animals share in, and thus Aristotle describes these pleasures as appearing ‘slavish and brutish.’

Moderation, like courage, concerns a natural and normal part of life. Fear is normal; we must all learn to live with it. The desire for food and drink is normal; we must all learn to live with it. We do not need to train ourselves to never be fearful in order to be courageous, and we do not need to train ourselves to hate food in order to be moderate.

The best description of moderation in chapter 11:

The moderate person takes the middle path with respect to these things. He does not take pleasure in those things that are particularly pleasant to a licentious person – rather, he is disgusted by them– and in general the moderate person does not take pleasure in things he ought not or in any such to an excessive degree; and when pleasure are absent, he neither feels pain as a result nor desires them, or does so only in a measured way and not more than he ought, or when he ought not, or anything of this sort in general. But as for all the pleasures that are conducive to health or good conditioning, these the moderate person will long for in a measured way and as he ought; he will long also for such other pleasures as do not impede the healthy pleasures, or are not opposed to what is noble, or do not outstrip his resources. (III.11, 1119a)

It is lengthy, but what I think is helpful about this passage is that we see a nice contrast between the moderate person, the insensible person (one who does not desire anything), and the licentious person (one who is a slave to their desires).