Ethics vs. Morals: What's the Difference?
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Theories
The Difference Between Morals and Ethics
By
Brittany Loggins
Brittany Loggins
Brittany is a health and lifestyle writer and former staffer at TODAY on NBC and CBS News. She's also contributed to dozens of magazines.
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Updated on March 20, 2023
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Table of Contents
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Table of Contents
What Is Morality?
What Are Ethics?
Ethics, Morals, and Mental Health
Are Ethics and Morals Relative?
Discovering Your Own Ethics and Morals
Frequently Asked Questions
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Are ethics vs. morals really just the same thing? It's not uncommon to hear morality and ethics referenced in the same sentence. That said, they are two different things. While they definitely have a lot of commonalities (not to mention very similar definitions!), there are some distinct differences.
Below, we'll outline the difference between morals and ethics, why it matters, and how these two words play into daily life.
What Is Morality?
Morality is a person or society's idea of what is right or wrong, especially in regard to a person's behavior.
Maintaining this type of behavior allows people to live successfully in groups and society. That said, they require a personal adherence to the commitment of the greater good.
Morals have changed over time and based on location. For example, different countries can have different standards of morality. That said, researchers have determined that seven morals seem to transcend across the globe and across time:
Bravery: Bravery has historically helped people determine hierarchies. People who demonstrate the ability to be brave in tough situations have historically been seen as leaders.
Fairness: Think of terms like "meet in the middle" and the concept of taking turns.
Defer to authority: Deferring to authority is important because it signifies that people will adhere to rules that attend to the greater good. This is necessary for a functioning society.
Helping the group: Traditions exist to help us feel closer to our group. This way, you feel more supported, and a general sense of altruism is promoted.
Loving your family: This is a more focused version of helping your group. It's the idea that loving and supporting your family allows you to raise people who will continue to uphold moral norms.
Returning favors: This goes for society as a whole and specifies that people may avoid behaviors that aren't generally altruistic.
Respecting others’ property: This goes back to settling disputes based on prior possession, which also ties in the idea of fairness.
Many of these seven morals require deferring short-term interests for the sake of the larger group. People who act purely out of self-interest can often be regarded as immoral or selfish.
What Is Objective Morality?
What Are Ethics?
Many scholars and researchers don't differentiate between morals and ethics, and that's because they're very similar. Many definitions even explain ethics as a set of moral principles.
The big difference when it comes to ethics is that it refers to community values more than personal values. Dictionary.com defines the term as a system of values that are "moral" as determined by a community.
In general, morals are considered guidelines that affect individuals, and ethics are considered guideposts for entire larger groups or communities. Ethics are also more culturally based than morals.
For example, the seven morals listed earlier transcend cultures, but there are certain rules, especially those in predominantly religious nations, that are determined by cultures that are not recognized around the world.
It's also common to hear the word ethics in medical communities or as the guidepost for other professions that impact larger groups.
For example, the Hippocratic Oath in medicine is an example of a largely accepted ethical practice. The American Medical Association even outlines nine distinct principles that are specified in medical settings. These include putting the patient's care above all else and promoting good health within communities.
Ethics, Morals, and Mental Health
Since morality and ethics can impact individuals and differ from community to community, research has aimed to integrate ethical principles into the practice of psychiatry.
That said, many people grow up adhering to a certain moral or ethical code within their families or communities. When your morals change over time, you might feel a sense of guilt and shame.
For example, many older people still believe that living with a significant other before marriage is immoral. This belief is dated and mostly unrecognized by younger generations, who often see living together as an important and even necessary step in a relationship that helps them make decisions about the future. Additionally, in many cities, living costs are too high for some people to live alone.
However, even if younger person understands that it's not wrong to live with their partner before marriage they might still feel guilty for doing so, especially if they were taught that doing so was immoral.
When dealing with guilt or shame, it's important to assess these feelings with a therapist or someone else that you trust.
Are Ethics and Morals Relative?
Morality is certainly relative since it is determined individually from person to person. In addition, morals can be heavily influenced by families and even religious beliefs, as well as past experiences.
Ethics are relative to different communities and cultures. For example, the ethical guidelines for the medical community don't really have an impact on the people outside of that community. That said, these ethics are still important as they promote caring for the community as a whole.
Discovering Your Own Ethics and Morals
This is important for young adults trying to figure out what values they want to carry into their own lives and future families. This can also determine how well young people create and stick to boundaries in their personal relationships.
Part of determining your individual moral code will involve overcoming feelings of guilt because it may differ from your upbringing. This doesn't mean that you're disrespecting your family, but rather that you're evolving.
Working with a therapist can help you better understand the moral code you want to adhere to and how it ties in aspects of your past and present understanding of the world.
A Word From Verywell
Understanding the difference between ethics vs. morals isn't always cut and dry. And it's OK if your moral and ethical codes don't directly align with the things you learned as a child. Part of growing up and finding autonomy in life involves learning to think for yourself. You determine what you will and will not allow in your life, and what boundaries are acceptable for you in your relationships.
That said, don't feel bad if your ideas of right and wrong change over time. This is a good thing that shows that you are willing to learn and understand those with differing ideas and opinions.
Working with a therapist could prove to be beneficial as you sort out what you do and find to be acceptable parts of your own personal moral code.
Frequently Asked Questions
What is the difference between ethics and morals?
Morals refer to a sense of right or wrong. Ethics, on the other hand, refer more to principles of "good" versus "evil" that are generally agreed upon by a community.
What are examples of morals and ethics?
Examples of morals can include things such as not lying, being generous, being patient, and being loyal. Examples of ethics can include the ideals of honesty, integrity, respect, and loyalty.
Can a person be moral but not ethical?
Because morals involve a personal code of conduct, it is possible for people to be moral but not ethical. A person can follow their personal moral code without adhering to a more community-based sense of ethical standards. In some cases, a persons individual morals may be at odds with society's ethics.
4 Sources
Verywell Mind uses only high-quality sources, including peer-reviewed studies, to support the facts within our articles. Read our editorial process to learn more about how we fact-check and keep our content accurate, reliable, and trustworthy.
Dictionary.com. Morality.
Curry OS, Mullins DA, Whitehouse H. Is it good to cooperate? Testing the theory of morality-as-cooperation in 60 societies. Current Anthropology. 2019;60(1):47-69. doi:10.1086/701478
Dictionary.com. Ethics.
Crowden A. Ethically Sensitive Mental Health Care: Is there a Need for a Unique Ethics for Psychiatry? Australian & New Zealand Journal of Psychiatry. 2003;37(2):143-149.
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Brittany is a health and lifestyle writer and former staffer at TODAY on NBC and CBS News. She's also contributed to dozens of magazines.
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© Anatoli Styf/Shutterstock.com Generally, the terms ethics and morality are used interchangeably, although a few different communities (academic, legal, or religious, for example) will occasionally make a distinction. In fact, Britannica’s article on ethics considers the terms to be the same as moral philosophy. While understanding that most ethicists (that is, philosophers who study ethics) consider the terms interchangeable, let’s go ahead and dive into these distinctions. (Read Peter Singer's Britannica entry on ethics.) Both morality and ethics loosely have to do with distinguishing the difference between “good and bad” or “right and wrong.” Many people think of morality as something that’s personal and normative, whereas ethics is the standards of “good and bad” distinguished by a certain community or social setting. For example, your local community may think adultery is immoral, and you personally may agree with that. However, the distinction can be useful if your local community has no strong feelings about adultery, but you consider adultery immoral on a personal level. By these definitions of the terms, your morality would contradict the ethics of your community. In popular discourse, however, we’ll often use the terms moral and immoral when talking about issues like adultery regardless of whether it’s being discussed in a personal or in a community-based situation. As you can see, the distinction can get a bit tricky. It’s important to consider how the two terms have been used in discourse in different fields so that we can consider the connotations of both terms. For example, morality has a Christian connotation to many Westerners, since moral theology is prominent in the church. Similarly, ethics is the term used in conjunction with business, medicine, or law. In these cases, ethics serves as a personal code of conduct for people working in those fields, and the ethics themselves are often highly debated and contentious. These connotations have helped guide the distinctions between morality and ethics. Ethicists today, however, use the terms interchangeably. If they do want to differentiate morality from ethics, the onus is on the ethicist to state the definitions of both terms. Ultimately, the distinction between the two is as substantial as a line drawn in the sand.
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Ethics and Morality
Morality, Ethics, Evil, Greed
Reviewed by Psychology Today Staff
To put it simply, ethics represents the moral code that guides a person’s choices and behaviors throughout their life. The idea of a moral code extends beyond the individual to include what is determined to be right, and wrong, for a community or society at large.
Ethics is concerned with rights, responsibilities, use of language, what it means to live an ethical life, and how people make moral decisions. We may think of moralizing as an intellectual exercise, but more frequently it's an attempt to make sense of our gut instincts and reactions. It's a subjective concept, and many people have strong and stubborn beliefs about what's right and wrong that can place them in direct contrast to the moral beliefs of others. Yet even though morals may vary from person to person, religion to religion, and culture to culture, many have been found to be universal, stemming from basic human emotions.
Contents
The Science of Being Virtuous
Understanding Amorality
The Stages of Moral Development
The Science of Being Virtuous
Those who are considered morally good are said to be virtuous, holding themselves to high ethical standards, while those viewed as morally bad are thought of as wicked, sinful, or even criminal. Morality was a key concern of Aristotle, who first studied questions such as “What is moral responsibility?” and “What does it take for a human being to be virtuous?”
Are people born with morals and ethics?
Created with Sketch.
We used to think that people are born with a blank slate, but research has shown that people have an innate sense of morality. Of course, parents and the greater society can certainly nurture and develop morality and ethics in children.
Can you have morals without religion?
Created with Sketch.
Humans are ethical and moral regardless of religion and God. People are not fundamentally good nor are they fundamentally evil. However, a Pew study found that atheists are much less likely than theists to believe that there are "absolute standards of right and wrong." In effect, atheism does not undermine morality, but the atheist’s conception of morality may depart from that of the traditional theist.
Do animals have morals?
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Animals are like humans—and humans are animals, after all. Many studies have been conducted across animal species, and more than 90 percent of their behavior is what can be identified as “prosocial” or positive. Plus, you won’t find mass warfare in animals as you do in humans. Hence, in a way, you can say that animals are more moral than humans.
What is the difference between moral psychology and moral philosophy?
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The examination of moral psychology involves the study of moral philosophy but the field is more concerned with how a person comes to make a right or wrong decision, rather than what sort of decisions he or she should have made. Character, reasoning, responsibility, and altruism, among other areas, also come into play, as does the development of morality.
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Understanding Amorality
The seven deadly sins were first enumerated in the sixth century by Pope Gregory I, and represent the sweep of immoral behavior. Also known as the cardinal sins or seven deadly vices, they are vanity, jealousy, anger, laziness, greed, gluttony, and lust. People who demonstrate these immoral behaviors are often said to be flawed in character. Some modern thinkers suggest that virtue often disguises a hidden vice; it just depends on where we tip the scale.
What is the difference between being amoral and being immoral?
Created with Sketch.
An amoral person has no sense of, or care for, what is right or wrong. There is no regard for either morality or immorality. Conversely, an immoral person knows the difference, yet he does the wrong thing, regardless. The amoral politician, for example, has no conscience and makes choices based on his own personal needs; he is oblivious to whether his actions are right or wrong.
What is amoral behavior?
Created with Sketch.
One could argue that the actions of Wells Fargo, for example, were amoral if the bank had no sense of right or wrong. In the 2016 fraud scandal, the bank created fraudulent savings and checking accounts for millions of clients, unbeknownst to them. Of course, if the bank knew what it was doing all along, then the scandal would be labeled immoral.
Why do some people lie a lot?
Created with Sketch.
Everyone tells white lies to a degree, and often the lie is done for the greater good. But the idea that a small percentage of people tell the lion’s share of lies is the Pareto principle, the law of the vital few. It is 20 percent of the population that accounts for 80 percent of a behavior.
Do people know what’s right from wrong?
Created with Sketch.
We do know what is right from wrong. If you harm and injure another person, that is wrong. However, what is right for one person, may well be wrong for another. A good example of this dichotomy is the religious conservative who thinks that a woman’s right to her body is morally wrong. In this case, one’s ethics are based on one’s values; and the moral divide between values can be vast.
The Stages of Moral Development
Psychologist Lawrence Kohlberg established his stages of moral development in 1958. This framework has led to current research into moral psychology. Kohlberg's work addresses the process of how we think of right and wrong and is based on Jean Piaget's theory of moral judgment for children. His stages include pre-conventional, conventional, post-conventional, and what we learn in one stage is integrated into the subsequent stages.
What is the Pre-Conventional Stage?
Created with Sketch.
The pre-conventional stage is driven by obedience and punishment. This is a child's view of what is right or wrong. Examples of this thinking: “I hit my brother and I received a time-out.” “How can I avoid punishment?” “What's in it for me?”
What is the Conventional Stage?
Created with Sketch.
The conventional stage is when we accept societal views on rights and wrongs. In this stage people follow rules with a good boy and nice girl orientation. An example of this thinking: “Do it for me.” This stage also includes law-and-order morality: “Do your duty.”
What is the Post-Conventional Stage?
Created with Sketch.
The post-conventional stage is more abstract: “Your right and wrong is not my right and wrong.” This stage goes beyond social norms and an individual develops his own moral compass, sticking to personal principles of what is ethical or not.
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Difference Between Morals and Ethics (with Examples and Comparison Chart) - Key Differences
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Difference Between Morals and Ethics
We greatly encounter moral and ethical issues, in our day to day life. Perhaps, these two defines a personality, attitude, and behavior of a person. The word Morals is derived from a Greek word “Mos” which means custom. On the other hand, if we talk about Ethics, it is also derived from a Greek word “Ethikos” which means character. Put simply, morals are the customs established by group of individuals whereas ethics defines the character of an individual.
While morals are concerned with principles of right and wrong, ethics are related to right and wrong conduct of an individual in a particular sitution. Many use the two terms as synonyms, but there are slight and subtle differences between morals and ethis, which are described in the article below.
Content: Morals Vs Ethics
Comparison Chart
Definition
Key Differences
Video
Examples
Conclusion
Comparison Chart
Basis for ComparisonMoralsEthics
MeaningMorals are the beliefs of the individual or group as to what is right or wrong.Ethics are the guiding principles which help the individual or group to decide what is good or bad.
What is it?General principles set by groupResponse to a specific situation
Root wordMos which means customEthikos which means character
Governed BySocial and cultural normsIndividual or Legal and Professional norms
Deals withPrinciples of right and wrongRight and wrong conduct
Applicability in BusinessNoYes
ConsistencyMorals may differ from society to society and culture to culture.Ethics are generally uniform.
ExpressionMorals are expressed in the form of general rules and statements.Ethics are abstract.
Freedom to think and chooseNoYes
Definition of Morals
Morals are the social, cultural and religious beliefs or values of an individual or group which tells us what is right or wrong. They are the rules and standards made by the society or culture which is to be followed by us while deciding what is right. Some moral principles are:
Do not cheat
Be loyal
Be patient
Always tell the truth
Be generous
Morals refer to the beliefs what is not objectively right, but what is considered right for any situation, so it can be said that what is morally correct may not be objectively correct.
Definition of Ethics
Ethics is a branch of philosophy that deals with the principles of conduct of an individual or group. It works as a guiding principle as to decide what is good or bad. They are the standards which govern the life of a person. Ethics is also known as moral philosophy. Some ethical principles are:
Truthfulness
Honesty
Loyalty
Respect
Fairness
Integrity
Key Differences Between Morals and Ethics
The major differences between Morals and Ethics are as under:
Morals deal with what is ‘right or wrong’. Ethics deals with what is ‘good or evil’.
Morals are general guidelines framed by the society E.g. We should speak truth. Conversely, ethics are a response to a particular situation, E.g. Is it ethical to state the truth in a particular situation?
The term morals is derived from a Greek word ‘mos’ which refers to custom and the customs are determined by group of individuals or some authority. On the other hand, ethics is originated from Greek word ‘ethikos’ which refers to character and character is an attribute.
Morals are dictated by society, culture or religion while Ethics are chosen by the person himself which governs his life.
Morals are concerned with principles of right and wrong. On the contrary, ethics stresses on right and wrong conduct.
As morals are framed and designed by the group, there is no option to think and choose; the individual can either accept or reject. Conversely, the people are free to think and choose the principles of his life in ethics.
Morals may vary from society to society and culture to culture. As opposed to Ethics, which remains same regardless of any culture, religion or society.
Morals do not have any applicability to business, whereas Ethics is widely applicable in the business known as business ethics.
Morals are expressed in the form of statements, but Ethics are not expressed in the form of statements.
Video: Morals Vs Ethics
Examples
If the son of a big politician has committed a crime and he uses his powers to free his son from legal consequences. Then this act is immoral because the politician is trying to save a culprit.
A very close friend or relative of an interviewer comes for an interview and without asking a single question, he selects him. This act is unethical because the selection process must be transparent and unbiased.
A grocer sells adulterated products to his customers to earn more profit. This act is neither moral nor ethical because he is cheating his customers and profession at the same time.
Conclusion
Every single individual has some principles which help him throughout his life to cope up with any adverse situation; they are known as ethics. On the other hand, Morals are not the hard and fast rules or very rigid, but they are the rules which a majority of people considered as right. That is why the people widely accept them. This is all for differentiating Morals from Ethics.
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Comments
Aivee Akther says
April 7, 2016 at 5:42 pm
wow,,,,perfect
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mobi ktk says
August 28, 2016 at 5:18 pm
easyly understandable
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NKWETI Roland TICHA says
March 4, 2017 at 9:33 pm
thanks for your clarification.
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Surbhi S says
March 6, 2017 at 9:47 am
We really appreciate your views, thanks for sharing.
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Bhakti says
July 7, 2017 at 9:12 am
Thanks for ur help…
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Ekart Mwankenja says
July 14, 2017 at 4:40 am
Thanks
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Khagendra Thapa says
August 7, 2017 at 9:22 pm
Hello:
Thanks for these clear and very comprehensive explanations. These are the best explanations I found. I really appreciate it.
Dr. K. Thapa
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Nathan Laia says
April 23, 2018 at 8:02 am
Thanks a lot. This article is very understandable and very helpful. I do appreciate your work
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Marvin Ekwenugo says
April 30, 2018 at 4:51 pm
Thoroughly differentiated. Clarity came off easily.
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Surbhi S says
May 11, 2018 at 3:28 pm
Thank you all we really value your views, it means a lot to us and motivates us to do even better in future. Keep reading
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Silky says
May 16, 2018 at 2:38 am
Ty …ur answer is good
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sneha yadav says
September 8, 2018 at 9:48 pm
wow ….great explanation…through examples it is more clear.
Reply
ebram says
November 9, 2018 at 12:01 pm
Thanks for your simple explanations. That’s good
Reply
mk says
December 11, 2018 at 4:41 pm
keep it up! medium acts like a good teacher!
Reply
Seán Easton says
January 19, 2019 at 1:32 pm
A very helpful and practical presentation of the concepts.
Reply
Nim says
March 31, 2019 at 12:11 pm
Clearly explained with very good examples. Thank you for sharing this much of an excellent explanation. well done! Keep it up!
Reply
Praja says
April 12, 2019 at 11:24 am
Thanks for the great explanation.
Reply
Kelly Kapelembi says
May 2, 2019 at 11:31 am
Wow, so easy to understand. Excellent piece of writing with good and practical examples.
Reply
saurav says
July 19, 2019 at 4:04 pm
good work and and easily understandable
Reply
DR.KATYETYE says
August 22, 2019 at 9:21 pm
simple but rigid information
well done!!!!!
Reply
Simisola Omotoso says
June 16, 2020 at 5:51 am
This pretty much cleared the two concepts for me. Thank you!
Reply
Nouman aslam says
December 7, 2020 at 2:07 pm
great job, well define, easily understandable, thank you very much!
Reply
JAMES LIIMAN JABONG says
February 8, 2021 at 8:34 pm
wow! so comprehensible, I must say that it really helps me to draw a clear line of dichotomy between the two concepts. God bless you for sharing your knowledge on that.
Reply
Linda says
March 6, 2021 at 9:07 pm
Thank you for a very helpful and informative article.
Reply
Boitumelo Morokeng says
October 14, 2021 at 12:56 pm
Thank you for a very helpful article it helped me on my assignment. Thanks again
Reply
Chi says
October 23, 2021 at 12:53 pm
Thank you so much.
Reply
Charles says
August 10, 2022 at 6:35 am
I enjoyed reading this article. Thank you for sharing this valuable information with us. Keep up the good work and I look forward to reading more of your posts
Reply
Thomas says
August 10, 2022 at 6:41 am
thanka a lot.
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Introduction & Top QuestionsThe origins of ethicsMythical accountsIntroduction of moral codesProblems of divine originPrehuman ethicsNonhuman behaviourKinship and reciprocityAnthropology and ethicsThe history of Western ethicsAncient civilizations to the end of the 19th centuryThe ancient Middle East and AsiaThe Middle EastIndiaChinaAncient and Classical GreeceAncient GreeceSocratesPlatoAristotleLater Greek and Roman ethicsThe StoicsThe EpicureansChristian ethics from the New Testament to the ScholasticsEthics in the New TestamentSt. AugustineSt. Thomas Aquinas and the ScholasticsThe Renaissance and the ReformationMachiavelliThe first ProtestantsThe British tradition from Hobbes to the utilitariansHobbesEarly intuitionists: Cudworth, More, and ClarkeShaftesbury and the moral sense schoolButler on self-interest and conscienceThe climax of moral sense theory: Hutcheson and HumeThe intuitionist response: Price and ReidUtilitarianismPaleyBenthamMillSidgwickThe Continental tradition from Spinoza to NietzscheSpinozaLeibnizRousseauKantHegelMarxNietzscheWestern ethics from the beginning of the 20th centuryMetaethicsMoore and the naturalistic fallacyModern intuitionismEmotivismExistentialismUniversal prescriptivismLater developments in metaethicsMoral realismKantian constructivism: a middle ground?Irrealist views: projectivism and expressivismEthics and reasons for actionNormative ethicsThe debate over consequentialismVarieties of consequentialismObjections to consequentialismAn ethics of prima facie dutiesRawls’s theory of justiceRights theoriesNatural law ethicsVirtue ethicsFeminist ethicsEthical egoismApplied ethicsEqualityAnimalsEnvironmental ethicsWar and peaceAbortion, euthanasia, and the value of human lifeBioethics
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Also known as: moral philosophy
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Peter Singer
Peter Singer is the Ira W. DeCamp Professor of Bioethics at the University Center for Human Values, Princeton University. A specialist in applied ethics, he approaches ethical issues from a secular, preference-utilitarian...
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What is ethics?The term ethics may refer to the philosophical study of the concepts of moral right and wrong and moral good and bad, to any philosophical theory of what is morally right and wrong or morally good and bad, and to any system or code of moral rules, principles, or values. The last may be associated with particular religions, cultures, professions, or virtually any other group that is at least partly characterized by its moral outlook.How is ethics different from morality?Traditionally, ethics referred to the philosophical study of morality, the latter being a more or less systematic set of beliefs, usually held in common by a group, about how people should live. Ethics also referred to particular philosophical theories of morality. Later the term was applied to particular (and narrower) moral codes or value systems. Ethics and morality are now used almost interchangeably in many contexts, but the name of the philosophical study remains ethics.Why does ethics matter?Ethics matters because (1) it is part of how many groups define themselves and thus part of the identity of their individual members, (2) other-regarding values in most ethical systems both reflect and foster close human relationships and mutual respect and trust, and (3) it could be “rational” for a self-interested person to be moral, because his or her self-interest is arguably best served in the long run by reciprocating the moral behaviour of others.Is ethics a social science?No. Understood as equivalent to morality, ethics could be studied as a social-psychological or historical phenomenon, but in that case it would be an object of social-scientific study, not a social science in itself. Understood as the philosophical study of moral concepts, ethics is a branch of philosophy, not of social science.ethics, the discipline concerned with what is morally good and bad and morally right and wrong. The term is also applied to any system or theory of moral values or principles.(Read Britannica’s biography of this author, Peter Singer.)How should we live? Shall we aim at happiness or at knowledge, virtue, or the creation of beautiful objects? If we choose happiness, will it be our own or the happiness of all? And what of the more particular questions that face us: is it right to be dishonest in a good cause? Can we justify living in opulence while elsewhere in the world people are starving? Is going to war justified in cases where it is likely that innocent people will be killed? Is it wrong to clone a human being or to destroy human embryos in medical research? What are our obligations, if any, to the generations of humans who will come after us and to the nonhuman animals with whom we share the planet?Ethics deals with such questions at all levels. Its subject consists of the fundamental issues of practical decision making, and its major concerns include the nature of ultimate value and the standards by which human actions can be judged right or wrong.The terms ethics and morality are closely related. It is now common to refer to ethical judgments or to ethical principles where it once would have been more accurate to speak of moral judgments or moral principles. These applications are an extension of the meaning of ethics. In earlier usage, the term referred not to morality itself but to the field of study, or branch of inquiry, that has morality as its subject matter. In this sense, ethics is equivalent to moral philosophy.Although ethics has always been viewed as a branch of philosophy, its all-embracing practical nature links it with many other areas of study, including anthropology, biology, economics, history, politics, sociology, and theology. Yet, ethics remains distinct from such disciplines because it is not a matter of factual knowledge in the way that the sciences and other branches of inquiry are. Rather, it has to do with determining the nature of normative theories and applying these sets of principles to practical moral problems.
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This article, then, will deal with ethics as a field of philosophy, especially as it has developed in the West. For coverage of religious conceptions of ethics and the ethical systems associated with world religions, see Buddhism; Christianity; Confucianism; Hinduism; Jainism; Judaism; Sikhism. The origins of ethics Mythical accounts Introduction of moral codes When did ethics begin and how did it originate? If one has in mind ethics proper—i.e., the systematic study of what is morally right and wrong—it is clear that ethics could have come into existence only when human beings started to reflect on the best way to live. This reflective stage emerged long after human societies had developed some kind of morality, usually in the form of customary standards of right and wrong conduct. The process of reflection tended to arise from such customs, even if in the end it may have found them wanting. Accordingly, ethics began with the introduction of the first moral codes. Virtually every human society has some form of myth to explain the origin of morality. In the Louvre in Paris there is a black Babylonian column with a relief showing the sun god Shamash presenting the code of laws to Hammurabi (died c. 1750 bce), known as the Code of Hammurabi. The Hebrew Bible (Old Testament) account of God’s giving the Ten Commandments to Moses (flourished 14th–13th century bce) on Mount Sinai might be considered another example. In the dialogue Protagoras by Plato (428/427–348/347 bce), there is an avowedly mythical account of how Zeus took pity on the hapless humans, who were physically no match for the other beasts. To make up for these deficiencies, Zeus gave humans a moral sense and the capacity for law and justice, so that they could live in larger communities and cooperate with one another. That morality should be invested with all the mystery and power of divine origin is not surprising. Nothing else could provide such strong reasons for accepting the moral law. By attributing a divine origin to morality, the priesthood became its interpreter and guardian and thereby secured for itself a power that it would not readily relinquish. This link between morality and religion has been so firmly forged that it is still sometimes asserted that there can be no morality without religion. According to this view, ethics is not an independent field of study but rather a branch of theology (see moral theology).
There is some difficulty, already known to Plato, with the view that morality was created by a divine power. In his dialogue Euthyphro, Plato considered the suggestion that it is divine approval that makes an action good. Plato pointed out that, if this were the case, one could not say that the gods approve of such actions because they are good. Why then do they approve of them? Is their approval entirely arbitrary? Plato considered this impossible and so held that there must be some standards of right or wrong that are independent of the likes and dislikes of the gods. Modern philosophers have generally accepted Plato’s argument, because the alternative implies that if, for example, the gods had happened to approve of torturing children and to disapprove of helping one’s neighbours, then torture would have been good and neighbourliness bad.
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morality, the moral beliefs and practices of a culture, community, or religion or a code or system of moral rules, principles, or values. The conceptual foundations and rational consistency of such standards are the subject matter of the philosophical discipline of ethics, also known as moral philosophy. In its contemporary usage, the term ethics is also applied to particular moral codes or systems and to the empirical study of their historical development and their social, economic, and geographic circumstances (see comparative ethics).(Read Peter Singer’s Britannica entry on ethics.)
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Christianity: Moral arguments
Empirical studies show that all societies have moral rules that prescribe or forbid certain classes of action and that these rules are accompanied by sanctions to ensure their enforcement. It has been observed, for example, that virtually every society has well-established norms dealing with matters such as family organization and individual duties, sexual activity, property rights, personal welfare, truth telling, and promise keeping. Among all societies some moral rules are nearly universal—such as those forbidding murder, theft, infidelity or adultery, and incest—while others vary between societies or exist in some societies but not in others—such as those forbidding polygamy, parricide, and feticide (abortion).
The existence of nearly universal moral rules has raised the question of whether such common practices are rooted in human nature and whether their commonality or naturalness renders them objectively valid in some sense. A related question is whether there exists a single, objectively valid moral code that is rationally discoverable even though it is not fully instantiated in the moral beliefs and practices of any society. In contrast, the diversity of moral rules between societies has raised the question of whether the validity of a moral rule is relative to the society in which it is recognized. Such questions are outside the scope of empirical studies of morality and properly within the domain of philosophical ethics. See ethical relativism. The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica This article was most recently revised and updated by Brian Duignan.
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Moral TheoryFirst published Mon Jun 27, 2022
There is much disagreement about what, exactly, constitutes a moral
theory. Some of that disagreement centers on the issue of
demarcating the moral from other areas of practical
normativity, such as the ethical and the aesthetic. Some
disagreement centers on the issue of what a moral
theory’s aims and functions are. In this entry,
both questions will be addressed. However, this entry is about moral
theories as theories, and is not a survey of specific
theories, though specific theories will be used as examples.
1. Morality
1.1 Common-sense Morality
1.2 Contrasts Between Morality and Other Normative Domains
2. Theory and Theoretical Virtues
2.1 The Tasks of Moral Theory
2.2 Theory Construction
3. Criteria
4. Decision Procedures and Practical Deliberation
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1. Morality
When philosophers engage in moral theorizing, what is it that they are
doing? Very broadly, they are attempting to provide a systematic
account of morality. Thus, the object of moral theorizing is morality,
and, further, morality as a normative system.
At the most minimal, morality is a set of norms and principles that
govern our actions with respect to each other and which are taken to
have a special kind of weight or authority (Strawson 1961). More
fundamentally, we can also think of morality as consisting of moral
reasons, either grounded in some more basic value, or, the other way
around, grounding value (Raz 1999).
It is common, also, to hold that moral norms are universal
in the sense that they apply to and bind everyone in similar
circumstances. The principles expressing these norms are also
thought to be general, rather than specific, in that they are
formulable “without the use of what would be intuitively
recognized as proper names, or rigged definite descriptions”
(Rawls 1979, 131). They are also commonly held to be
impartial, in holding everyone to count equally.
1.1 Common-sense Morality
… Common-sense is… an exercise of the judgment unaided
by any Art or system of rules : such an exercise as we must
necessarily employ in numberless cases of daily occurrence ; in which,
having no established principles to guide us … we must needs
act on the best extemporaneous conjectures we can form. He who is
eminently skillful in doing this, is said to possess a superior degree
of Common-Sense. (Richard Whatley, Elements of Logic, 1851,
xi–xii)
“Common-Sense Morality”, as the term is used here, refers
to our pre-theoretic set of moral judgments or intuitions
or
principles.[1]
When we
engage in theory construction (see below) it is these common-sense
intuitions that provide a touchstone to theory
evaluation. Henry Sidgwick believed that the
principles of Common-Sense Morality were important in helping us
understand the “first” principle or principles
of
morality.[2]
Indeed, some theory construction explicitly appeals to puzzles in
common-sense morality that need resolution – and hence, need to
be addressed theoretically.
Features of commons sense morality are determined by our normal
reactions to cases which in turn suggest certain normative principles
or insights. For example, one feature of common-sense morality
that is often remarked upon is the self/other asymmetry in morality,
which manifests itself in a variety of ways in our intuitive
reactions. For example, many intuitively differentiate morality
from prudence in holding that morality concerns our interactions with
others, whereas prudence is concerned with the well-being of the
individual, from that individual’s point of view.
Also, according to our common-sense intuitions we are allowed to
pursue our own important projects even if such pursuit is not
“optimific” from the impartial point of view (Slote
1985). It is also considered permissible, and even admirable, for
an agent to sacrifice her own good for the sake of another even though
that is not optimific. However, it is impermissible, and outrageous,
for an agent to similarly sacrifice the well-being of another under the
same circumstances. Samuel Scheffler argued for a view in which
consequentialism is altered to include agent-centered prerogatives,
that is, prerogatives to not act so as to maximize the good (Scheffler
1982).
Our reactions to certain cases also seem to indicate a common-sense
commitment to the moral significance of the distinction between
intention and foresight, doing versus allowing, as well as the view
that distance between agent and patient is morally relevant (Kamm
2007).
Philosophers writing in empirical moral psychology have been working
to identify other features of common-sense morality, such as how prior
moral evaluations influence how we attribute moral responsibility for
actions (Alicke et. al. 2011; Knobe 2003).
What many ethicists agree upon is that common-sense is a bit of a
mess. It is fairly easy to set up inconsistencies and tensions
between common-sense commitments. The famous Trolley Problem
thought experiments illustrate how situations which are structurally
similar can elicit very different intuitions about what the morally
right course of action would be (Foot 1975). We intuitively
believe that it is worse to kill someone than to simply let the person
die. And, indeed, we believe it is wrong to kill one person to
save five others in the following scenario:
David is a great transplant surgeon. Five of his patients need new
parts—one needs a heart, the others need, respectively, liver,
stomach, spleen, and spinal cord—but all are of the same,
relatively rare, blood-type. By chance, David learns of a healthy
specimen with that very blood-type. David can take the healthy
specimen's parts, killing him, and install them in his patients, saving
them. Or he can refrain from taking the healthy specimen's parts,
letting his patients die. (Thomson 1976, 206)
And yet, in the following scenario we intuitively view it entirely
permissible, and possibly even obligatory, to kill one to save
five:
Edward is the driver of a trolley, whose brakes have just failed. On
the track ahead of him are five people; the banks are so steep that
they will not be able to get off the track in time. The track has a
spur leading off to the right, and Edward can turn the trolley onto it.
Unfortunately there is one person on the right-hand track. Edward can
turn the trolley, killing the one; or he can refrain from turning the
trolley, killing the five. (Thomson 1976, 206).
Theorizing is supposed to help resolve those tensions in a
principled way. Theory construction attempts to provide
guidance in how to resolve such tensions and how to understand
them.
1.2 Contrasts Between Morality and Other Normative Domains
1.2.1 Morality and Ethics
Ethics is generally understood to be the study of “living well
as a human being”. This is the topic of works such as
Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, in which the aim of
human beings is to exemplify human excellence of character. The sense
in which we understand it here is that ethics is broader than morality,
and includes considerations of personal development of oneself and
loved ones. This personal development is important to a life well
lived, intuitively, since our very identities are centered on projects
that we find important. Bernard Williams and others refer to
these projects as “ground projects”. These are the
sources of many of our reasons for acting. For Williams, if
an agent seeks to adopt moral considerations, or be guided by
them, then important ethical considerations are neglected,
such as personal integrity and authenticity (Williams 1977; Wolf
1982). However, Williams has a very narrow view of what he
famously termed “the morality system” (Williams 1985).
Williams lists a variety of objectionable features of the morality
system, including the inescapability of moral obligations, the
overridingness of moral obligation, impartiality, and
the fact that in the morality system there is a push towards
generalization.
There has been considerable discussion of each of these features of
the morality system, and since Williams, a great deal of work on the
part of standard moral theorists on how each theory addresses the
considerations he raised. Williams’ critique of the
morality system was part of a general criticism of moral theory in the
1980s on the grounds of its uselessness, harmfulness, and even its
impossibility (Clarke 1987). This anti-theory trend was prompted
by the same dissatisfaction with consequentialism and deontology that
led to the resurgence of Virtue Ethics.
A major criticism of this view is that it has a very narrow view of
what counts as a moral theory. Thus, some of these approaches
simply rejected some features of William’s characterization of
the morality system, such as impartiality. Others, however,
Williams’ included, attacked the very project of moral
theory. This is the ‘anti-theory’ attack on moral
theorizing. For example, Annette Baier argued that
morality cannot be captured in a system of rules, and this was a very
popular theme amongst early virtue ethicists. On this view, moral
theory which systematizes and states the moral principles that ought to
guide actions is simply impossible: “Norms in the form of
virtues may be essentially imprecise in some crucial ways, may be
mutually referential, but not hierarchically orderable, may be
essentially self-referential” (Baier 220).
Robert Louden even argued that the best construal of virtue ethics
is not as an ethical theory, but as anti-theory that should not be
evaluated as attempting to theorize morality at all. (Louden
1990). According to Louden, moral theories are formulated
to a variety of reasons, including to provide solutions to problems,
formulas for action, universal principles, etc. Louden notes that this
characterization is very narrow and many would object to it, but he
views anti-theory not so much as a position against any kind
of moral theorizing, but simply the kind that he viewed as predominant
prior to the advent of Virtue Ethics. This is a much less severe
version of anti-theory as it, for example, doesn’t seem to regard
weightiness or importance of moral reasons as a problem.
Some of the problems that Williams and other anti-theorists have
posed for morality, based on the above characteristics, are:
Morality is too demanding and pervasive: that is, the view that
moral reasons are weighty indicates that we should be giving them
priority over other sorts of reasons. Further, they leach into
all aspects of our lives, leaving very little morally neutral.
Morality is alienating. There are a variety of ways in which
morality can be alienating. As Adrian Piper notes, morality might
alienate the agent from herself or might alienate the agent from others
– impartiality and universality might lead to this, for example
(Piper 1987; Stocker 1976). Another way we can understand
alienation is that the agent is alienated from the true justifications
of her own actions – this is one way to hold that theories which
opt for indirection can lead to alienation (see section 4 below).
Morality, because it is impartial, makes no room for special
obligations. That is, if the right action is the one that is impartial
between persons, then it does not favor the near and dear. On this
picture it is difficult to account for the moral requirements that
parents have towards their own children, and friends have towards each
other. These requirements are, by their nature, not
impartial.
Morality is committed to providing guides for action that can
be captured in a set of rules or general principles. That is, morality
is codifiable and the rules of morality are general.
Morality requires too much. The basic worry is that the morality
system is voracious and is creeping into all aspects of our lives, to
the detriment of other important values. The worry expressed by 4 takes
a variety of forms. For example, some take issue with a
presupposition of 4, arguing that there are no moral principles at all if we
think of these principles as guiding action. Some argue
that there are no moral principles that are complete, because morality
is not something that is codifiable. And, even if
morality was codifiable, the ‘principles’ would be
extremely specific, and not qualify as principles at all.
Since Williams’ work, philosophers have tried to respond to
the alienation worry by, for example, providing accounts of the ways in
which a person’s reasons can guide without forming an explicit
part of practical deliberation. Peter Railton, for example,
argues in favor of a form of objective consequentialism,
Sophisticated Consequentialism, in which the rightness of an
action is a function of its actual consequences (Railton 1984).
On Railton’s view, one can be a good consequentialist without
being alienated from loved ones. Though not attempting to defend moral
theory per se, other writers have also provided accounts of
how agents can act on the basis of reasons – and thus perform
morally worthy actions, even though these reasons are not explicitly
articulated in their practical deliberations (Arpaly 2002; Markovits
2014). Deontologists have argued that autonomous action needn’t
involve explicit invocation of, for example, the Categorical Imperative
(Herman 1985). Generally, what characterizes these moves is the
idea that the justifying reasons are present in some form in the
agent’s psychology – they are recoverable from the
agent’s psychology – but need not be explicitly articulated
or invoked by the agent in acting rightly.
One way to elaborate on this strategy is to argue that the morally
good agent is one who responds to the right sorts of reasons, even
though the agent can’t articulate the nature of the response
(Arpaly 2002). This strategy makes no appeal to codifiable principles,
and is compatible with a wide variety of approaches to developing a
moral theory. It relies heavily on the concept, of course, of
“reason” and “moral reason,” which many writers
on moral issues take to be fundamental or basic in any case.
There has also been debate concerning the proper scope of morality,
and how moral theories can address problems relating to
impartiality. Kant and the classical utilitarians believed that moral
reasons are impartial, what others have termed agent-neutral. Indeed,
this is one point of criticism that virtue ethics has made of these
two theories. One might argue that moral reasons are impartial, but
that there are other reasons that successfully compete with them
– reasons relating to the near and dear, for example, or
one’s own ground projects. Or, one could hold that morality
includes special reasons, arising from special obligations, that also
morally justify our actions.
The first strategy has been pursued by Bernard Williams and other
“anti-theorists”. Again, Williams argues that
morality is a special system that we would be better off without
(Williams 1985). In the morality system we see a special sense of
“obligation” – moral obligation – which
possesses certain features. For example, moral obligation is
inescapable according to the morality system. A theory
such as Kant’s, for example, holds that we must act in
accordance with the Categorical Imperative. It is not
optional. This is because morality is represented as having
authority over us in ways that even demand sacrifice of our personal
projects, of the very things that make our lives go well for us.
This seems especially clear for Utilitarianism, which holds that we
must maximize the good, and falling short of maximization is
wrong. A Kantian will try to avoid this problem by
appealing to obligations that are less demanding, the imperfect ones.
But, as Williams points out, these are still obligations, and
as such can only be overridden by other obligations. Thus, the
theories also tend to present morality as pervasive in that
morality creeps into every aspect of our lives, making no room for
neutral decisions. For example, even decisions about what shoes
to wear to work becomes a moral one:
Once the journey into more general obligations has started, we may
begin to get into trouble – not just philosophical trouble, but
the conscience trouble – with finding room for morally
indifferent actions. I have already mentioned the possible moral
conclusion that one may take some particular course of action.
That means that there is nothing else I am obliged to do. But if we have
accepted general and indeterminate obligations to further various moral
objectives…they will be waiting to provide work for idle
hands… (Williams 1985, 181)
He goes on to write that in order to get out of this problem,
“…I shall need one of those fraudulent items, a duty to
myself” (Williams 1985, 182). Kantian Ethics does supply
this. Many find this counterintuitive, since the self/other
asymmetry seems to capture the prudence/morality distinction, but
Kantians such as Tom Hill, jr. have made strong cases for at least
some moral duties to the self. In any case, for writers such
as Williams, so much the worse for morality.
Other writers, also concerned about the problems that Williams has
raised argue, instead, that morality does make room for our partial
concerns and projects, such as the norms governing our relationships,
and our meaningful projects. Virtue ethicists, for example, are
often comfortable pointing out that morality is not thoroughly
impartial because there are virtues of partiality. Being a good
mother involves having a preference for the well-being of one’s
own children. The mother who really is impartial would be a very
bad mother, lacking in the appropriate virtues.
Another option is to hold that there are partial norms, but those
partial norms are themselves justified on impartial grounds. This
can be spelled out in a variety of different ways. Consider
Marcia Baron’s defense of impartiality, where she notes that
critics of impartiality are mistaken because they confuse
levels of justification: “Critics suppose that
impartialists insisting on impartiality at the level of rules or
principles are committed to insisting on impartiality at the level of
deciding what to do in one’s day-to-day activities” (Baron
1991). This is a mistake because impartialists can justify
partial norms by appealing to impartial rules or principles. She
is correct about this. Even Jeremy Bentham believed, for example,
that the principle of utility ought not be applied in every case,
though he mainly appealed to efficiency costs of using the principle
all the time. But one can appeal to other considerations.
Frank Jackson uses an analogy with predators to argue that partial
norms are strategies for maximizing the good, they offer the best
chance of actually doing so given our limitations (Jackson 1991).
Similarly, a Kantian such as Tom Hill, jr., as Baron notes, can argue
that impartiality is part of an ideal, and ought not govern our
day-to-day lives (Hill 1987). Does this alienate people from
others? The typical mother shows the right amount of preference
for her child, let’s say, but doesn’t herself think that
this is justified on the basis of promoting the good, for
example. A friend visits another in the hospital and also does
not view the partiality as justified by any further principles.
But this is no more alienating than someone being able to make good
arguments and criticize bad ones without a knowledge of inference
rules. Maybe it is better to have an awareness of the underlying
justification, but for some theories even that is debatable. For
an objective theorist (see below) it may be that knowing the underlying
justification can interfere with doing the right thing, in which case
it is better not to know. For some theorists, however, such as
neo-Aristotelian virtue ethicists, a person is not truly virtuous
without such knowledge and understanding, though Rosalind Hursthouse
(1999) does not make this a requirement of right action.
Recently consequentialists have been approaching this issue through
the theory of value itself, arguing that there are agent-relative forms
of value. This approach is able to explain the intuitions that
support partial moral norms while retaining the general structure of
consequentialism (Sen 2000). Douglas Portmore, for example,
argues for a form of consequentialism that he terms “commonsense
consequentialism” as it is able to accommodate many of our
everyday moral intuitions (Portmore 2011). He does so by arguing
that (1) the deontic status of an act, whether it is right or wrong, is
determined by what reasons the agent has for performing it – if
an agent has a decisive reason to perform the act in question, then it
is morally required. Combined with (2) a teleological view of
practical reasons in which our reasons for performing an action are a
function of what we have reason to prefer or desire we are led to a
form of act-consequentialism but one which is open to accepting that we
have reason to prefer or desire the well-being of the near and dear
over others.
Though much of this is controversial, there is general agreement
that moral reasons are weighty, are not egoistic
– that is, to be contrasted with prudential reasons, and are
concerned with issues of value [duty, fittingness].
1.2.2. Morality and Aesthetics
Moral modes of evaluation are distinct from the aesthetic in terms
of their content, but also in terms of their authority. So, for
example, works of art are evaluated as “beautiful” or
“ugly”, and those evaluations are not generally considered
as universal or as objective as moral evaluations. These
distinctions between moral evaluation and aesthetic evaluation have
been challenged, and are the subject of some interesting debates in
metaethics on the nature of both moral and aesthetic norms and the
truth-conditions of moral and aesthetic claims. But, considered
intuitively, aesthetics seems at least less objective than
morality.
A number of writers have noted that we need to be cognizant of the
distinction between moral norms and the norms specific to other
normative areas in order to avoid fallacies of evaluation, and much
discussion has centered on a problem in aesthetics termed the
“Moralistic Fallacy” (D’Arms and Jacobson 2000).
One challenge that the anti-theorists have raised for morality was
to note that in a person’s life there will be certain norm
clashes – including clashes between types of norms such
as the moral and the aesthetic. It is giving too much prominence
to the moral that judges a person’s life as going well relative
to the fulfillment or respect of those norms. Can’t a
human life go well, even when that life sacrifices morality for
aesthetics?
This sort of debate has a long history in moral theory. For
example, it arose as a form of criticism of G. E. Moore’s Ideal
Utilitarianism, which treated beauty as an intrinsic good, and
rendering trade-offs between behaving well towards others and creating
beauty at least in principle justified morally (Moore
1903). But the anti-theorists do not pursue this method of
accommodating the aesthetic, instead arguing that it is a separate
normative realm which has its own weight and significance in human
flourishing.
2. Theory and Theoretical Virtues
There is agreement that theories play some kind
of systematizing role, and that one function is to examine
important concepts relevant to morality and moral practice and the
connections, if any, between them. For example, one very common view
in the middle of the 20th century, attributed to John
Rawls, was to view moral theory as primarily interested in
understanding the ‘right’ and the ‘good’ and
connections between the two (Rawls). Priority claims are often a
central feature in the systematizing role of moral theory. Related to
this is the issue of explanatory, or theoretical, depth. That
is, the deeper the explanation goes, the better.
Theories also strive for simplicity, coherence,
and accuracy. The fewer epicycles the theory has to postulate
the better, the parts of the theory should fit well together. For
example, the theory should not contain inconsistent principles, or have
inconsistent implications. The theory should cover the phenomena
in question. In the case of moral theories, the phenomena in
question are thought to be our considered moral intuitions or
judgements. Another coherence condition involves the theory cohering
with a person’s set of considered judgments, as well.
One last feature that needs stressing, particularly for moral
theories, is applicability. One criticism of some normative
ethical theories is that they are not applicable. For example,
Virtue Ethics has been criticized for not providing an account of what
our moral obligations are – appealing to what the
virtuous person would do in the circumstances would seem to set a very
high bar or doesn’t answer the relevant question about how we
should structure laws guiding people on what their social obligations
are. Similarly, objective consequentialists, who understand
“right action” in terms of actual consequences have been
criticized for rendering what counts as a right action in a given
circumstance unknowable, and thus useless as a guide to action.
Both approaches provide responses to this worry, but this supports the
claim that a desideratum of a moral theory is that it be
applicable.
2.1 The Tasks of Moral Theory
One task (though this is somewhat controversial) of a moral theory
is to give an account of right actions. Often, this will involve
an explication of what counts as good – some theories then get
spelled out in terms of how they approach the good, by maximizing it,
producing enough of it, honoring it, etc. In addition, some
theories explicate the right in terms of acting in accordance with
one’s duties, or acting as a virtuous person would act. In
these cases the notions of ‘duty’ and ‘virtue’
become important to the overall analysis, and one function of moral
theory is to explore the systematic connections between duty or virtue
and the right and the good.
Moral theories also have both substantive and formal aims.
Moral theories try to provide criteria for judging actions. It
might be that the criterion is simple, such as right actions maximize
the good, or it may be complex, such as the right action is the one
that gives adequate weight to each competing duty.
Sometimes, in recognition that there is not always “the”
right action, the theory simply provides an account of wrongness, or
permissibility and impermissibility, which allows that a range of
actions might count as “right”.
In addition to simply providing criteria for right or virtuous
action, or for being a virtuous person, a given moral theory, for
example, will attempt to explain why something, like an action
or character trait, has a particular moral quality, such as rightness
or virtuousness. Some theories view rightness as grounded in or
explained by value. Some view rightness as a matter of
reasons that are prior to value. In each case, to
provide an explanation of the property of ‘rightness’ or
‘virtuousness’ will be to provide an account of what the
grounding value is, or an account of reasons for action.
In addition, moral theories may also provide
decision-procedures to employ in determining how to act
rightly or virtuously, conditions on being good or virtuous, or
conditions on morally appropriate practical deliberation. Thus,
the theory provides substance to evaluation and reasons. However,
moral theories, in virtue of providing an explanatory framework, help
us see connections between criteria and decision-procedures, as well as
provide other forms of systemization. Thus, moral theories will
be themselves evaluated according to their theoretical virtues:
simplicity, explanatory power, elegance, etc. To evaluate moral
theories as theories, each needs to be evaluated in terms of
how well it succeeds in achieving these theoretical goals.
There are many more specialized elements to moral theories as
well. For example, a moral theory often concerns itself with
features of moral psychology relevant to action and character, such as
motives, intentions, emotions, and reasons responsiveness. A
moral theory that incorporates consideration of consequences into the
determination of moral quality, will also be concerned with issues
surrounding the proper aggregation of those consequences, and
the scope of the consequences to be considered.
2.2 Theory Construction
There’s been a long history of comparing moral theories to
other sorts of theories, such as scientific ones. For example, in
meta-ethics one issue has to do with the nature of moral
“evidence” on analogy with scientific evidence.
On what Ronald Dworkin terms the “natural model” the
truths of morality are discovered, just as the truths of science are
(Dworkin 1977, 160). It is our considered intuitions that provide the
clues to discover these moral truths, just as what is observable to us
provides the evidence to discover scientific truths. He compared
this model with the “constructive model” in which the
intuitions themselves are features of the theory being constructed and
are not analogous to observations of the external world.
Yet, even if we decide that morality lacks the same type of
phenomena to be accounted for as science, morality clearly figures into
our normative judgments and reactions. One might view these
– our intuitions about moral cases, for example – to
provide the basic data that needs to be accounted for by a theory on
either model.
One way to “account for” our considered intuitions would
be to debunk them. There is a long tradition of this in moral
philosophy as well. When scholars provided genealogies of
morality that explained our considered intuitions in terms of social
or evolutionary forces that are not sensitive the truth, for example,
they were debunking morality by undercutting the authority of our
intuitions to provide insight into it (Nietzsche 1887 [1998], Joyce
2001, Street 2006). In this entry, however, we consider the ways in
which moral theorists have constructed their accounts by taking the
intuitions seriously as something to be systematized, explained, and
as something that can be applied to generate the correct moral
decisions or outcomes.
Along these lines, one method used in theory construction would
involve the use of reflective equilibrium and inference to the best
explanation. For example, one might notice an apparent inconsistency
in moral judgements regarding two structurally similar cases and then
try to figure out what principle or set of principles would achieve
consistency between them. In this case, the theorist is trying to
figure out what best explains both of those intuitions. But one also
might, after thinking about principles one already accepts, or finds
plausible, reject one of those intuitions on the basis of it not
cohering with the rest of one’s considered views. But full
theory construction will go beyond this because of the fully
theoretical virtues discussed earlier. We want a systematic account
that coheres well not only with itself, but with other things that we
believe on the basis of good evidence.
3. Criteria
Consider the following:
Malory has promised to take Chris grocery shopping. Unfortunately, as
Malory is leaving the apartment, Sam calls with an urgent request:
please come over to my house right now, my pipes have broken and I
need help! Torn, Malory decides to help Sam, and thus breaks a promise
to Chris.
Has Malory done the right thing? The virtuous thing?
Malory has broken a promise, which is pro tanto wrong, but Sam
is in an emergency and needs help right away. Even if it is clear
that what Malory did was right in the circumstances, it is an
interesting question as to why it is right. What can we appeal to in
making these sorts of judgments? This brings to light the issue
of how one morally justifies one’s actions. This
is the task of understanding what the justifying reasons are for our
actions. What makes an action the thing to do in the
circumstances? This is the criterion of rightness (or
wrongness). We will focus on the criterion of rightness, though
the criterion issue comes up with other modes of moral evaluation, such
as judging an action to be virtuous, or judging it to be good in some
respect, even if not right. Indeed, some writers have argued that
‘morally right’ should be jettisoned from modern secular
ethics, as it presupposes a conceptual framework left over from
religiously based accounts which assume there is a God (Anscombe
1958). We will leave these worries aside for now, however, and
focus on standard accounts of criteria.
The following are some toy examples that exhibit differing
structural features for moral theories and set out different
criteria:
Consequentialism. The right action is the action that
produces good amongst the options open to the agent at the
time of action (Singer). The most well-known version of this
theory is Classical Utilitarianism, which holds that the right action
promotes pleasure (Mill).
Kantian Deontology. The morally worthy action is in
accordance with the Categorical Imperative, which requires an agent
refrain from acting in a way that fails to respect the rational nature
of other persons (Kant).
Rossian Deontology. The right action is the action that best
accords with the fulfillment and/or non-violation of one’s
prima facie duties (Ross).
Contractualism.An action is morally wrong if it is an act that
would be forbidden by principles that rational persons could not
reasonably reject (Scanlon).
Virtue Ethics.The right action is the action that a virtuous
person would characteristically perform in the circumstances
(Hursthouse 1999).
These principles set out the criterion or standard
for evaluation of actions. They do not necessarily tell us
how to perform right actions, and are not, in themselves,
decision-procedures, though they can easily be turned into decision
procedures, such as: you ought to try to perform the action that
maximizes the good amongst the options available to you at the time of
action. This might not be, and in ordinary circumstance probably
isn’t, a very good decision-procedure, and would itself need to
be evaluated according to the criterion set out by the theory.
These theories can be divided, roughly, into the deontological,
consequentialist, and virtue ethical categories. There has been a
lively debate about how, exactly, to delineate these categories.
Some have held that deontological theories were just those theories
that were not consequentialist. A popular conception of
consequentialist theories is that they are reductionist in a particular
way – that is, in virtue of reducing deontic features of actions
(e.g. rightness, obligatoriness) to facts about an agent’s
options and the consequences of those options (Smith 2009). If
that is the case, then it seems that deontological approaches are just
the ones that are not reductive in this manner. However, this
fails to capture the distinctive features of many forms of virtue
ethics, which are neither consequentialist nor necessarily concerned
with what we ought to do, our duties as opposed to
what sorts of persons we should be.
One way to distinguish consequentialist from deontological theories
is in terms of how each approaches value. Philip Pettit has
suggested that while consequentialist theories required
promotion of value, deontological theories recommend that
value be honored or respected. On each of
these views, value is an important component of the theory, and
theories will be partially delineated according to their theory of
value. A utilitarian such as Jeremey Bentham believes that hedonism is
the correct theory of value, whereas someone such as G. E. Moore, a
utilitarian but a pluralist regarding value, believes that hedonism is
much too narrow an account. A Kantian, on the other hand, views
value as grounded in rational nature, in a will conforming to the
Categorical Imperative.
Because of the systematizing function of moral theory discussed
earlier, the simplest account is to be preferred and thus there is a
move away from endorsing value pluralism. Of course, as intuitive
pressure is put on each of the simpler alternatives, a pluralistic
account of criteria for rightness and wrongness has the advantage of
according best with moral intuitions.
Reasons-first philosophers will delineate the theories somewhat
differently. For example, one might understand goodness as a
matter of what we have reason to desire, in which case what we have
reason to desire is prior to goodness rather than the other way
around. Value is still an important component of the theories, it
is simply that the value is grounded in reasons.
Another distinction between normative theories is that between
subjective and objective versions of a type of theory. This
distinction cuts across other categories. For example, there are
subjective forms of all the major moral theories, and objective
versions of many. An objective standard of right holds that the agent
must actually meet the standard – and meeting the standard is
something ‘objective’, not dependent on the agent’s
psychological states – in order to count as right or
virtuous. Subjective standards come in two broad forms:
Psychology sensitive: are the justifying reasons part of
the agent’s deliberative processes? Or, more weakly, are they
“recoverable” from the agent’s psychology [perhaps,
for example, the agent has a commitment to the values that provide the
reasons].
Evidence sensitive: the right action isn’t the one
that actually meets the standard, but instead, is the action that the
agent could foresee would meet that standard. [there are many
different ways to spell this out, depending on the degree of evidence
that is relevant: in terms of what the agent actually foresees, what
is foreseeable by the agent given what the agent knows, is foreseeable
by someone in possession of a reasonable amount of evidence, etc.]
Of course, these two can overlap. For theorists who are
evaluational internalists, evidence-sensitivity doesn’t
seem like a plausible way of spelling out the standard, except,
perhaps, indirectly. The distinction frequently comes up in
Consequentialism, where the Objective standard is taken to be something
like: the right action is the action that actually promotes the
good and the Subjective standard is something like: the right
action is the action that promotes the good by the agent’s own
lights (psychology sensitive) or the right action is the action that
promotes the foreseeable good, given evidence available at the time of
action (evidence sensitive standard). It is certainly possible
for other moral standards to be objective. For example, the right
action is the action that the virtuous person would perform, even
though the agent does not realize it is what the virtuous agent would
do in the circumstances, and even if the person with the best available
evidence couldn’t realize it is what the virtuous person would do
in the circumstances.
We certainly utter locutions that support both subjective and
objective uses of what we ‘ought’ to do, or what is
‘right’. Frank Jackson notes this when he writes:
…we have no alternative but to recognize a whole range of
oughts – what she ought to do by the light of her beliefs at the
time of action, …what she ought to do by the lights of one or
another onlooker who has different information on the subject, and,
what is more, what she ought to do by God’s lights…that
is, by the lights of one who knows what will and would happen
for each and every course of action. (Jackson 1991, 471).
For Jackson, the primary ought, the primary sense of
‘rightness’ for an action, is the one that is “most
immediately relevant to action” since, otherwise, we have a
problem of understanding how the action is the agent’s.
Thus, the subjective ‘ought’ is primary in the sense that
this is the one that ethical theory should be concerned with (Jackson
1991). Each type of theorist makes use of our ordinary language
intuitions to make their case. But one desideratum of a theory is that
it not simply reflect those intuitions, but also provides the tools to
critically analyze them. Given that our language allows for
both sorts of ‘ought,’ the interesting issue becomes which,
if either, has primacy in terms of actually providing the standard by
which other things are evaluated? Moral theory needn’t only
be concerned with what the right action is from the agent’s point
of view.
There are three possibilities:
neither has primacy
the subjective has primacy
the objective has primacy
First off we need to understand what we mean by
“primacy”. Again, for Frank Jackson, the primary
sense of ‘right’ or ‘ought’ is subjective,
since what we care about is the ‘right’ that refers to an
inward story, the story of our agency, so to speak. On this view,
the objective and subjective senses may have no relationship to each
other at all, and which counts as primary simply depends upon our
interests. However, the issue that concerns us here is whether or
not one sense can be accounted for in terms of the
other. Option 1 holds that there is no explanatory
connection. That is not as theoretically satisfying. Option 2
holds either there really is no meaningful objective sense, just the
subjective sense, or the objective sense is understood in terms of the
subjective.
Let’s look at the objective locution again “He did the
right thing, but he didn’t know it at the time (or he had no way
of knowing it at the time)”. Perhaps all this means is “He
did what someone with all the facts and correct set of values would
have judged right by their own lights” – this would be
extensionally the same as “He performed the action with the best
actual consequences”. This is certainly a possible account of
what objective right means which makes use of a subjective
standard. But it violates the spirit of the subjective standard, since
it ties rightness neither to the psychology of the agent, or the
evidence that is actually available to the agent. For that reason, it
seems more natural to opt for 3. An advantage of this option is that
gives us a nice, unified account regarding the connection between the
objective and the subjective. Subjective standards, then, are
standards of praise and blame, which are themselves evaluable
according to the objective standard. Over time, people are in a
position to tell whether or not a standard actually works in a given
type of context. Or, perhaps it turns out that there are several
standards of blame that differ in terms of severity. For example,
if someone acts negligently a sensible case can be made that the person
is blameworthy but not as blameworthy as if they had acted
intentionally.
As to the worry that the objective standard doesn’t provide
action guidance, the objective theorist can hold that action guidance
is provided by the subjective standards of
praise/blameworthiness. Further, the standard itself can provide
what we need for action guidance through normative review (Driver
2012). Normative review is a retrospective look at what does in fact
meet the standard, and under what circumstances.
Now, consider a virtue ethical example. The right action is
the action that is the actual action that a virtuous person would
perform characteristically, in the circumstances, rather than the
action that the agent believes is the one the virtuous person would
perform. Then we evaluate an agent’s “v-rules”
in terms of how close they meet the virtuous ideal.
4. Decision Procedures and Practical Deliberation
Another function of moral theory is to provide a decision procedure
for people to follow so as to best insure they perform right
actions. Indeed, some writers, such as R. M. Hare hold action guidance
to be the function of the moral principles of the theory (Hare
1965). This raises the question of what considerations are relevant to
the content of such principles – for example, should the
principles be formulated taking into account the epistemic limitations
of most human beings? The requirement that moral principles be action
guiding is what Holly Smith terms the “Useability Demand”:
“…an acceptable moral principle must be useable for
guiding moral decisions…” (Smith 2020, 11). Smith
enumerates different forms satisfaction of this demand can take, and
notes that how one spells out a principle in order to meet the demand
will depend upon how the moral theorist views moral success. For
example, whether or not success is achieved in virtue of simply making
the right decision or if, in addition to making the right decision,
the agent must also have successful follow-through on that
decision.
There has been enormous debate on the issue of what is involved in
following a rule or principle, and some skepticism that this is in fact
what we are doing when we take ourselves to be following a
rule. (Kripke 1982) Some virtue theorists believe that it is moral
perception that actually does the guiding, and that a virtuous person
is able to perceive what is morally relevant and act accordingly
(McDowell 1979).
As discussed earlier in the section on criteria, however, this is
also controversial in that some theorists believe that decision
procedures themselves are not of fundamental significance. Again,
objective consequentialist who believes that the fundamental task of
theory is to establish a criterion for right argues that decision
procedures will themselves be established and evaluated on the basis of
how well they get us to actually achieving the right. Thus, the
decision-procedures are derivative. Others, such as subjective
consequentialists, will argue that the decision-procedures
specify the criterion in the sense that following the
decision-procedure itself is sufficient for meeting the
criterion. For example, an objective consequentialist will hold
that the right action maximizes the good, whereas the subjective
consequentialist might hold that the right action is to try to
maximize the good, whether or not one actually achieves it (Mason 2003
and 2019). Following the decision-procedure itself,
then, is the criterion.
The distinction between criterion and decision-procedure has been
acknowledged and discussed at least since Sidgwick, though it was also
mentioned by earlier ethicists. This distinction allows ethical
theories to avoid wildly implausible implications. For example,
if the standard that the theory recommends is ‘promote the
good’ it would be a mistake to think that ‘promote the
good’ needs to be part of the agent’s
deliberation. The consequentialist might say that, instead, it is
an empirical issue as to what the theory is going to recommend as a
decision-procedure, and that recommendation could vary from context to
context. There will surely be circumstances in which it would be
best to think in terms of meeting the standard itself, but again that
is an empirical issue. Likewise, it is open to a Virtue Ethicist
to hold that the right action is the one the virtuous agent would
perform in the circumstances, but also hold that the agent’s
deliberative processes need not make reference to the standard.
Pretty much all theories will want to make some space between the
standard and the decision-procedure in order to avoid a requirement
that agent’s must think in terms of the correct standard, in
order to act rightly, or even act with moral worth. There is a
distinction to be made between doing the right thing, and doing the
right thing for the right reasons. Doing the right thing for
the right reasons makes the action a morally worthy one, as it exhibits
a good quality of the will. It is possible for a theory to hold
that the ‘good will’ is one that understands the underlying
justification of an action, but that seems overly demanding. If
consequentialism is the correct theory, then demanding that people must
explicitly act intentionally to maximize the good would result in fewer
morally worthy actions than seems plausible. The ‘for the
right reasons’ must be understood as allowing for no explicit
invocation of the true justifying standard.
This has led to the development of theories that advocate
indirection. First, we need to distinguish two ways that
indirection figures into moral philosophy.
Indirection in evaluation of right action.
Indirection in that the theory does not necessarily advocate the
necessity of aiming for the right action.
To use Utilitarianism as an example again, Rule Utilitarianism is an
example of the first sort of indirection (Hooker 2000),
Sophisticated Consequentialism is an example of the second
sort of indirection (Railton 1984). One might hold that some
versions of Aristotelian Virtue ethics, such as Rosalind
Hursthouse’s version, also are of the first type, since
right action is understood in terms of virtue. One could imagine
an indirect consequentialist view with a similar structure: the
right action is the action that the virtuous person would perform,
where virtue is understood as a trait conducive to the good, instead of
by appeal to an Aristotelian notion of human flourishing.
The second sort relies on the standard/decision-procedure
distinction. Railton argues that personal relationships are good
for people, and explicitly trying to maximize the good is not a part of
our relationship norms, so it is likely good that we develop
dispositions to focus on and pay special attention to our loved
ones. The account is open to the possibility that people who
don’t believe in consequentialism have another way of deciding
how to act that is correlated with promotion of the good. If the
criteria a theory sets out need not be fulfilled by the agent guiding
herself with the reasons set out by the criteria, then it is termed
self-effacing. When a theory is self-effacing, it has
the problem of alienating a person from the justification of her own
actions. A middle ground, which is closer to Railton’s
view, holds that the correct justification is a kind of
“touchstone” to the morally good person – consulted
periodically for self-regulation, but not taken explicitly into
consideration in our ordinary, day-to-day lives. In this way, the
theory would not be utterly self-effacing and the agent would still
understand the moral basis for her own actions.
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The Definition of MoralityFirst published Wed Apr 17, 2002; substantive revision Tue Sep 8, 2020
The topic of this entry is not—at least directly—moral
theory; rather, it is the definition of morality. Moral
theories are large and complex things; definitions are not. The
question of the definition of morality is the question of identifying
the target of moral theorizing. Identifying this target
enables us to see different moral theories as attempting to capture
the very same thing. And it enables psychologists, anthropologists,
evolutionary biologists, and other more empirically-oriented theorists
to design their experiments or formulate their hypotheses without
prejudicing matters too much in terms of the specific content a code,
judgment, or norm must have in order to count as distinctively
moral.
There does not seem to be much reason to think that a single
definition of morality will be applicable to all moral discussions.
One reason for this is that “morality” seems to be used in
two distinct broad senses: a descriptive sense and a normative sense.
More particularly, the term “morality” can be used
either
descriptively to refer to certain codes of conduct put forward by
a society or a group (such as a religion), or accepted by an
individual for her own behavior, or
normatively to refer to a code of conduct that, given specified
conditions, would be put forward by all rational people.
Which of these two senses of “morality” a moral
philosopher is using plays a crucial, although sometimes
unacknowledged, role in the development of an ethical theory. If one
uses “morality” in its descriptive sense, and therefore
uses it to refer to codes of conduct actually put forward by distinct
groups or societies, one will almost certainly deny that there is a
universal morality that applies to all human beings. The descriptive
use of “morality” is the one used by anthropologists when
they report on the morality of the societies that they study.
Recently, some comparative and evolutionary psychologists (Haidt 2006;
Hauser 2006; De Waal 1996) have taken morality, or a close
anticipation of it, to be present among groups of non-human animals:
primarily, but not exclusively, other primates.
Accepting that there are two uses or senses of
“morality”—a descriptive sense and a normative
sense—does not commit one to holding that the “distinction
between descriptions and norms—between what is and what ought to
be—is obvious and unbridgeable”, as some have held that it
does (Churchland 2011: 185). To see this, note that it is obvious that
there is a descriptive sense of morality. That is, it is obvious that
one can sensibly describe the moralities of various groups without
making any normative claims. And it should be equally obvious that
that one might hold that a certain code of conduct would be put
forward by all rational people under certain conditions without having
any particular views about the nature of the is/ought gap or the
possibility of crossing it.
Any definition of “morality” in the descriptive sense will
need to specify which of the codes put forward by a society
or group count as moral. Even in small homogeneous societies that have
no written language, distinctions are sometimes made between morality,
etiquette, law, and religion. And in larger and more complex societies
these distinctions are often sharply marked. So “morality”
cannot be taken to refer to every code of conduct put forward by a
society.
In the normative sense, “morality” refers to a code of
conduct that would be accepted by anyone who meets certain
intellectual and volitional conditions, almost always including the
condition of being rational. That a person meets these conditions is
typically expressed by saying that the person counts as a moral
agent. However, merely showing that a certain code would be
accepted by any moral agent is not enough to show that the code is the
moral code. It might well be that all moral agents would also accept a
code of prudence or rationality, but this would not by itself show
that prudence was part of morality. So something else must be added;
for example, that the code can be understood to involve a certain kind
of impartiality, or that it can be understood as having the function
of making it possible for people to live together in groups.
As we’ve just seen, not all codes that are put forward by
societies or groups are moral codes in the descriptive sense of
morality, and not all codes that would be accepted by all moral
agents are moral codes in the normative sense of morality. So any
definition of morality—in either sense—will require
further criteria. Still, each of these two very brief descriptions of
codes might be regarded as offering some features of morality that
would be included in any adequate definition. In that way they might
be taken to be offering some definitional features of
morality, in each of its two senses. When one has specified enough
definitional features to allow one to classify all the relevant moral
theories as theories of a common subject, one might then be taken to
have given a definition of morality. This is the sense of
“definition” at work in this entry.
Explicit attempts, by philosophers, to define morality are hard to
find, at least since the beginning of the twentieth century. One
possible explanation for this is the combined effect of early
positivistic worries about the metaphysical status of normative
properties, followed (or augmented) by Wittgensteinian worries about
definitions of any significant terms whatsoever. Whatever the
explanation, when definitions have been offered, they have tended to
be directed at the notion of moral judgment (Hare 1952, 1981) rather
than at morality itself. However, to the degree that these definitions
of moral judgment are adequate, they might, without much effort, be
converted into definitions of morality in the descriptive sense. For
example, a particular person’s morality might be regarded as the
content of the basic moral judgments that person is prepared to
accept.
One might use a detailed definition of moral judgment to define
morality in a descriptive sense in another way—other than simply
as the content of a person’s moral judgments, or the content of
the moral judgments that prevail in a certain society or group. In
particular, the very features of a judgment that make it qualify as a
moral judgment might be transposed from a psychological key to
something more abstract. Here is one simplified example. Suppose that
a negative judgment of an action only counts as a negative moral
judgment if it involves the idea that there is a prima facie case for
punishing that action. In that case, a definition of morality in the
descriptive sense will include a corresponding idea: that the
prohibitions of morality, taken in the descriptive sense, are those
that are backed by the threat of punishment. Of course, if one goes
this route, other conditions will need to be included, to
differentiate morality from criminal law.
What counts as definitional of morality, in either sense of
“morality”, is controversial. Moreover, the line between
what is part of a definition, in the sense at issue, and what is part
of a moral theory, is not entirely sharp. For example, some might
regard it as definitional of morality, in the normative sense, that it
governs only interpersonal interactions. Others, however, might take
this to be a substantive theoretical claim. Some might take it as
definitional of “morality” in its descriptive sense that
it be a code of conduct that a person or group takes to be most
important. But others might say that attention to religion casts doubt
on this idea.
“Morality”, when used in a descriptive sense, has an
important feature that “morality” in the normative sense
does not have: a feature that stems from its relational nature. This
feature is the following: that if one is not a member of the relevant
society or group, or is not the relevant individual, then accepting a
certain account of the content of a morality, in the descriptive
sense, has no implications for how one thinks one should behave. On
the other hand, if one accepts a moral theory’s account of moral
agents, and of the conditions under which all moral agents would
endorse a code of conduct as a moral code, then one accepts that moral
theory’s normative definition of “morality”.
Accepting an account of “morality” in the normative sense
commits one to regarding some behavior as immoral, perhaps even
behavior that one is tempted to perform. Because accepting an account
of “morality” in the normative sense involves this
commitment, it is not surprising that philosophers seriously disagree
about which account to accept.
1. Is Morality Unified Enough to Define?
2. Descriptive Definitions of “Morality”
3. Implicit and Explicit Definitions in Allied Fields
4. Normative Definitions of “Morality”
5. Variations
5.1 Morality as linked to norms for responses to behavior
5.2 Morality as linked to advocacy of a code
5.3 Morality as linked to acceptance of a code
5.4 Morality as linked to justification to others
Bibliography
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Related Entries
1. Is Morality Unified Enough to Define?
An assumption suggested by the very existence of this encyclopedia
entry is that there is some unifying set of features in virtue of
which all moral systems count as moral systems. But Sinnott-Armstrong
(2016) directly argues against an analogous hypothesis in connection
with moral judgments, and also seems to take this view to suggest that
morality itself is not a unified domain. He points out that moral
judgments cannot be unified by any appeal to the notion of harm to
others, since there are such things as moral ideals, and there are
harmless behaviors that a significant number of people regard as
morally wrong: Sinnott-Armstrong gives example such as cannibalism and
flag-burning. Whether people who condemn such behaviors morally are
correct in those judgments is largely irrelevant to the question of
whether they count as moral in the first place.
Sinnott-Armstrong seems right in holding that moral judgments cannot
be delimited from other judgments simply by appeal to their content.
It seems quite possible for someone to have been raised in such a way
as to hold that it is morally wrong for adult men to wear shorts. And
it also seems plausible that, as he also argues, moral judgments
cannot be identified by reference to any sort of neurological feature
common and peculiar to them and them alone. A third strategy might be
to claim that moral judgments are those one makes as a result of
having been inducted into a social practice that has a certain
function. However, this function cannot simply be to help facilitate
the sorts of social interactions that enable societies to flourish and
persist, since too many obviously non-moral judgments do this.
Beyond the problem just described, attempts to pick out moral codes in
the descriptive sense by appeal to their function often seem to be
specifying the function that the theorist thinks morality, in the
normative sense, would serve, rather than the function that actual
moralities do serve. For example, Greene claims that
morality is a set of psychological adaptations that allow otherwise
selfish individuals to reap the benefits of cooperation, (2013: 23)
and Haidt claims that
moral systems are interlocking sets of values, virtues, norms,
practices, identities, institutions, technologies, and evolved
psychological mechanisms that work together to suppress or regulate
self-interest and make cooperative societies possible. (2011: 270)
But these claims need to deal with the existence of dysfunctional
moralities that do not in fact serve these functions. Perhaps this
problem could be alleviated by pointing out that many instances of a
kind that have a function—for example, an actual human
heart—fail to fulfill that function.
Even if Sinnott-Armstrong’s position is correct with regard to
morality in the descriptive sense, there might nevertheless be a code
of conduct that, given certain specified conditions, would be put
forward by all rational agents. That is, even if the descriptive sense
of morality is a family-resemblance notion, vaguely bordered and
open-textured, or even if it is significantly disjunctive and
disunified, the normative sense might not be. By way of comparison, we
might think of the notion of food in two ways: as what people regard
as food, and as what they would regard as food if they were rational and
fully informed. Certainly there is not much that unifies the first
category: not even being digestible or nutritious, since people regard
various indigestible and non-nutritious substances as food, and forego
much that is digestible and nutritious. But that does not mean that we
cannot theorize about what it would be rational to regard as food.
2. Descriptive Definitions of “Morality”
An initial naïve attempt at a descriptive definition of
“morality” might take it to refer to the most important
code of conduct put forward by a society and accepted by the members
of that society. But the existence of large and heterogeneous
societies raises conceptual problems for such a descriptive
definition, since there may not be any such society-wide code that is
regarded as most important. As a result, a definition might be offered
in which “morality” refers to the most important code of
conduct put forward and accepted by any group, or even by an
individual. Apart from containing some prohibitions on harming
(certain) others, different moralities—when
“morality” is understood in this way—can vary in
content quite substantially.
Etiquette is sometimes included as a part of morality, applying to
norms that are considered less serious than the kinds of norms for
behavior that are more central to morality. Hobbes expresses this sort
of view when he uses the term “small morals” to describe
“decency of behavior, as how one man should salute another, or
how a man should wash his mouth or pick his teeth before
company”, and distinguishes these from “those qualities of
mankind that concern their living together in peace and unity”
(1660 [1994]: Chapter XI, paragraph 1). When etiquette is included as
part of morality, morality is almost always being understood in the
descriptive sense. One reason for this is that it is clear that the
rules of etiquette are relative to a society or group. Moreover, there
are no plausible conditions under which we could pick out the
“correct” rules of etiquette as those that would be
accepted by all rational beings.
Law is distinguished from morality by having explicit written rules,
penalties, and officials who interpret the laws and apply the
penalties. Although there is often considerable overlap in the conduct
governed by morality and that governed by law, laws are often
evaluated—and changed—on moral grounds. Some theorists,
including Ronald Dworkin (1986), have even maintained that the
interpretation of law must make use of morality.
Although the morality of a group or society may derive from its
religion, morality and religion are not the same thing, even in that
case. Morality is only a guide to conduct, whereas religion is always
more than this. For example, religion includes stories about events in
the past, usually about supernatural beings, that are used to explain
or justify the behavior that it prohibits or requires. Although there
is often a considerable overlap in the conduct prohibited or required
by religion and that prohibited or required by morality, religions may
prohibit or require more than is prohibited or required by guides to
behavior that are explicitly labeled as moral guides, and may
recommend some behavior that is prohibited by morality. Even when
morality is not regarded as the code of conduct that is put forward by
a formal religion, it is often thought to require some religious
explanation and justification. However, just as with law, some
religious practices and precepts are criticized on moral grounds,
e.g., that the practice or precept involves discrimination on the
basis of race, gender, or sexual orientation.
When “morality” is used simply to refer to a code of
conduct put forward by an actual group, including a society, even if
it is distinguished from etiquette, law, and religion, it is being
used in a descriptive sense. It is also being used in the descriptive
sense when it refers to important attitudes of individuals. Just as
one can refer to the morality of the Greeks, so one can refer to the
morality of a particular person. This descriptive use of
“morality” is now becoming more prominent because of the
work of psychologists such as Jonathan Haidt (2006), who have been
influenced by the views of David Hume (1751), including his attempt to
present a naturalistic account of moral judgments.
Guides to behavior that are regarded as moralities normally involve
avoiding and preventing harm to others (Frankena 1980), and perhaps
some norm of honesty (Strawson 1961). But all of them involve other
matters as well, and Hare’s view of morality as that which is
most important allows that these other matters may be more important
than avoiding and preventing harm to others (Hare 1952, 1963, 1981).
This view of morality as concerning that which is most important to a
person or group allows matters related to religious practices and
precepts, or matters related to customs and traditions, e.g., purity
and sanctity, to be more important than avoiding and preventing
harm.
When “morality” is used in a descriptive sense, moralities
can differ from each other quite extensively in their content and in
the foundation that members of the society claim their morality to
have. Some societies may claim that their morality, which is more
concerned with purity and sanctity, is based on the commands of God.
The descriptive sense of “morality”, which allows for the
view that morality is based on religion in this way, picks out codes
of conduct that are often in significant conflict with all normative
accounts of morality.
A society might have a morality that takes accepting its traditions
and customs, including accepting the authority of certain people and
emphasizing loyalty to the group, as more important than avoiding and
preventing harm. Such a morality might not count as immoral any
behavior that shows loyalty to the preferred group, even if that
behavior causes significant harm to innocent people who are not in
that group. The familiarity of this kind of morality, which makes
in-group loyalty almost equivalent to morality, seems to allow some
comparative and evolutionary psychologists, including Frans De Waal
(1996), to regard non-human animals to be acting in ways very similar
to those that are regarded as moral.
Although all societies include more than just a concern for minimizing
harm to (some) human beings in their moralities, this feature of
morality, unlike purity and sanctity, or accepting authority and
emphasizing loyalty, is included in everything that is regarded as a
morality by any society. Because minimizing harm can conflict with
accepting authority and emphasizing loyalty, there can be fundamental
disagreements within a society about the morally right way to behave
in particular kinds of situations. Philosophers such as Bentham (1789)
and Mill (1861), who accept a normative account of morality that takes
the avoiding and preventing harm element of morality to be most
important, criticize all actual moralities (referred to by
“morality” in the descriptive sense) that give precedence
to purity and loyalty when they are in conflict with avoiding and
preventing harm.
Some psychologists, such as Haidt, take morality to include concern
with, at least, all three of the triad of (1) harm, (2) purity, and
(3) loyalty, and hold that different members of a society can and do
take different features of morality to be most important. But beyond a
concern with avoiding and preventing such harms to members of certain
groups, there may be no common content shared by all moralities in the
descriptive sense. Nor may there be any common justification that
those who accept morality claim for it; some may appeal to religion,
others to tradition, and others to rational human nature. Beyond the
concern with harm, the only other feature that all descriptive
moralities have in common is that they are put forward by an
individual or a group, usually a society, in which case they provide a
guide for the behavior of the people in that group or society. In the
descriptive sense of “morality”, morality may not even
incorporate impartiality with regard to all moral agents, and it may
not be universalizable in any significant way (compare MacIntyre
1957).
Although most philosophers do not use “morality” in any of
the above descriptive senses, some philosophers do. Ethical
relativists such as Harman (1975), Westermarck (1960), and Prinz
(2007), deny that there is any universal normative morality and claim
that the actual moralities of societies or individuals are the only
moralities there are. These relativists hold that only when the term
“morality” is used in this descriptive sense is there
something that “morality” actually refers to. They claim
that it is a mistake to take “morality” to refer to a
universal code of conduct that, under certain conditions, would be
endorsed by all rational persons. Although ethical relativists admit
that many speakers of English use “morality” to refer to
such a universal code of conduct, they claim such persons are mistaken
in thinking that there is anything that is the referent of the word
“morality” taken in that sense.
Wong (1984, 2006, 2014) claims to be an ethical relativist because he
denies that there is any universal moral code that would be endorsed
by all rational people. But what seems to stand behind this claim is
the idea that there are cultural variations in the relative weights
given to, for example, considerations of justice and considerations of
interpersonal responsibility. And he assumes that those who believe in
a universal morality are committed to the idea that “if there is
fundamental disagreement, someone has got it wrong” (2014: 339).
But Gert (2005) is certainly not a relativist, and it is central to
his moral theory that there are fundamental disagreements in the
rankings of various harms and benefits, and with regard to who is
protected by morality, and no unique right answer in such cases. Wong
himself is willing to say that some moralities are better than others,
because he thinks that the moral domain is delimited by a functional
criterion: among the functions of a morality are that it promote and
regulate social cooperation, help individuals rank their own
motivations, and reduce harm.
When used with its descriptive sense, “morality” can refer
to codes of conduct with widely differing content, and still be used
unambiguously. This parallels the way in which “law” is
used unambiguously even though different societies have laws with
widely differing content. However, when “morality” is used
in its descriptive sense, it sometimes does not refer to the code of a
society, but to the code of a group or an individual. As a result,
when the guide to conduct put forward by, for example, a religious
group conflicts with the guide to conduct put forward by a society, it
is not clear whether to say that there are conflicting moralities,
conflicting elements within morality, or that the code of the
religious group conflicts with morality.
In small homogeneous societies there may be a guide to behavior that
is put forward by the society and that is accepted by (almost) all
members of the society. For such societies there is (almost) no
ambiguity about which guide “morality” refers to. However,
in larger societies people often belong to groups that put forward
guides to behavior that conflict with the guide put forward by their
society, and members of the society do not always accept the guide put
forward by their society. If they accept the conflicting guide of some
other group to which they belong (often a religious group) rather than
the guide put forward by their society, in cases of conflict they will
regard those who follow the guide put forward by their society as
acting immorally.
In the descriptive sense of “morality”, a person’s
own morality cannot be a guide to behavior that that person would
prefer others not to follow. However, that fact that an individual
adopts a moral code of conduct for his own use does not entail that
the person requires it to be adopted by anyone else. An
individual may adopt for himself a very demanding moral guide that he
thinks may be too difficult for most others to follow. He may judge
people who do not adopt his code of conduct as not being as morally
good as he is, without judging them to be immoral if they do not adopt
it. However, such cases do not undermine the restriction; a guide is
plausibly referred to as a morality only when the individual would be
willing for others to follow it, at least if
“follow” is taken to mean “successfully
follow”. For it may be that the individual would not be willing
for others to try to follow that code, because of worries
about the bad effects of predictable failures due to partiality or
lack of sufficient foresight or intelligence.
3. Implicit and Explicit Definitions in Allied Fields
Philosophers, because they do not need to produce operational tests or
criteria in the way that psychologists, biologists, and
anthropologists do, often simply take for granted that everyone knows
what belongs, and does not belong, to the moral domain. This attitude
finds expression in the philosopher’s common appeal to
intuition, or to what everyone agrees about. For example, Michael
Smith (1994) provides a very detailed analysis of normative reasons,
but in distinguishing specifically moral reasons from other sorts of
reasons, he says only that they are picked out by appeal to a number
of platitudes. And he makes no effort to provide anything like a
comprehensive list of such platitudes. Moreover, it is very likely
that there will be disagreement as to what counts as
platitudinous. Or, if it is definitional of “platitude”
that it be uncontroversial, it may be that what is platitudinous about
morality will be so thin as to fail to separate morality from other
domains. Failing to specify which particular criteria one takes to
govern one’s own theorizing, and consequently tacitly relying on
the idea that everyone already knows what counts as moral, can lead to
a number of problems. One, of course, is a conflation of morality with
other things (see Machery 2012 on Churchland 2011). Another is that
one mistakes one’s own cultural biases for universal truths
(Haidt and Kesiber 2010).
Because theorists in psychology and anthropology often need to design
questionnaires and other sorts of probes of the attitudes of subjects,
they might be expected to be more sensitive to the need for a
reasonably clear means of separating moral judgments from other sorts
of judgments. After all, examining the specifically moral judgments of
individuals is one of the most direct means of determining what the
moral code of a person or group might be. But despite this
expectation, and roughly half a century ago, Abraham Edel (1962: 56)
decried the lack of an explicit concern to delimit the domain of
morality among anthropologists, writing that “morality…is
taken for granted, in the sense that one can invoke it or refer to it
at will; but it is not explained, depicted, or analysed”. One
explanation for this that Edel suggested is the same as the
explanation for the same phenomenon in Philosophy: “it is
assumed that we all know what morality is and no explicit account need
be given”. But the danger for those making this assumption, he
points out, is that of “merging the morality concept with social
control concepts”. Reinforcing this tendency was the influence,
in anthropology, of the sociologist Émile Durkheim (1906
[2009]), for whom morality was simply a matter of how a given society
enforces whatever social rules it happens to have.
The failure to offer an operational definition of morality or moral
judgment may help explain the widespread but dubious assumption in
contemporary anthropology, noted by James Laidlaw (2016: 456), that
altruism is the essential and irreducible core of ethics. But Laidlaw
also notes that many of the features of what Bernard Williams (1985)
described as “the morality system”—features that
Williams himself criticized as the parochial result of a
secularization of Christian values—are in fact widely shared
outside of the West. This state of affairs leads Laidlaw to ask the
crucial question:
Which features, formal or substantive, are shared by the
“morality system” of the modern West and those of the
other major agrarian civilizations and literate religions?
This is, to a very close approximation, a request for the definition
of morality in the descriptive sense.
Klenk (2019) notes that in recent years anthropology has taken what he
terms an “ethical turn”, recognizing moral systems, and
ethics more generally, as a distinct object of anthropological study.
This is a move away from the Durkheimian paradigm, and includes the
study of self-development, virtues, habits, and the role of explicit
deliberation when moral breakdowns occur. However, Klenk’s
survey of attempts by anthropologists to study morality as an
independent domain lead him to conclude that, so far, their efforts do
not readily allow a distinction between moral considerations and other
normative considerations such as prudential, epistemic, or aesthetic
ones. (2019: 342)
In light of Edel’s worry about a conflation of moral systems
with systems of social control, it is interesting to consider Curry
(2016), who defends the hypothesis that
morality turns out to be a collection of biological and cultural
solutions to the problems of cooperation and conflict recurrent in
human social life. (2016: 29)
Curry notes that rules related to kinship, mutualism, exchange, and
various forms of conflict resolution appear in virtually all
societies. And he argues that many of them have precursors in animal
behavior, and can be explained by appeal to his central hypothesis of
morality as a solution to problems of cooperation and conflict
resolution. He also notes that philosophers, from Aristotle through
Hume, Russell, and Rawls, all took cooperation and conflict resolution
to be central ideas in understanding morality. It is unclear, however,
whether Curry’s view can adequately distinguish morality from
law and from other systems that aim to reduce conflict by providing
solutions to coordination problems.
Turning from anthropology to psychology, one significant topic of
investigation is the existence and nature of a distinction between the
moral and the conventional. More specifically, the distinction at
issue is between (a) acts that are judged wrong only because of a
contingent convention or because they go against the dictates of some
relevant authority, and (b) those that are judged to be wrong quite
independently of these things, that have a seriousness to them, and
that are justified by appeal to the notions of harm, rights, or
justice. Elliot Turiel emphasized this distinction, and drew attention
to the danger, if one overlooks it, of lumping together moral rules
with non-moral “conventions that further the coordination of
social interactions within social systems” (1983:
109–111). Those who accept this distinction are implicitly
offering a definition of morality in the descriptive sense. Not
everyone does accept the distinction, however. Edouard Machery and Ron
Mallon (2010) for example, are suspicious of the idea that
authority-independence, universality, justification by appeal to harm,
justice, or rights, and seriousness form a cluster found together with
sufficient regularity to be used to set moral norms apart from other
norms. Kelly et al. (2007) are similarly skeptical, and bring
empirical evidence to bear on the question.
The psychologist Kurt Gray might be seen as offering an account of
moral judgment that would allow us to determine the morality of an
individual or group. He and his co-authors suggest that
morality is essentially represented by a cognitive template that
combines a perceived intentional agent with a perceived suffering
patient. (Gray, Young, & Waytz 2012: 102)
This claim, while quite strong, is nevertheless not as implausibly
strong as it might seem, since the thesis is directly concerned with
the template we use when thinking about moral matters; it is
not directly concerned with the nature of morality itself. In the
sense of “template” at issue here, the template we use
when thinking about dogs might include having four legs, a tail, and
fur, among other things. But that does not mean that an animal must
have these features to count as a dog, or even that we believe
this.
Given the way that Gray et al. think of templates, even if their
hypothesis is correct, it would not mean that our psychology requires
us to think of the moral as always involving intentional agents and
perceiving patients. In line with this, and despite some lapses in
which they suggest that “moral acts can be defined in
terms of intention and suffering”, (2012: 109) their considered
view seems to be only that the dyadic template fits the
majority of moral situations, as we conceive them. Moreover,
the link between immoral behavior and suffering to which they appeal
in defending their general view is sometimes so indirect as to
undermine its significance. For example, they fit authority violations
into their suffering-based template by noting that “authority
structures provide a way of peacefully resolving conflict” and
that “violence results when social structures are
threatened”. In a similar stretch, they account for judgments
that promiscuity is wrong by gesturing at the suffering involved in
sexually transmitted diseases (2012: 107).
Another position in cognitive psychology that has relevance for the
definition of morality in the descriptive sense takes moral judgment
to be a natural kind: the product of an innate moral grammar (Mikhail
2007). If moral judgment is a natural kind in this way, then a
person’s moral code might simply consist in the moral judgments
that person is disposed to make. One piece of evidence that there is
such a grammar is to be found in the relative universality of certain
moral concepts in human cultures: concepts such as obligation,
permission, and prohibition. Another is an argument similar to
Chomsky’s famous “poverty of the stimulus” argument
for a universal human grammar (Dwyer et al. 2010; see also Roedder and
Harman 2010).
In evolutionary biology, morality is sometimes simply equated with
fairness (Baumard et al. 2013: 60, 77) or reciprocal altruism
(Alexander 1987: 77). But it is also sometimes identified by reference
to an evolved capacity to make a certain sort of judgment and perhaps
also to signal that one has made it (Hauser 2006). This also makes
morality into something very much like a natural kind, that can be
identified by reference to causal/historical processes. In that case,
a content-based definition of morality isn’t required: certain
central features are all that one needs to begin one’s
theorizing, since they will be enough to draw attention to certain
psychologically and biologically individuated mechanisms, and the
study of morality will be a detailed inquiry into the nature and
evolutionary history of these mechanisms.
4. Normative Definitions of “Morality”
Those who use “morality” normatively hold that morality is
(or would be) the behavioral code that meets the following condition:
all rational persons, under certain specified conditions, would
endorse it. Indeed, this is a plausible basic schema for definitions
of “morality” in the normative sense. Although some hold
that no code could meet the condition, many theorists hold that there
is one that does; we can call the former “moral skeptics”
and the latter “moral realists” (see entries on LINK:
moral skepticism and moral realism).
Many moral skeptics would reject the claim that there are any
universal ethical truths, where the ethical is a broader category than
the moral. But another interesting class of moral skeptics includes
those who think that we should only abandon the narrower category of
the moral—partly because of the notion of a code that
is central to that category. These moral skeptics hold that we should
do our ethical theorizing in terms of the good life, or the virtues.
Elizabeth Anscombe (1958) gave expression to this kind of view, which
also finds echoes in the work of Bernard Williams (1985). On the other
hand, some virtue theorists might take perfect rationality to entail
virtue, and might understand morality to be something like the code
that such a person would implicitly endorse by acting in virtuous
ways. In that case, even a virtue theorist might count as a moral
realist in the sense above.
Consequentialist views might not seem to fit the basic schema for
definitions of “morality” in the normative sense, since
they do not appear to make reference to the notions of endorsement or
rationality. But this appearance is deceptive. Mill himself explicitly
defines morality as
the rules and precepts for human conduct, by the observance of which
[a happy existence] might be, to the greatest extent possible,
secured. (1861 [2002: 12])
And he thinks that the mind is not in a “right state”
unless it is in “the state most conducive to the general
happiness”—in which case it would certainly favor morality
as just characterized. And the act-consequentialist J.J.C. Smart
(1956) is also explicit that he is thinking of ethics as the study of
how it is most rational to behave. His embrace of utilitarianism is
the result of his belief that maximizing utility is always the
rational thing to do. On reflection it is not surprising that many
moral theorists implicitly hold that the codes they offer would be
endorsed by all rational people, at least under certain conditions.
Unless one holds this, one will have to admit that, having been shown
that a certain behavior is morally required, a rational person might
simply shrug and ask “So what? What is that to me?” And,
though some exceptions are mentioned below, very few moral realists
think that their arguments leave this option open. Even fewer think
this option remains open if we are allowed to add some additional
conditions beyond mere rationality: a restriction on beliefs, for
example (similar to Rawls’ (1971: 118) veil of ignorance), or
impartiality.
Definitions of morality in the normative sense—and,
consequently, moral theories—differ in their accounts of
rationality, and in their specifications of the conditions under which
all rational persons would necessarily endorse the code of conduct
that therefore would count as morality. These definitions and theories
also differ in how they understand what it is to endorse a code in the
relevant way. Related to these differences, definitions of
“morality”—and moral theories—differ with
regard to those to whom morality applies: that is, those whose
behavior is subject to moral judgment. Some hold that morality applies
only to those rational beings that have certain specific features of
human beings: features that make it rational for them to endorse
morality. These features might, for example, include fallibility and
vulnerability. Other moral theories claim to put forward an account of
morality that provides a guide to all rational beings, even if these
beings do not have these human characteristics, e.g., God.
Among those who use “morality” normatively, virtually all
hold that “morality” refers to a code of conduct that
applies to all who can understand it and can govern their
behavior by it, though many hold that it protects a larger
group. Among such theorists it is also common to hold that morality
should never be overridden. That is, it is common to hold that no one
should ever violate a moral prohibition or requirement for non-moral
reasons. This claim is trivial if “should” is taken to
mean “morally should”. So the claim about moral
overridingness is typically understood with “should”
meaning “rationally should”, with the result that moral
requirements are asserted to be rational requirements. Though common,
this view is by no means always taken as definitional. Sidgwick (1874)
despaired of showing that rationality required us to choose
morality over egoism, though he certainly did not think rationality
required egoism either. More explicitly, Gert (2005) held that though
moral behavior is always rationally permissible, it is not
always rationally required. Foot (1972) seems to have held
that any reason—and therefore any rational requirement—to
act morally would have to stem from a contingent commitment or an
objective interest. And she also seems to have held that sometimes
neither of these sorts of reasons might be available, so that moral
behavior might not be rationally required for some agents. Finally,
moral realists who hold desire-based theories of reasons and formal,
means/end theories of rationality sometimes explicitly deny that moral
behavior is always even rationally permissible (Goldman
2009), and in fact this seems to be a consequence of Foot’s view
as well, though she does not emphasize it.
Despite the fact that theorists such as Sidgwick, Gert, Foot, and
Goldman do not hold that moral behavior is rationally required, they
are by no means precluded from using “morality” in the
normative sense. Using “morality” in the normative sense,
and holding that there is such a thing, only entails holding that
rational people would put a certain system forward; it does not entail
holding that rational people would always be motivated to follow that
system themselves. But to the degree that a theorist would deny even
the claim about endorsement, and hold instead that rational people
might not only fail to act morally, but might even reject it as a
public system, that theorist is either not using
“morality” in a normative sense, or is denying the
existence of morality in that sense. Such a theorist may also be using
“morality” in a descriptive sense, or may not have any
particular sense in mind.
When “morality” is used in its normative sense, it need
not have either of the two formal features that are essential to
moralities referred to by the descriptive sense: that it be a code of
conduct that is put forward by a society, group, or individual, or
that it be accepted as a guide to behavior by the members of that
society or group, or by that individual. Indeed, it is possible that
morality, in the normative sense, has never been put forward by any
particular society, by any group at all, or even by any individual.
This is partly a consequence of the fact that “morality”
in the normative sense is understood in terms of a conditional that is
likely to be counterfactual: it is the code that would be endorsed by
any fully rational person under certain conditions.
If one is a moral realist, and one also acknowledges the descriptive
sense of “morality”, one may require that descriptive
moralities at least approximate, in some ways, morality in the
normative sense. That is, one might claim that the guides to behavior
of some societies lack so many of the essential features of morality
in the normative sense, that it is incorrect to say that these
societies even have a morality in a descriptive sense. This is an
extreme view, however. A more moderate position would hold that all
societies have something that can be regarded as their morality, but
that many of these moralities—perhaps, indeed, all of
them—are defective. That is, a moral realist might hold that
although these actual guides to behavior have enough of the features
of normative morality to be classified as descriptive moralities, they
would not be endorsed in their entirety by all moral agents.
While moral realists do not claim that any actual society has or has
ever had morality as its actual guide to conduct, “natural
law” theories of morality claim that any rational person in any
society, even one that has a defective morality, is capable of knowing
what general kinds of actions morality prohibits, requires,
discourages, encourages, and allows. In the theological version of
natural law theories, such as that put forward by Aquinas, this is
because God implanted this knowledge in the reason of all persons. In
the secular version of natural law theories, such as that put forward
by Hobbes (1660), natural reason is sufficient to allow all rational
persons to know what morality prohibits, requires, etc. Natural law
theorists also claim that morality applies to all rational persons,
not only those now living, but also those who lived in the past.
In contrast to natural law theories, other moral theories do not hold
quite so strong a view about the universality of knowledge of
morality. Still, many hold that morality is known to all who can
legitimately be judged by it. Baier (1958), Rawls (1971) and
contractarians deny that there can be an esoteric morality:
one that judges people even though they cannot know what it prohibits,
requires, etc. For all of the above theorists, morality is what we can
call a public system: a system of norms (1) that is knowable
by all those to whom it applies and (2) that is not irrational for any
of those to whom it applies to follow (Gert 2005: 10). Moral judgments
of blame thus differ from legal or religious judgments of blame in
that they cannot be made about persons who are legitimately ignorant
of what they are required to do. Act consequentialists seem to hold
that everyone should know that they are morally required to act so as
to bring about the best consequences, but even they do not seem to
think judgments of moral blame are appropriate if a person is
legitimately ignorant of what action would bring about the best
consequences (Singer 1993: 228). Parallel views seem to be held by
rule consequentialists (Hooker 2001: 72).
The ideal situation for a legal system would be that it be a public
system. But in any large society this is not possible. Games are
closer to being public systems and most adults playing a game know its
rules, or they know that there are judges whose interpretation
determines what behavior the game prohibits, requires, etc. Although a
game is often a public system, its rules apply only to those playing
the game. If a person does not care enough about the game to abide by
the rules, she can usually quit. Morality is the one public system
that no rational person can quit. The fact that one cannot quit
morality means that one can do nothing to escape being legitimately
liable to sanction for violating its norms, except by ceasing to be a
moral agent. Morality applies to people simply by virtue of their
being rational persons who know what morality prohibits, requires,
etc., and being able to guide their behavior accordingly.
Public systems can be formal or informal. To say a
public system is informal is to say that it has no authoritative
judges and no decision procedure that provides a unique guide to
action in all situations, or that resolves all disagreements. To say
that a public system is formal is to say that it has one or both of
these things (Gert 2005: 9). Professional basketball is a formal
public system; all the players know that what the referees call a foul
determines what is a foul. Pickup basketball is an informal public
system. The existence of persistent moral disagreements shows that
morality is most plausibly regarded as an informal public system. This
is true even for such moral theories as the Divine Command theory and
act utilitarianism, inasmuch as there are no authoritative judges of
God’s will, or of which act will maximize utility, and there are
no decision procedures for determining these things (Scanlon 2011:
261–2). When persistent moral disagreement is recognized, those
who understand that morality is an informal public system admit that
how one should act is morally unresolvable, and if some resolution is
required, the political or legal system can be used to resolve it.
These formal systems have the means to provide unique guides, but they
do not provide the uniquely correct moral guide to the action that
should be performed.
An important example of a moral problem left unsettled by the informal
public system of morality is whether fetuses are impartially protected
by morality and so whether or under what conditions abortions are
allowed. There is continuing disagreement among fully informed moral
agents about this moral question, even though the legal and political
system in the United States has provided fairly clear guidelines about
the conditions under which abortion is legally allowed. Despite this
important and controversial issue, morality, like all informal public
systems, presupposes agreement on how to act in most moral situations,
e.g., all agree that killing or seriously harming any moral agent
requires strong justification in order to be morally allowed. No one
thinks it is morally justified to cheat, deceive, injure, or kill a
moral agent simply in order to gain sufficient money to take a
fantastic vacation. Moral matters are often thought to be
controversial because everyday decisions, about which there is no
controversy, are rarely discussed. The amount of agreement concerning
what rules are moral rules, and on when it is justified to violate one
of these rules, explains why morality can be a public system even
though it is an informal system.
By using the notion of an informal public system, we can improve the
basic schema for definitions of “morality” in the
normative sense. The old schema was that morality is the code
that all rational persons, under certain specified conditions, would
endorse. The improved schema is that morality is the informal
public system that all rational persons, under certain specified
conditions, would endorse. Some theorists might not regard the
informal nature of the moral system as definitional, holding that
morality might give knowable precise answers to every question. This
would have the result that conscientious moral agents often cannot
know what morality permits, requires, or allows. Some philosophers
deny that this is a genuine possibility.
On any definition of “morality”, whether descriptive or
normative, it is a code of conduct. However, on ethical- or
group-relativist accounts or on individualistic accounts—all of
which are best regarded as accounts of morality in the descriptive
sense—morality often has no special content that distinguishes
it from nonmoral codes of conduct, such as law or religion. Just as a
legal code of conduct can have almost any content, as long as it is
capable of guiding behavior, and a religious code of conduct has no
limits on content, most relativist and individualist accounts of
morality place few limits on the content of a moral code. Of course,
actual codes do have certain minimal limits—otherwise the
societies they characterize would lack the minimum required degree of
social cooperation required to sustain their existence over time. On
the other hand, for moral realists who explicitly hold that morality
is an informal public system that all rational persons would put
forward for governing the behavior of all moral agents, it has a
fairly definite content. Hobbes (1660), Mill (1861), and most other
non-religiously influenced philosophers in the Anglo-American
tradition limit morality to behavior that, directly or indirectly,
affects others.
The claim that morality only governs behavior that affects others is
somewhat controversial, and so probably should not be counted as
definitional of morality, even if it turns out to be entailed by the
correct moral theory. Some have claimed that morality also governs
behavior that affects only the agent herself, such as taking
recreational drugs, masturbation, and not developing one’s
talents. Kant (1785) may provide an account of this wide concept of
morality. Interpreted this way, Kant’s theory still fits the
basic schema, but includes these self-regarding moral requirements
because of the particular account of rationality he employs. However,
pace Kant, it is doubtful that all moral agents would put
forward a universal guide to behavior that governs behavior that does
not affect them at all. Indeed, when the concept of morality is
completely distinguished from religion, moral rules do seem to limit
their content to behavior that directly or indirectly causes or risks
harm to others. Some behavior that seems to affect only oneself, e.g.,
taking recreational drugs, may have a significant indirect harmful
effect on others by supporting the illegal and harmful activity of
those who benefit from the sale of those drugs.
Confusion about the content of morality sometimes arises because
morality is not distinguished sufficiently from religion. Regarding
self-affecting behavior as governed by morality is supported by the
idea that we are created by God and are obliged to obey God’s
commands, and so may be a holdover from the time when morality was not
clearly distinguished from religion. This religious holdover might
also affect the claim that some sexual practices such as homosexuality
are immoral. Those who clearly distinguish morality from religion
typically do not regard sexual orientation as a moral matter.
It is possible to hold that having a certain sort of social goal is
definitional of morality (Frankena 1963). Stephen Toulmin (1950) took
it to be the harmony of society. Baier (1958) took it to be “the
good of everyone alike”. Utilitarians sometimes claim it is the
production of the greatest good. Gert (2005) took it to be the
lessening of evil or harm. This latter goal may seem to be a
significant narrowing of the utilitarian claim, but utilitarians
always include the lessening of harm as essential to producing the
greatest good and almost all of their examples involve the avoiding or
preventing of harm. It is notable that the paradigm cases of moral
rules are those that prohibit causing harm directly or indirectly,
such as rules prohibiting killing, causing pain, deceiving, and
breaking promises. Even those precepts that require or encourage
positive action, such as helping the needy, are almost always related
to preventing or relieving harms, rather than promoting goods such as
pleasure.
Among the views of moral realists, differences in content are less
significant than similarities. For all such philosophers, morality
prohibits actions such as killing, causing pain, deceiving, and
breaking promises. For some, morality also requires charitable
actions, but failure to act charitably on every possible occasion does
not require justification in the same way that any act of killing,
causing pain, deceiving, and breaking promises requires justification.
Both Kant (1785) and Mill (1861) distinguish between duties of perfect
obligation and duties of imperfect obligation and regard not harming
as the former kind of duty and helping as the latter kind of duty. For
Gert (2005), morality encourages charitable action, but does not
require it; it is always morally good to be charitable, but it is not
immoral not to be charitable.
Even if the plausible basic schema for definitions of
“morality” in the normative sense is accepted, one’s
understanding of what morality is, in this sense, will still depend
very significantly on how one understands rationality. As has already
been mentioned, morality, in the normative sense, is sometimes taken
to prohibit certain forms of consensual sexual activity, or the use of
recreational drugs. But including such prohibitions in an account of
morality as a universal guide that all rational persons would put
forward requires a very particular view of rationality. After all,
many will deny that it is irrational to favor harmless consensual
sexual activities, or to favor the use of certain drugs for purely
recreational purposes.
One concept of rationality that supports the exclusion of sexual
matters, at least at the basic level, from the norms of morality, is
that for an action to count as irrational it must be an act that harms
oneself without producing a compensating benefit for
someone—perhaps oneself, perhaps someone else. Such an account
of rationality might be called “hybrid”, since it gives
different roles to self-interest and to altruism. An account of
morality based on the hybrid concept of rationality could agree with
Hobbes (1660) that morality is concerned with promoting people living
together in peace and harmony, which includes obeying the rules
prohibiting causing harm to others. Although moral prohibitions
against actions that cause harm or significantly increase the risk of
harm are not absolute, in order to avoid acting immorally,
justification is always needed when violating these prohibitions. Kant
(1797) seems to hold that it is never justified to violate some of
these prohibitions, e.g., the prohibition against lying. This is
largely a result of the fact that Kant’s (1785) concept of
rationality is purely formal, in contrast with the hybrid concept of
rationality described above.
Most moral realists who offer moral theories do not bother to offer
anything like a definition of morality. Instead, what these
philosophers offer is a theory of the nature and justification of a
set of norms with which they take their audience already to be
acquainted. In effect, they tacitly pick morality out by reference to
certain salient and relative uncontroversial bits of its content: that
it prohibits killing, stealing, deceiving, cheating, and so on. In
fact, this would not be a bad way of defining morality, if the point
of such a definition were only to be relatively theory-neutral, and to
allow theorizing to begin. We could call it “the
reference-fixing definition” or “the substantive
definition” (see Prinz and Nichols 2010: 122).
Some, including Hare (1952, 1963), have been tempted to argue against
the possibility of a substantive definition of morality, on the basis
of the claim that moral disapproval is an attitude that can be
directed at anything whatsoever. Foot (1958a, 1958b), argued against
this idea, but the substantive definition still has the drawback is
that it does not, somehow, seem to get at the essence of morality. One
might suggest that the substantive definition has the advantage of
including Divine Command theories of morality, while such theories
might seem to make trouble for definitions based on the plausible
schema given above. But it is plausible to hold that Divine Command
theories rest on Natural Law theories, which do in fact fit the
schema. Divine Command theories that do not rest on Natural Law might
make trouble for the schema, but one might also think that such
theories rest instead on a confusion, since they seem to entail that
God might have made it immoral to act beneficently.
5. Variations
As one gives more substance and detail to the general notions of
endorsement, rationality, and the relevant conditions under which
rational people would endorse morality, one moves further from
providing a definition of morality in the normative sense, and closer
to providing an actual moral theory. And a similar claim is true for
definitions of morality in the descriptive sense, as one specifies in
more detail what one means in claiming that a person or group endorses
a system or code. In the following four subsections, four broad ways
of making the definitions of morality more precise are presented. They
are all sufficiently schematic to be regarded as varieties of
definition, rather than as theories.
5.1 Morality as linked to norms for responses to behavior
Expressivists about morality do not take there to be any objective
content to morality that could underwrite what we above called
“the substantive definition”. Rather, they explicitly
recognize the existence of significant variation in what rules and
ideals different people put forward as morality in the normative
sense. And they doubt that this variation is compatible with moral
realism. Consequently, they need to offer some unifying features of
these different sets of rules and ideals, despite variation in their
content. As a result of this pressure, some expressivists end up
offering explicit accounts of a distinctively moral attitude
one might hold towards an act token or type. These accounts can of
course be taken to underwrite various forms of morality in the
descriptive sense. But they can also be taken to provide the basis of
one form of moral realism.
To see how an expressivist view can be co-opted by a moral realist of
a certain sort, consider Allan Gibbard’s (1990) moral
expressivism. Gibbard holds that moral judgments are expressions of
the acceptance of norms for feeling the emotions of guilt and anger.
One can accept Gibbard’s view of what it is to endorse a moral
claim without accepting the view that, in conflicts, all disagreements
are faultless. That is, even a moral realist can use Gibbard’s
view of the nature of moral judgment, and extract from it a definition
of morality. Used by such a theorist, Gibbard’s view entails
that morality, in the normative sense, is the code that is picked out
by the correct set of norms for feeling guilt and anger: that
is, the norms a rational person would endorse. This is
equivalent to accepting the plausible general schema for a definition
of “morality” given above, and understanding endorsement
in a special sense. To endorse a code in the relevant way, on this
definition, is to think that violations of its norms make guilt and
anger appropriate.
Closely related to Gibbard’s account is one according to which
the norms of relevance are not norms for the emotions, but are norms
for other reactions to behavior. For example, a person’s
morality might be the set of rules and ideals they regard as picked
out by appropriate norms for praise and blame, and other social
sanctions (Sprigge 1964: 317). In fact, reference to praise and blame
may be more adequate than reference to guilt and anger, since the
latter seem only to pick out moral prohibitions, and not to make room
for the idea that morality also recommends or encourages certain
behaviors even if it does not require them. For example, it is
plausible that there is such a thing as supererogatory action, and
that the specification of what counts as supererogatory is part of
morality—whether in the descriptive or normative sense. But it
does not seem likely that we can account for this part of morality by
appeal to norms for guilt and anger, and it is not at all clear that
there are emotions that are as closely linked to supererogation as
guilt and anger are to moral transgression. On the other hand, it
seems plausible that norms for praising action might help to pick out
what counts as supererogatory.
Another version of the present strategy would replace talk of praise
and blame with talk of reward and punishment. This view would take
morality to be a system that explained what kinds of actions are
appropriately rewarded and—more centrally—punished. This
sort of view, which remains closely related to Gibbard’s
suggestion, can also be regarded as fitting the general schema given
above. On this view, the notion of endorsing a code is unpacked in
terms of the acceptance of norms for reward and punishment. Skorupski
(1993), following Mill (1861), advocates a definition of morality
along these lines, though he then understands punishment primarily in
terms of blame, and understands blame as very closely linked to
emotion—indeed, merely having the emotion can count as
blaming—so that the resulting view is similar to Gibbard’s
in one important way, at least when one focuses on moral
wrongness.
It is certainly plausible that it is appropriate to feel guilt when
one acts immorally, and to feel anger at those who act immorally
towards those one cares about. It is even plausible that it is
only appropriate, in some particular sense of
“appropriate”, to feel guilt and anger in connection with
moral transgressions. So norms for guilt and anger may well uniquely
pick out certain moral norms. And similar claims might be made about
norms for praise and blame. However, it is not equally clear that
morality is properly defined in terms of emotions or other
reactions to behavior. For it may be, as Skorupski emphasizes, that we
need to understand guilt and anger, and praise and blame, in terms of
moral concepts. This worry about direction of explanation seems less
pressing for the notions of reward and punishment. These responses to
behavior, at least in themselves, might simply be understood
in terms of the meting out of benefits and harms. Of course they will
only count as reward and punishment when they are linked to
someone’s having followed or violated a rule that all rational
people would want to see enforced by such responses.
5.2 Morality as linked to advocacy of a code
One way of understanding the notion of endorsement is as advocacy.
Advocating a code is a second- or third-personal matter, since one
advocates a code to others. Moreover, it is consistent with advocating
a code, that one does not plan on following that code oneself. Just as
asserting something one believes to be false still counts as asserting
it, hypocritical advocacy of a code still counts as advocacy of that
code. When endorsement is understood as advocacy, it can be used in
definitions of morality, in the descriptive sense, as long as it is
the morality of a group or society. And advocacy can also be used as
an interpretation of endorsement when providing a definition of
morality in the normative sense. Of course those who accept a
definition of morality in any of these senses—as the code that a
group or society endorses, or as the code that would be universally
advocated by all rational agents under certain conditions—do not
hold that the advocacy would necessarily, or even probably, be
hypocritical. But they do hold that the important thing about a moral
code—what picks it out as a moral code—is that it would be
put forward by all the relevant agents, not that it would be
followed by all of them. The notion of advocacy has less of a
place in a descriptive account of a single person’s morality,
since when someone is hypocritical we often deny that they really hold
the moral view that they advocate.
Mill (1861), in addition to offering a moral theory, takes pains to
explain how morality differs from other normative systems. For him,
norms that simply promote utility are norms of expediency. In order to
qualify as morally wrong, an act must be one that ought to be
punished. Thinking that an act of a certain kind ought to be punished
is a third-personal matter, so it seems plausible to put Mill’s
view of what is definitional of morality into the category being
discussed in this section. It is worth noting that hypocrisy is, for
Mill, not only a possibility, but—given the present sorry state
of moral education—virtually unavoidable. That is because being
motivated to advocate punishment for a certain kind of act is quite
different from being motivated to refrain from that same kind of act.
Advocating punishment for a certain kind of act might be one’s
utility-maximizing choice, while actually performing that kind of act
(trying, of course, to avoid detection) might also be
utility-maximizing. And for Mill what determines what a person will
advocate, and how a person will act, are the foreseeable consequences
for that person.
Bernard Gert’s (2005) moral view also operates with a definition
of morality that understands endorsement as advocacy, in the sense of
putting forward as a guide for all rational agents. Gert offers the
following two conditions as those under which all rational persons
would put forward a universal guide for governing the behavior of all
moral agents. The first condition is that they are seeking agreement
with all other rational persons or moral agents. The second condition
is that they use only those beliefs that are shared by all rational
persons: for example, that they themselves are fallible and vulnerable
and that all those to whom morality applies are also fallible and
vulnerable. The second condition rules out both religious beliefs and
scientific beliefs since there are no religious beliefs or scientific
beliefs that all rational persons share. This condition is plausible
because no universal guide to behavior that applies to all rational
persons can be based on beliefs that some of these rational persons do
not share.
5.3 Morality as linked to acceptance of a code
Another way of understanding the notion of endorsement is as
acceptance. Unlike advocating a code, accepting a code is a
first-personal matter. It might include intending to conform
one’s own behavior to that code, feeling guilty when one does
not, and so on. One cannot hypocritically accept a code. Indeed,
hypocrisy is simply a matter of advocating a code one does not accept.
So this notion of endorsement is available to someone who is trying to
provide a definition of morality in the descriptive sense, even when
considering a single person’s morality.
Paradigmatic views in the natural law tradition starting with Aquinas
hold both that the laws of morality have their source in God, and that
these laws constitute the principles of human practical rationality
(Finnis 1980; MacIntyre 1999). Views in this tradition may be seen as
using the basic schema for definitions of morality in the normative
sense, understanding endorsement as acceptance. Members of this
tradition typically hold that all rational persons know what kinds of
actions morality prohibits, requires, discourages, encourages, and
allows. It is central to Aquinas’s view that morality is known
to all those whose behavior is subject to moral judgment, even if they
do not know of the revelations of Christianity. This is why Aquinas
holds that knowing what morality prohibits and requires does not
involve knowing why morality prohibits and requires what it does.
Those who belong to the natural law tradition also hold that reason
endorses acting morally. This sort of endorsement of course has a
cognitive component. But it is also motivational. Aquinas does not
hold that knowledge of morality is always effective: it can be blotted
out by evil persuasions or corrupt habits. But if reason is not
opposed by such forces, any rational person would not only know what
was prohibited and required by morality, but would follow those
prohibitions and requirements. So, for natural law theorists,
endorsement amounts to acceptance.
5.4 Morality as linked to justification to others
The lack of an explicit and widely accepted definition of morality may
partially explain the resilience of act-consequentialist accounts of
morality. Without an explicit definition, it may be easier to ignore
the fact that act-consequentialist theories are not particularly
concerned with interpersonal interactions, but typically apply just as
well to desert island scenarios as to individuals who live in
societies. In any case, it has been recognized that in order to combat
consequentialism, it would be helpful to have something like a
plausible definition of morality that made it clear that the subject
matter of morality is something different from simply the goodness and
badness of consequences. T.M. Scanlon (1982, 1998), applying this
strategy, suggests that the subject matter of morality—what we
are talking about, when we talk about morality—is a system of
rules for the regulation of behavior that is not reasonably rejectable
based on a desire for informed unforced general agreement.
Scanlon’s suggestion regarding the subject matter of morality
can easily be seen as an instance of the general schema given above.
His “system of rules” is a specific kind of informal
public system; he understands endorsement by all rational people as
non-rejection by all reasonable people; and he offers a specific
account of the conditions under which moral agents would reach the
relevant agreement. But Scanlon also places very heavy emphasis on the
fact that if he is right about the subject matter of morality, then
what compliance with moral norms allows us to do is to justify our
behavior to others in ways that they cannot reasonably reject. Indeed,
the ability to justify ourselves to reasonable people is a primary
source of moral motivation for Scanlon (see also Sprigge 1964: 319).
This might seem to suggest a somewhat different definitional claim
about morality: that morality consists in the most basic norms in
terms of which we justify ourselves to others. But it is plausible
that this purportedly definitional claim is better thought of as a
corollary of Scanlon’s particular version of the general schema,
with endorsement understood as non-rejection. For, if morality is the
system of norms that would be endorsed in this way, we can justify our
actions to others by pointing out that even they, were they
reasonable, would have endorsed rules that allowed our behavior.
Stephen Darwall’s (2006) moral view can also be seen as flowing
from a version of the general schema, and yielding claims about
justifiability to others. Darwall claims that morality is a matter of equal accountability among free and rational beings. On his view, I
behave morally towards you to the degree that I respect the claims you
have authority to make on me. Darwall also holds that I will respect
those claims if I acknowledge certain assumptions to which I am
committed simply in virtue of being a rational, deliberating agent. As
a result, his view is that morality—or at least the morality of
obligation—is a “scheme of accountability” (a
certain sort of informal public system) that all rational people will
endorse. Unlike Scanlon’s view, however, Darwall’s view
makes use of a stronger sense of endorsement than non-rejection.
Specifically, it includes the recognition of the reasons provided by
the authoritative demands of other people. And that recognition is
positively motivational.
Both Scanlon’s and Darwall’s views emphasize the social
nature of morality, taken in the normative sense: Scanlon, by
reference to justification to others; Darwall, by appeal to the
relevance of second-personal reasons. But Darwall builds a
responsiveness to second-personal reasons into the relevant notion of
rationality, while Scanlon simply makes the empirical claim that many
people are motivated by a desire to justify themselves to others, and
notes that his definition of morality will yield rules that will allow
one to do this, if one follows them. The sort of definition described
in
section 5.1
also makes the social nature of morality essential to it, since it
centrally features the notion of a response to the behavior of others.
The definitions described in sections
5.2
and
5.3
do not entail the social nature of morality, since it is
possible to accept, and even to advocate, a code that concerns only
self-regarding behavior. But on any plausible account of rationality a
code that would be advocated by all moral agents will govern
interpersonal interactions, and will include rules that prohibit
causing harm without sufficient reason. Only the definition offered in
section 5.3
therefore can be taken as realistically compatible with an egoistic
morality.
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Aristotle’s EthicsFirst published Tue May 1, 2001; substantive revision Sat Jul 2, 2022
Aristotle conceives of ethical theory as a field distinct from the
theoretical sciences. Its methodology must match its subject
matter—good action—and must respect the fact that in this
field many generalizations hold only for the most part. We study
ethics in order to improve our lives, and therefore its principal
concern is the nature of human well-being. Aristotle follows Socrates
and Plato in taking the virtues to be central to a well-lived life.
Like Plato, he regards the ethical virtues (justice, courage,
temperance and so on) as complex rational, emotional and social
skills. But he rejects Plato’s idea that to be completely
virtuous one must acquire, through a training in the sciences,
mathematics, and philosophy, an understanding of what goodness is.
What we need, in order to live well, is a proper appreciation of the
way in which such goods as friendship, pleasure, virtue, honor and
wealth fit together as a whole. In order to apply that general
understanding to particular cases, we must acquire, through proper
upbringing and habits, the ability to see, on each occasion, which
course of action is best supported by reasons. Therefore practical
wisdom, as he conceives it, cannot be acquired solely by learning
general rules. We must also acquire, through practice, those
deliberative, emotional, and social skills that enable us to put our
general understanding of well-being into practice in ways that are
suitable to each occasion.
1. Preliminaries
2. The Human Good and the Function Argument
3. Methodology
3.1 Traditional Virtues and the Skeptic
3.2 Differences from and Affinities to Plato
4. Virtues and Deficiencies, Continence and Incontinence
5. The Doctrine of the Mean
5.1 Ethical Virtue as Disposition
5.2 Ethical Theory Does Not Offer a Decision Procedure
5.3 The Starting Point for Practical Reasoning
6. Intellectual Virtues
7. Akrasia
8. Pleasure
9. Friendship
10. Three Lives Compared
Glossary
Further Reading
A. Single-Authored Overviews
B. Anthologies
C. Studies of Particular Topics
C.1 The Chronological Order of Aristotle’s Ethical Treatises
C.2 The Methodology and Metaphysics of Ethical Theory
C.3 The Human Good and the Human Function
C.4 The Nature of Virtue and Accounts of Particular Virtues
C.5 Practical Reasoning, Moral Psychology, and Action
C.6 Pleasure
C.7 Friendship
C.8 Feminism and Aristotle
C.9 Aristotle and Contemporary Ethics
D. Bibliographies
Bibliography
Primary Literature
Secondary Literature
Academic Tools
Other Internet Resources
Related Entries
1. Preliminaries
Aristotle wrote two ethical treatises: the Nicomachean Ethics
and the Eudemian Ethics. He does not himself use either of
these titles, although in the Politics (1295a36) he refers
back to one of them—probably the Eudemian
Ethics—as “ta êthika”—his
writings about character. The words “Eudemian”
and “Nicomachean” were added later, perhaps
because the former was edited by his friend, Eudemus, and the latter
by his son, Nicomachus. In any case, these two works cover more or
less the same ground: they begin with a discussion of
eudaimonia (“happiness”,
“flourishing”), and turn to an examination of the nature
of aretê (“virtue”,
“excellence”) and the character traits that human beings
need in order to live life at its best. Both treatises examine the
conditions in which praise or blame are appropriate, and the nature of
pleasure and friendship; near the end of each work, we find a brief
discussion of the proper relationship between human beings and the
divine.
Though the general point of view expressed in each work is the same,
there are many subtle differences in organization and content as well.
Clearly, one is a re-working of the other, and although no single
piece of evidence shows conclusively what their order is, it is widely
assumed that the Nicomachean Ethics is a later and improved
version of the Eudemian Ethics. (Not all of the Eudemian
Ethics was revised: its Books IV, V, and VI re-appear as V, VI,
VII of the Nicomachean Ethics.) Perhaps the most telling
indication of this ordering is that in several instances the
Nicomachean Ethics develops a theme about which its
Eudemian cousin is silent. Only the Nicomachean
Ethics discusses the close relationship between ethical inquiry
and politics; only the Nicomachean Ethics critically examines
Solon’s paradoxical dictum that no man should be counted happy
until he is dead; and only the Nicomachean Ethics gives a
series of arguments for the superiority of the philosophical life to
the political life. The remainder of this article will therefore focus
on this work. [Note: Page and line numbers shall henceforth refer to
this treatise.]
A third treatise, called the Magna Moralia (the “Big
Ethics”) is included in complete editions of Aristotle’s
works, but its authorship is disputed by scholars. It ranges over
topics discussed more fully in the other two works and its point of
view is similar to theirs. (Why, being briefer, is it named the
Magna Moralia? Because each of the two papyrus rolls into
which it is divided is unusually long. Just as a big mouse can be a
small animal, two big chapters can make a small book. This work was
evidently named “big” with reference to its parts, not the
whole.) A few authors in antiquity refer to a work with this name and
attribute it to Aristotle, but it is not mentioned by several
authorities, such as Cicero and Diogenes Laertius, whom we would
expect to have known of it. Some scholars hold that it is
Aristotle’s earliest course on ethics—perhaps his own
lecture notes or those of a student; others regard it as a
post-Aristotelian compilation or adaption of one or both of his
genuine ethical treatises.
Although Aristotle is deeply indebted to Plato’s moral
philosophy, particularly Plato’s central insight that moral
thinking must be integrated with our emotions and appetites, and that
the preparation for such unity of character should begin with
childhood education, the systematic character of Aristotle’s
discussion of these themes was a remarkable innovation. No one had
written ethical treatises before Aristotle. Plato’s
Republic, for example, does not treat ethics as a distinct
subject matter; nor does it offer a systematic examination of the
nature of happiness, virtue, voluntariness, pleasure, or friendship.
To be sure, we can find in Plato’s works important discussions
of these phenomena, but they are not brought together and unified as
they are in Aristotle’s ethical writings.
2. The Human Good and the Function Argument
The principal idea with which Aristotle begins is that there are
differences of opinion about what is best for human beings, and that
to profit from ethical inquiry we must resolve this disagreement. He
insists that ethics is not a theoretical discipline: we are asking
what the good for human beings is not simply because we want to have
knowledge, but because we will be better able to achieve our good if
we develop a fuller understanding of what it is to flourish. In
raising this question—what is the good?—Aristotle is not
looking for a list of items that are good. He assumes that such a list
can be compiled rather easily; most would agree, for example, that it
is good to have friends, to experience pleasure, to be healthy, to be
honored, and to have such virtues as courage at least to some degree.
The difficult and controversial question arises when we ask whether
certain of these goods are more desirable than others.
Aristotle’s search for the good is a search for the
highest good, and he assumes that the highest good, whatever
it turns out to be, has three characteristics: it is desirable for
itself, it is not desirable for the sake of some other good, and all
other goods are desirable for its sake.
Aristotle thinks everyone will agree that the terms
“eudaimonia” (“happiness”) and
“eu zên” (“living well”)
designate such an end. The Greek term “eudaimon”
is composed of two parts: “eu” means
“well” and “daimon” means
“divinity” or “spirit”. To be
eudaimon is therefore to be living in a way that is
well-favored by a god. But Aristotle never calls attention to this
etymology in his ethical writings, and it seems to have little
influence on his thinking. He regards “eudaimon”
as a mere substitute for eu zên (“living
well”). These terms play an evaluative role, and are not simply
descriptions of someone’s state of mind.
No one tries to live well for the sake of some further goal; rather,
being eudaimon is the highest end, and all
subordinate goals—health, wealth, and other such
resources—are sought because they promote well-being, not
because they are what well-being consists in. But unless we can
determine which good or goods happiness consists in, it is of little
use to acknowledge that it is the highest end. To resolve this issue,
Aristotle asks what the ergon (“function”,
“task”, “work”) of a human being is, and
argues that it consists in activity of the rational part of the soul
in accordance with virtue (1097b22–1098a20). One important
component of this argument is expressed in terms of distinctions he
makes in his psychological and biological works. The soul is analyzed
into a connected series of capacities: the nutritive soul is
responsible for growth and reproduction, the locomotive soul for
motion, the perceptive soul for perception, and so on. The biological
fact Aristotle makes use of is that human beings are the only species
that has not only these lower capacities but a rational soul as well.
The good of a human being must have something to do with being human;
and what sets humanity off from other species, giving us the potential
to live a better life, is our capacity to guide ourselves by using
reason. If we use reason well, we live well as human beings; or, to be
more precise, using reason well over the course of a full life is what
happiness consists in. Doing anything well requires virtue or
excellence, and therefore living well consists in activities caused by
the rational soul in accordance with virtue or excellence.
Aristotle’s conclusion about the nature of happiness is in a
sense uniquely his own. No other writer or thinker had said precisely
what he says about what it is to live well. But at the same time his
view is not too distant from a common idea. As he himself points out,
one traditional conception of happiness identifies it with virtue
(1098b30–1). Aristotle’s theory should be construed as a
refinement of this position. He says, not that happiness is virtue,
but that it is virtuous activity. Living well consists in
doing something, not just being in a certain state or condition. It
consists in those lifelong activities that actualize the virtues of
the rational part of the soul.
At the same time, Aristotle makes it clear that in order to be happy
one must possess others goods as well—such goods as friends,
wealth, and power. And one’s happiness is endangered if one is
severely lacking in certain advantages—if, for example, one is
extremely ugly, or has lost children or good friends through death
(1099a31–b6). But why so? If one’s ultimate end should
simply be virtuous activity, then why should it make any difference to
one’s happiness whether one has or lacks these other types of
good? Aristotle’s reply is that one’s virtuous activity
will be to some extent diminished or defective, if one lacks an
adequate supply of other goods (1153b17–19). Someone who is
friendless, childless, powerless, weak, and ugly will simply not be
able to find many opportunities for virtuous activity over a long
period of time, and what little he can accomplish will not be of great
merit. To some extent, then, living well requires good fortune;
happenstance can rob even the most excellent human beings of
happiness. Nonetheless, Aristotle insists, the highest good, virtuous
activity, is not something that comes to us by chance. Although we
must be fortunate enough to have parents and fellow citizens who help
us become virtuous, we ourselves share much of the responsibility for
acquiring and exercising the virtues.
3. Methodology
3.1 Traditional Virtues and the Skeptic
A common complaint about Aristotle’s attempt to defend his
conception of happiness is that his argument is too general to show
that it is in one’s interest to possess any of the particular
virtues as they are traditionally conceived. Suppose we grant, at
least for the sake of argument, that doing anything well, including
living well, consists in exercising certain skills; and let us call
these skills, whatever they turn out to be, virtues. Even so, that
point does not by itself allow us to infer that such qualities as
temperance, justice, courage, as they are normally understood, are
virtues. They should be counted as virtues only if it can be shown
that actualizing precisely these skills is what happiness consists in.
What Aristotle owes us, then, is an account of these traditional
qualities that explains why they must play a central role in any
well-lived life.
But perhaps Aristotle disagrees, and refuses to accept this
argumentative burden. In one of several important methodological
remarks he makes near the beginning of the Nicomachean
Ethics, he says that in order to profit from the sort of study he
is undertaking, one must already have been brought up in good habits
(1095b4–6). The audience he is addressing, in other words,
consists of people who are already just, courageous, and generous; or,
at any rate, they are well on their way to possessing these virtues.
Why such a restricted audience? Why does he not address those who have
serious doubts about the value of these traditional qualities, and who
therefore have not yet decided to cultivate and embrace them?
Addressing the moral skeptic, after all, is the project Plato
undertook in the Republic: in Book I he rehearses an argument
to show that justice is not really a virtue, and the remainder of this
work is an attempt to rebut this thesis. Aristotle’s project
seems, at least on the surface, to be quite different. He does not
appear to be addressing someone who has genuine doubts about the value
of justice or kindred qualities. Perhaps, then, he realizes how little
can be accomplished, in the study of ethics, to provide it with a
rational foundation. Perhaps he thinks that no reason can be given for
being just, generous, and courageous. These are qualities one learns
to love when one is a child, and having been properly habituated, one
no longer looks for or needs a reason to exercise them. One can show,
as a general point, that happiness consists in exercising some skills
or other, but that the moral skills of a virtuous person are what one
needs is not a proposition that can be established on the basis of
argument.
This is not the only way of reading the Ethics, however. For
surely we cannot expect Aristotle to show what it is about the
traditional virtues that makes them so worthwhile until he has fully
discussed the nature of those virtues. He himself warns us that his
initial statement of what happiness is should be treated as a rough
outline whose details are to be filled in later (1098a20–22).
His intention in Book I of the Ethics is to indicate in a
general way why the virtues are important; why particular
virtues—courage, justice, and the like—are components of
happiness is something we should be able to better understand only at
a later point.
In any case, Aristotle’s assertion that his audience must
already have begun to cultivate the virtues need not be taken to mean
that no reasons can be found for being courageous, just, and generous.
His point, rather, may be that in ethics, as in any other study, we
cannot make progress towards understanding why things are as they are
unless we begin with certain assumptions about what is the case.
Neither theoretical nor practical inquiry starts from scratch. Someone
who has made no observations of astronomical or biological phenomena
is not yet equipped with sufficient data to develop an understanding
of these sciences. The parallel point in ethics is that to make
progress in this sphere we must already have come to enjoy doing what
is just, courageous, generous and the like. We must experience these
activities not as burdensome constraints, but as noble, worthwhile,
and enjoyable in themselves. Then, when we engage in ethical inquiry,
we can ask what it is about these activities that makes them
worthwhile. We can also compare these goods with other things that are
desirable in themselves—pleasure, friendship, honor, and so
on—and ask whether any of them is more desirable than the
others. We approach ethical theory with a disorganized bundle of likes
and dislikes based on habit and experience; such disorder is an
inevitable feature of childhood. But what is not inevitable is that
our early experience will be rich enough to provide an adequate basis
for worthwhile ethical reflection; that is why we need to have been
brought up well. Yet such an upbringing can take us only so far. We
seek a deeper understanding of the objects of our childhood
enthusiasms, and we must systematize our goals so that as adults we
have a coherent plan of life. We need to engage in ethical theory, and
to reason well in this field, if we are to move beyond the low-grade
form of virtue we acquired as children.
3.2 Differences from and Affinities to Plato
Read in this way, Aristotle is engaged in a project similar in some
respects to the one Plato carried out in the Republic. One of
Plato’s central points is that it is a great advantage to
establish a hierarchical ordering of the elements in one’s soul;
and he shows how the traditional virtues can be interpreted to foster
or express the proper relation between reason and less rational
elements of the psyche. Aristotle’s approach is similar: his
“function argument” shows in a general way that our good
lies in the dominance of reason, and the detailed studies of the
particular virtues reveal how each of them involves the right kind of
ordering of the soul. Aristotle’s goal is to arrive at
conclusions like Plato’s, but without relying on the Platonic
metaphysics that plays a central role in the argument of the
Republic. He rejects the existence of Plato’s forms in
general and the form of the good in particular; and he rejects the
idea that in order to become fully virtuous one must study mathematics
and the sciences, and see all branches of knowledge as a unified
whole. Even though Aristotle’s ethical theory sometimes relies
on philosophical distinctions that are more fully developed in his
other works, he never proposes that students of ethics need to engage
in a specialized study of the natural world, or mathematics, or
eternal and changing objects. His project is to make ethics an
autonomous field, and to show why a full understanding of what is good
does not require expertise in any other field.
There is another contrast with Plato that should be emphasized: In
Book II of the Republic, we are told that the best type of
good is one that is desirable both in itself and for the sake of its
results (357d–358a). Plato argues that justice should be placed in
this category, but since it is generally agreed that it is desirable
for its consequences, he devotes most of his time to establishing his
more controversial point—that justice is to be sought for its
own sake. By contrast, Aristotle assumes that if A is
desirable for the sake of B, then B is better than
A (1094a14–16); therefore, the highest kind of good
must be one that is not desirable for the sake of anything else. To
show that A deserves to be our ultimate end, one must show
that all other goods are best thought of as instruments that promote
A in some way or other. Accordingly, it would not serve
Aristotle’s purpose to consider virtuous activity in isolation
from all other goods. He needs to discuss honor, wealth, pleasure, and
friendship in order to show how these goods, properly understood, can
be seen as resources that serve the higher goal of virtuous activity.
He vindicates the centrality of virtue in a well-lived life by showing
that in the normal course of things a virtuous person will not live a
life devoid of friends, honor, wealth, pleasure, and the like.
Virtuous activity makes a life happy not by guaranteeing happiness in
all circumstances, but by serving as the goal for the sake of which
lesser goods are to be pursued. Aristotle’s methodology in
ethics therefore pays more attention than does Plato’s to the
connections that normally obtain between virtue and other goods. That
is why he stresses that in this sort of study one must be satisfied
with conclusions that hold only for the most part (1094b11–22).
Poverty, isolation, and dishonor are normally impediments to the
exercise of virtue and therefore to happiness, although there may be
special circumstances in which they are not. The possibility of
exceptions does not undermine the point that, as a rule, to live well
is to have sufficient resources for the pursuit of virtue over the
course of a lifetime.
4. Virtues and Deficiencies, Continence and Incontinence
Aristotle distinguishes two kinds of virtue (1103a1–10): those
that pertain to the part of the soul that engages in reasoning
(virtues of mind or intellect), and those that pertain to the part of
the soul that cannot itself reason but is nonetheless capable of
following reason (ethical virtues, virtues of character). Intellectual
virtues are in turn divided into two sorts: those that pertain to
theoretical reasoning, and those that pertain to practical thinking
(1139a3–8). He organizes his material by first studying ethical
virtue in general, then moving to a discussion of particular ethical
virtues (temperance, courage, and so on), and finally completing his
survey by considering the intellectual virtues (practical wisdom,
theoretical wisdom, etc.).
All free males are born with the potential to become ethically
virtuous and practically wise, but to achieve these goals they must go
through two stages: during their childhood, they must develop the
proper habits; and then, when their reason is fully developed, they
must acquire practical wisdom (phronêsis). This does
not mean that first we fully acquire the ethical virtues, and then, at
a later stage, add on practical wisdom. Ethical virtue is fully
developed only when it is combined with practical wisdom
(1144b14–17). A low-grade form of ethical virtue emerges in us
during childhood as we are repeatedly placed in situations that call
for appropriate actions and emotions; but as we rely less on others
and become capable of doing more of our own thinking, we learn to
develop a larger picture of human life, our deliberative skills
improve, and our emotional responses are perfected. Like anyone who
has developed a skill in performing a complex and difficult activity,
the virtuous person takes pleasure in exercising his intellectual
skills. Furthermore, when he has decided what to do, he does not have
to contend with internal pressures to act otherwise. He does not long
to do something that he regards as shameful; and he is not greatly
distressed at having to give up a pleasure that he realizes he should
forego.
Aristotle places those who suffer from such internal disorders into
one of three categories: (A) Some agents, having reached a decision
about what to do on a particular occasion, experience some
counter-pressure brought on by an appetite for pleasure, or anger, or
some other emotion; and this countervailing influence is not
completely under the control of reason. (1) Within this category, some
are typically better able to resist these counter-rational pressures
than is the average person. Such people are not virtuous, although
they generally do what a virtuous person does. Aristotle calls them
“continent” (enkratês). But (2) others are
less successful than the average person in resisting these
counter-pressures. They are “incontinent”
(akratês). (The explanation of akrasia is a
topic to which we will return in section 7.) In addition, (B) there is
a type of agent who refuses even to try to do what an ethically
virtuous agent would do, because he has become convinced that justice,
temperance, generosity and the like are of little or no value. Such
people Aristotle calls evil (kakos, phaulos). He
assumes that evil people are driven by desires for domination and
luxury, and although they are single-minded in their pursuit of these
goals, he portrays them as deeply divided, because their
pleonexia—their desire for more and more—leaves
them dissatisfied and full of self-hatred.
It should be noticed that all three of these
deficiencies—continence, incontinence, vice—involve some
lack of internal harmony. (Here Aristotle’s debt to Plato is
particularly evident, for one of the central ideas of the
Republic is that the life of a good person is harmonious, and
all other lives deviate to some degree from this ideal.) The evil
person may wholeheartedly endorse some evil plan of action at a
particular moment, but over the course of time, Aristotle supposes, he
will regret his decision, because whatever he does will prove
inadequate for the achievement of his goals (1166b5–29).
Aristotle assumes that when someone systematically makes bad decisions
about how to live his life, his failures are caused by psychological
forces that are less than fully rational. His desires for pleasure,
power or some other external goal have become so strong that they make
him care too little or not at all about acting ethically. To keep such
destructive inner forces at bay, we need to develop the proper habits
and emotional responses when we are children, and to reflect
intelligently on our aims when we are adults. But some vulnerability
to these disruptive forces is present even in more-or-less virtuous
people; that is why even a good political community needs laws and the
threat of punishment. Clear thinking about the best goals of human
life and the proper way to put them into practice is a rare
achievement, because the human psyche is not a hospitable environment
for the development of these insights.
5. The Doctrine of the Mean
5.1 Ethical Virtue as Disposition
Aristotle describes ethical virtue as a “hexis”
(“state” “condition”
“disposition”)—a tendency or disposition, induced by
our habits, to have appropriate feelings (1105b25–6). Defective
states of character are hexeis (plural of hexis) as
well, but they are tendencies to have inappropriate feelings. The
significance of Aristotle’s characterization of these states as
hexeis is his decisive rejection of the thesis, found
throughout Plato’s early dialogues, that virtue is nothing but a
kind of knowledge and vice nothing but a lack of knowledge. Although
Aristotle frequently draws analogies between the crafts and the
virtues (and similarly between physical health and
eudaimonia), he insists that the virtues differ from the
crafts and all branches of knowledge in that the former involve
appropriate emotional responses and are not purely intellectual
conditions.
Furthermore, every ethical virtue is a condition intermediate (a
“golden mean” as it is popularly known) between two other
states, one involving excess, and the other deficiency
(1106a26–b28). In this respect, Aristotle says, the virtues are
no different from technical skills: every skilled worker knows how to
avoid excess and deficiency, and is in a condition intermediate
between two extremes. The courageous person, for example, judges that
some dangers are worth facing and others not, and experiences fear to
a degree that is appropriate to his circumstances. He lies between the
coward, who flees every danger and experiences excessive fear, and the
rash person, who judges every danger worth facing and experiences
little or no fear. Aristotle holds that this same topography applies
to every ethical virtue: all are located on a map that places the
virtues between states of excess and deficiency. He is careful to add,
however, that the mean is to be determined in a way that takes into
account the particular circumstances of the individual
(1106a36–b7). The arithmetic mean between 10 and 2 is 6, and
this is so invariably, whatever is being counted. But the intermediate
point that is chosen by an expert in any of the crafts will vary from
one situation to another. There is no universal rule, for example,
about how much food an athlete should eat, and it would be absurd to
infer from the fact that 10 lbs. is too much and 2 lbs. too little for
me that I should eat 6 lbs. Finding the mean in any given situation is
not a mechanical or thoughtless procedure, but requires a full and
detailed acquaintance with the circumstances.
It should be evident that Aristotle’s treatment of virtues as
mean states endorses the idea that we should sometimes have strong
feelings—when such feelings are called for by our situation.
Sometimes only a small degree of anger is appropriate; but at other
times, circumstances call for great anger. The right amount is not
some quantity between zero and the highest possible level, but rather
the amount, whatever it happens to be, that is proportionate to the
seriousness of the situation. Of course, Aristotle is committed to
saying that anger should never reach the point at which it undermines
reason; and this means that our passion should always fall short of
the extreme point at which we would lose control. But it is possible
to be very angry without going to this extreme, and Aristotle does not
intend to deny this.
The theory of the mean is open to several objections, but before
considering them, we should recognize that in fact there are two
distinct theses each of which might be called a doctrine of the mean.
First, there is the thesis that every virtue is a state that lies
between two vices, one of excess and the other of deficiency. Second,
there is the idea that whenever a virtuous person chooses to perform a
virtuous act, he can be described as aiming at an act that is in some
way or other intermediate between alternatives that he rejects. It is
this second thesis that is most likely to be found objectionable. A
critic might concede that in some cases virtuous acts can be described
in Aristotle’s terms. If, for example, one is trying to decide
how much to spend on a wedding present, one is looking for an amount
that is neither excessive nor deficient. But surely many other
problems that confront a virtuous agent are not susceptible to this
quantitative analysis. If one must decide whether to attend a wedding
or respect a competing obligation instead, it would not be
illuminating to describe this as a search for a mean between
extremes—unless “aiming at the mean” simply becomes
another phrase for trying to make the right decision. The objection,
then, is that Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean, taken as a
doctrine about what the ethical agent does when he deliberates, is in
many cases inapplicable or unilluminating.
A defense of Aristotle would have to say that the virtuous person does
after all aim at a mean, if we allow for a broad enough notion of what
sort of aiming is involved. For example, consider a juror who must
determine whether a defendant is guilty as charged. He does not have
before his mind a quantitative question; he is trying to decide
whether the accused committed the crime, and is not looking for some
quantity of action intermediate between extremes. Nonetheless, an
excellent juror can be described as someone who, in trying to arrive
at the correct decision, seeks to express the right degree of concern
for all relevant considerations. He searches for the verdict that
results from a deliberative process that is neither overly credulous
nor unduly skeptical. Similarly, in facing situations that arouse
anger, a virtuous agent must determine what action (if any) to take in
response to an insult, and although this is not itself a quantitative
question, his attempt to answer it properly requires him to have the
right degree of concern for his standing as a member of the community.
He aims at a mean in the sense that he looks for a response that
avoids too much or too little attention to factors that must be taken
into account in making a wise decision.
Perhaps a greater difficulty can be raised if we ask how Aristotle
determines which emotions are governed by the doctrine of the mean.
Consider someone who loves to wrestle, for example. Is this passion
something that must be felt by every human being at appropriate times
and to the right degree? Surely someone who never felt this emotion to
any degree could still live a perfectly happy life. Why then should we
not say the same about at least some of the emotions that Aristotle
builds into his analysis of the ethically virtuous agent? Why should
we experience anger at all, or fear, or the degree of concern for
wealth and honor that Aristotle commends? These are precisely the
questions that were asked in antiquity by the Stoics, and they came to
the conclusion that such common emotions as anger and fear are always
inappropriate. Aristotle assumes, on the contrary, not simply that
these common passions are sometimes appropriate, but that it is
essential that every human being learn how to master them and
experience them in the right way at the right times. A defense of his
position would have to show that the emotions that figure in his
account of the virtues are valuable components of any well-lived human
life, when they are experienced properly. Perhaps such a project could
be carried out, but Aristotle himself does not attempt to do so.
He often says, in the course of his discussion, that when the good
person chooses to act virtuously, he does so for the sake of the
“kalon”—a word that can mean
“beautiful”, “noble”, or “fine”
(see for example 1120a23–4). This term indicates that Aristotle
sees in ethical activity an attraction that is comparable to the
beauty of well-crafted artifacts, including such artifacts as poetry,
music, and drama. He draws this analogy in his discussion of the mean,
when he says that every craft tries to produce a work from which
nothing should be taken away and to which nothing further should be
added (1106b5–14). A craft product, when well designed and
produced by a good craftsman, is not merely useful, but also has such
elements as balance, proportion and harmony—for these are
properties that help make it useful. Similarly, Aristotle holds that a
well-executed project that expresses the ethical virtues will not
merely be advantageous but kalon as well—for the
balance it strikes is part of what makes it advantageous. The young
person learning to acquire the virtues must develop a love of doing
what is kalon and a strong aversion to its opposite—the
aischron, the shameful and ugly. Determining what is
kalon is difficult (1106b28–33, 1109a24–30), and
the normal human aversion to embracing difficulties helps account for
the scarcity of virtue (1104b10–11).
5.2 Ethical Theory Does Not Offer a Decision Procedure
It should be clear that neither the thesis that virtues lie between
extremes nor the thesis that the good person aims at what is
intermediate is intended as a procedure for making decisions. These
doctrines of the mean help show what is attractive about the virtues,
and they also help systematize our understanding of which qualities
are virtues. Once we see that temperance, courage, and other generally
recognized characteristics are mean states, we are in a position to
generalize and to identify other mean states as virtues, even though
they are not qualities for which we have a name. Aristotle remarks,
for example, that the mean state with respect to anger has no name in
Greek (1125b26–7). Though he is guided to some degree by
distinctions captured by ordinary terms, his methodology allows him to
recognize states for which no names exist.
So far from offering a decision procedure, Aristotle insists that this
is something that no ethical theory can do. His theory elucidates the
nature of virtue, but what must be done on any particular occasion by
a virtuous agent depends on the circumstances, and these vary so much
from one occasion to another that there is no possibility of stating a
series of rules, however complicated, that collectively solve every
practical problem. This feature of ethical theory is not unique;
Aristotle thinks it applies to many crafts, such as medicine and
navigation (1104a7–10). He says that the virtuous person
“sees the truth in each case, being as it were a standard and
measure of them” (1113a32–3); but this appeal to the good
person’s vision should not be taken to mean that he has an
inarticulate and incommunicable insight into the truth. Aristotle
thinks of the good person as someone who is good at deliberation, and
he describes deliberation as a process of rational inquiry. The
intermediate point that the good person tries to find is
determined by logos (“reason”,
“account”) and in the way that the person of practical
reason would determine it. (1107a1–2)
To say that such a person “sees” what to do is simply a
way of registering the point that the good person’s reasoning
does succeed in discovering what is best in each situation. He is
“as it were a standard and measure” in the sense that his
views should be regarded as authoritative by other members of the
community. A standard or measure is something that settles disputes;
and because good people are so skilled at discovering the mean in
difficult cases, their advice must be sought and heeded.
Although there is no possibility of writing a book of rules, however
long, that will serve as a complete guide to wise decision-making, it
would be a mistake to attribute to Aristotle the opposite position,
namely that every purported rule admits of exceptions, so that even a
small rule-book that applies to a limited number of situations is an
impossibility. He makes it clear that certain emotions (spite,
shamelessness, envy) and actions (adultery, theft, murder) are always
wrong, regardless of the circumstances (1107a8–12). Although he
says that the names of these emotions and actions convey their
wrongness, he should not be taken to mean that their wrongness derives
from linguistic usage. He defends the family as a social institution
against the criticisms of Plato (Politics II.3–4), and
so when he says that adultery is always wrong, he is prepared to argue
for his point by explaining why marriage is a valuable custom and why
extra-marital intercourse undermines the relationship between husband
and wife. He is not making the tautological claim that wrongful sexual
activity is wrong, but the more specific and contentious point that
marriages ought to be governed by a rule of strict fidelity.
Similarly, when he says that murder and theft are always wrong, he
does not mean that wrongful killing and taking are wrong, but that the
current system of laws regarding these matters ought to be strictly
enforced. So, although Aristotle holds that ethics cannot be reduced
to a system of rules, however complex, he insists that some rules are
inviolable.
5.3 The Starting Point for Practical Reasoning
We have seen that the decisions of a practically wise person are not
mere intuitions, but can be justified by a chain of reasoning. (This
is why Aristotle often talks in term of a practical syllogism, with a
major premise that identifies some good to be achieved, and a minor
premise that locates the good in some present-to-hand situation.) At
the same time, he is acutely aware of the fact that reasoning can
always be traced back to a starting point that is not itself justified
by further reasoning. Neither good theoretical reasoning nor good
practical reasoning moves in a circle; true thinking always
presupposes and progresses in linear fashion from proper starting
points. And that leads him to ask for an account of how the proper
starting points of reasoning are to be determined. Practical reasoning
always presupposes that one has some end, some goal one is trying to
achieve; and the task of reasoning is to determine how that goal is to
be accomplished. (This need not be means-end reasoning in the
conventional sense; if, for example, our goal is the just resolution
of a conflict, we must determine what constitutes justice in these
particular circumstances. Here we are engaged in ethical inquiry, and
are not asking a purely instrumental question.) But if practical
reasoning is correct only if it begins from a correct premise, what is
it that insures the correctness of its starting point?
Aristotle replies: “Virtue makes the goal right, practical
wisdom the things leading to it” (1144a7–8). By this he
cannot mean that there is no room for reasoning about our ultimate
end. For as we have seen, he gives a reasoned defense of his
conception of happiness as virtuous activity. What he must have in
mind, when he says that virtue makes the goal right, is that
deliberation typically proceeds from a goal that is far more specific
than the goal of attaining happiness by acting virtuously. To be sure,
there may be occasions when a good person approaches an ethical
problem by beginning with the premise that happiness consists in
virtuous activity. But more often what happens is that a concrete goal
presents itself as his starting point—helping a friend in need,
or supporting a worthwhile civic project. Which specific project we
set for ourselves is determined by our character. A good person starts
from worthwhile concrete ends because his habits and emotional
orientation have given him the ability to recognize that such goals
are within reach, here and now. Those who are defective in character
may have the rational skill needed to achieve their ends—the
skill Aristotle calls cleverness (1144a23–8)—but often the
ends they seek are worthless. The cause of this deficiency lies not in
some impairment in their capacity to reason—for we are assuming
that they are normal in this respect—but in the training of
their passions.
6. Intellectual Virtues
Since Aristotle often calls attention to the imprecision of ethical
theory (see e.g. 1104a1–7), it comes as a surprise to many
readers of the Ethics that he begins Book VI with the
admission that his earlier statements about the mean need
supplementation because they are not yet clear (saphes). In
every practical discipline, the expert aims at a mark and uses right
reason to avoid the twin extremes of excess and deficiency. But what
is this right reason, and by what standard (horos) is it to
be determined? Aristotle says that unless we answer that question, we
will be none the wiser—just as a student of medicine will have
failed to master his subject if he can only say that the right
medicines to administer are the ones that are prescribed by medical
expertise, but has no standard other than this (1138b18–34).
It is not easy to understand the point Aristotle is making here. Has
he not already told us that there can be no complete theoretical guide
to ethics, that the best one can hope for is that in particular
situations one’s ethical habits and practical wisdom will help
one determine what to do? Furthermore, Aristotle nowhere announces, in
the remainder of Book VI, that we have achieved the greater degree of
accuracy that he seems to be looking for. The rest of this Book is a
discussion of the various kinds of intellectual virtues: theoretical
wisdom, science (epistêmê), intuitive
understanding (nous), practical wisdom, and craft expertise.
Aristotle explains what each of these states of mind is, draws various
contrasts among them, and takes up various questions that can be
raised about their usefulness. At no point does he explicitly return
to the question he raised at the beginning of Book VI; he never says,
“and now we have the standard of right reason that we were
looking for”. Nor is it easy to see how his discussion of these
five intellectual virtues can bring greater precision to the doctrine
of the mean.
We can make some progress towards solving this problem if we remind
ourselves that at the beginning of the Ethics, Aristotle
describes his inquiry as an attempt to develop a better understanding
of what our ultimate aim should be. The sketchy answer he gives in
Book I is that happiness consists in virtuous activity. In Books II
through V, he describes the virtues of the part of the soul that is
rational in that it can be attentive to reason, even though it is not
capable of deliberating. But precisely because these virtues are
rational only in this derivative way, they are a less important
component of our ultimate end than is the intellectual
virtue—practical wisdom—with which they are integrated. If
what we know about virtue is only what is said in Books II through V,
then our grasp of our ultimate end is radically incomplete, because we
still have not studied the intellectual virtue that enables us to
reason well in any given situation. One of the things, at least,
towards which Aristotle is gesturing, as he begins Book VI, is
practical wisdom. This state of mind has not yet been analyzed, and
that is one reason why he complains that his account of our ultimate
end is not yet clear enough.
But is practical wisdom the only ingredient of our ultimate end that
has not yet been sufficiently discussed? Book VI discusses five
intellectual virtues, not just practical wisdom, but it is clear that
at least one of these—craft knowledge—is considered only
in order to provide a contrast with the others. Aristotle is not
recommending that his readers make this intellectual virtue part of
their ultimate aim. But what of the remaining three: science,
intuitive understanding, and the virtue that combines them,
theoretical wisdom? Are these present in Book VI only in order to
provide a contrast with practical wisdom, or is Aristotle saying that
these too must be components of our goal? He does not fully address
this issue, but it is evident from several of his remarks in Book VI
that he takes theoretical wisdom to be a more valuable state of mind
than practical wisdom.
It is strange if someone thinks that politics or practical wisdom is
the most excellent kind of knowledge, unless man is the best thing in
the cosmos. (1141a20–22)
He says that theoretical wisdom produces happiness by being a part of
virtue (1144a3–6), and that practical wisdom looks to the
development of theoretical wisdom, and issues commands for its sake
(1145a8–11). So it is clear that exercising theoretical wisdom
is a more important component of our ultimate goal than practical
wisdom.
Even so, it may still seem perplexing that these two intellectual
virtues, either separately or collectively, should somehow fill a gap
in the doctrine of the mean. Having read Book VI and completed our
study of what these two forms of wisdom are, how are we better able to
succeed in finding the mean in particular situations?
The answer to this question may be that Aristotle does not intend Book
VI to provide a full answer to that question, but rather to serve as a
prolegomenon to an answer. For it is only near the end of Book X that
he presents a full discussion of the relative merits of these two
kinds of intellectual virtue, and comments on the different degrees to
which each needs to be provided with resources. In X.7–8, he
argues that the happiest kind of life is that of a
philosopher—someone who exercises, over a long period of time,
the virtue of theoretical wisdom, and has sufficient resources for
doing so. (We will discuss these chapters more fully in section 10
below.) One of his reasons for thinking that such a life is superior
to the second-best kind of life—that of a political leader,
someone who devotes himself to the exercise of practical rather than
theoretical wisdom—is that it requires less external equipment
(1178a23–b7). Aristotle has already made it clear in his
discussion of the ethical virtues that someone who is greatly honored
by his community and commands large financial resources is in a
position to exercise a higher order of ethical virtue than is someone
who receives few honors and has little property. The virtue of
magnificence is superior to mere liberality, and similarly greatness
of soul is a higher excellence than the ordinary virtue that has to do
with honor. (These qualities are discussed in IV.1–4.) The
grandest expression of ethical virtue requires great political power,
because it is the political leader who is in a position to do the
greatest amount of good for the community. The person who chooses to
lead a political life, and who aims at the fullest expression of
practical wisdom, has a standard for deciding what level of resources
he needs: he should have friends, property, and honors in sufficient
quantities to allow his practical wisdom to express itself without
impediment. But if one chooses instead the life of a philosopher, then
one will look to a different standard—the fullest expression of
theoretical wisdom—and one will need a smaller supply of these
resources.
This enables us to see how Aristotle’s treatment of the
intellectual virtues does give greater content and precision to the
doctrine of the mean. The best standard is the one adopted by the
philosopher; the second-best is the one adopted by the political
leader. In either case, it is the exercise of an intellectual virtue
that provides a guideline for making important quantitative decisions.
This supplement to the doctrine of the mean is fully compatible with
Aristotle’s thesis that no set of rules, no matter how long and
detailed, obviates the need for deliberative and ethical virtue. If
one chooses the life of a philosopher, one should keep the level of
one’s resources high enough to secure the leisure necessary for
such a life, but not so high that one’s external equipment
becomes a burden and a distraction rather than an aid to living well.
That gives one a firmer idea of how to hit the mean, but it still
leaves the details to be worked out. The philosopher will need to
determine, in particular situations, where justice lies, how to spend
wisely, when to meet or avoid a danger, and so on. All of the normal
difficulties of ethical life remain, and they can be solved only by
means of a detailed understanding of the particulars of each
situation. Having philosophy as one’s ultimate aim does not put
an end to the need for developing and exercising practical wisdom and
the ethical virtues.
7. Akrasia
In VII.1–10 Aristotle investigates character
traits—continence and incontinence—that are not as
blameworthy as the vices but not as praiseworthy as the virtues. (We
began our discussion of these qualities in section 4.) The Greek terms
are akrasia (“incontinence”; literally:
“lack of mastery”) and enkrateia
(“continence”; literally “mastery”). An
akratic person goes against reason as a result of some pathos
(“emotion”, “feeling”). Like the akratic, an
enkratic person experiences a feeling that is contrary to reason; but
unlike the akratic, he acts in accordance with reason. His defect
consists solely in the fact that, more than most people, he
experiences passions that conflict with his rational choice. The
akratic person has not only this defect, but has the further flaw that
he gives in to feeling rather than reason more often than the average
person.
Aristotle distinguishes two kinds of akrasia: impetuosity
(propeteia) and weakness (astheneia). The person who
is weak goes through a process of deliberation and makes a choice; but
rather than act in accordance with his reasoned choice, he acts under
the influence of a passion. By contrast, the impetuous person does not
go through a process of deliberation and does not make a reasoned
choice; he simply acts under the influence of a passion. At the time
of action, the impetuous person experiences no internal conflict. But
once his act has been completed, he regrets what he has done. One
could say that he deliberates, if deliberation were something that
post-dated rather than preceded action; but the thought process he
goes through after he acts comes too late to save him from error.
It is important to bear in mind that when Aristotle talks about
impetuosity and weakness, he is discussing chronic conditions. The
impetuous person is someone who acts emotionally and fails to
deliberate not just once or twice but with some frequency; he makes
this error more than most people do. Because of this pattern in his
actions, we would be justified in saying of the impetuous person that
had his passions not prevented him from doing so, he would have
deliberated and chosen an action different from the one he did
perform.
The two kinds of passions that Aristotle focuses on, in his treatment
of akrasia, are the appetite for pleasure and anger. Either
can lead to impetuosity and weakness. But Aristotle gives pride of
place to the appetite for pleasure as the passion that undermines
reason. He calls the kind of akrasia caused by an appetite
for pleasure “unqualified akrasia”—or, as
we might say, akrasia “full stop”;
akrasia caused by anger he considers a qualified form of
akrasia and calls it akrasia “with respect to
anger”. We thus have these four forms of akrasia: (A)
impetuosity caused by pleasure, (B) impetuosity caused by anger, (C)
weakness caused by pleasure (D) weakness caused by anger. It should be
noticed that Aristotle’s treatment of akrasia is
heavily influenced by Plato’s tripartite division of the soul in
the Republic. Plato holds that either the spirited part
(which houses anger, as well as other emotions) or the appetitive part
(which houses the desire for physical pleasures) can disrupt the
dictates of reason and result in action contrary to reason. The same
threefold division of the soul can be seen in Aristotle’s
approach to this topic.
Although Aristotle characterizes akrasia and
enkrateia in terms of a conflict between reason and feeling,
his detailed analysis of these states of mind shows that what takes
place is best described in a more complicated way. For the feeling
that undermines reason contains some thought, which may be implicitly
general. As Aristotle says, anger “reasoning as it were that one
must fight against such a thing, is immediately provoked”
(1149a33–4). And although in the next sentence he denies that
our appetite for pleasure works in this way, he earlier had said that
there can be a syllogism that favors pursuing enjoyment:
“Everything sweet is pleasant, and this is sweet” leads to
the pursuit of a particular pleasure (1147a31–30). Perhaps what
he has in mind is that pleasure can operate in either way: it can
prompt action unmediated by a general premise, or it can prompt us to
act on such a syllogism. By contrast, anger always moves us by
presenting itself as a bit of general, although hasty, reasoning.
But of course Aristotle does not mean that a conflicted person has
more than one faculty of reason. Rather his idea seems to be that in
addition to our full-fledged reasoning capacity, we also have
psychological mechanisms that are capable of a limited range of
reasoning. When feeling conflicts with reason, what occurs is better
described as a fight between feeling-allied-with-limited-reasoning and
full-fledged reason. Part of us—reason—can remove itself
from the distorting influence of feeling and consider all relevant
factors, positive and negative. But another part of us—feeling
or emotion—has a more limited field of reasoning—and
sometimes it does not even make use of it.
Although “passion” is sometimes used as a translation of
Aristotle’s word pathos (other alternatives are
“emotion” and “feeling”), it is important to
bear in mind that his term does not necessarily designate a strong
psychological force. Anger is a pathos whether it is weak or
strong; so too is the appetite for bodily pleasures. And he clearly
indicates that it is possible for an akratic person to be defeated by
a weak pathos—the kind that most people would easily be
able to control (1150a9–b16). So the general explanation for the
occurrence of akrasia cannot be that the strength of a
passion overwhelms reason. Aristotle should therefore be acquitted of
an accusation made against him by J.L. Austin in a well-known footnote
to his paper, “A Plea For Excuses”. Plato and Aristotle,
he says, collapsed all succumbing to temptation into losing control of
ourselves—a mistake illustrated by this example:
I am very partial to ice cream, and a bombe is served divided into
segments corresponding one to one with the persons at High Table: I am
tempted to help myself to two segments and do so, thus succumbing to
temptation and even conceivably (but why necessarily?) going against
my principles. But do I lose control of myself? Do I raven, do I
snatch the morsels from the dish and wolf them down, impervious to the
consternation of my colleagues? Not a bit of it. We often succumb to
temptation with calm and even with finesse. (1957: 24, fn 13 [1961:
146])
With this, Aristotle can agree: the pathos for the bombe can
be a weak one, and in some people that will be enough to get them to
act in a way that is disapproved by their reason at the very time of
action.
What is most remarkable about Aristotle’s discussion of
akrasia is that he defends a position close to that of
Socrates. When he first introduces the topic of akrasia, and
surveys some of the problems involved in understanding this
phenomenon, he says (1145b25–8) that Socrates held that there is
no akrasia, and he describes this as a thesis that clearly
conflicts with the appearances (phainomena). Since he says
that his goal is to preserve as many of the appearances as possible
(1145b2–7), it may come as a surprise that when he analyzes the
conflict between reason and feeling, he arrives at the conclusion that
in a way Socrates was right after all (1147b13–17). For, he
says, the person who acts against reason does not have what is thought
to be unqualified knowledge; in a way he has knowledge, but in a way
does not.
Aristotle explains what he has in mind by comparing akrasia
to the condition of other people who might be described as knowing in
a way, but not in an unqualified way. His examples are people who are
asleep, mad, or drunk; he also compares the akratic to a student who
has just begun to learn a subject, or an actor on the stage
(1147a10–24). All of these people, he says, can utter the very
words used by those who have knowledge; but their talk does not prove
that they really have knowledge, strictly speaking.
These analogies can be taken to mean that the form of akrasia
that Aristotle calls weakness rather than impetuosity always results
from some diminution of cognitive or intellectual acuity at the moment
of action. The akratic says, at the time of action, that he ought not
to indulge in this particular pleasure at this time. But does he know
or even believe that he should refrain? Aristotle might be taken to
reply: yes and no. He has some degree of recognition that he must not
do this now, but not full recognition. His feeling, even if it is
weak, has to some degree prevented him from completely grasping or
affirming the point that he should not do this. And so in a way
Socrates was right. When reason remains unimpaired and unclouded, its
dictates will carry us all the way to action, so long as we are able
to act.
But Aristotle’s agreement with Socrates is only partial, because
he insists on the power of the emotions to rival, weaken or bypass
reason. Emotion challenges reason in all three of these ways. In both
the akratic and the enkratic, it competes with reason for control over
action; even when reason wins, it faces the difficult task of having
to struggle with an internal rival. Second, in the akratic, it
temporarily robs reason of its full acuity, thus handicapping it as a
competitor. It is not merely a rival force, in these cases; it is a
force that keeps reason from fully exercising its power. And third,
passion can make someone impetuous; here its victory over reason is so
powerful that the latter does not even enter into the arena of
conscious reflection until it is too late to influence action.
Supplementary Document: Alternate Readings of Aristotle on Akrasia
8. Pleasure
Aristotle frequently emphasizes the importance of pleasure to human
life and therefore to his study of how we should live (see for example
1099a7–20 and 1104b3–1105a16), but his full-scale
examination of the nature and value of pleasure is found in two
places: VII.11–14 and X.1–5. It is odd that pleasure
receives two lengthy treatments; no other topic in the Ethics
is revisited in this way. Book VII of the Nicomachean Ethics
is identical to Book VI of the Eudemian Ethics; for unknown
reasons, the editor of the former decided to include within it both
the treatment of pleasure that is unique to that work (X.1–5)
and the study that is common to both treatises (VII.11–14). The
two accounts are broadly similar. They agree about the value of
pleasure, defend a theory about its nature, and oppose competing
theories. Aristotle holds that a happy life must include pleasure, and
he therefore opposes those who argue that pleasure is by its nature
bad. He insists that there are other pleasures besides those of the
senses, and that the best pleasures are the ones experienced by
virtuous people who have sufficient resources for excellent
activity.
Book VII offers a brief account of what pleasure is and is not. It is
not a process but an unimpeded activity of a natural state
(1153a7–17). Aristotle does not elaborate on what a natural
state is, but he obviously has in mind the healthy condition of the
body, especially its sense faculties, and the virtuous condition of
the soul. Little is said about what it is for an activity to be
unimpeded, but Aristotle does remind us that virtuous activity is
impeded by the absence of a sufficient supply of external goods
(1153b17–19). One might object that people who are sick or who
have moral deficiencies can experience pleasure, even though Aristotle
does not take them to be in a natural state. He has two strategies for
responding. First, when a sick person experiences some degree of
pleasure as he is being restored to health, the pleasure he is feeling
is caused by the fact that he is no longer completely ill. Some small
part of him is in a natural state and is acting without impediment
(1152b35–6). Second, Aristotle is willing to say that what seems
pleasant to some people may in fact not be pleasant (1152b31–2),
just as what tastes bitter to an unhealthy palate may not be bitter.
To call something a pleasure is not only to report a state of mind but
also to endorse it to others. Aristotle’s analysis of the nature
of pleasure is not meant to apply to every case in which something
seems pleasant to someone, but only to activities that really are
pleasures. All of these are unimpeded activities of a natural
state.
It follows from this conception of pleasure that every instance of
pleasure must be good to some extent. For how could an unimpeded
activity of a natural state be bad or a matter of indifference? On the
other hand, Aristotle does not mean to imply that every pleasure
should be chosen. He briefly mentions the point that pleasures compete
with each other, so that the enjoyment of one kind of activity impedes
other activities that cannot be carried out at the same time
(1153a20–22). His point is simply that although some pleasures
may be good, they are not worth choosing when they interfere with
other activities that are far better. This point is developed more
fully in Ethics X.5.
Furthermore, Aristotle’s analysis allows him to speak of certain
pleasures as “bad without qualification”
(1152b26–33), even though pleasure is the unimpeded activity of
a natural state. To call a pleasure “bad without
qualification” is to insist that it should be avoided, but allow
that nonetheless it should be chosen in constraining circumstances.
The pleasure of recovering from an illness, for example, is bad
without qualification—meaning that it is not one of the
pleasures one would ideally choose, if one could completely control
one’s circumstances. Although it really is a pleasure and so
something can be said in its favor, it is so inferior to other goods
that ideally one ought to forego it. Nonetheless, it is a pleasure
worth having—if one adds the qualification that it is only worth
having in undesirable circumstances. The pleasure of recovering from
an illness is good, because some small part of oneself is in a natural
state and is acting without impediment; but it can also be called bad,
if what one means by this is that one should avoid getting into a
situation in which one experiences that pleasure.
Aristotle indicates several times in VII.11–14 that merely to
say that pleasure is a good does not do it enough justice; he
also wants to say that the highest good is a pleasure. Here he is
influenced by an idea expressed in the opening line of the
Ethics: the good is that at which all things aim. In VII.13,
he hints at the idea that all living things imitate the contemplative
activity of god (1153b31–2). Plants and non-human animals seek
to reproduce themselves because that is their way of participating in
an unending series, and this is the closest they can come to the
ceaseless thinking of the unmoved mover. Aristotle makes this point in
several of his works (see for example De Anima
415a23–b7), and in Ethics X.7–8 he gives a full
defense of the idea that the happiest human life resembles the life of
a divine being. He conceives of god as a being who continually enjoys
a “single and simple pleasure” (1154b26)—the
pleasure of pure thought—whereas human beings, because of their
complexity, grow weary of whatever they do. He will elaborate on these
points in X.8; in VII.11–14, he appeals to his conception of
divine activity only in order to defend the thesis that our highest
good consists in a certain kind of pleasure. Human happiness does not
consist in every kind of pleasure, but it does consist in one kind of
pleasure—the pleasure felt by a human being who engages in
theoretical activity and thereby imitates the pleasurable thinking of
god.
Book X offers a much more elaborate account of what pleasure is and
what it is not. It is not a process, because processes go through
developmental stages: building a temple is a process because the
temple is not present all at once, but only comes into being through
stages that unfold over time. By contrast, pleasure, like seeing and
many other activities, is not something that comes into existence
through a developmental process. If I am enjoying a conversation, for
example, I do not need to wait until it is finished in order to feel
pleased; I take pleasure in the activity all along the way. The
defining nature of pleasure is that it is an activity that accompanies
other activities, and in some sense brings them to completion.
Pleasure occurs when something within us, having been brought into
good condition, is activated in relation to an external object that is
also in good condition. The pleasure of drawing, for example, requires
both the development of drawing ability and an object of attention
that is worth drawing.
The conception of pleasure that Aristotle develops in Book X is
obviously closely related to the analysis he gives in Book VII. But
the theory proposed in the later Book brings out a point that had
received too little attention earlier: pleasure is by its nature
something that accompanies something else. It is not enough to say
that it is what happens when we are in good condition and are active
in unimpeded circumstances; one must add to that point the further
idea that pleasure plays a certain role in complementing something
other than itself. Drawing well and the pleasure of drawing well
always occur together, and so they are easy to confuse, but
Aristotle’s analysis in Book X emphasizes the importance of
making this distinction.
He says that pleasure completes the activity that it accompanies, but
then adds, mysteriously, that it completes the activity in the manner
of an end that is added on. In the translation of W.D. Ross, it
“supervenes as the bloom of youth does on those in the flower of
their age” (1174b33). It is unclear what thought is being
expressed here, but perhaps Aristotle is merely trying to avoid a
possible misunderstanding: when he says that pleasure completes an
activity, he does not mean that the activity it accompanies is in some
way defective, and that the pleasure improves the activity by removing
this defect. Aristotle’s language is open to that
misinterpretation because the verb that is translated
“complete” (teleein) can also mean
“perfect”. The latter might be taken to mean that the
activity accompanied by pleasure has not yet reached a sufficiently
high level of excellence, and that the role of pleasure is to bring it
to the point of perfection. Aristotle does not deny that when we take
pleasure in an activity we get better at it, but when he says that
pleasure completes an activity by supervening on it, like the bloom
that accompanies those who have achieved the highest point of physical
beauty, his point is that the activity complemented by pleasure is
already perfect, and the pleasure that accompanies it is a bonus that
serves no further purpose. Taking pleasure in an activity does help us
improve at it, but enjoyment does not cease when perfection is
achieved—on the contrary, that is when pleasure is at its peak.
That is when it reveals most fully what it is: an added bonus that
crowns our achievement.
It is clear, at any rate, that in Book X Aristotle gives a fuller
account of what pleasure is than he had in Book VII. We should take
note of a further difference between these two discussions: In Book X,
he makes the point that pleasure is a good but not
the good. He cites and endorses an argument given by Plato in
the Philebus: If we imagine a life filled with pleasure and
then mentally add wisdom to it, the result is made more desirable. But
the good is something that cannot be improved upon in this way.
Therefore pleasure is not the good (1172b23–35). By contrast, in
Book VII Aristotle strongly implies that the pleasure of contemplation
is the good, because in one way or another all living beings
aim at this sort of pleasure. Aristotle observes in Book X that what
all things aim at is good (1172b35–1173a1); significantly, he
falls short of endorsing the argument that since all aim at pleasure,
it must be the good.
Book VII makes the point that pleasures interfere with each other, and
so even if all kinds of pleasures are good, it does not follow that
all of them are worth choosing. One must make a selection among
pleasures by determining which are better. But how is one to make this
choice? Book VII does not say, but in Book X, Aristotle holds that the
selection of pleasures is not to be made with reference to pleasure
itself, but with reference to the activities they accompany.
Since activities differ with respect to goodness and badness, some
being worth choosing, others worth avoiding, and others neither, the
same is true of pleasures as well. (1175b24–6)
Aristotle’s statement implies that in order to determine whether
(for example) the pleasure of virtuous activity is more desirable than
that of eating, we are not to attend to the pleasures themselves but
to the activities with which we are pleased. A pleasure’s
goodness derives from the goodness of its associated activity. And
surely the reason why pleasure is not the criterion to which we should
look in making these decisions is that it is not the good. The
standard we should use in making comparisons between rival options is
virtuous activity, because that has been shown to be identical to
happiness.
That is why Aristotle says that what is judged pleasant by a good man
really is pleasant, because the good man is the measure of things
(1176a15–19). He does not mean that the way to lead our lives is
to search for a good man and continually rely on him to tell us what
is pleasurable. Rather, his point is that there is no way of telling
what is genuinely pleasurable (and therefore what is most pleasurable)
unless we already have some other standard of value. Aristotle’s
discussion of pleasure thus helps confirm his initial hypothesis that
to live our lives well we must focus on one sort of good above all
others: virtuous activity. It is the good in terms of which all other
goods must be understood. Aristotle’s analysis of friendship
supports the same conclusion.
9. Friendship
The topic of Books VIII and IX of the Ethics is friendship.
Although it is difficult to avoid the term “friendship” as
a translation of “philia”, and this is an
accurate term for the kind of relationship he is most interested in,
we should bear in mind that he is discussing a wider range of
phenomena than this translation might lead us to expect, for the
Greeks use the term, “philia”, to name the
relationship that holds among family members, and do not reserve it
for voluntary relationships. Although Aristotle is interested in
classifying the different forms that friendship takes, his main theme
in Books VIII and IX is to show the close relationship between
virtuous activity and friendship. He is vindicating his conception of
happiness as virtuous activity by showing how satisfying are the
relationships that a virtuous person can normally expect to have.
His taxonomy begins with the premise that there are three main reasons
why one person might like someone else. (The verb,
“philein”, which is cognate to the noun
“philia”, can sometimes be translated
“like” or even “love”—though in other
cases philia involves very little in the way of feeling.) One
might like someone because he is good, or because he is useful, or
because he is pleasant. And so there are three bases for friendships,
depending on which of these qualities binds friends together. When two
individuals recognize that the other person is someone of good
character, and they spend time with each other, engaged in activities
that exercise their virtues, then they form one kind of friendship. If
they are equally virtuous, their friendship is perfect. If, however,
there is a large gap in their moral development (as between a parent
and a small child, or between a husband and a wife), then although
their relationship may be based on the other person’s good
character, it will be imperfect precisely because of their
inequality.
The imperfect friendships that Aristotle focuses on, however, are not
unequal relationships based on good character. Rather, they are
relationships held together because each individual regards the other
as the source of some advantage to himself or some pleasure he
receives. When Aristotle calls these relationships
“imperfect”, he is tacitly relying on widely accepted
assumptions about what makes a relationship satisfying. These
friendships are defective, and have a smaller claim to be called
“friendships”, because the individuals involved have
little trust in each other, quarrel frequently, and are ready to break
off their association abruptly. Aristotle does not mean to suggest
that unequal relations based on the mutual recognition of good
character are defective in these same ways. Rather, when he says that
unequal relationships based on character are imperfect, his point is
that people are friends in the fullest sense when they gladly spend
their days together in shared activities, and this close and constant
interaction is less available to those who are not equal in their
moral development.
When Aristotle begins his discussion of friendship, he introduces a
notion that is central to his understanding of this phenomenon: a
genuine friend is someone who loves or likes another person for the
sake of that other person. Wanting what is good for the sake of
another he calls “good will” (eunoia), and
friendship is reciprocal good will, provided that each recognizes the
presence of this attitude in the other. Does such good will exist in
all three kinds of friendship, or is it confined to relationships
based on virtue? At first, Aristotle leaves open the first of these
two possibilities. He says:
it is necessary that friends bear good will to each other and wish
good things for each other, without this escaping their notice,
because of one of the reasons mentioned. (1156a4–5)
The reasons mentioned are goodness, pleasure, and advantage; and so it
seems that Aristotle is leaving room for the idea that in all three
kinds of friendships, even those based on advantage and pleasure
alone, the individuals wish each other well for the sake of the
other.
But in fact, as Aristotle continues to develop his taxonomy, he does
not choose to exploit this possibility. He speaks as though it is only
in friendships based on character that one finds a desire to benefit
the other person for the sake of the other person.
Those who wish good things to their friends for the sake of the latter
are friends most of all, because they do so because of their friends
themselves, and not coincidentally. (1156b9–11)
When one benefits someone not because of the kind of person he is, but
only because of the advantages to oneself, then, Aristotle says, one
is not a friend towards the other person, but only towards the profit
that comes one’s way (1157a15–16).
In such statements as these, Aristotle comes rather close to saying
that relationships based on profit or pleasure should not be called
friendships at all. But he decides to stay close to common parlance
and to use the term “friend” loosely. Friendships based on
character are the ones in which each person benefits the other for the
sake of other; and these are friendships most of all. Because each
party benefits the other, it is advantageous to form such friendships.
And since each enjoys the trust and companionship of the other, there
is considerable pleasure in these relationships as well. Because these
perfect friendships produce advantages and pleasures for each of the
parties, there is some basis for going along with common usage and
calling any relationship entered into for the sake of just one of
these goods a friendship. Friendships based on advantage alone or
pleasure alone deserve to be called friendships because in
full-fledged friendships these two properties, advantage and pleasure,
are present. It is striking that in the Ethics Aristotle
never thinks of saying that the uniting factor in all friendships is
the desire each friend has for the good of the other.
Aristotle does not raise questions about what it is to desire good for
the sake of another person. He treats this as an easily understood
phenomenon, and has no doubts about its existence. But it is also
clear that he takes this motive to be compatible with a love of
one’s own good and a desire for one’s own happiness.
Someone who has practical wisdom will recognize that he needs friends
and other resources in order to exercise his virtues over a long
period of time. When he makes friends, and benefits friends he has
made, he will be aware of the fact that such a relationship is good
for him. And yet to have a friend is to want to benefit someone for
that other person’s sake; it is not a merely self-interested
strategy. Aristotle sees no difficulty here, and rightly so. For there
is no reason why acts of friendship should not be undertaken partly
for the good of one’s friend and partly for one’s own
good. Acting for the sake of another does not in itself demand
self-sacrifice. It requires caring about someone other than oneself,
but does not demand some loss of care for oneself. For when we know
how to benefit a friend for his sake, we exercise the ethical virtues,
and this is precisely what our happiness consists in.
Aristotle makes it clear that the number of people with whom one can
sustain the kind of relationship he calls a perfect friendship is
quite small (IX.10). Even if one lived in a city populated entirely by
perfectly virtuous citizens, the number with whom one could carry on a
friendship of the perfect type would be at most a handful. For he
thinks that this kind of friendship can exist only when one spends a
great deal of time with the other person, participating in joint
activities and engaging in mutually beneficial behavior; and one
cannot cooperate on these close terms with every member of the
political community. One may well ask why this kind of close
friendship is necessary for happiness. If one lived in a community
filled with good people, and cooperated on an occasional basis with
each of them, in a spirit of good will and admiration, would that not
provide sufficient scope for virtuous activity and a well-lived life?
Admittedly, close friends are often in a better position to benefit
each other than are fellow citizens, who generally have little
knowledge of one’s individual circumstances. But this only shows
that it is advantageous to be on the receiving end of a friend’s
help. The more important question for Aristotle is why one needs to be
on the giving end of this relationship. And obviously the answer
cannot be that one needs to give in order to receive; that would turn
active love for one’s friend into a mere means to the benefits
received.
Aristotle attempts to answer this question in IX.11, but his treatment
is disappointing. His fullest argument depends crucially on the notion
that a friend is “another self”, someone, in other words,
with whom one has a relationship very similar to the relationship one
has with oneself. A virtuous person loves the recognition of himself
as virtuous; to have a close friend is to possess yet another person,
besides oneself, whose virtue one can recognize at extremely close
quarters; and so, it must be desirable to have someone very much like
oneself whose virtuous activity one can perceive. The argument is
unconvincing because it does not explain why the perception of
virtuous activity in fellow citizens would not be an adequate
substitute for the perception of virtue in one’s friends.
Aristotle would be on stronger grounds if he could show that in the
absence of close friends one would be severely restricted in the kinds
of virtuous activities one could undertake. But he cannot present such
an argument, because he does not believe it. He says that it is
“finer and more godlike” to bring about the well being of
a whole city than to sustain the happiness of just one person
(1094b7–10). He refuses to regard private life—the realm
of the household and the small circle of one’s friends—as
the best or most favorable location for the exercise of virtue. He is
convinced that the loss of this private sphere would greatly detract
from a well-lived life, but he is hard put to explain why. He might
have done better to focus on the benefits of being the object of a
close friend’s solicitude. Just as property is ill cared for
when it is owned by all, and just as a child would be poorly nurtured
were he to receive no special parental care—points Aristotle
makes in Politics II.2–5—so in the absence of
friendship we would lose a benefit that could not be replaced by the
care of the larger community. But Aristotle is not looking for a
defense of this sort, because he conceives of friendship as lying
primarily in activity rather than receptivity. It is difficult, within
his framework, to show that virtuous activity towards a friend is a
uniquely important good.
Since Aristotle thinks that the pursuit of one’s own happiness,
properly understood, requires ethically virtuous activity and will
therefore be of great value not only to one’s friends but to the
larger political community as well, he argues that self-love is an
entirely proper emotion—provided it is expressed in the love of
virtue (IX.8). Self-love is rightly condemned when it consists in the
pursuit of as large a share of external goods—particularly
wealth and power—as one can acquire, because such self-love
inevitably brings one into conflict with others and undermines the
stability of the political community. It may be tempting to cast
Aristotle’s defense of self-love into modern terms by calling
him an egoist, and “egoism” is a broad enough term so
that, properly defined, it can be made to fit Aristotle’s
ethical outlook. If egoism is the thesis that one will always act
rightly if one consults one’s self-interest, properly
understood, then nothing would be amiss in identifying him as an
egoist.
But egoism is sometimes understood in a stronger sense. Just as
consequentialism is the thesis that one should maximize the general
good, whatever the good turns out to be, so egoism can be defined as
the parallel thesis that one should maximize one’s own good,
whatever the good turns out to be. Egoism, in other words, can be
treated as a purely formal thesis: it holds that whether the good is
pleasure, or virtue, or the satisfaction of desires, one should not
attempt to maximize the total amount of good in the world, but only
one’s own. When egoism takes this abstract form, it is an
expression of the idea that the claims of others are never worth
attending to, unless in some way or other their good can be shown to
serve one’s own. The only underived reason for action is
self-interest; that an act helps another does not by itself provide a
reason for performing it, unless some connection can be made between
the good of that other and one’s own.
There is no reason to attribute this extreme form of egoism to
Aristotle. On the contrary, his defense of self-love makes it clear
that he is not willing to defend the bare idea that one ought to love
oneself alone or above others; he defends self-love only when this
emotion is tied to the correct theory of where one’s good lies,
for it is only in this way that he can show that self-love need not be
a destructive passion. He takes it for granted that self-love is
properly condemned whenever it can be shown to be harmful to the
community. It is praiseworthy only if it can be shown that a
self-lover will be an admirable citizen. In making this assumption,
Aristotle reveals that he thinks that the claims of other members of
the community to proper treatment are intrinsically valid. This is
precisely what a strong form of egoism cannot accept.
We should also keep in mind Aristotle’s statement in the
Politics that the political community is prior to the
individual citizen—just as the whole body is prior to any of its
parts (1253a18–29). Aristotle makes use of this claim when he
proposes that in the ideal community each child should receive the
same education, and that the responsibility for providing such an
education should be taken out of the hands of private individuals and
made a matter of common concern (1337a21–7). No citizen, he
says, belongs to himself; all belong to the city (1337a28–9).
What he means is that when it comes to such matters as education,
which affect the good of all, each individual should be guided by the
collective decisions of the whole community. An individual citizen
does not belong to himself, in the sense that it is not up to him
alone to determine how he should act; he should subordinate his
individual decision-making powers to those of the whole. The strong
form of egoism we have been discussing cannot accept Aristotle’s
doctrine of the priority of the city to the individual. It tells the
individual that the good of others has, in itself, no valid claim on
him, but that he should serve other members of the community only to
the extent that he can connect their interests to his own. Such a
doctrine leaves no room for the thought that the individual citizen
does not belong to himself but to the whole.
10. Three Lives Compared
In Book I Aristotle says that three kinds of lives are thought to be
especially attractive: one is devoted to pleasure, a second to
politics, and a third to knowledge and understanding
(1095b17–19). In X.6–9 he returns to these three
alternatives, and explores them more fully than he had in Book I. The
life of pleasure is construed in Book I as a life devoted to physical
pleasure, and is quickly dismissed because of its vulgarity. In X.6,
Aristotle concedes that physical pleasures, and more generally,
amusements of all sorts, are desirable in themselves, and therefore
have some claim to be our ultimate end. But his discussion of
happiness in Book X does not start from scratch; he builds on his
thesis that pleasure cannot be our ultimate target, because what
counts as pleasant must be judged by some standard other than pleasure
itself, namely the judgment of the virtuous person. Amusements will
not be absent from a happy life, since everyone needs relaxation, and
amusements fill this need. But they play a subordinate role, because
we seek relaxation in order to return to more important
activities.
Aristotle turns therefore, in X.7–8, to the two remaining
alternatives—politics and philosophy—and presents a series
of arguments to show that the philosophical life, a life devoted to
theoria (contemplation, study), is best. Theoria is
not the process of learning that leads to understanding; that process
is not a candidate for our ultimate end, because it is undertaken for
the sake of a further goal. What Aristotle has in mind when he talks
about theoria is the activity of someone who has already
achieved theoretical wisdom. The happiest life is lived by someone who
has a full understanding of the basic causal principles that govern
the operation of the universe, and who has the resources needed for
living a life devoted to the exercise of that understanding. Evidently
Aristotle believes that his own life and that of his philosophical
friends was the best available to a human being. He compares it to the
life of a god: god thinks without interruption and endlessly, and a
philosopher enjoys something similar for a limited period of time.
It may seem odd that after devoting so much attention to the practical
virtues, Aristotle should conclude his treatise with the thesis that
the best activity of the best life is not ethical. In fact, some
scholars have held that X.7–8 are deeply at odds with the rest
of the Ethics; they take Aristotle to be saying that we
should be prepared to act unethically, if need be, in order to devote
ourselves as much as possible to contemplation. But it is difficult to
believe that he intends to reverse himself so abruptly, and there are
many indications that he intends the arguments of X.7–8 to be
continuous with the themes he emphasizes throughout the rest of the
Ethics. The best way to understand him is to take him to be
assuming that one will need the ethical virtues in order to live the
life of a philosopher, even though exercising those virtues is not the
philosopher’s ultimate end. To be adequately equipped to live a
life of thought and discussion, one will need practical wisdom,
temperance, justice, and the other ethical virtues. To say that there
is something better even than ethical activity, and that ethical
activity promotes this higher goal, is entirely compatible with
everything else that we find in the Ethics.
Although Aristotle’s principal goal in X.7–8 is to show
the superiority of philosophy to politics, he does not deny that a
political life is happy. Perfect happiness, he says, consists in
contemplation; but he indicates that the life devoted to practical
thought and ethical virtue is happy in a secondary way. He thinks of
this second-best life as that of a political leader, because he
assumes that the person who most fully exercises such qualities as
justice and greatness of soul is the man who has the large resources
needed to promote the common good of the city. The political life has
a major defect, despite the fact that it consists in fully exercising
the ethical virtues, because it is a life devoid of philosophical
understanding and activity. Were someone to combine both careers,
practicing politics at certain times and engaged in philosophical
discussion at other times (as Plato’s philosopher-kings do), he
would lead a life better than that of Aristotle’s politician,
but worse than that of Aristotle’s philosopher.
But his complaint about the political life is not simply that it is
devoid of philosophical activity. The points he makes against it
reveal drawbacks inherent in ethical and political activity. Perhaps
the most telling of these defects is that the life of the political
leader is in a certain sense unleisurely (1177b4–15). What
Aristotle has in mind when he makes this complaint is that ethical
activities are remedial: they are needed when something has gone
wrong, or threatens to do so. Courage, for example, is exercised in
war, and war remedies an evil; it is not something we should wish for.
Aristotle implies that all other political activities have the same
feature, although perhaps to a smaller degree. Corrective justice
would provide him with further evidence for his thesis—but what
of justice in the distribution of goods? Perhaps Aristotle would reply
that in existing political communities a virtuous person must
accommodate himself to the least bad method of distribution, because,
human nature being what it is, a certain amount of injustice must be
tolerated. As the courageous person cannot be completely satisfied
with his courageous action, no matter how much self-mastery it shows,
because he is a peace-lover and not a killer, so the just person
living in the real world must experience some degree of
dissatisfaction with his attempts to give each person his due. The
pleasures of exercising the ethical virtues are, in normal
circumstances, mixed with pain. Unalloyed pleasure is available to us
only when we remove ourselves from the all-too-human world and
contemplate the rational order of the cosmos. No human life can
consist solely in these pure pleasures; and in certain circumstances
one may owe it to one’s community to forego a philosophical life
and devote oneself to the good of the city. But the paradigms of human
happiness are those people who are lucky enough to devote much of
their time to the study of a world more orderly than the human world
we inhabit.
Although Aristotle argues for the superiority of the philosophical
life in X.7–8, he says in X.9, the final chapter of the
Ethics, that his project is not yet complete, because we can
make human beings virtuous, or good even to some small degree, only if
we undertake a study of the art of legislation. The final section of
the Ethics is therefore intended as a prolegomenon to
Aristotle’s political writings. We must investigate the kinds of
political systems exhibited by existing Greek cities, the forces that
destroy or preserve cities, and the best sort of political order.
Although the study of virtue Aristotle has just completed is meant to
be helpful to all human beings who have been brought up
well—even those who have no intention of pursuing a political
career—it is also designed to serve a larger purpose. Human
beings cannot achieve happiness, or even something that approximates
happiness, unless they live in communities that foster good habits and
provide the basic equipment of a well-lived life.
The study of the human good has therefore led to two conclusions: The
best life is not to be found in the practice of politics. But the well
being of whole communities depends on the willingness of some to lead
a second-best life—a life devoted to the study and practice of
the art of politics, and to the expression of those qualities of
thought and passion that exhibit our rational self-mastery.
Glossary
appearances: phainomena
beautiful: kalon
clear: saphes
complete (verb, also: to perfect): telein
condition: hexis
continence (literally: mastery): enkrateia
continent: enkratês
disposition: hexis
emotion: pathos
evil: kakos, phaulos
excellence: aretê
feeling: pathos
fine: kalon
flourishing: eudaimonia
friendship: philia; philein (the verb cognate to
the noun “philia”, can sometimes be translated
“like” or even “love”)
function: ergon
good will: eunoia
happiness: eudaimonia
happy: eudaimon
impetuosity: propeteia
incontinence (literally: lack of mastery): akrasia
incontinent: akratês
intuitive understanding: nous
live well: eu zên
practical wisdom: phronêsis
science: epistêmê
standard: horos
state: hexis
task: ergon
virtue: aretê
weakness: astheneia
work: ergon
Further Reading
A. Single-Authored Overviews
Broadie 1991; Bostock 2000; Burger 2008; Gauthier & Jolif
1958–59; Hall 2019; Hardie 1980; Pakaluk 2005; Price 2011; Reeve
2012a; Urmson 1987.
B. Anthologies
Anton & Preus (eds.) 1991; Barnes, Schofield, & Sorabji (eds.)
1977; Bartlett & Collins (eds.) 1999; Engstrom & Whiting
(eds.) 1996; Heinaman (ed.) 1995; Kraut (ed.) 2006b; Miller (ed.)
2011; Natali (ed.) 2009; Pakaluk & Pearson (eds.) 2010; Polansky
(ed.) 2014; Roche (ed.) 1988c; Rorty (ed.) 1980; Sherman (ed.) 1999;
Sim (ed.) 1995.
C. Studies of Particular Topics
C.1 The Chronological Order of Aristotle’s Ethical Treatises
Kenny 1978, 1979, 1992; Rowe 1971.
C.2 The Methodology and Metaphysics of Ethical Theory
Barnes 1980; Berryman 2019; J.M. Cooper 1999 (ch. 12); Frede 2012;
Heinaman (ed.) 1995; Irwin 1988b; Karbowski 2014b, 2015a, 2015b, 2019;
Kontos 2011; Kraut 1998; McDowell 1995; Nussbaum 1985, 1986 (chs
8–9); Reeve 1992 (ch. 1), 2012b; Roche 1988b, 1992; Scott 2015;
Segvic 2002; Shields 2012a; Zingano 2007b.
C.3 The Human Good and the Human Function
Annas 1993 (ch. 18); Barney 2008; Broadie 2005, 2007a; Charles 1999;
Clark 1975 (14–27, 145–63); J.M. Cooper 1986 (chs 1, 3),
1999 (chs 9, 13); Curzer 1991; Gadamer 1986; Gerson 2004; Gomez-Lobo
1989; Heinaman 2002, 2007; Irwin 2012; Keyt 1978; Korsgaard 1986a,
1986b; Kraut 1979a, 1979b, 1989, 2002 (ch. 3); Lawrence 1993, 1997,
2001; G.R. Lear 2000; J. Lear 2000; MacDonald 1989; Natali 2010;
Nussbaum 1986 (chs 11, 12); Purinton 1998; Reeve 1992 (chs 3, 4);
Roche 1988a; Santas 2001 (chs 6–7); Scott 1999, 2000; Segvic
2004; Suits 1974; Van Cleemput 2006; Wedin 1981; N. White 2002, 2006;
S. White 1992; Whiting 1986, 1988; Wielenberg 2004; Williams 1985 (ch.
3).
C.4 The Nature of Virtue and Accounts of Particular Virtues
Brickhouse 2003; Brown 1997; Brunschwig 1996; Clark 1975
(84–97); N. Cooper 1989; Curzer 1990, 1995, 1996, 1997, 2005,
2012; Di Muzio 2000; Gardiner 2001; Gottlieb 1991, 1994a, 1994b, 1996,
2009; Halper 1999; Hardie 1978; Hursthouse 1988; Hutchinson 1986;
Irwin 1988a; Jimenez 2020; Kraut 2002 (ch. 4), 2012, 2013; Leunissen
2012, 2013, 2017; Lorenz 2009; McKerlie 2001; Pakaluk 2004; Pearson
2006, 2007; Peterson 1988; Russell 2012a; Santas 2001 (ch. 8);
Scaltsas 1995; Schütrumpf 1989; Sherman 1989, 1997; Sim 2007;
Taylor 2004; Telfer 1989–90; Tuozzo 1995; Whiting 1996; Young
1988; Yu 2007.
C.5 Practical Reasoning, Moral Psychology, and Action
Broadie 1998; Charles 1984, 2007; Coope 2012; J. Cooper 1986 (ch. 1),
1999 (chs 10, 11, 19); Dahl 1984; Destrée 2007;
Engberg-Pedersen 1983; Fortenbaugh 1975; Gottlieb, 2021;
Gröngross 2007; Hursthouse 1984; Kontos 2018; Kontos 2021; Kraut
2006a; Lorenz 2006; McDowell 1996a, 1996b, 1998; McKerlie 1998; Meyer
1993; Milo 1966; Moss 2011, 2012; Natali (ed.) 2009; Nussbaum 1986
(ch. 10); Olfert 2017; Pakaluk & Pearson (eds.) 2010;
Pickavé & Whiting 2008; Politis 1998; Reeve 1992 (ch. 2),
2013; Segvic 2009a; Sherman 2000; Taylor 2003b; Walsh 1963; Zingano
2007a.
C.6 Pleasure
Gosling &Taylor 1982 (chs 11–17); Gottlieb 1993; Natali
(ed.) 2009; Owen 1971; Pearson 2012; Rorty 1974; Taylor 2003a, 2003b;
Urmson 1967; Warren 2009; Wolfsdorf 2013 (ch. 6).
C.7 Friendship
Annas 1977, 1993 (ch. 12); Brewer 2005; J.M. Cooper 1999 (chs 14, 15);
Hitz 2011; Kahn 1981; Milgram 1987; Nehamas 2010; Pakaluk 1998; Pangle
2003; Price 1989 (chs 4–7); Rogers 1994; Schollmeier 1994;
Sherman 1987; Stern-Gillet 1995; Walker 2014; Whiting 1991.
C.8 Feminism and Aristotle
Freeland 1998; Karbowski 2014a; Modrak 1994; Ward (ed.) 1996.
C.9 Aristotle and Contemporary Ethics
Bielskis 2020; Broadie 2006; Chappell (ed.) 2006; Garver 2006; Gill
(ed.) 2005; Kraut 2018; LeBar 2013; MacIntyre 1999; Peters 2014;
Russell 2012b; Stohr 2003, 2009; Wiggins 2009.
D. Bibliographies
Lockwood 2005.
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Athenian Constitution,
ed. Kenyon. (Greek)
Athenian Constitution,
ed. H. Rackham. (English)
Economics,
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Economics,
(English)
Eudemian Ethics,
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Eudemian Ethics,
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(Greek)
Metaphysics,
(English)
Nicomachean Ethics,
ed. J. Bywater. (Greek)
Nicomachean Ethics,
ed. H. Rackham. (English)
Poetics,
(English)
Politics,
(Greek)
Politics,
(English)
Rhetoric,
ed. W. D. Ross. (Greek)
Rhetoric,
ed. J. H. Freese. (English)
Virtues and Vices,
ed. I. Bekker. (Greek)
Virtues and Vices,
ed. H. Rackham. (English)
Nikomachische Ethik,
in German, translated by Eugen Rolfes, Leipzig: F. Meiner, 1911, at
the Projekt Gutenberg-DE
Related Entries
Aristotle |
character, moral |
egoism |
ethics: virtue |
friendship |
Plato |
pleasure |
wisdom
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Ethics vs Morals - Difference and Comparison | Diffen
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Ethics vs. Morals
Diffen › English Language › Grammar › Words
Ethics and morals relate to “right” and “wrong” conduct. While they are sometimes used interchangeably, they are different: ethics refer to rules provided by an external source, e.g., codes of conduct in workplaces or principles in religions. Morals refer to an individual’s own principles regarding right and wrong.
Comparison chart
Ethics versus Morals comparison chart
EthicsMoralsWhat are they? The rules of conduct recognized in respect to a particular class of human actions or a particular group or culture.
Principles or habits with respect to right or wrong conduct. While morals also prescribe dos and don'ts, morality is ultimately a personal compass of right and wrong.
Where do they come from? Social system - External
Individual - Internal
Why we do it? Because society says it is the right thing to do.
Because we believe in something being right or wrong.
Flexibility Ethics are dependent on others for definition. They tend to be consistent within a certain context, but can vary between contexts.
Usually consistent, although can change if an individual’s beliefs change.
The "Gray" A person strictly following Ethical Principles may not have any Morals at all. Likewise, one could violate Ethical Principles within a given system of rules in order to maintain Moral integrity.
A Moral Person although perhaps bound by a higher covenant, may choose to follow a code of ethics as it would apply to a system. "Make it fit"
Origin Greek word "ethos" meaning"character"
Latin word "mos" meaning "custom"
Acceptability Ethics are governed by professional and legal guidelines within a particular time and place
Morality transcends cultural norms
Source of Principles
Ethics are external standards that are provided by institutions, groups, or culture to which an individual belongs. For example, lawyers, policemen, and doctors all have to follow an ethical code laid down by their profession, regardless of their own feelings or preferences. Ethics can also be considered a social system or a framework for acceptable behavior.
Morals are also influenced by culture or society, but they are personal principles created and upheld by individuals themselves.
Consistency and Flexibility
Ethics are very consistent within a certain context, but can vary greatly between contexts. For example, the ethics of the medical profession in the 21st century are generally consistent and do not change from hospital to hospital, but they are different from the ethics of the 21st century legal profession.
An individual’s moral code is usually unchanging and consistent across all contexts, but it is also possible for certain events to radically change an individual's personal beliefs and values.
Conflicts Between Ethics and Morals
One professional example of ethics conflicting with morals is the work of a defense attorney. A lawyer’s morals may tell her that murder is reprehensible and that murderers should be punished, but her ethics as a professional lawyer, require her to defend her client to the best of her abilities, even if she knows that the client is guilty.
Another example can be found in the medical field. In most parts of the world, a doctor may not euthanize a patient, even at the patient's request, as per ethical standards for health professionals. However, the same doctor may personally believe in a patient's right to die, as per the doctor's own morality.
Origins
Much of the confusion between these two words can be traced back to their origins. For example, the word "ethic" comes from Old French (etique), Late Latin (ethica), and Greek (ethos) and referred to customs or moral philosophies. "Morals" comes from Late Latin's moralis, which referred to appropriate behavior and manners in society. So, the two have very similar, if not synonymous, meanings originally.
Morality and ethics of the individual have been philosophically studied for well over a thousand years. The idea of ethics being principles that are set and applied to a group (not necessarily focused on the individual) is relatively new, though, primarily dating back to the 1600s. The distinction between ethics and morals is particularly important for philosophical ethicists.
Videos Explaining the Differences
The following video explains how ethics are objective, while morals are subjective.
References
The Definition of Morality - Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy
Ethics Definition - Dictionary.com
Ethic Origins - Online Etymology Dictionary
Moral Origins - Wiktionary
Morals Definition - Dictionary.com
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Comments: Ethics vs Morals
Anonymous comments (5)
October 23, 2013, 2:02pm
The Greek and Latin origins seem to indicate that the definitions are reversed. However, I think that the definitions are correct for how the terms are used. For example, Olympic athletes have a code of ethics to which they must adhere; and people are often given the advice to "follow their moral compass"
— 72.✗.✗.224
June 25, 2012, 6:43pm
WOW!!! Neat website... I love it! :D
— 70.✗.✗.68
May 30, 2013, 11:41pm
I think the distinction drawn here is backwards. If you listen to how these words are used idiomatically, moral tends to relate to codified societal beliefs that are received on an unquestioned basis (the 1960's use of the term "moral majority" for instance.) On the other hand ethics implies a philosophical and hence reasoned set of values that the individual thinks through (going back to Aristotle's Ethics).
— 173.✗.✗.75
November 15, 2013, 8:17pm
Part of being an educated person is that you know how to find the field that studies the thing you are interested in. Philosophy is the field that studies ethics. Philosophers use the terms "ethical" and "moral" more or less interchangeably, and tend not to use the term "morals".
The content here is of very very poor quality, and looks like it was simply made up by someone.
If you want to learn about this, a good starting point is the Stanford Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. That is a very high quality source, with several entries on ethics.
— 75.✗.✗.251
March 23, 2014, 12:59am
Morality is an individual's opinion of right and wrong. An ethical code is the opinion of a group that has the authority to force others to follow their views, or be penalized. Having the authority to make rules does not make your rules any more objective or rational. ALL moral views are subjective. Posting videos from a cult that believes in magic destroys your credibility.
— 76.✗.✗.223
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