Ancient Philosophy

Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle

Aristotle's Ethics

Aristotle's works include three treatises on ethics, yet two of them are now generally regarded as authored by his students. The third, Nicomachean Ethics, largely maintains its authenticity, though certain sections (Books V, VI, and VII) are believed by many to be derived from a work of his disciples. However, I shall not dwell on this contentious issue and will consider the text as a cohesive whole, attributed to Aristotle's pen.

Aristotle's views on ethics primarily reflect the prevailing opinions of the educated and worldly individuals of his time. They lack the mystical religiosity that permeates Plato's writings, and do not endorse the unorthodox theories regarding family and property found in The Republic. Those who do not fall below and do not rise above the level of decent and respectable citizens will find in the Ethics a systematic exposition of the principles that ought to govern behavior. Those seeking something more profound may find themselves disappointed. The book is directed toward respectable individuals of middle age and has been employed by them, especially after the seventeenth century, to temper the impulses and enthusiasm of youth. Yet, for a person with any deep feelings, it may serve only to alienate.

The good, we are told, is happiness; it is the activity of the soul. Aristotle agrees with Plato in distinguishing the soul into two parts: the rational and the irrational. He further divides the irrational part into the vegetative (which even plants possess) and the appetitive (which is found in all animals). The appetitive part can be somewhat rational when the goods it desires are such that reason approves them. This distinction is crucial for defining virtue, as Aristotle posits that reason, in and of itself, is purely contemplative and does not lead to any practical action without the assistance of desire.

There are two kinds of virtues: intellectual and moral, corresponding to the two parts of the soul. Intellectual virtues are the result of teaching, while moral virtues consist of habits. The legislator's task is to cultivate virtue among citizens by fostering good habits. We become just by performing acts of justice, and the same applies to all other virtues. By being compelled to acquire good habits, we gradually, Aristotle believed, learn to find pleasure in good deeds. This recalls Hamlet's words addressed to his mother:

"Since she is no more, take on virtue, Habit, that monster, which devours All feeling, this devil — yet an angel In that it adorns the execution of noble deeds In a dress that suits it well."

We now turn to the famous doctrine of the golden mean. Every virtue is a mean between two extremes, each of which is a vice. This is demonstrated through an examination of various virtues. Courage is the mean between cowardice and recklessness; generosity lies between prodigality and stinginess; true pride exists between vanity and humility; wit balances between buffoonery and boorishness; modesty finds its place between shyness and shamelessness. Some virtues seem to resist this schema, such as truthfulness. Aristotle claims it is the mean between boastfulness and false modesty, yet this applies only to self-referential truthfulness. I struggle to see how truthfulness in a broader sense can fit into this framework.

There was a mayor who grasped Aristotle's doctrine; when his term ended, he stated in his speech that he sought to avoid, on one hand, bias, and on the other, impartiality. The notion of truthfulness as something median appears scarcely less absurd.

Aristotle's moral views align closely with those accepted in his time, differing in certain respects from contemporary perspectives, particularly regarding aspects of aristocracy. We believe that all human beings, at least in ethical theory, possess equal rights, and that justice demands equality; Aristotle, however, maintained that justice involves not equality, but a correct proportion, which is only occasionally equal.

The justice of a master or father is different from that of a citizen, for a son or slave is property, and with respect to one's property, there can be no injustice. However, concerning slaves, this doctrine slightly shifts in light of the question of whether a person can be a friend to their slave: “For [here] there can be nothing in common, because a slave is an animated tool... thus friendship with a slave is impossible, yet it is possible with a man. It seems that every person possesses a right over every person who is capable of entering into relationships based on law and contract, and therefore, friendship is possible to the extent that a slave is a person.”

A father may disown a son if he is immoral, but a son cannot disown a father, as he owes him more than he could ever repay, especially in the sense that he is indebted to him for his existence. This holds true: in unequal relationships, since each should love in proportion to their worth, the inferior ought to love the superior more than the superior loves the inferior; thus, wives, children, and subjects should love their husbands, parents, and monarchs more than the latter love them. In a good marriage, “the husband has authority according to his worth and in matters appropriate for a husband, while what is fitting for a wife he grants to her.” He ought not to govern by intruding upon her domain; even less should she interfere in his affairs, as sometimes occurs when a wife is wealthy.

The ideal individual, as envisioned by Aristotle, stands in stark contrast to the Christian saint. He must possess genuine pride and refrain from belittling his own merits. He ought to scorn anyone who deserves contempt. Aristotle's depiction of the proud or magnanimous person is particularly fascinating, as it highlights the difference between pagan and Christian ethics and elucidates Nietzsche's justification for viewing Christianity as a form of slave morality.

“The magnificent man, insofar as he is worthy of the greatest, will perhaps also be the most virtuous: indeed, the greater one is, the more virtuous one is entitled to be, and the most virtuous is truly the greatest. Therefore, the truly magnificent must be virtuous, and greatness in every virtue can be regarded as a sign of magnificence. Of course, the magnificent must in no way either flee in fear or act against justice. Indeed, what shameful acts would one commit for whom there is nothing great? Thus, magnificence appears to be a kind of adornment of virtues, for it imparts grandeur to them and cannot exist without them. Therefore, it is difficult to be truly magnificent, as this is impossible without moral perfection. Thus, the magnificent primarily reveals himself in relation to honor; at the same time, he behaves moderately concerning wealth, the power of rulers, and indeed every fortune and misfortune, for he will neither rejoice excessively in success nor suffer unduly from failure, since even honor is not regarded by him as something of the utmost importance. Meanwhile, both the power of rulers and wealth are sought for the sake of honor, and in any case, possessing them leads one to desire to be honored; but for one who considers even honor trifling, everything else is inconsequential. This is why the magnificent are often perceived as proud. Moreover, he who is magnificent does not expose himself to danger for trifles and does not relish danger for its own sake, for he esteems very little. Yet for the sake of the great, he willingly faces danger and does not fear for his life in decisive moments, believing it unworthy to cling to life at any cost. He is capable of bestowing benefits but is ashamed to accept them, as the former signifies his superiority while the latter indicates the superiority of another. For a benefit received, he repays with a greater benefit, for then the one who rendered the service will still owe him and will be further blessed. A hallmark of the magnificent is a disinclination to need anything at all, or only rarely, yet he is always eager to render assistance. Moreover, he behaves majestically with the high-ranking and fortunate, while moderately with the average, as superiority over the former is fitting and creates an impression, whereas over the latter it poses no challenge; and if to rise above the former is not so lowly, to do so over the wretched is base, just as it is to exhibit strength against the weak. His hatred and friendship must be manifest (for both hiding and paying less heed to truth than to rumor is characteristic of the cowardly); he speaks and acts openly… He is free in speech, for he despises the timid, and he is always truthful, save for feigning before the crowd. It is difficult to astonish him, for nothing seems great to him. He does not discuss people, for he will not speak of himself nor of another; indeed, he cares not for praise of himself nor for condemnation of others, and in turn, he is sparing in commendations. For this reason, he does not slander even enemies unless, in his contempt for them, he seeks to insult. He who is magnificent tends to possess beautiful and unprofitable things rather than useful ones that serve some purpose, as self-sufficiency is more characteristic of the former. It is commonly believed that the movements of the magnificent are slow, his voice deep, and his speech assured. Thus, this is the nature of the magnificent individual; deviations toward deficiency yield the abased, while those toward excess produce the haughty.”

One shudders at the thought of what the haughty individual might resemble.

Whatever opinions one might hold regarding the magnanimous man, one truth remains clear: such individuals cannot abound in society. And I do not merely mean in the general sense, which suggests that there are few virtuous people, as virtue is not easily attained; rather, I refer to the fact that the virtues of the magnanimous person are significantly contingent upon his occupying a unique social position. Aristotle views ethics as an offshoot of politics, and it is no surprise that following such praise of pride, we discover that he regards monarchy as the finest form of governance, with aristocracy following closely behind. Monarchs and aristocrats may be “magnanimous,” but ordinary citizens would be ridiculed if they attempted to emulate such a model.

This raises a question that is half ethical and half political. Can we morally justify a society that, entirely in keeping with the essence of its structure, bestows all that is best upon the few and requires the majority to settle for the secondary? Plato and Aristotle would answer “yes,” and Nietzsche concurs with them. The Stoics, Christians, and democrats respond “no,” but this “no” resonates very differently among them. The Stoics and early Christians assert that the greatest good is virtue and that external circumstances cannot prevent a person from being virtuous; thus, there is no need to strive for a just social system, as social injustice may only influence inconsequential matters. Conversely, the democrat typically maintains, at least where politics is concerned, that the most vital goods are power and property; he therefore cannot reconcile himself with a social system that is unjust in this regard.

The Stoic-Christian viewpoint presupposes a conception of virtue that is markedly distinct from Aristotle's, as it must assert that virtue is equally attainable for the slave as for his master. Christian ethics disapproves of the pride that Aristotle deems a virtue and extols humility, which he sees as a vice. The intellectual virtues that Plato and Aristotle hold in the highest esteem must be entirely excised from consideration in the name of allowing the poor and humble to be virtuous, just like everyone else. Pope Gregory the Great, with great seriousness, reproached a bishop for teaching grammar.

Aristotle's view that the highest virtue belongs to the few is logically connected to the subordination of ethics to politics. If the aim is a good society rather than a good individual, it is possible that a good society can exist where there is subordination. In an orchestra, the first violin holds more significance than the oboe, though both are necessary for the orchestra's overall excellence. It is impossible to organize an orchestra on the principle of providing each with what is best for him as an individual. The same can be applied to governing a large modern state, no matter how democratic it may be. Modern democracy, in contrast to ancient democracy, confers tremendous power upon certain select individuals—presidents or prime ministers—and must expect from them achievements that cannot be anticipated from ordinary citizens. When people are not swayed in their thoughts by religion or political disagreements, they likely assert that a good president should command more respect than a skilled mason. Within the framework of democracy, the president is not entirely likened to Aristotle's magnanimous man, yet there is an expectation that he will differ significantly from the average citizen and possess certain merits associated with his position. These particular merits may not be regarded as “ethical,” but merely because we use this adjective in a narrower sense than Aristotle intended.

As a consequence of Christian dogma, the distinction between morality and other virtues has become considerably sharper than in ancient Greece. To be a great poet, composer, or artist is a virtue, yet it does not constitute a moral merit; we do not consider a person to be more virtuous or more likely to attain paradise simply because he possesses such talents. Moral virtues are exclusively tied to acts of will, that is, to the ability to choose the right course of action among all possible ones. I cannot be blamed for not composing an opera because I do not know how it is done. The orthodox viewpoint holds that wherever two courses of action are possible, conscience dictates the correct path, and choosing another route amounts to sin. Virtue lies more in avoiding sin than in anything positive. There is no basis for expecting that an educated person will be morally superior to an uneducated one, or that a wise individual will be better than a fool. In this way, a host of virtues of considerable social significance are excluded from the realm of ethics. The adjective “unethical” in contemporary usage carries a much narrower meaning than “undesirable.” To be simple-minded is undesirable, yet it is hardly “unethical.”

However, many contemporary philosophers do not accept this definition of ethics. They contend that it is necessary first to define what the good is and then to determine the actions that should be directed toward achieving that good. This viewpoint aligns more closely with Aristotelian thought, which asserts that happiness is the highest good. True, the highest happiness is accessible only to the philosopher, but for Aristotle, this is not a valid objection against his theory.

Ethical theories can be divided into two classes depending on whether they regard virtue as an end or as a means. Aristotle generally agrees with the notion that virtues serve as means to attain a particular end, namely happiness. "Thus, if the end is the object of desire, and the means to the end are subjects of deliberation and conscious choice, then the actions related to the means will be consciously chosen and voluntary. Meanwhile, the activities of virtues are related to the means..." Yet, there exists another dimension to virtue, through which it becomes integrated into the goal of action: "The human good consists in the activity of the soul in accordance with virtue... Let us add to this: throughout a complete life." He would suggest, I believe, that intellectual virtues are ends in themselves, while practical virtues are merely means. Although Christian moralists assert that the consequences of virtuous actions collectively comprise the good, they are not as valuable as the virtuous actions themselves (the latter ought to be regarded as such, rather than assessed by their outcomes). On the other hand, those who regard pleasure as the good view virtues solely as a means. Any definition of the good, aside from defining it as virtue, will yield the same consequence: an understanding of virtues as means to achieve the good, rather than the good itself. As noted, in this matter, Aristotle largely agrees, albeit not entirely, with those who believe that the primary task of ethics is to define the good and that virtue should be defined as an action aimed at producing the good.

From the relationship of ethics to politics arises another highly significant ethical question. If we concede that the good, towards which just actions ought to be directed, is the good of the entire society or ultimately of the human race, does the public good represent the sum of the goods enjoyed by individuals, or is it something that essentially belongs to the whole rather than to the parts? We can illustrate this problem with an analogy to the human body. Pleasures are primarily associated with various parts of the body, yet we consider them intrinsic to the person as a whole; we may relish a pleasant scent, but we understand that a single nose could not enjoy it in isolation.

Some assert that in a closely-knit community, there are similarly high qualities inherent to the whole, rather than to any individual part. If these are metaphysicians, then, like Hegel, they might argue that whatever property the good possesses is an attribute of the Universe as a whole; yet, they typically add that it is less erroneous to ascribe the good to the state than to the individual. Logically, this view can be expressed as follows: we can ascribe various predicates to the state that cannot be attributed to its members individually—such as having a large population, extensive territory, being powerful, and so forth. The opinion we are considering assigns ethical predicates precisely here, positing that they are merely derivatively inherent to individuals. One may belong to a state with a populous citizenry or to a good state, yet, they assert, one is neither good nor populated in and of oneself. This perspective, widely held among German philosophers, is not characteristic of Aristotle, save perhaps in a certain degree of his conception of justice.

A significant portion of the "Ethics" is devoted to the discussion of friendship, encompassing all relationships that arise from a sense of attachment. Perfect friendship is possible only among the worthy, and one cannot have friendships with many. One should not enter into friendships with someone occupying a higher status unless they also excel in virtue (which justifies the respect accorded to them). We have observed that in unequal relationships—such as that of husband and wife or father and son—the one in the superior position should be loved more. It is inconceivable to be friends with God, as He cannot love us as an equal. Aristotle contemplates whether a person can be a friend to themselves, concluding that this is only possible if the person is virtuous; he asserts that bad people often hate themselves. A good person should love themselves, but nobly. Friends provide solace in misfortune, yet one should not make them unhappy by seeking their sympathy, as women and effeminate men might do. It is well to have friends not only in hardship; the happy person requires friends to share their happiness. "No one would agree to possess all the goods of the world if they had no one with whom to share them. Man is a social animal and is by nature made for companionship with others." All that has been said regarding friendship is sensible, yet nothing exceeds ordinary common sense.

Aristotle again displays his wisdom in deliberating on pleasure, which Plato regarded somewhat ascetically. Pleasure, in the sense Aristotle employs the term, is distinct from happiness, although there can be no happiness without pleasure. He posits that there are three different views on pleasure: 1) that it is never good; 2) that some pleasures are good, while most are bad; 3) that pleasure is good, yet not the highest good. He dismisses the first viewpoint on the grounds that pain is unequivocally bad and thus pleasure must be good. As he rightly states, it would be nonsensical to claim that a person could be happy on the rack; some degree of external well-being is necessary for happiness. He also refutes the notion that all pleasures are corporeal; in everything, there exists something divine, and hence the capacity for higher pleasures. Good people experience pleasure, provided they are not engulfed in misfortune, while God always enjoys a singular and simple bliss.

In the subsequent part of the book, there is another discourse on happiness, not entirely congruent with what has been stated above. Here it is asserted that there are bad pleasures, which, however, do not count as pleasures for good people, suggesting that pleasures may come in various kinds and that pleasures are good or bad depending on whether they are associated with good or bad activities. There are things more valuable than pleasure; no one would be content to live a life possessing the intellect of a child, even if that were pleasant. Every animal has its own inherent pleasure, and the pleasure intrinsic to man is connected with reason.

This leads to the sole doctrine in the book under consideration that constitutes more than merely an expression of common sense. Happiness lies in benevolent activity, and perfect bliss resides in the highest activity, which is contemplative. Contemplation is preferable to war, politics, or any other practical career, as it provides leisure, which is fundamentally necessary for happiness. Practical virtue yields only a secondary form of happiness; the highest happiness consists in the application of reason, as reason is more than anything else the essence of man. A person cannot wholly dedicate themselves to contemplation, yet, as they are, they partake in the life of the gods. "The activity of divinity, being the most blissful, is contemplative activity." Among all human beings, the philosopher is closest to the divine in their activity, and thus they are the happiest and the best.

"Whoever manifests themselves in the activity of the mind and honors the intellect is evidently arranged in the best possible manner and is most pleasing to the gods. For if the gods, as is commonly believed, pay some attention to human affairs, it would be entirely reasonable for the gods to take delight in the highest and most kin to them (and this is evidently the intellect) and to bestow favor upon those who most cherish and value it, for being attentive to what is dear to the gods and acting rightly and beautifully. There is no doubt that all this is primarily found in the sage. Hence, he is most dear to the gods. He is, indeed, the happiest, so in this sense, the sage is the foremost happy one."

This excerpt effectively serves as the concluding part of the "Ethics"; the subsequent paragraphs act as a transition to politics.

Let us now determine what to think about the merits and shortcomings of the "Ethics." Ethics, unlike many other subjects examined by Greek philosophers, has not made any significant strides forward in terms of reliable discoveries; in ethics, there is nothing known in the scientific sense. Thus, there is no reason to consider a treatise on it to be in any way inferior to contemporary works. When Aristotle discusses astronomy, we can confidently declare him incorrect; yet when he engages with ethical questions, we cannot assert with the same certainty whether he is right or wrong. Generally, there are three questions we can pose regarding the ethics of Aristotle or any other philosopher: 1) Is it internally consistent? 2) Does it coherently derive from the author's other views? 3) Does it provide answers to ethical dilemmas that resonate with our ethical sentiments? If the answer to the first or second question is negative, it indicates some logical error in the philosopher's reasoning. However, if the answer to the third question is negative, we cannot claim that he is mistaken; we may only assert that we find his views unappealing.

Let us consider each of these three questions in relation to the ethical theory presented in the "Nicomachean Ethics."

1. Overall, the book is internally consistent, aside from a few minor aspects. The doctrine positing that the good is happiness and that happiness consists in successful activity is well articulated. The doctrine asserting that each virtue is a mean between two extremes, while skillfully developed, is less successful, as it is inapplicable to intellectual contemplation, which is claimed to be the highest form of activity. One might argue that the doctrine of the golden mean is intended solely for practical virtues, rather than intellectual ones. Moreover, when viewed from another perspective, the legislator's position appears somewhat ambiguous. He must encourage children and youth to cultivate the habit of performing good deeds—a habit that will ultimately lead them to find pleasure in virtue and to act virtuously without coercion from the law. It is clear that the legislator could just as easily compel the youth to adopt bad habits; to avoid this, he must possess all the wisdom of a Platonic guardian. Should he fail to prevent this, the argument that a virtuous life brings pleasure becomes untenable. However, this issue pertains more to the realm of politics than ethics.
2. Aristotle's ethics align in all respects with his metaphysics. Indeed, his metaphysical theories serve as expressions of ethical optimism. He believes in the scientific significance of ultimate ends, which includes the conviction that purpose governs the unfolding of the universe. He contends that changes embodying the growth of organization or "forms" (and essentially virtuous actions) favor this tendency. It is true that much of his practical ethics is not particularly philosophical and is rather the result of observations of human practice; yet this aspect of his doctrine, while potentially independent of his metaphysics, remains consistent with it.
3. As we begin to compare Aristotle's ethical inclinations with our own, we first observe, as previously noted, an acknowledgment of inequality that is unacceptable to more contemporary social views. He not only raises no objections to slavery or the dominion of husbands and fathers over wives and children, but he also asserts that the best, in essence, is reserved for the few—those who are magnanimous and philosophical. This seems to imply that the majority of humanity exists merely as a means to produce a handful of rulers and sages. Kant defended the view that every human being is an end in themselves, which can be accepted as an expression of a perspective brought forth by Christianity. However, Kant's views entail a logical difficulty, as they do not provide a means to resolve situations where the interests of two individuals collide. If each represents an end in themselves, how shall we find a principle to determine which of them should concede? Such a principle must pertain more to society than to the individual. In the broadest sense, it should be a principle of "justice." Bentham and the utilitarians interpret "justice" as "equality": when the interests of two individuals clash, the correct solution will be that which ultimately produces the greatest happiness, regardless of who enjoys it or how it is distributed between them. If a good person is afforded greater happiness than a bad one, it is because, in the end, the overall happiness has increased through the rewarding of virtue and the punishment of vice, rather than from an ultimate ethical doctrine claiming that the good deserves more than the evil. Justice, from this perspective, consists of assessing only the quantity of happiness involved, without any advantage for one individual or class over another. Greek philosophers, including Plato and Aristotle, held a different conception of justice, and this viewpoint still prevails widely. They believed—initially based on a religious foundation—that each thing or person has its own corresponding sphere, a boundary which, if crossed, is deemed "unjust." Some individuals, due to their character and inclinations, possess a wider sphere than others; thus, if they experience a greater share of happiness, there is no injustice in this. Aristotle accepts this perspective as self-evident, but its basis, rooted in primitive religion (which is clear among the earliest philosophers), is no longer visible in his works.

Aristotle almost entirely lacks what one might term benevolence or philanthropy. The sufferings of humanity, to the extent he acknowledges them, do not emotionally move him; he rationally asserts that they are evil, yet there is no evidence that they make him unhappy, except when his friends are the ones suffering.

In general, the "Ethics" is devoid of emotion, a quality that cannot be said of the works of earlier philosophers. In Aristotle's discourse on human affairs, there is something overly self-satisfied and complacent; it seems to forget all that incites people to passionately engage with one another. Even his assessment of friendship is tepid. He shows no sign of having experienced any of those feelings that render it difficult not to lose one's reason; apparently, he is unaware of the deepest facets of moral life. One could assert that he overlooks the entire realm of human experiences associated with religion. All that he has to offer would be useful to the well-off with underdeveloped passions; however, he has nothing to say to those possessed by God or the devil, or to those whose visible misfortunes lead them to despair. For these reasons, it seems to me that in his "Ethics," despite its renown, there is a lack of intrinsic significance.