Virtue Ethics

Nafsika Athanassoulis

• Publisher: Bloomsbury Academic
• Year: 2012
• Print ISBN: 9781441126726
• eBook ISBN: 9781441162878
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Philosophy
• Subtopic: Ethics & Moral Philosophy

What is 'virtue'?
And how can we lead moral lives? Exploring how contemporary moral philosophy has led to a revival of interest in the concepts of 'virtue', 'character' and 'flourishing', this is an accessible and critical introduction to virtue ethics. Comprising of three parts, the first part examines the work of key contemporary thinkers such as Elizabeth Anscombe and Bernard Williams in calling for a change of direction in moral philosophy and adopting a different approach to answering questions such as 'How should I live my life?'. The second part develops a detailed account of Aristotelian eudaimonistic virtue ethics, which considers the virtuous agent to be an ideal and highlights the importance of moral perception and practical wisdom. In the final part, Athanassoulis explores new challenges to virtue ethics from psychology, discusses the practical implications of educating for the virtues and finally considers the neo-Kantian response to virtue ethics. Virtue Ethics also includes chapter summaries and guides to further reading throughout to help readers explore, understand and develop a critical perspective towards this important school of contemporary ethical thought.

PART ONE

Virtue ethics as a new alternative

CHAPTER ONE

Virtue ethics, a revived alternative

1. A small revolution

In 1958, the philosopher Elizabeth Anscombe published a paper that was to change the shape of modern moral philosophy. Until that time, the main debate in moral theory concerning normative theories was between proponents of, broadly conceived, deontological theories and proponents of, broadly conceived, consequentialist theories. As a very general definition, normative theories try to provide some account of what is morally good and right. One of the ways of classifying different normative theories is to divide them between those that give an account of what is right in terms of producing good consequences (broadly speaking, consequentialist theories) and are therefore outcome-based, and those that give an account of what is right in terms of the agent’s motives and intentions and are therefore agent-based (broadly speaking, deontological theories). So if you think about an act as a whole (including motives, choices, acting/omitting, results, etc.), consequentialists will focus on an assessment of the results, the consequences of what was done, whereas deontologists will focus on an assessment on what was intended, for example, whether the agent acted from duty. This means that consequentialists and deontologists may come up with entirely different accounts of what we ought to do and whether we should hold people responsible or not for what they have done. For example, if I set out to help a friend by introducing her to someone she likes but unintentionally embarrass her, a deontologist may conclude that what I did was right as I acted out of friendship, but a consequentialist may conclude that what I did was wrong as the result was unpleasant for my friend. This type of debate, whether rightness resides in consequences or intentions, had dominated the main discussions in ethical theory until that time (and had done so, of course, in a manner much more complicated and sophisticated than that suggested by this very simplified example), but Anscombe’s paper was to change all this.

Instead of highlighting the differences between consequentialism and deontology, Anscombe focused on a feature that she claimed these two types of theories shared, namely their reliance on rules. She argued that recourse to rules was the wrong conception of ethics. In effect, she advised for a small revolution in the way we think about moral philosophy.

What deontology, consequentialism and most of modern moral philosophy share, according to Anscombe, is a ‘law conception of ethics’. That is, a legal understanding of morality, such that ‘ought’, in a moral sense, is equivalent to ‘is obliged to’, in a legal sense. The content of the law and the specific obligations it creates may differ, so that, Utilitarians for example will rely on the Greatest Happiness principle, whereas Kantians will focus on the Categorical Imperative, but the structure of the moral theories will be the same. They will all assume this idea of morality as a legalistic commandment which is captured in the notions of obligation and duty. So while Utilitarians for example would advise us to perform the action that brings about the best consequences for the greatest number and Kantians would tell us to act only in accordance with maxims that we can will should become universal laws, which are clearly two different ways of acting, the type of advice is the same; they are both about what we are obliged to do in the sense of a law or binding regulation.

The main problem with law conceptions of ethics is that they make little sense in the absence of a legislator (Anscombe rejects the Kantian appeal to ‘self-legislation’ and interprets deontological theories as suffering from the same weaknesses as other conceptions of law ethics). Without a legislator imposing his will, the sense of obligation that is expressed in the moral ‘ought’ comes under question. This is a very serious objection. The very notion of ‘normativity’ that normative theories are supposed to account for and explain, involves the idea of a moral ought, of being, in some way, bound to behave in a particular manner. To see this, consider the following distinctions. ‘Can I open the window?’ is a question about one’s abilities, that is, ‘Am I strong enough to open the window? Am I tall enough to open the window?’ etc., while ‘May I open the window?’ is a question about permission, that is, ‘Am I allowed to open the window?’ which assumes that there is someone who will permit or forbid this act. Pedantic English language teachers the world over delight in such distinctions and many a long-suffering student has had to put up with a hot stuffy room because he asked a question about his ability to open the window rather than obtaining permission to do so! In the same way, ‘Ought I (or should I) open the window?’ is an entirely different type of question. You may wonder here why opening the window is a moral matter in the first place, but a plausible scenario can be construed within which the ‘ought/should’ question makes sense. Assume you are walking past a primary school when you notice the building is on fire, the exits are blocked, but there is a ground floor, large window which you could open (the ability question is answered here), without any risk or cost to yourself and which would provide an immediate means of escape for a class of children. In this case ‘Ought I open the window?’ makes a lot of sense – in fact, most people would immediately and without thought answer ‘yes, I should do so’ and feel bound to do something about the situation (should you come across people who are tempted to answer ‘no’ to this kind of question, beware you may be in the presence of a psychopath!).

Moral questions then are questions about normativity, about the force of morality, about why we feel bound to act in a moral manner, but according to Anscombe, by seeing morality as a set of laws which are not backed up by the authority of a legislator, we cannot make sense of the idea of morality binding us to do anything; therefore, neither consequentialism nor deontology can really account for morality’s force. Consequentialists and deontologists can frame their advice in the shape of laws, but since morality is not governed by a legislator, they can neither convince us to follow this advice, nor can they account for why we generally find moral demands to be binding.

Instead of relying on this legalistic conception of ethics, Anscombe encourages us to reconsider the way we do ethics, to set aside law conceptions of ethical theories as implausible and revive elements of Aristotelian theory. Specifically, she calls for a more central role for the concept of ‘virtue’, for reviving the importance of flourishing in understanding the role of morality in human lives and posits a radical claim to suspend all discussions of moral philosophy until we can achieve a better insight into moral psychology. These suggestions ask for a veritable revolution in the way we do moral philosophy and were, historically, probably one of the first calls for change that would eventually lead to the development of a group of theories that fall under the term ‘virtue ethics’.

Anscombe’s paper is well worth reading because of its veritable revolutionary nature, its passionate and heart-felt arguments against her perception of the status quo in moral debates and for sowing some of the seeds that inspired others to revive Aristotelian ideas that had been largely marginalized up until that time. Her interpretation is by no means faultless; for example, her characterization of Kantian theories is far from charitable. Many of her ideas have in turn been challenged, for example, some contemporary virtue ethicists resist the apparent conflict between the notions of ‘obligation’, ‘duty’ and ‘virtue’; however, the paper’s main appeal remains in its historical role in prompting for change. These calls for change characterize this period in the debate, leading to a growing sense of dissatisfaction with the state of modern moral philosophy at the time. Thus, many of the discussions that were the precursors of modern virtue ethics are about what is wrong with other alternatives, they highlight why discussions of moral theory have taken a wrong term and prompt us to redefine the terms of the debate.

The rest of Part I will consider some of these early calls for a different perspective, the ways in which these early writers sought to distinguish virtue ethics from other normative theories as well as some of the repercussions this thinking had for the ways in which virtue ethics eventually developed into a stand alone, self-contained alternative to deontology and consequentialism.

2. What do we want from ethics?

A good place to start is to ask what we want from ethical enquiries. When we think of ethics, most of us think of practical problems: should I tell my best friend that her partner is cheating on her? Is it unfair to copy from a friend’s essay when I have been too sick to finish my own? Is it permissible for a woman to have an abortion because she is not in a stable relationship and does not want to become a mother? Should higher education be subsidized by the taxpayer for anyone who meets the academic requirements or should Universities be free to charge whatever fees they want in order to attract the students who can afford to pay the most? We expect ethical theories to offer some kind of guidance on how to answer these questions, to help us decide what we should do. This idea is captured in the claim that one of the roles of ethical theories is to be action-guiding, that is, to give us some guidance on what we should do when faced with practical ethical problems.

One of Aristotle’s most interesting insights is that he questions the nature of the guidance we should expect from ethical theories. Right at the start of the Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle tells us that the book will be an account of ethics and he wonders what kind of answer we should expect from an ethical inquiry. If we are going to be asking ethical questions, what kind of answers should we expect? This is not so much a question about the content of the answers, but about what kind of answers we should expect to find. Aristotle’s response to his own question is that ethics is an imprecise science, so the answer can only be as precise as the subject matter allows, that is in this case, not very precise. If you investigate an imprecise subject matter, you should expect to arrive at an imprecise answer. Ethics involves so much difference and variety that the answers to ethical problems will be diverse and vary both from situation to situation and from person to person. Aristotle warns us: ‘Our account of this science [the science of politics; Aristotle seems to understand ethics as the introduction to politics, which in turn he understands as the science of acting morally] will be adequate if it achieves such clarity as the subject-matter allows; for the same degree of precision is not to be expected in all discussions, any more than in all the products of handicraft. Instances of morally fine and just conduct – which is what politics investigates – involve so much difference and variety that they are widely believed to be such only by convention and not by nature’.¹

It’s important to note here that this is not a relativist claim. Relativism is a meta-ethical position which makes certain claims about moral truth, namely that there is no such thing as moral truth. In the same way that there is no truth in matters of taste, there are merely individual preferences (e.g. there is no truth of the matter about whether marmite is objectively tasty or not, it’s just that I subjectively hate it and you subjectively love it – both entirely valid, individual responses to a matter of personal taste), there is no truth in moral matters, merely individual preferences. However, this is not Aristotle’s claim here. Suggesting that the answer to ethics may be complex, context dependent and difficult to discover is entirely different from claiming that there is no answer. For Aristotle, there is a correct answer to moral matters, but it is complex and not easily captured in a rule, so in this sense, deontologists, consequentialists and Aristotle are all in agreement about the nature of moral truth, they all think it’s out there! What they disagree about is what kind of shape this truth might take.

3. How should I live my life?

Inspired by this Aristotelian insight into the nature of ethics as a discipline and the kind of answer we should expect when discussing topics in ethics, early virtue ethicists suggested that it is a mistake for ethical inquiries to ask ‘What should I do?’, instead the fundamental questions in ethics should be ‘How should I live my life? What kind of person should I be?’.

The first question, ‘What should I do?’, focuses on a specific situation, what should I do now, when faced with this problem? It sees ethics as a way of responding to specific, problematic situations. Both deontological and consequentialist theories can be interpreted as attempting to answer this kind of question. Think of the Kantian Categorical Imperative; it is a universal rule that is supposed to give an answer to how we should act when faced with different ethical problems. The Categorical Imperative is a test of proposed maxims, so when faced with an ethical problem we should formulate a proposed course of action, which is captured in the maxim and then the Categorical Imperative gives us an answer as to what we should (or should not) do; similarly is the case with the Utilitarian Greatest Happiness Principle. The Greatest Happiness Principle tells that in all sorts of different situations we should do whatever brings about the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people. As long as we can calculate the expected utility of the consequences of our actions, we can figure out what to do. However, virtue ethicists are worried about this approach as a way of thinking about ethics.

If ethics is an imprecise, varied and diverse subject matter, then one rule or principle cannot be successfully applied to every varied situation we come across, and we cannot expect ethical enquiries to give us concrete answers for specific situations. Consider the following example: take the ethical rule ‘Never lie’; this sounds like good advice, it is both helpful, in that it tells you what not to do, and, on the face of it, plausible. Now, consider someone who has decided to follow this rule and is now auditioning to play the role of Romeo for his local amateur theatre group which involves proclaiming his undying love for Juliet. In reality, our actor intensely dislikes the woman playing Juliet, so proclaiming his love for her would be untrue; therefore, he refuses to speak the words as he intends to live his life according to the rule ‘Never lie’. This sounds a bit weird, something has gone wrong. Surely acting is pretending within a certain context, that is, a context where both actors and audience are ‘in’ on the pretence. Under such circumstances, telling Juliet he loves her is not a lie, so our original rule should be modified to explain that acting does not really count as lying.

Having overcome this little hurdle, our aspiring ethicist turns up for his day job as a nurse, where he is asked by a colleague to break some bad news to a patient and ‘persuade’ the patient to follow a particular course of treatment. The process of persuading the patient involves telling him about only one of two possible treatments and allowing him to believe that this is his only option. Does this count as lying? Our aspiring ethicist has not been asked to utter an untruth, but merely to ‘forget’ to give all the information, leading the patient to think by his silence that there are no other options. Our aspiring ethicist is now beginning to think that he might be getting himself into trouble; when he first came across his moral rule, ‘Never lie’, he thought he had succeeded in finding a good guide to being ethical, but now it looks like he will have to stop and consider what counts as lying, how lying relates to other concepts such as ‘misleading’, ‘misdirecting’ and ‘non-disclosure’, which also leads him to wonder about the role of intent in one’s expressions.

Our aspiring ethicist heads home feeling that he has taken on more than he bargained for when he decide to follow this one, simple ethical rule, so to take his mind off things he accepts a dinner invitation at his friend’s house. His friend, Eddie, has recently divorced his wife and is living on his own for the first time in a very long while. Eddie’s confidence in himself and his abilities to cope on his own has been severely tested by the unpleasant divorce and the changes it has led in his life. Our aspiring ethicist is Eddie’s first ever dinner guest and Eddie is keen to impress with his new culinary skills and ability to cope on his own. Unfortunately, Eddie is a poor cook and the meal is quite tasteless. When Eddie, enthusiastically, asks our aspiring ethicist ‘Did you enjoy the meal?!!!’ the aspiring ethicist is stuck. Saying ‘yes’ would be an outright lie, but surely his friend needs a bit of encouragement and a little lie would not hurt anyone?

You may agree with our aspiring ethicist that his moral rule should be suspended for the moment, or you may not, in a sense it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is the realization that if ethics is imprecise, detailed and vague, it cannot be captured in a rigid, universally applicable rule. Our ethicist thought he was onto a winner in the sense that sticking to his rule would give him an answer to what he should do in ethical situations; however, this quickly proved not to be the case. The rule was not sensitive to ...

Table of contents

• Cover-Page
• Half-Title
• Series
• Title
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Acknowledgements
• Abbreviations, sources and translations
• Introduction
• PART ONE Virtue ethics as a new alternative
• PART TWO Virtue ethics comes of age
• PART THREE Current developments in virtue ethics
• Conclusion
• Notes
• Bibliography
• Index