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The Temporality of Phronêsis in the Nicomachean Ethics Sean D. Kirkland DePaul University For measuring the indefinite, even the measuring rod must be indefinite. –Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics1
Introduction In the first book of Plato’s Republic, Socrates tells us that he and his interlocutors are attempting “to determine the way of life as a whole, in the passing of which our lives would most fully accomplish their end” (R. I.344d-e). Much later, we learn that this properly good life is that of the dialectician, one who is able to “distinguish through a logos the idea of the good from everything else…[For one who is unable to do so]…doesn’t know the good itself or any other good. And if he gets hold of some image of it, you’ll say that he does so via opinion, not via knowledge [ἐπιστήμῃ]” (R. VI.534b-c). For Plato, here at least, it seems that to live well, one would ideally base one’s ethical decisions on epistêmê or ‘scientific knowledge,’ thereby grounding them in an argument-based intellectual grasp of the Idea of the Good itself. It is in part this aspect of Platonic ethical judgment, whether or not it truly captures the complex portrait of human life found in Plato’s dialogues,2 that leads Aristotle to bring a charge of intellectualism against Platonic ethics.3 That is, Aristotle attacks not only the role of the abstract and general idea of the Good as such in Plato, but also what he sees as an attempt to ground ethical judgment solely in epistêmê. Indeed, it is on precisely this point that Aristotle seems to see himself in his ethical treatises as departing most radically from Plato.4 I would like to thank W. McNeill and R. Lee, as well as R. Polansky and the two anonymous referees at Ancient Philosophy, for their extremely helpful comments and suggestions on the first draft of this essay. 1 All translations from the Greek are my own. 2 Although the model for ethical judgment presented in Plato’s Republic may well be grounded solidly in epistêmê, in the apparently bipartite psychology of the Laws we find a recognition of the necessary fusion of the cognitive or epistemic and non-cognitive or emotional elements in ethical behavior (Laws 644c-647e). And indeed, it might even be said that there is a strain of this non-intellectualist realism detectable already in the Republic’s presentation of the role of pre-cognitive habituation in moral education (R. 401d-402a). On this, cf. Gill 2003. The characterization in the main text above is nonetheless wholly true with respect to Platonic ethical theory as Aristotle understands it in his criticism of Plato and from which he sees himself to be departing. 3 Aristotle’s presentation of ethics often enters into explicit and implicit dialogue with Plato. For Aristotle’s interpretation of Plato’s conception of the Good itself, see especially EN 1096a12-1097a13 and EE 1216b21218b26; and on the role of epistêmê as related to the issue of akrasia or ‘weakness of will,’ see EN 1147b9-19 and 1113b4-1115a3. On the teaching of the Ideas in this respect, see not only EN 1096a12-23, but also Met. 991a12-b2. Finally, Aristotle’s criticism of Socrates even in the Magna Moralia is that “he used to make the virtues sciences [ἐπιστήμαι], and this is impossible” (MM 1182a16-7). With regard to Plato here (MM 1182a24-1183b8), Aristotle attacks the Good as an absolute ontological principle misapplied to ethics and makes a puzzling comment concerning the absence of any commonality between “the truth of things” and virtue. For a solid discussion of the relationship of Aristotle’s ethics to Socratic and Platonic ethics, cf. Guthrie 1981, 338-339, 359-360. 4 This is apparent even in Aristotle’s systematically distinguishing the practical region of human understanding, in which ethics and politics are situated, from the theoretical. Cf. Met. 1025b25 for the tri-
2 To be sure, in the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle puts forth a conception of ethical life and decision-making according to which epistêmê is no longer the requisite dunamis or enabling ‘power.’ He writes, The function [ἔργον] of a human being is well-accomplished in accordance with phronêsis and ethical virtue [ἠθικὴν ἀρετήν]; virtue makes the aim right, and phronêsis the means to the aim” (EN 1144a6-9). Neither of these two essential components for living truly well as a human being seems to entail any kind of ethical epistêmê. “Ethical virtue” is strictly a matter of character, not intellect, and Aristotle tells us quite directly of phronêsis, usually translated as ‘prudence or practical wisdom,’ that it is “not knowledge [οὐκ ἐπιστήμη], for it is concerned with the ultimate particular [τοῦ…ἐσχάτου], the thing that has to be done [in any given situation] being of a particular character” (EN 1142a23-5).5 We must trace the implications of this definition. For Aristotle, “epistêmê is a way of conceiving universals” (EN 1140b31-2), the Greek here translated as “universals” being ta katholou, meaning literally ‘the things according to the whole.’ Refining the literal sense of this phrase into a technical term, Aristotle writes in the Posterior Analytics, “the universal is not ‘this’ or ‘now,’ or it would not be universal, a term which we apply to what is always and everywhere [ἀεὶ κεὶ πανταχοῦ]” (An. Post. 87b32-34).6 An epistemic conception of ethical judgment, then, would be grounded in a grasp of universals in Aristotle’s technical sense—that is, not just principles taken to be generally applicable, but absolutes that are secured by epistêmê as actually everywhere and always the same, and thus atemporal.7 However, Aristotle tells us above that phronêsis attends principally to the particular available means, which are within time, the aims or principles of phronêsis being supplied by the agent’s ethically excellent character, not by epistêmê. Thus, we must ask, what is the precise status of the general principles to which ethical judgment has access via character, if these are not the timeless absolutes grasped through scientific knowledge? In the extensive secondary literature on phronêsis, there is nevertheless a strong tendency to avoid this question altogether by positing some kind of epistemic knowledge upon which Aristotle must be implicitly grounding ethical judgment, even in the face of passages like the one above.8 Many scholars have been loath to acknowledge the nonpartite division of human dianoia or ‘understanding’ into theoretical (metaphysics or theology, physics, mathematics), practical (politics, ethics), and productive (the technai or ‘crafts’). 5 In the Ethics, Aristotle repeatedly states that ethical judgment and phronêsis properly concern particulars, not universals. Cf. EN 1109b23, 1110b6, 1126b4, 1141b13-16, 1143a32-33, 1144a20-22, 1147a3-b5, and also Met. 981a15-17. 6 This passage from the Posterior Analytics provides a shortcut through the argument given in the Ethics. There, the atemporal or eternal quality of the object of epistêmê becomes clear by the following argument: epistêmê is always true, which means that its object is “not capable of being otherwise,” and thus, not “accidental,” but “of necessity [ἐξ ἀνάγκης],” and “that which is by necessity is eternal [ἀίδιον]” (EN 1139b18-25). On the nature of the necessity in play here, cf. Phys. 199b34-200b7 and Met. 1015a201015b15, as well as J.A. Stewart 1892 on EN 1139b18-37. 7 Cf. Natali 2001, 16. Natali distinguishes epistêmê from phronêsis principally due to the fact that epistêmê is “the science that possesses theoretical truth detached from desire and action.” It is precisely this detachment that gives epistêmê its atemporal foundation, as contrasted with phronêsis. 8 See Cooper 1975, 13-46, Broadie 1974, Michelakis 1961, Jackson, 1942. Also, Gauthier 1951 and Allan 1953 both maneuver relevant passages in the hopes of rejecting Aristotle’s frequent statements that phronêsis is concerned exclusively with particulars, and thus not truly knowledge. For thorough discussions of the opposing position, that Aristotelian ethical judgment does not have recourse to true universals, see McDowell 1979 and Nussbaum 1986, 290-317. In recent decades, another voice has weighed in on this issue from the perspective of hermeneutics. These thinkers attempt to see the apparent “relativism” implicit in Aristotle’s doctrine as an early embrace of the necessary role of Vorurteil, or ‘pre-judgment,’ in human understanding.
3 epistemic character of Aristotle’s ethics, seemingly for fear of introducing the unwelcome specter of moral relativism.9 To cite just one example, Reeve argues that, although its attention is indeed primarily directed toward particular possible actions in particular situations, phronêsis must nonetheless be seen to bring a “knowledge of universals to bear on particular cases” (Reeve 1992, 74). However, given Aristotle’s presentation of phronêsis as a power relating to particulars, Reeve poses the following question: But since phronêsis does not study universals, where does it get its knowledge of them from? Only one answer has any plausibility: phronêsis must get its knowledge of universals…from the only source that can provide it, namely, the amalgam of scientific knowledge, dialectic, and nous that gives rise to an Aristotelian science (Reeve 1992, 73-74). Reeve concludes here that phronêsis, in order to have the “truthful [ἀληθής]” quality Aristotle explicitly ascribes to it, must have access to ethical principles, such as the good, justice, temperance, courage, etc. as true universals in the sense discussed above.10 Given this assumption, then, the single explanation that has any “plausibility” for Reeve is that phronêsis grounds itself in an “Aristotelian science.” This means that phronêsis would rest upon an undisclosed, even unmentioned, ethical epistêmê, since this intellectual capacity alone for Aristotle would ensure a grasp of absolute and atemporal ethical universals.11 For now, it is important simply to note that if we reject the suggestion of Reeve and many others that Aristotle’s conception of ethical judgment has implicit epistemic grounds, and if we take very seriously the distinction drawn in the passage above between phronêsis and epistêmê, then the strangeness of phronêsis presents itself with full force.12 If phronêsis Cf. esp. Gadamer, 1960, 317-329, and P. Ricoeur 1997. Finally, Fortenbaugh 1975 approaches the issue from a particular angle in his fine study of emotion in Aristotle. He insists on Aristotle’s thoroughgoing psychological integration of emotion and cognition, then drawing the consequences of this for Aristotle’s ethics, politics, poetics, and rhetoric. 9 This resistance can be seen at the most fundamental level in Rackham’s 1934 translation of EN 1142a24. He renders it, “And it is clear that Prudence is not the same as Scientific Knowledge,” although the Greek [Ὅτι δ’ ἡ φρόνησις οὐκ ἐπιστήμη, φανερόν] offers no foundation for the introduction of the phrase “the same as,” which seems calculated to leave open the possibility that phronêsis is either epistêmê plus some other power or that it is a different variety of equally conclusive ‘knowledge.’ 10 This remains a hidden premise in the above argument, but Reeve states it explicitly elsewhere: “[I]n order to guide action in particular circumstances, phronêsis needs knowledge of both universal ethical principles and the particular circumstances themselves” (Reeve 1992, 67). 11 It might be noted here that Reeve’s conclusion calls forth the obvious reply that, if such a science were possible, Aristotle’s Ethics would likely be a very different book. If an epistêmê of atemporal ethical concepts were proper to ethical judgment, these could be, as Aristotle outlines in the Topics (Top. 105a10-16), identified by way of inductive reasoning from particular cases and then provided with fixed and universal definitions. These definitions could in turn be gathered together into a simple list. Although the experiencebased sense for particular circumstances would still be requisite for acting effectively according to these principles, there is no doubt such a catalogue would be useful. But the Ethics emphatically avoids offering a list of definitions. The nearest Aristotle comes to such a list is in the course of his explicitly rough and tentative discussion of the doctrine of the Mean and its application (EN 1104a11-12). However, we will later come to see that this discussion of the Mean and its application to the specific virtues does not provide a list of defined epistemic principles. Rather, it is a method for “seeing” the particular action available to one as good or choiceworthy, a method that indeed directly reflects the anti-Platonic, non-epistemic character of ethical judgment in Aristotle. 12 Natali provides a thorough study of the distinction between epistêmê and phronêsis in its development from the ethical examples introduced in the Topics, through the Magna Moralia, to the Nicomachean and Eudemian Ethics. Also explicitly in opposition to what I have presented as a strong tendency in the traditional reading of Aristotle, Natali writes, “Practical knowledge, which from now on is almost always called
4 properly entails no recourse to scientifically grasped ethical universals, then precisely what kind of dunamis is it? From what non-epistemic resources would it derive its unique enabling power in ethical action? In this essay, I suggest that there is, contrary to Reeve’s claim, another interpretation of Aristotelian ethical judgment that has not only “plausibility,” but indeed does far more justice to its presentation in the Ethics. That is, phronêsis derives its power from nothing other than its complete immersion in time, which is to say, from its past and its future. In the first part of the paper, I will lay out the essentially temporal character of ethical judgment for Aristotle, understood in terms of the two components mentioned above, phronêsis and the ethical virtue to which it is always bound. In the second part, focusing on precisely how phronêsis addresses the future appropriately for Aristotle and how the past is integral to the doctrine of the Mean, I will discuss the particular resources available to ethical judgment thus conceived, as non-epistemic, temporal, and finite. I. The Temporality of Phronêsis
Phronêsis is, for Aristotle, the proper intellectual capacity for making judgments about what he calls “the good deed [τὸ πρακτὸν ἀγαθόν]” (EN 1097a24) and it is the consistent performance of such deeds that constitutes living well and being happy. I argue here that Aristotle presents this capacity as situated temporally between two regions of obscurity, the future and the past. I.A. Phronêsis and the Future—The Kairos Let us begin with one of Aristotle’s many statements concerning the necessary imprecision of the general study of ethics, an imprecision widely recognized by readers of Aristotle, but often treated as an issue wholly separate from the character of ethical judgment itself.13 Aristotle writes, Let it be agreed in advance that the whole discussion of matters in human praxis should proceed in general terms, and should not hope to speak precisely…Further, accounts must conform to their subject matter. But with what is to be done [ἐν ταῖς πράξεσι] and with what is expedient, there is nothing established or fixed [ἑστηκός]…14 The general discourse phronêsis, or wisdom, has features that make it the opposite of science; in many ways it is more similar to the virtues of character” (Natali 2001, 25). In many other respects, Natali’s comprehensive study agrees with the limited account I give here, especially in emphasizing the fact that for Aristotle practical reasoning is thoroughly bound to desire and thus derives its principles from nothing other than an habituated disposition, although he does not frame his discussion in terms of the temporal limits of phronêsis. 13 This is a fairly recent trend in scholarship on Aristotle. On this development, cf. Natali 2001, 30-35, as well as his “Afterword,” 183-189. In the following comments, I am not opposing this view by arguing that the Ethics should be considered itself a product of phronêsis. Rather, I am merely making the obvious point that the object of phronêsis, ethical action, determines both the inexactitude of the study of ethics and the resources available to phronêsis. This seems contrary to Guthrie (79), for instance, who writes as though universal ethical principles could be articulated with complete exactitude if Aristotle wished, but this would go beyond the aim of a practical study. Some studies of this theme, none of which develop the temporal structure of ethical judgment as I do here, are Monan 1968, Barnes 1980, and Klein 1988. 14 In this ellipsis occurs the phrase, “any more than with medicine.” It is not clear how this is to be taken. Perhaps it concerns specifically the actual practice of medicine, rather than its study, about which Aristotle says in a later book, “it doesn’t seem that doctors come to be from textbooks” (EN 1181b3-4). That is, their practice seems based fundamentally on empeiria or ‘experience,’ thus not on fixed, articulable rules.
5 then being of this sort, in particular cases it must be even less precise. These matters do not fall under any art or rule, but the agents themselves must always look [σκοπεῖν] to the things suited to the kairos (EN 1103b341104a8). In this passage, Aristotle presents the imprecision of his study as proper to the very subject matter of ethical judgment itself, that is, proper to “what is to be done” in any particular situation. This subject matter is then characterized by the fact that, in each practical situation where virtue is at issue, where the question of the good deed arises, there is no fixed, stable, perfectly graspable measure, and thus no reliable technê or ‘skill,’ nor any authoritative moral imperative or command (παραγγελία), that could determine one’s action. Aristotle suggests rather that one must always skopein or ‘look’ toward what is suited to the kairos.15 But what precisely does this entail? Kairos is often translated as ‘the right or opportune moment.’ It is the moment when an opportunity to act in such a way that will bring about a favorable result presents itself. Indeed, in Book I, Aristotle tells us that the kairos is nothing short of the Good as it manifests itself “in time” (EN 1096a27). However, the kairos in any praxis cannot be judged with absolute precision simply because praxis is always fueled by a desire (ὄρεξις) to bring about this or that result in the future (EN 1139a21-32).16 This future-directed quality of desire produces indeterminability in making judgments about ethical actions because, as Aristotle states dramatically, “the future is hidden from us [τὸ μέλλον ἀφανὲς ἡμῖν ἐστίν]” (EN 1101a19). The key word here is aphanes, which is related to phainein, meaning literally ‘to bring to light, cause to appear.’ As immersed in human praxis, ethical judgment has to do with what remains at the moment in the future, that is, with what does not fully come to light, but in a sense presents itself as hidden or obscure.17 Therefore, phronêsis must be understood as a power by which one looks properly toward what does not appear, toward what remains hidden because in the future, and makes good ethical decisions precisely by doing so. One who possesses this power of judgment, the phronimos, must be adept at what Aristotle calls “deliberation [βουλεύεσθαι].” But here again, deliberation is employed exclusively …in those matters that for the most part happen in a certain way, but are unclear in their outcome [ἀδήλοις δὲ πῶς ἀποβήσεται] and very indeterminate [ἀδιόριστον], things of import concerning which we draw others into our deliberations [συμβούλους δὲ παραλαμβάνομεν], not trusting that our own estimation [διαγνῶναι] is sufficient (EN 1112b8-12). I will return later to the need for deliberating together with others. For now, let us simply acknowledge that the proper mode of thinking about what must be done in a situation where action is called for is what Aristotle calls here “deliberation,” which considers the particular means by which something can be brought about by us (EN 1112b11-12 and 1112a30-31). However, because of the future outcome to which our desire is as such related, it would seem that the conclusion of deliberation, a decision to take action, should 15
On the usage of the term kairos not only in Aristotle’s Ethics, but in general, cf. Aubenque 1963, 95-105. Plato’s Socrates addresses this future-directed quality of human desire in discussing erôs, at Symp. 200a201a. 17 This, along with the law of the excluded middle, is precisely what produces the problem of the truth value of the statement, “There will be a sea-battle tomorrow.” For, although the statement will have been necessarily either true or false, it is now only contingently so. For this discussion, see De Int. 9. Important for the above is Aristotle’s rejection there of determinism as an absurdity. 16
6 remain in some way undecided or open in order to reflect the irremediable obscurity of its subject matter. For Aristotle, then, the deliberating phronimos looks to the kairos as a possibly favorable opportunity to act, the true character of which will not appear until the obscurity of the future dissolves into the clarity of the present.18 I.B. Phronêsis and the Past— Ethos, Êthos , Êthikê The phronimos is not characterized by his or her deliberative ability alone, however, but by his or her “good deliberation [εὐβουλία].” For phronêsis is by definition a power for achieving good (EN 1140b20-22), whereas one can deliberate effectively about the means by which to achieve a disastrous or even a despicable aim (EN 1142b18-22). Thus, phronêsis always entails deliberating well about the means toward the proper aim (EN 1142b28-34). We know from the passage cited in the introduction that the proper aim is set for the deliberating phronimos by what Aristotle calls the “ethical virtue,” to which phronêsis is always bound (EN 1144b20-21, 30-32). Let us look more closely at this. ‘Ethical virtue’ here translates the Greek phrase ‘êthikê aretê,’ which is the virtue or excellence of one’s character or way of life. Determining what precisely this is and how it is either good or bad is the central problem of Aristotle’s Ethics and his analysis is grounded in a fundamental observation. He writes of êthikê that it “comes to be out of habits [εξ ἕθους], and has indeed derived its name, with a slight variation in form, from that word [απὸ τοῦ ἕθους]” (EN 1103a17-19).19 That is, if one lengthens the initial epsilon of the word ethos into an eta, one forms êthos. And if one then changes its form, the word ‘êthikê’ is the result. The etymological connection observed here by Aristotle opens up a complex of related concepts corresponding to the terms ethos, êthikê, and the middle term that connects them, êthos. This middle term can mean both ‘custom, usage’ and ‘moral character,’ but its first meaning is a ‘familiar location, a haunt, or a dwelling place where one has become accustomed to living.’20 Of course, an etymological connection is not in and of itself sound evidence of conceptual relation, but it might spur us to ask, in what way are habit and character bound together by the notion of a dwelling place? In order to answer, we must first ask what a human being’s essential dwelling place might be. The oft-quoted definition in Aristotle’s Politics points us toward an answer. A human is said there to be “by nature a political animal [πολιτικὸν ζῷον]” (Pol. 1253a4), thus the place where a human being as essentially politikos properly lives must be something like a polis, which Aristotle understands to be a specific kind of koinônia or ‘community’ (Pol. 1252a4-5). Further, this 18
And not even then, for the present moment will once again be affected by the indeterminacy of its future. This is clear from the difficulty Aristotle sees in following Solon’s advice to “look to the end [τέλος ὅραν]” in evaluating whether one has achieved eudaimonia (EN 1100a10-1101b9). Because the future remains always indeterminate, but as such determines the character of the present, Solon suggests that one must wait until the individual’s death in order to determine if he or she has achieved eudaimonia. Aristotle, however, is compelled to extend this limit, because an individual’s eudaimonia is not individual, but always includes one’s family and friends, necessitating that the assessment of one’s condition must be extended to include the fortunes of surviving companions. Thus, this oddly lengthy discussion can be explained by the fact that it introduces in the very first book of the Ethics the essentially future-directed quality of human life as praxis and its bearing on ethical judgment. 19 There seems every reason to believe that Aristotle’s etymological connection is correct. See the entry for ἤθος in Liddel and Scott 1891/1997. The same fundamental observation is also made at MM 1185b381186a7. 20 Latin expresses this same connection with ‘habitus’ and ‘habitare,’ from which English derives its ‘habit’ and ‘habitat,’ and German does the same with ‘Gewohnheit’ and ‘wohnen.’ On this connection, cf. K. Held (forthcoming), ch. III.
7 is so “by nature [φύσει],” which here entails that living with other human beings is not a matter of choice or decision for us; rather, we are qua humans related to others, with whom we live in some kind of community.21 However, as Aristotle asks in the Politics, “When are human beings, living in the same place, to be regarded as a single polis? What is the limit?” He is asking here, what constitutes our essentially communal dwelling place? His response—“Certainly not the wall of the city” (Pol. 1276a25-26). That is, the dwelling place in which a community truly lives together is not simply a shared physical location. Rather, I would argue, it must be a kind of disclosure space, i.e. a place wherein we dwell by appearing to and recognizing one another and ourselves as human beings. What this entails becomes clear in Aristotle’s statement at the outset of the Ethics that “in general, with all things that have some function or praxis, their good and their doing well appear to be in their function, and the same seems true of a human being” (EN 1097b26-28, emphasis mine). We should thus ask, what is required of this communal disclosure space if it is to allow for the appearance and recognition of one another as beings performing this human function? It cannot be merely an empty container, an open plane, or a level surface. Rather, to make possible our appearing in our human function, this dwelling place must itself be ordered, or organized toward some good that this function serves. It is only such an ordered disclosure space that would allow for our recognition of one another and ourselves as either performing or failing to perform our essential human function, which is to say, as achieving or failing to achieve aretê or ‘virtue, excellence’ as humans. And indeed, in the Politics, Aristotle writes that a community exists only by “having come together for the sake of some good [πᾶσαν κοινωνίαν ἀγαθοῦ τινὸς ἕνεκεν συνεστηκυῖαν]” (Pol. 1252a2). Therefore, by characterizing the human being as essentially a “political animal,” Aristotle seems to say that we are defined in our essential function, and thus in our aretê, by the good that acts as the ordering end of our communal life.22 What it means to dwell as a human being, then, is nothing more mystifying than appearing to one another and ourselves as members of a community, which is to say in the light of the common good toward which our communal disclosure space is ordered.23 In very concrete terms, this means quite simply that human beings live together according to certain codes of conduct or structures that order our communal life. These codes or structures wherein we first and foremost find ourselves related to the ultimate good are generally those that govern and can usually be discovered at work in the actions that are affirmed and encouraged by our community; indeed they are most immediately present in those actions that have become habitual or customary. Think of the way in which the shared communal good is reflected not only in religious ritual and political ceremony, but even in the most pedestrian of customs, such as greetings or dining etiquette. The ethê or ‘habits, customs’ from which Aristotle says our êthikê arises are nothing other than the actions governed by these usually self-evident codes of conduct, these initially unquestioned ordering structures within which we appear to one another as 21
Cf. Held (forthcoming), ch. IV, on “natural” in relation to Husserl’s conception of the “natürliche Einstellung.” 22 And our education or growing up in the community that is a city or city-state is nothing but being situated in relation to this common good. Aristotle writes, when tracing the manner in which êthikê “prevails or wins through (περιγίνεται)” [EN 1103a17] out of ethê, “What occurs in city-states bears witness—for lawmakers habituate the citizens by making them good” (EN 1103b2-4). 23 Natali also turns to the Politics at this point in his discussion of phronêsis and makes a similar observation. He writes, “Participating in the activities of the polis and aiming at the best possible life is what it means to be a meros, a part, of the city. There can be different actualizations of this “being part”—some better, some worse depending on the type of constitution. In all of them, however, there is participation in the common good” (Natali 2001, 125).
8 excellent or non-excellent members of our community.24 For the most part, we are habituated in these while children, which is precisely the reason that Aristotle speaks of the “supreme importance” (EN 1103b25) of inculcating good customs and habits during childhood.25 Although the language of internal and external is misleading in this context, it might facilitate exposition to say that these habits and customs are also not merely external, for one has always already internalized them through the formation of what Aristotle calls hexeis (EN 1106b36-1107a2). This word derives from the verb exein, meaning ‘to hold or have,’ and it implies then a way in which one is held and holds oneself, a ‘disposition.’ Given the essential definition of the human being as analyzed above, one’s hexis is one’s way of being ‘held’ or ‘disposed’ by and in relation to one’s communal dwelling place, and thus toward the good that orders it, and it is from this disposition that one makes ethical judgments. The êthikê aretê, then, that sets the proper aim or end for the deliberating phronimos, is a species of the genus hexis, one having arisen directly out of good communal habits. What is vital for an understanding of phronêsis is that these habits or customs are, as such, pre-reflective. That is, they are the structures taken for self-evident in the dwelling place in which I find myself, where I am already underway and have been since birth. It is indeed precisely their pre-reflective character that makes them habitual or customary. This entails, then, that ethical judgment, in its proper operation as described by Aristotle, is grounded in a past that it does not subject to reflection. The ethical standards employed by the phronimos arise out of his or her past life, as lived together with others. Through its habituated dispositions, phronêsis, the intellectual power proper to making ethical judgments, is presented by Aristotle as essentially bound to a past that remains properly inaccessible to it. Now, it might be objected here that, although it is difficult, we can and do reflect on our inherited habitual behavior and sometimes succeed in changing it. We do so even when, and sometimes precisely when, the habits or customs in question are deepest and most fundamental to the communal world in which we live. This is certainly true, and, although he often assumes a quite deterministic tone when discussing the effects of past habituation (EN 1114a3-17), Aristotle does seem to allow for this possibility.26 However, although we can turn around toward the past that remains in a sense “behind” us, thereby making our previously self-evident and habitual attitudes objects of investigation, the point here is that habit or custom as such, which is to say, as pre-reflective, is essential to Aristotle’s conception of ethical judgment. In any given situation, judging what is the good or courageous or temperate course of action requires in some sense a disposition not reflected upon, for one relates to these ethical aims only by way of an habituation that disposes one toward them. 24
It may be objected here that Aristotle seems to speak often of habits with regard to individuals. However, this is a question of the Ethics’ focus on the individual, which must then be subordinated ultimately to a focus on the polis. While introducing the method and themes of inquiry in the Ethics, Aristotle writes, “The method of our studies being thus, this is in a sense the study of politics” (EN 1094b11-12). Cf. Pol. 1337a1030, where Aristotle discusses habituation in excellence as the concern of statecraft. Owens 1991 connects êthikê and the “values” of one’s community, although differently than I do here. 25 The importance of habituation in practices and customs during childhood is often emphasized by Aristotle. Cf. EN 1104b12-14 and 1105b19-1106a12, as well as EE 1219b26-1220a13 and 1220b7-20. This is precisely the reason that, “the legislator should direct his attention above all to the education of children; for the neglect of education does harm to the constitution” (Pol. 1337a10-11). 26 This is implicit, insofar as Aristotle speaks of the possibility of choosing to perform a given action, although it does not yet appear clearly choiceworthy according to one’s prior habituation (EN 1105b5-9). Thus, it would be conceivable to re-habituate oneself in this way—“becoming just by doing just actions.”
9 We have come to see, then, that temporality is essential to phronêsis for Aristotle, insofar as it is temporally positioned between two regions of obscurity. As practical judgment, that is, as the realization of desire through a choice to take action, it stands before the kairos, an opportunity whose benefit lies in an ultimately indeterminable future. And because its aim is always set by our êthikê, the standards employed by phronêsis arise out of an unscrutinized past, in the form of our habituated disposition.27 I.C. Temporality as Finitude, Finitude as Belonging To say that ethical judgment for Aristotle is irremediably temporal is to say that, even in properly utilizing the tools Aristotle describes, the ethical agent does not transcend the specific present moment by accessing absolute and universal ethical principles. This temporality might then appear to us as a kind of limitation or finitude of ethical judgment, insofar as the judgment is situated between a pre-reflective past and an indeterminable future. But we will do well to pause and consider our conceptual vocabulary here, for with this talk of finitude and limit, we must be careful. As Paul Ricoeur warns in his Hermeneutics and the Human Sciences, “the negative nuance conveyed by the word ‘finitude’ is [thereby] introduced into the totally positive relation of belonging.”28 That is, speaking of phronêsis in terms of its limitation or finitude can inadvertently imply that there is something lacking in the manner in which it operates. One might think that it is incumbent upon the ethical agent to rid the future of its indefinite character through rational calculation and that in order to be more ethical, one should subject one’s habituated communal êthos to exhaustive reflection, perhaps rejecting some or even all of its customary values on the basis of purely rational principles. However, for Aristotle, these temporal limits are not to be overcome; rather, they require proper acknowledgment. The way in which a human being does this, and thereby accomplishes his or her essential function as a whole29 (EN 1097b22-34), is through the employment of phronêsis. This is to say, phronêsis is by definition a way of thinking and acting in relation to these very temporal limits. Thus, in the recognition of the finitude of ethical judgment, we should even find something positive. And this is precisely what Ricoeur emphasizes with the term belonging in the citation above. Finitude signifies nothing other than the fact that phronêsis, in its most proper employment, is essentially bound and belongs to a particular past and particular future possibilities. Indeed, these temporal limits are seen by Aristotle as resources for the peculiar power that is phronêsis.30 Let us look at precisely how this works. 27
Although not referring to the temporality of phronêsis, Nussbaum does speak of the “continuity of one’s value commitments” in a way that implies a kind of relation to the past, which she also emphasizes as playing a role in phronêsis as ethical perception (Nussbaum 1986, 306). See section II below. 28 Ricoeur 1981, 107. This is followed by the statement, “which is the hermeneutical experience itself,” that is, an experience of “the ontological condition of belonging, whereby he who questions shares in the very thing about which he questions.” Thus, the interpretation of the finitude of ethical judgment in Aristotle here by way of Ricoeur’s notion of belonging, does indeed imply a kind of hermeneutics of ethical value. Hermeneutics, for Ricoeur, entails phenomenology (Ricoeur 1981, 101), insofar as what binds the interpreter and the text together is the movement of appearance. The text is the appearance (phainomenon) of something to the interpreter, the meaning of which demands interpretation. The related phenomenological aspect of my interpretation of ethical judgment in Aristotle is taken up below in section II. 29 This phrase “as a whole” is not insignificant here, for the phronimos is partially overshadowed in the last chapter by the one who lives the theoretikos bios or ‘life of abstract reasoning.’ However, although the theoretical life is the perfection of the most perfect, even god-like part of us, nous, for this very reason it seems not to be the best way of life for a human being as a whole. Cf. EN 1177a12-1178b34. 30 Although not explicitly in this temporal structure, Aubenque does emphasize the essential limits of phronêsis, specifically in its relation to the general, long-standing tendency in Greek thought toward
10
II. Past and Future as the Resources of Ethical Judgment
Phronêsis employs deliberation as the appropriate means by which to make ethical choices without being able to determine their outcomes completely. I argued above that this is accomplished by “looking to the kairos,” which determines and indeed supports the deliberation of the phronimos in the following three ways. First, looking to the kairos entails that the phronimos must be, as mentioned in the passage cited earlier, ready and willing to “deliberate with others [συμβουλεύειν]” (EN 1112b8-12). Given the future limit of phronêsis, one’s own deliberations can never be considered conclusive or complete. For this reason, there can be no dogmatic assertion of the rectitude of one’s own decisions to take a certain course of action, nor any summary rejection of others. This does not, of course, mean that one must accept the opinions of others on what must be done in a given situation as compelling in themselves, for their judgments have no more determinacy than one’s own. Rather, it entails simply that an openness to discussing the views of others concerning the possible outcomes of any given action is essential to phronêsis itself. It might well be objected that this indeterminacy results in the danger of what Aristotle calls “deliberating without end” (EN 1112b34-1113a1). Is this not an especially present danger if one is forced to recognize the infinitely various and conflicting perspectives of others? How can one know when one is finished deliberating if ultimate determination is not possible? These problems, too, are resolved by looking to the kairos in a second sense. That is, the phronimos must also recognize that the possibly advantageous opportunity will be missed if he or she deliberates too long. The nature of the kairos itself, then, as a fleeting moment, demands that a choice be made and action be taken, even given the indeterminacy of the outcome.31 Third, even after action has been taken, phronêsis must remain open to the emergence of yet another kairos. Indeed, what the Greeks called a kairos is not only a fleeting opportunity with an indeterminable outcome, but also an opportunity that as such cannot be anticipated.32 This is the reason that a kairos is so often perceived as the work of the gods, that is, as brought about by forces inaccessible to human calculation.33 The kairos arises out of a complex of conditions that do not admit of conclusively predictive knowledge. Thus, phronêsis must produce a choice, a decision to act, while remaining open to the possibility that further deliberations will be required. The aphanes or ‘unappearing’ future acts to determine the character of phronêsis in these three ways, through the face it presents to us in the form of a kairos. Phronêsis, thus, must be seen, not as seeking to overcome the obscurity entailed by the future-directed character of the human praxis in which it operates, but rather as acknowledging the future as such and converting it into a kind of resource. In order to determine precisely how the past works as a resource for ethical judgment, it is necessary to consider the contested Doctrine of the Mean. As is well known, acknowledging the essential finitude of human power and understanding. He writes, “dans phronêsis continue de résonner l’appel à une «pensée humaine», ἀνθρώπινα φρονεῖν, en quoi se résumait la vieille sagesse grecque des limites.” Also, “ La phronêsis…c’est un savoir qui se mésie de ses propres maléfices et se rappelle constamment soi-même à la consience de ses necessaires limites” (Aubuenque 1963, 152). 31 Aristotle mentions the possibility of missing the hote or the ‘when’ in relation to good deliberation at EN 1142b26-27. 32 This meaning is highlighted by Plato, who compares legislation to steersmanship as a skill or technê that does not eradicate, but instead copes with the unanticipatable: “A steersman may or may not use his skill to seize a kairos in a storm, should one offer itself” (Laws, 709c). 33 Cf. e.g. Hecabe, 593, where Euripides uses kairos to mean a good fortune granted by the gods, which thus cannot be anticipated.
11 according to this doctrine, ethical virtue is observed by Aristotle to be a hexis or a ‘disposition,’ which is characterized as a mean between two extremes, the vice of excess and the vice of deficiency (EN 1104a12-27, 1106a26-1107a2). But of course, as Aristotle has made clear in Book I, the virtue that is true well-being for a human is “activity according to virtue” (EN 1098b30-1099a30), not its mere possession. Thus, as Aristotle writes, “virtue is some mean, due to being able to hit the intermediate [στοχαστική γε οὖσα τοῦ μέσου]” (EN 1106b27-28), specifically peri tas praxeis or ‘as concerns actions.’ The good deliberation of the phronimos must be the determination of the mean course between doing too much and doing too little. True virtue or excellence as a human being is acting moderately. However, as Aristotle makes perfectly clear, the doctrine does not prescribe a mathematical measure, which could be easily determined in any situation by halving the difference between the most and the least of whatever is in question (EN 1106a27-b5). Rather, we must determine the mean in every situation, as Aristotle says, “relative to us [πρὸς ἡμᾶς]” (EN 1106a36). As W.K.C. Guthrie objects, it seems that “once one has deserted the mathematical concept of the mean, the doctrine is of little practical value…it amounts to little more than ‘act as you should act.’”34 C.M. Bowra states flatly that, “when Aristotle seeks to explain the several virtues as Means between opposite extremes, he fails to convince us either in logic or in experience. Such a doctrine as the Mean works well enough if we are already persuaded…”35 To be sure, it does seem fair to ask along with such critics, with what measure does this Doctrine of the Mean ultimately provide us? The answer to this question lies in the simple fact that Aristotle does not intend the doctrine of the Mean to provide us with a measure. Rather, the doctrine gives us a method for coming to see the already measured action. Let us take the courageous act as an example. In a dangerous situation, by consulting the extremes of doing too much (rashness) and too little (cowardice), which we already hold to be and can recognize easily as vicious and non-choiceworthy acts, we bring to light the choiceworthy character of the intermediate action.36 That is, we allow it simply to appear more clearly as courageous. In the words of Ingemar Düring, the Doctrine of the Mean is “correctly understood as a method of giving a phenomenological description of virtue and vice.”37 It is imperative that we understand this important observation properly. Although Düring offers little more than this comment, we can reason in the following way. A phenomenological description is a way of describing appearances such that what is already appearing becomes clearer. Thus, if Aristotle does indeed intend the Doctrine of the Mean to function as a method of quasi-phenomenological description, and I think he does, the 34
Guthrie 1981, 355-56. Indeed, Aristotle himself even seems to acknowledge this about the Doctrine at EN 1138b25-29. 35 Bowra 1957, 46. Aristotle provokes this concern also with his often circular formulations of how to act virtuously, e.g. EN 1105b5-9. On the seemingly unhelpful character of the Doctrine of the Mean, see also Welton and Polansky 1995, Hursthouse 1977/78, and J. Barnes’ Introduction to Thompson 1976, 25. 36 See Natali 2002, 35-6, for an excellent, common sense discussion of precisely this aspect of the Mmean’s function. He writes, “It is immediately clear when one overreacts, i.e. when an emotional reaction is too strong or too weak; it is more difficult to decide when the emotional reaction is right” (Natali 2002, 35). However, Natali then goes on to say, seemingly contradicting what is implied by this fine observation, that “the theory of the mean is mainly a method used by the philosopher…It is not, generally, a method used by men who act in order to decide on what to do” (36). I disagree, as will become clear below. 37 Düring 1966, 448. Although Düring does not put forth a phenomenological interpretation of Aristotle in general, he does see the significance of the phrase “for us” in the presentation of the Doctrine of the Mean. Indeed, he sees this introduction as Aristotle’s original contribution to a Platonic doctrine of the right measure gestured to not only at Pol. 284d-e, but also in Plato’s lost, but much-discussed, public lecture Peri t’agathou (discussed by Aristotle at Top. 113a5-8, 123b27-30, and 142a16-21). Düring writes, “Dies (das nicht rein arithmetische Verhältnis des Mehr und Weniger) ist Platons Lehre in Peri t’agathou und in Staatsmann, phänomenologisch angewendet, aber ohne Platons ontologischen Ansatz” (Düring 1966, 449).
12 available courageous action that becomes clear through the mean’s employment must always already be appearing to one as courageous, and so, as good. Thus, by employing this method, the phronimos would not construct or even apply, still less justify, a universal ethical truth. Rather, he or she merely allows the courageous and choiceworthy character of the given action to appear more clearly by contrasting it with its extremes. This conception of the purely clarifying, phenomenological function of the Mean Doctrine accords with Aristotle’s frequent comparisons of phronêsis to a kind of aisthêsis or ‘perception’ (EN 1109b23-27, 1113a1, 1142a26-1142b6).38 If phronêsis is the perception of particular possible actions as good or choiceworthy, then these are necessarily already appearing to one as such, which is to say as measured. By what, then, are these acts always already being measured? In their appearance to us, they are measured insofar as the particular act appears as serving to achieve a given telos or ‘aim,’ or some “mark [σκοπὸς]” toward which the one with the orthos logos looks (EN 1138b21-32).39 But what is this orthos logos? Is it, as Reeve and others have suggested, an argument grounded in an epistemic knowledge of atemporal ethical universals? We must ask what kind of grasp the phronimos has of this good, this aim, this mark, in light of which a particular action appears in his or her world. Our consideration of êthikê above provides the answer. That in relation to which a given act can appear as “the good deed” is nothing other than the good that gathers together and orders the communal dwelling place in which we are held and hold ourselves through our habituated disposition. Aristotle makes clear the role of the well-habituated disposition in this kind of ethical perception, writing, There is no phronêsis without this power [οὐκ ἄνευ τῆς δυνάμεως ταύτης]. Phronêsis cannot come to be in this eye of the soul [τῷ ὄμματι τούτῳ γίνεται τῆς ψυχῆς] without virtue…For practical syllogisms have a major premise of the form, “Since the end and what is best [τὸ τέλος καὶ τὸ ἄριστον] is so and so”…but this end or best thing does not appear except to the good human being [τοῦτο δ’ εἰ μὴ τῷ ἀγαθῷ οὐ φαινεται]. (EN 1144a29-34, emphasis mine) What is striking here is that Aristotle describes the habituated disposition as itself a dunamis or enabling ‘power,’ which contributes essentially to the perceptive power of phronêsis in the “eye of the soul.”40 And it does so explicitly by allowing the telos or what is best to appear (φαίνεσθαι).41 I would like to suggest that the “right logos” with which the phronimos operates should be understood in the sense heard in the Latin translation, ratio or ‘relation.’ With the introduction of the model of the practical syllogism here, Aristotle articulates two elements, which the phronimos by way of good deliberation comes to view
38
This aisthêsis is also equated with a form of nous that functions “in practical matters [ἐν ταῖς πρακτικαῖς].” It is a special form of nous because it grasps ultimates, but in the specific sense of ta eschata or ‘the last things, the ultimate particulars,’ not the ultimately first and indemonstrable definitions on which epistêmê is based. Cf. EN 1143a35-b6 and De an. 433a16-17 for a discussion of this practical nous. On phronêsis in relation to aisthêsis, cf. Olmstead 1948 and Fortenbaugh 1964. 39 For a discussion of the orthos logos, cf. P. Ricoeur 1997, 14-20. 40 Departing from his usual occulocentrism, Aristotle also compares the “sense” of the phronimos to a musical ear, being pleased by what is good, just, etc. and pained by their opposites in the way a musical person is pleased or pained by the melodic and unmelodic respectively (EN 1170a11, 1173b29-3). 41 Cf. Achtenberg’s fine discussion of the Mean (Achtenberg 2002, 97-122), as well as of the perception of particulars as “salient,” by which she means they present themselves as manifestly choiceworthy (Achtenberg 2002, 2).
13 in their proper relation.42 He or she perceives the particular possible act (the minor premise) in light of a good aim, which serves as an archê or a ‘principle’ (the major premise). By combining these in the right relation, a conclusion is produced, which is strictly speaking the performance of the “good deed” itself. 43 However, we have not yet explained the precise nature of this grasp of the aim or principle in light of which the particular act appears to the phronimos as good. In Book I of the Ethics, Aristotle writes, “Of principles [ἀρχῶν], some come to be viewed by the mind [θεωροῦνται] by way of induction, some by way of perception [αἰσθήσει], some by way of habituation [ἐθισμῷ]” (EN 1098b2-4). The ethical archai of the phronimos in ethical action are of the third variety, opening the eye of the soul only by way of his or her habituated disposition. Thus, although phronêsis is indeed the power of perceiving the particular act as a “good deed,” its ability to perceive this is contingent upon the light provided by the communal dwelling place. A well-habituated disposition is what situates one in this light, insofar as one originally relates to the ultimate good not by asking or, much less, by answering the question, What is the ultimate good in human life? Rather, one is always already related to the ultimate good in being held by and holding oneself according to the structures or codes of conduct in one’s dwelling place. And it is in relation to this ultimate good of eudaimonia or ‘truly doing well’ as a human being, that every mediate aim appears (EN 1094a19-22). Thus, the êthikê aretê that “provides the aim” for ethical judgment does not entail an epistemic grasp of a universal ethical principle. Rather, it supplies the aim as what I would like to call an ‘habitual archê,’ a principle for ethical judgment in the sense of an aim or good implicit in the customs and habits of one’s communal dwelling place.44 It is a proper relation to these habitual archai that the deliberating phronimos perceives in particular acts.45 42
Observe EN 1144b26-28, where he writes, “Virtue is not only according to right reason [κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον]; it is rather a disposition with right reason [μετὰ τοῦ ὀρθοῦ λόγου]. But right reason is phronêsis regarding things of this sort.” This deferral entails at least that the logos itself in ethical decisions relies on precisely that dunamis upon which phronêsis relies—a well-habituated disposition. 43 In De motu animalium, Aristotle makes clear that these two moments are “combined” in motivating action, and he even speaks as though this is a purely analytic division of what properly occurs together. He writes that the agent “does not stop to consider the one premise in the least, the one that is clear…and what we do without thought we do quickly. And when a human being is actually using perception or imagination or thought toward a ‘for the sake of which,’ what he desires he does at once” (MA 701a7-23). Given this, it seems that, in analyzing human action into the separate moments of the syllogism, Aristotle has momentarily abandoned his practice of rigorously describing phenomena as a phusikos, opting rather to explain them as a logikos. However, Aristotle also wants to maintain that the deliberation of the phronimos is conscious and takes time (EN 1142b15-16 and 1142b26-28). Cf. De anima 434a15-21 and EN 114615-21. 44 Implicit here is the claim that, although phronêsis does not decide on its aims, it nevertheless considers them and can clarify them by bringing them into relation with particulars. On this, cf. Wiggins 1975/1976. Given this, EN 1141b14-15 (“But phronêsis is not only of universals [οὐδ’ ἐστὶν ἡ φρόνησις τῶν καθόλου μόνον]”), is not inconsistent with the interpretation here presented, although it might seem so if one consulted only Rackham’s translation, which reads, “Nor is Prudence a knowledge of general principles only” (Rackham’s 1934). As he does with hulê and morphê or dunamis and energeia, Aristotle often uses to katholou and to eschaton in a relative sense. On the relative use of the latter, cf. Guthrie 1981, 186. 45 This is not to say that for Aristotle virtue is culturally relative, however. In the very first book of the Ethics, Aristotle gestures to the long-standing sophistic debate as to whether virtues are “by nature [φύσει],” or “by convention [νόμῳ]” (EN 1094b15-16), clearly favoring the former. And yet, although virtues are not merely conventional, they nevertheless exist in a world that is only opened up to us through our pre-reflective habituation in a communal dwelling place. That is, without the habituated disposition of “ethical virtue,” phronêsis has no access to the good. Indeed, this distinction should not be taken as equivalent to the modern distinction between objective and subjective. Rather, “by nature” means first and foremost that something arises or comes into being of its own accord, not by our decision or choice. What is good, what is just, and what is virtuous are not up to us, because they are always already aspects of our world, but neither is this world objective, in the sense of being independent of and potentially separable from the manner in which it
14 Thus, according to Aristotle, the sole access that the deliberating phronimos has to ethical principles is via his or her habituation. Insofar as the dunamis of phronêsis relies essentially on the dunamis of the habituated disposition that provides ethical judgment with its aims, the obscure, pre-reflective past acts as a vital resource for ethical judgment.46 Concluding Remarks I hope to have shown here that Aristotle rejects any possibility of grounding ethical judgment via epistêmê, which would mean to ground it with a grasp of necessary, absolute, and thus atemporal, ethical principles. Rather, ethical judgment is presented in the Nicomachean Ethics as essentially temporal. This means first that it remains always open to renewing its deliberations and also open to the perspectives of others, by “looking to the kairos” through which it relates to the future as such. But it is equally related to its past through its êthikê, as its pre-reflective disposition acquired through living together with others according to the habits and customs of a communal dwelling place. Phronêsis, for Aristotle, derives its strange dunamis or ‘power,’ then, not from necessary and atemporal ethical truths, but rather from its relation to the future and to the past, which is to say within its temporal limits.
BIBLIOGRAPHY Achtenberg, D. 2002. Cognition of Value in Aristotle’s Ethics: Promise of Enrichment, Threat of Destruction. Albany: State University of New York Press. Allan, D.J. 1953. ‘Aristotle’s Account of the Origin of Moral Priniciples’ Actes du Xie Congrés Internationale de Philosophie, xii: 120-7. Aubenque, P. 1963. La prudence chez Aristote. Paris: Quadrige/Presses Universitaires de France. Barnes, J. 1980. ‘Aristotle and the Methods of Ethics’ Revue internationale de philosophie 34: 490-511. Bowra, C.M. 1957. The Greek Experience. New York: The New American Library. Broadie, A. 1974. ‘Aristotle on Rational Action’ Phronesis 19: 70-80. Cooper, J. 1975. Reason and the Human Good in Aristotle. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Düring, I. 1966. Aristoteles: Darstellung und Interpretation seines Denkens. Heidelberg: Carl Winter (Bibliothek der klassischen Altertumswissenschaften). Fortenbaugh, W. W. 1964. ‘Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Virtue and its Perceptive Role’ Transactions of the American Philological Association 95: 77-87. —. 1975. Aristotle on Emotion. London: Duckworth. Gauthier, R.A. 1951. Magnanimité. L’Idèal de la grandeur dans la philosophie païenne et dans la théologie chrétienne. Paris: Vrin. appears to us human beings. In short, for Aristotle, this world is neither purely subjective (or intersubjective), nor is it objective, but is rather a strictly phenomenal world, the world that is taken as presenting itself in its appearances to us. 46 This provides, incidentally, a kind of response to an Enlightenment-based critique of all traditional opinions and values as groundless and suspect sources for ethical and political decisions. According to Aristotle, as interpreted here, the critic simply has the wrong measure in hand. Ethical judgment, insofar as it employs phronêsis, cannot be expected to ground itself a priori or absolutely by way of reason, for its peculiar dunamis derives in part from a pre-reflectively acquired, habituated disposition. To call for a radical severing of ethical principles from their past, from their tradition, is a failure to recognize the basic temporal structure of ethical judgment.
15 Gadamer, H.-G. 1960, 1990. Wahrheit und Methode: Grundzüge einer philosophischen Hermeneutik. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck). Gill, C. 2003. ‘Plato’s Republic: An Ideal Culture of Knowledge’ 37-55 in W. Detel and P. Scholz ed. Ideal and Culture of Knowledge in Plato. Stuttgart: F. Steiner. Guthrie, W.K.C. 1981. A History of Greek Philosophy, Vol. VI, Aristotle: An Encounter. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Held, Klaus. (Forthcoming). The Phenomenology of the Political World. Hursthouse, R. 1977/78. ‘A False Doctrine of the Mean’ Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 81: 57-72. Jackson, R. 1941. ‘Rationalism and Intellectualism in the Ethics of Aristotle” Mind 51: 343-60. Klein, S. 1988. ‘An Analysis and Defense of Aristotle’s Method in Nicomachean Ethics I and X’ American Philosophical Quarterly 8: 63-72. Liddel, H.G., and Scott R. 1891/1997. Greek-English Lexicon. Ninth Edition. Oxford: Clarendon Press. McDowell, J. 1979. ‘Virtue and Reason’ Monist 62: 331-350. Michelakis, E.M. 1961. The Operations of Practical Reason. Athens: Cleisiounis. Monan, J.D. 1968. Moral Knowledge and its Methodology in Aristotle. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Natali, C. 2001. The Wisdom of Aristotle. Trans. G. Parks. Albany: State University of New York Press. Nussbaum, M. 1986. The Fragility of Goodness. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Olmstead, E.H. 1948. ‘The ‘Moral Sense’ Aspect of Aristotle’s Ethical Theory’ American Journal of Philology 69: 42-61, Owens, J., C.Ss.R. 1991. ‘Value and Practical Knowledge in Aristotle’ 149-155 in ed. J. Anton and A. Preus Essays in Greek Philosophy IV: Aristotle’s Ethics. Albany: State University of New York Press. Rackham, H. trans. 1934. Nicomachean Ethics. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Reeve, C.D.C. 1974. The Practices of Reason: Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ricoeur, P. 1997. “Á la gloire de la phronêsis,” 13-22 in ed. J.-Y. Chateau La vérité pratique: Aristote, Éthique à nicomaque, Livre VI. Paris: Vrin. —. 1981. Hermeneutics and the Human Sciences. Trans. and ed. J.B. Thompson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stewart, J.A. 1892. Notes on the Nicomachean Ethics of Aristotle II. (Oxford: Clarendon Press. Thompson, J.A.K. trans. 1976. The Ethics of Aristotle: The Nicomachean Ethics. Introduction by J. Barnes. London: Penguin Classics. Welton, W.A., and Polansky, R. 1995. ‘The Viability of Virtue in the Mean’ Apeiron 28: 79-102. Wiggins, D. 1975/76. ‘Deliberation and Practical Reason,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 76: 29-51.
