Reeve (2024) Introduction to Nicomachean Ethics (1)

Aristotle (2024). Nicomachean Ethics. Second Edition. Translated With Introduction and Notes By C. D. C. Reeve Indianapolis/Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Company.

 

1. What the Nicomachean Ethics Is

The NE shares three of its central books (5–7) with another treatise thought to be authentic, the Eudemian Ethics (perhaps so called because it was transcribed or edited by Eudemus, a Lyceum member), which is widely, though not universally, believed to pre-date the NE. A third work, the so called Magna Moralia, or Great Ethics, is largely authentic in content but is generally thought not to be by Aristotle himself. There are important differences between these works, to be sure, some of them significant, but there is also a massive and impressive overlap in overall perspective. The spuriousness of a fourth short work, On Virtues and Vices, has never been seriously contested.

Aristotle identifies NE as a contribution to “our philosophy of human affairs” (1181b15) and subsequently refers to it as included among “those philosophical works of ours in which we draw distinctions concerning ethical matters” (Pol. 1282b19–20). In the discussion that begins in the opening chapter of the NE and ends in its successor, he says that the methodical inquiry— the methodos—pursued in it is “a sort of politics (politikê)” (NE 1094b11). Since politics is the same state of the soul as practical wisdom (phronêsis), politics is presumably a sort of practical wisdom as well, or some sort of contribution to it (1141b23–24).

 

2. Aristotelian Sciences

Aristotle usually divides the bodies of knowledge he refers to as “sciences” (epistêmai) into three types: theoretical, practical, and productive (crafts). But when he is being especially careful, he also distinguishes within the theoretical sciences between the strictly theoretical ones (astronomy, theology), as we may call them, and the natural ones, which are like the strictly theoretical ones in being neither practical nor productive but are unlike them in consisting of propositions that—though necessary and universal in some sense—hold for the most part rather than without exception:

If all thought is either practical or productive or theoretical, natural science would have to be some sort of theoretical science— but a theoretical science that is concerned with such being as is capable of being moved and with the substance that in accord with its account holds for the most part only, because it is not separable. (Met. 1025b25–1026a28)

When we hear, as we quickly do (NE 1094b14–22), that because the subject matter of politics, which consists of noble, just, and good things and the like, admits of so much difference and variability, its claims hold only for the most part, we should bear in mind that all the natural sciences—which for us are the paradigm cases of science—are in a similar boat. Psychol ogy, though, has an interestingly mixed status, part strictly theoretical, part natural (DA 403a3–b16).

When science receives its focused discussion in the NE, however, Aristotle is explicit that if we are “to speak in an exact way and not be guided by mere similarities” (1139b19), we should not call anything a “science” unless it deals with eternal, entirely exceptionless facts about universals that are wholly necessary and do not at all admit of being otherwise (1139b20–21). Since he is here explicitly epitomizing his more detailed discussion of science in the Posterior Analytics, we should take the latter too as primarily a discussion of science in the exact sense, which it calls epistêmê haplôs—unconditional scientific knowledge. It follows—and we should acknowledge this—that only the strictly theoretical sciences are sciences in the exact sense. Hence, politics is not such a science and neither is physics or biology nor any other natural science.

Having made the acknowledgment, though, we must also register the fact that Aristotle himself mostly does not speak in the exact way, but instead persistently refers to bodies of knowledge other than the strictly theoretical sciences as epistêmai. His division of the epistêmai into theoretical, practical, and productive is a dramatic case in point. But so too is his use of the term epistêmê within the NE, which we first encounter (1094a7) being applied to medicine, shipbuilding, generalship, and household man agement, which are a mix of bodies of practical knowledge (household management) and bodies of productive knowledge (shipbuilding). For that matter, politics itself is introduced in answer to a question about “which of the epistêmai or capacities” (1094a26) has the human good as its proper end or target, and is implicitly identified as a practical science a few lines later (1094b4–5). Even boxing and wrestling can be classed as epistêmai (Cat. 8 10b3–4).

So the interesting question isn’t whether politics is a science, since the answer to that is obvious: it is not a science if we are being absolutely exact about the matter, but it is a science if we allow ourselves to be guided by the similarities between it and the strictly theoretical sciences—or by Aristotle’s own general use of the term epistêmê, on the assumption that he himself was guided by these. The interesting question is, What are these similarities? Just how like a canonical [정전의] or theoretical science is politics?

An Aristotelian science of any sort, including a theoretical one, is a state of the soul, not a body of propositions in a textbook—although the state does involve having a grasp of a set of true propositions (1139b14–16). Some of these propositions are indemonstrable starting-points, which are or are expressed in definitions, while others are theorems demonstrable from these starting-points. We can have scientific knowledge only of the theorems since—exactly speaking—only what is demonstrable can be scientifically known (6.6). Thus, when we read in the Physics that we “should not try to resolve everything but only what is falsely drawn from the relevant starting-points” (185a14–15), it seems to be this notion of a science and of a scientist’s task that is being presupposed.

Yet—in what is clearly another lapse [실수] from exact speaking—Aristotle characterizes “the most exact of the sciences,” which is theoretical wisdom (sophia), as also involving a grasp by understanding (nous) of the truth where the starting- points themselves are concerned (NE 1141a16–18). He does the same thing in the Metaphysics, in which theoretical wisdom is the epistêmê that provides “a theoretical grasp of the primary starting-points and causes”— among which are included “the good or the for-the-sake-of-which” (982b7–10). Indeed, the grasp we have of such starting-points must result in their being “better known” than the theorems we demonstrate from them if we are to have any scientific knowledge of the exact sort at all (NE 1139b34).

How like that is politics? Are there starting-points here too and theo rems demonstrable from them? We might think that this is an easy question to answer. After all, the methodical inquiry the NE employs is a sort of politics, yet it doesn’t seem to include any demonstrations whatsoever. For a demonstration is, among other things, a deductively valid argument that is syllogistic in form, and deductions of any sort are scarcely to be found in the NE. This is also a problem with the majority of Aristotle’s works. People have certainly tried to find elements of demonstration and axiomatic structure in these treatises, as they have in the NE, but the results are somewhat underwhelming. In large part, this is because the search is somewhat misconceived from the outset.

If we think of a science in the exact sense as consisting exclusively of what is demonstrable, as we have seen that Aristotle himself sometimes does, we will be right to conclude that a treatise without demonstrations in it cannot be scientific. But if, as he also does, we include knowledge of starting-points as part of science, we will not be right, since a treatise could contribute to a science not by demonstrating anything but by arguing to the starting-points themselves—an enterprise which couldn’t possibly consist of demonstrations from those starting-points, since these would be circular.

Arguments leading from starting-points and arguments leading to starting-points are different (1095a30–32), we are invited not to forget, just as we are told that happiness (eudaimonia) is a starting-point (1102a2–4); that a major goal of the NE is to give a clear account of what happiness really is, so as to increase our chances of achieving it (1094a22–26); and that because establishing starting-points is “more than half the whole” (1098b7), we should “make very serious efforts to define them correctly” (1098b5–6). We might reasonably infer, therefore, that the NE is a sort of science precisely because it contributes to the correct definition and secure grasp on starting-points without which no science can exist. The same idea might be employed in the case of many of Aristotle’s other treatises. They too, we might suppose, are scientific in just this sense.

But even if politics has starting-points, it still would not be a science unless it were possible to demonstrate theorems from these starting-points. Yet here too we seem to face an obstacle. For Aristotle tells us that we can not demonstrate things whose starting-points admit of being otherwise (1140a33–35), that politics is the same state of the soul as practical wisdom (1141b23–24), and that the starting-points of practical wisdom do admit of being otherwise (1140a30–b4). Elsewhere, though, he allows that there can be demonstrations of what admits of being otherwise provided it holds for the most part—as the starting-points and theorems of politics are said to do (1094b19–22):

What admits of being otherwise is spoken of in two ways: in one, it means what holds for the most part, that is, when the necessity has gaps—for example, a man’s turning gray or growing or decaying, or, in general, what belongs to something by nature (for this does not belong by continuous necessity; for a human being does not exist forever, although if a human being does exist, it belongs either necessarily or for the most part); in the other, it means what is indeterminate, which is what is capable of being thus or not thus—for example, an animal’s walking or an earthquake’s taking place while it is walking, or, in general, what is the result of luck (for it is not more natural for it to be that way rather than the opposite). . . . Science and demonstrative deductions are not concerned with things that are indeterminate, because the middle term is irregular, but there is scientific knowledge of what happens by nature, and arguments and investigations are pretty much concerned with things that are possible in this way. (APr. 32b4–21)

Apparently, then, the notion of a demonstration is a bit like that of a science. Speaking exactly, there are demonstrations only in the theoretical sciences, since—speaking exactly again—these alone are sciences. Speaking less exactly, though, there are also demonstrations in other bodies of knowledge. Thus, we find Aristotle referring to practical demonstrations (NE 1143b2), telling us about practical deductions (1144a31–32), and contrasting what are clearly theoretical deductions with productive ones (1147a25–b1). We hear too about starting-points in politics and about reaching conclusions from them (1094b21–22), and about supposedly having reached some (1098b9–10). Finally—and this is as much a reminder as anything else—if we do not allow there to be demonstrations of what admits of being other wise in the sense of holding for the most part, it isn’t just politics that will lose its putative scientific status; natural science will too.

A penultimate [끝에서 두번째의] problem. Scientific knowledge seems to be exclusively of universals—about what is common to many particulars (NE 1140b31, 1180b15–16). Yet politics, to the extent that it is the same state as—or is a part of—practical wisdom, must also deal with particulars (6.7–8). It seems an easy inference that politics cannot be a science. The first point to make in response is that even theoretical sciences, though they deal with eternal and unchangeable necessary truths about universals and have no grasp “on any of the things from which a human being will come to be happy” (1143b19 20), can be “coincidentally useful to us where many of the necessities of life are concerned” (EE 1216b15–16). [정치학에서 다루는 particulars들이 정치학이 제시하는 지식들과 단순히 우연적 유용성 관계에 있는가?] Knowledge of astronomy, for instance, helped Thales to make a killing in the olive business (NE 1141b4n390).

The second point is that Aristotle allows that sciences dealing with universals can also deal—albeit coincidentally—with (perishable) particulars: “There is neither demonstration nor unconditional scientific knowledge of what is subject to passing away, but only the coincidental sort, because it does not hold of this universally, but at some time (pote) and in some way (pôs)” (APo. 75b24–26). The scientific theorem that all light meats are healthy may enable me to infer that this meat is healthy now, but it doesn’t tell me whether it will still be healthy tomorrow (it may have rotted in the mean time) or whether, though it is healthy for most people, it is healthy for me (I may have a fever that makes meat of any sort a bad choice).

While each of these points does something to take the edge off our problem, even collectively they do not seem to go quite far enough. And the reason they don’t is this: it is quite possible to have scientific knowledge of universals without knowing how to apply it in particular cases, but it is not possible to have practical wisdom—or, therefore, a grasp of politics— without knowing this. In fact, it is almost the other way around:

Nor is practical wisdom knowledge of universals only. On the contrary, it must also know particulars; for it is practical, and action is concerned with particulars. That is why, in other areas too, some people who lack knowledge—most of all, those with experience—are more effective doers of action than are others who have knowledge; for if someone knows that light meats are digestible and healthy but is ignorant about which sorts of meat are light, he will not produce health; but the one who knows that bird meats are healthy will produce health more. But practical wisdom is practical, so one must possess both sorts of knowledge—or this one more. (NE 1141b14–21)

At the same time, knowledge of universals is a crucial part of politics. This emerges most clearly in the final discussion in the NE, in which we learn not only about the importance of experience of particulars to politics but also about the need to “take steps toward the universal” (1180b21), on the grounds that “the best supervision in each particular case” will be provided by the person who has “knowledge of the universal and knows what applies in all cases or in these sorts (since the sciences are said to be—and actually are—of what is common)” (1180b13–16).

Once we register the fact that politics must include both a scientific knowledge of universals and an experience of particulars that enables us to apply those universals correctly to them, we can see that it is something like an applied science as opposed to a pure one. And this seems to be what Aristotle has in mind by classifying it as practical—that is to say, as bearing on praxis, or action, and so on the particulars with which action is irremediably [돌이킬 수 없이] concerned. When we look for the similarities that may justify him in classifying it as a practical science, we must look not at its particularist component but at its universalist one, since a science, as we saw, is always of what is universal. A practical science, in other words, might to some extent be usefully thought of as a combination of some thing like a theoretical science (in any case, in the sense in which natural science is theoretical) and the experience-based knowledge of how to apply it.

What the universalist component of politics consists in is uncontroversial, since Aristotle tells us plainly that it is nomothetikê, or legislative [입법의] science:

Maybe, then, the one who wishes to make people—whether many or few—better because of his supervision must also try to acquire legislative science, if it is through laws that we can become good. For producing a noble disposition in anyone whatsoever—in anyone put before him—is not a matter for some random person, but if indeed anyone can do it, it is a person who has knowledge, just as in medicine and in all other matters that involve a sort of supervision and practical wisdom. (NE 1180b23–28)

What legislative science does, as its name suggests, is produce a set of universal laws—for “all law is universal” (1137b13)—that will “make citizens good by habituating them” (1103b3–4). Thus, one very important subset of these laws bears on education, since “what produces virtue as a whole are the conventions ordained by the laws concerned with education that looks to the common good” (1130b25–26). Another subset, however, governs the actions of already-educated adults:

It is not enough, presumably, that when people are young they get the correct nurture and supervision. On the contrary, even when they have grown into adulthood they must continue to practice the same things and be habituated to them, and so there would need to be laws concerning these matters as well and, in general, then, concerning all of life. (1180a1–4)

The phrase “concerning all of life” nicely captures the ideal extent of the laws: “Above all, though, it is fitting for laws that are correctly laid down to define everything themselves, wherever possible, and leave the fewest things up to the jurors [배심원]” (Rh. 1354a31–33), since “human wish . . . is not a safe standard” (Pol. 1272b6–7)

We are now able to solve a final problem. Theorems in canonical theoretical sciences are not just universal, they are also necessary: they are about relations between universals that do not “at all admit of being otherwise” (NE 1139b20–21). The theorems of natural science too, although not as strictly necessary as this, also describe relations between universals that are far from simply being matters of luck or contingency. Were it otherwise, there would, as we noticed, simply be no such thing as natural science.

Obviously the theorems of politics, which are universal laws, are not like either of these, since they govern voluntary action, which, as something whose starting-point is in us, is up to us to do or not to do (1113b7–8). This difference, however, is due to a difference in direction of fit. Theorems of a theoretical science describe how things must be; practical laws prescribe how they must be. Thus, when Aristotle gives an example of an ethical proposition, it is this: “whether we should obey our parents or the laws, if they disagree” (Top. 105b22–23).

① What practical laws prescribe will be correct if it is what the virtues require of us (NE 1130b22–24),

② and it will be what the virtues require of us if it is what the practical wisdom they presuppose would prescribe,

③ and it will be what practical wisdom would prescribe if it is what best furthers happiness or the human good (1142b31–33, 1143a8),

④ for the law owes its compulsive force to the fact that it is “reason that derives from a sort of practical wisdom and understanding” (1180a21–22).

Although it is through laws that we can “become good” (NE 1180b25), it is not just through any random laws. Rather, we need correct laws— laws that really do further happiness by inculcating [심어주다] genuine virtues. The question arises, therefore, how such laws are to be found. A good place to start, Aristotle thinks, is by collecting the laws and constitutions that are in use in different places, as well as those ideal ones suggested by wise people, such as Plato, who have thought a lot about the topic. But this by itself will not be enough, since selecting the best ones from these requires “correct judgment” (1181a17), making the collection itself all but useless to “those who lack scientific knowledge” (1181b6). For what selection of the best ones clearly requires is knowledge of what virtue and vice—what goodness—really are, so that we can see which laws and constitutions really do further their acquisition by those brought up and living under them. In Aristotle’s view, there is only one such constitution:

The constitution consisting of those who are unconditionally best in accord with virtue, and not those who are good men relative to a hypothesis, is the only constitution that it is just to call an “aristocracy”; for only in it is the same person unconditionally a good man and a good citizen, whereas those who are good in the others are so relative to their constitutions. (Pol. 1293b3–6; compare NE 1135a5)

Thus, when the topic of the best constitution is taken up in the Politics, Aristotle begins by noting that “anyone who intends to investigate the best constitution in the proper way must first determine which life is most choiceworthy” (1323a14–17), referring us for a fuller discussion to “external accounts,” whose topics significantly overlap those of the NE.

Other constitutions, however—and this is a point that we will return to in a moment— can come close enough to the best one that something approximating full virtue can be acquired in them; these are the non-deviant constitutions (kingship, aristocracy, and polity) described in 8.10 and, in greater detail, in the relevant parts of the Politics.

It is scarcely a step at this point to see what the NE contributes to legislative science. After all, the NE is devoted to defining the virtues of character, which are starting-points of politics, as well as to correctly and clearly defining the yet more fundamental starting-point, happiness, which is the end or target that politics aims at (1094a26–b7). The NE is a contribution to the philosophy of human affairs, as we saw, and “the political philosopher is the architectonic [건축학의] craftsman of the end to which we look in calling each thing unconditionally ‘bad’ or ‘good’” (1152b1–3)— namely, happiness.

T his helps us to understand something that is much more mysterious than is usually recognized, namely, how it is that Aristotle can do the following three things: First, characterize the NE as “not undertaken for the sake of theoretical knowledge . . . but in order to become good people, since otherwise there would be nothing of benefit in it” (1103b26–29; also 1095a5–6). Second, insist that we become good in large part through habituation, not through reading books (1103b23–25). And, third, that we must already have been “nobly brought up if, where noble things, just things, and the subject matter of politics as a whole are concerned, one is to be an adequate listener” (1095b4–6). For “argument and teaching . . . do not have strength in everyone,” but only in those whose souls have been “prepared beforehand through habits to enjoy and hate in a noble way, like earth that is to nourish seed” and may not even be comprehensible to anyone else (1179b23–31). 

What is required, though, is that we not be “disabled in relation to virtue” (1099b19); that we have the natural resources needed to develop it (which may include possession of the so-called natural virtues (1144b5–6)); that we have been sufficiently well brought up that we do not, like children, pursue each thing in accord with our feelings, but rather form our desires and perform our actions to some extent at least “in accord with reason” (1095a4–11); and that we have “no experience of the actions of life,” since “the arguments are in accord with these and concerned with these” (1095a3–4). Aristotle doesn’t go into detail in the NE about just how much experience of just what sorts of actions we need, but there is a suggestion in the Politics that we may not have it until we have reached the age of around fifty (1328b34–1329a17).

We turn now to the particularist [개별자] part of politics, which is concerned with deliberation: One sort of practical wisdom concerned with the city is the architectonic part, legislative science, while the part concerned with particulars has the name common to both: “politics.” This part is practical and deliberative; for the decree [법령] is doable [할 수 있는] in action, as the last thing. (NE 1141b24–28)

Precisely because this part is particularist, it cannot itself be a science, since—to repeat—sciences are always (anyway non-coincidentally) about universals. Nonetheless, it is some sort of knowledge or ability that makes its possessor a competent deliberator—someone who is reliably able to deliberate correctly by working out the best means to the best end (1142b28–33), this being happiness or the human good. Since only a practically wise person is in this position and since practical wisdom is as much if not more concerned with particulars than with universals, the function of such a person is “most of all . . . to deliberate well” (1141b9–10).

Now, the sphere of deliberation is the part of what admits of being otherwise that deliberators can change through their own actions (NE 1112a30–34). Hence it is also the sphere of the practical and productive sciences which help deliberators to make good choices within that sphere. But once these sciences are factored into the equation, the scope of deliberation within the sphere is affected, so that as their scope expands, that of deliberation contracts:

There is no deliberation, however, about sciences that are both exact and self-sufficient—about orthography [철자법], for example, since we have no hesitation about what way to write the letters. We do deliberate, however, about those things that come about through ourselves but not always in the same way (for example, about the things that medicine or moneymaking deals with). And we deliberate more about navigation than about athletic training, insofar as navigation has been less exactly worked out. Further, deliberation is involved in a similar way about the rest, but more about crafts than about sciences; for we are more hesitant about them. (NE 1112a34–b9)

It is when the universal laws fail us—as the Egyptian doctors imagine them doing by the fourth day of a patient’s unresponsiveness to the prescribed treatment—that deliberation comes into play. It is then that the practical wisdom possessed by the better practitioners of the science becomes important. We “speak of people as practically wise in some area, when they rationally calculate well about what furthers some excellent end, concerning which no craft exists” (NE 1140a28–30).

The element in practical wisdom that is particularly involved in the sorts of cases where the end is “living well as a whole” (NE 1140a27–28) is decency [공정함] (epieikeia):

All law is universal, but about some sorts of things it is not possible to pronounce correctly in universal terms. . . . So whenever the law speaks universally and a particular case arises that is contrary to the universal, at that time it is correct (insofar as the legislator omits something and has made an error in pronouncing unconditionally) to rectify [바로잡다] the deficiency—to say what the legislator himself would have said had he been present and would have ordained [정하다] by law had he known about the case. . . . And this is the very nature of what is decent—a rectification of law insofar as it is deficient because of its universality. For this is also the cause of not everything’s being regulated by law, that there are some cases where it is impossible to establish a law, so that decrees (psêphismata) [법령] are needed. For the standard of what is indeterminate is itself indeterminate, just like the lead standard used in Lesbian-style building; for the standard is not fixed but adapts itself to the shape of the stone, and a decree adapts itself to the things. (NE 1137b13–32)

Though this comment applies primarily to the context of political deliberation by members of a city’s ruling deliberative body, it is the model for Aristotle’s account of an individual agent’s deliberation as well. This is particularly clear when an individual’s action-controlling beliefs—the guiding premises of his deliberative reasoning—are analogized to decrees (1151b15, 1152a20–21). But it is similarly in operation when the last thing reached in deliberation is identified as a decree (1141b26–28). Practical wisdom is a prescriptive virtue (1143a8) indeed because it issues decrees which, like laws, have prescriptive force.

The picture that finally emerges of politics, therefore, is of a science that has three elements. The first is legislative science, which, since it issues universal laws that have the right sort of modal status (allowing for differences of direction of fit), makes politics similar enough to a canonical theoretical science to justify its classification as a science. The second is deliberative ability (bouleutikê), which is particularistic enough to justify its classification as practical. The third is the judicial science (dikastikê), which is primarily exercised in the administration of legal justice (dikê) (1141b33). But this is a picture of politics that has, as it were, a concealed element, which is the one providing an argument for the starting-points—happiness, the virtues—that are crucial to it. These, we learned, it was the job of the methodical inquiry of NE to provide. We must now see what that job consists in.