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Aristotle on the Sources of the Ethical Life
OXFORD ARISTOTLE STUDIES
General Editors
Julia Annas and Lindsay Judson
Passions and Persuasion in Aristotle’s Rhetoric
Jamie Dow
How Aristotle gets by in Metaphysics Zeta
Frank A. Lewis
The Powers of Aristotle’s Soul
Thomas Kjeller Johansen
Aristotle on the Apparent Good
Perception, Phantasia, Thought, and Desire
Jessica Moss
Teleology, First Principles, and Scientific Method in Aristotle’s Biology
Allan Gotthelf
Priority in Aristotle’s Metaphysics
Michail Peramatzis
Doing and Being
An Interpretation of Aristotle’s Metaphysics Theta
Jonathan Beere
Aristotle on the Common Sense
Pavel Gregoric
Space, Time, Matter, and Form
Essays on Aristotle’s Physics
David Bostock
Aristotle on Teleology
Monte Ransome Johnson
Time for Aristotle
Physics IV. 10 14
Ursula Coope
Political Authority and Obligation in Aristotle
Andres Rosler
Aristotle’s Theory of Bodies
Christian Pfeiffer
Aristotle and the Eleatic One
Timothy Clarke
Aristotle on
the Sources
of the Ethical Life
Sylvia Berryman
1
3
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Acknowledgements
‘Every art and every inquiry, and similarly every action and choice, is thought to aim
at some good.’¹ So begins Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, one of the most widely read
texts in ethical thought. This arresting opening has received quite a lot of attention,
yet little that illuminates the significance of its place at the beginning of a work of
ethics. Why commence normative inquiry with such a claim?
One reason why that question is seldom asked is that the opening of Nicomachean
Ethics has been understood as a lead-in to an outright logical fallacy. Elizabeth
Anscombe suggested that Aristotle is making a fallacious inference from the claim
that ‘every action aims at some good’ to the idea that there must be a single good at
which all actions ultimately aim.² Scholarly attention has focused on defending
Aristotle from the charge of fallacious reasoning.³ This leaves untouched the assump-
tion that his opening sally is motivated by the attempt to show that there is a single
goal—a common conception of happiness—that we all seek. The search for an
account of the good life is unquestionably Aristotle’s aim. Yet there may still be
independent significance to the fact that he commences ethical inquiry from the
notion that actions are goal-directed.
The claim that all action aims at some good—a thesis Velleman labelled the ‘Guise
of the Good’—has its own history, its own logic, its own implications. Aristotle has
been read as making a statement that is plainly false;⁴ as asserting the existence of
global teleology;⁵ or as offering another of those broad generalizations to which he is
prone.⁶ The opening statement has seldom been given its due as a starting point for
ethical inquiry, even though it also forms the starting point of his metaethical
position.⁷ To do so is the project of this book.
Aristotle on the Sources of the Ethical Life. Sylvia Berryman, Oxford University Press (2019).
© Sylvia Berryman. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198835004.003.0001
But is Aristotle even aware of the kinds of questions that we would describe as
metaethical?⁸ In the opening chapter of her Tanner Lectures, The Sources of Norma-
tivity, Christine Korsgaard suggested that Aristotle did not adequately appreciate the
need to question the status of ethical demands: he saw no need to ask where values
come from, that is, nor why we should treat them as authoritative.⁹ On her account,
the quest for the sources of normativity is a project peculiar to the modern ‘disen-
chanted’ universe, wherein the need to establish the reality or objectivity of moral
claims becomes apparent.¹⁰ On this he differs from us moderns—the story goes—
who no longer see the world as infused with moral order and are thus compelled to
invent new justifications for morality:
at least in ethics, Aristotle doesn’t seem to have made much of the problem. A well brought up
person would not need to have excellence forced upon him he would move naturally towards
the achievement of his perfect form.¹¹
Korsgaard’s is only one of a number of ‘big picture’ narratives about the history of
ethical thought in which Aristotle has played a starring role. In recent years, several
such narratives have been offered by those looking to history to reclaim ethics from
the subjectivist Slough of Despond. Bernard Williams and Philippa Foot are among
those who have assumed, with Korsgaard, that Aristotelian ethical thought—for good
or ill—is characterized by the appeal to human nature to provide the grounding for
substantive ethical claims. Others, however, have cast doubt on the idea that Aristotle
regards human nature as an external standard—an ‘Archimedean Point’¹²—that
could serve as a court of appeal to settle substantive ethical questions. Thus a central
aspect of the way Aristotle is interpreted in these contemporary narratives turns out
to be in dispute.
These modern appropriations of Aristotle highlight important questions for
scholarly interpreters. My aim in this monograph is to show that Aristotle should
not be interpreted as an ethical naturalist, in the ‘Archimedean’ sense that Williams
articulates. That is, Aristotle does not attempt to draw substantive ethical guidance
from impartial study of the natural world. Nature does not, for Aristotle, straight-
forwardly supply answers to the twin questions that—according to Korsgaard—dog
modern ethicists: ‘whence value?’ and ‘why is it authoritative?’ Among the multiple
⁸ I thank David Plunkett for alerting me to a contemporary controversy about the meaning of
‘metaethics’, and especially Korsgaard’s use of the term: cf. McPherson and Plunkett (2017); Hussain
and Shah (2006), (2013). I use the term broadly here, to include second order reflection on justification
for substantive claims, as well as to issues in metaphysics, psychology, and epistemology: cf. Darwall,
Gibbard, and Railton (1992), pp. 125 6.
⁹ On Korsgaard’s use of the notion of the metaethical, see the Coda.
¹⁰ Korsgaard (1996a), p. 7. Annas (1993), p. 135, remarks that ancient Greek theorists did not
distinguish metaethics as a distinct field. This does not preclude them from having asked analogous
questions, however.
¹¹ Korsgaard (1996a), p. 3.
¹² The label is not meant to imply, of course, that Archimedes held any such view.
the shape and character of ethics. Facts of human nature are discovered by the
theoretical reflection and classificatory expertise of the natural philosopher. How-
ever, when we turn to using practical reasoning—to contentful ethical deliberation—
we are no longer inquiring into the nature of things. While practical reason and the
ability to choose belong to us by nature, the contents of the choices that we make are
not regarded as constrained or determined by nature, and could not be reached by a
value-neutral process of investigation. Although ethical demands must respect the
kind of being that we are, the account of the ethical life does not end there.
Korsgaard is not alone in denying that Aristotle could have engaged in a quest for
the foundations of ethics, since—it is thought—such a project only makes sense
against the background of a disenchanted picture of the universe produced by
modern science.¹⁴ Attention to Aristotle’s intellectual milieu is enough to cast
doubt on claims that Aristotle was naively naturalist, or that he was unconcerned
with second-order justificatory questions. Presocratics, sophists, Cyrenaics, and
Platonists of the fifth and fourth centuries had raised questions about the source
and justification of ethical demands; many of the kinds of concerns that drove
twentieth-century philosophers to second-order reflection about the status of ethical
claims would have been alive to Aristotle, albeit in somewhat different guise. When
Aristotle claims we are political animals and naturally live in communities, he is
merely resisting a sophistic view that the demands of ethics are illegitimate imposi-
tions. His intent was never to deny the need for human reason to design and evaluate
the best ways to realize our ends, nor to suggest that ethical questions are settled by
value-neutral investigation of our biological heritage.
Aristotle’s intellectual context is not that of twentieth-century positivism, or the
disenchanted universe that produced the fact–value divide. Nonetheless, I suggest
that questions about the origin of ethical values would arise for Aristotle because of
his hierarchical organization of nature and his picture of the relationship between the
axioms of different sciences. Aristotelian natural science begins from the study of
more basic and general principles and proceeds to the understanding of the more
specific; what is learned at each level is cumulative. Certain features are common
to all substances; others to all things with natures; others to all living things. Only
after studying these, we come to animals—which are characterized by the capacity
for self-motion—and finally human beings. Because we have reason, we have the
capacity for deliberation and choice about ends.
Thus for Aristotle, as I interpret him, ethics arises only within the world of human
actions. This hierarchical organization of the sciences, I will argue—a hierarchy that
is taken to reflect the organization of reality—would raise the question whence
practical value arises. The structure of Aristotelian science supports the notion that
practical choice—the search for good in action—has its own principles. It occupies a
different metaphysical location than the goal or end found in the natural world,
entering into inquiry at a different level.
A fundamental statement about the nature of ethics, I suggest, is implicit in the first
line of the Nicomachean Ethics. Ethics is the study of good choices in action: to act is to
aim at something we take to be good. The claim that action aims at some good is an
important statement about the nature of intentional action, and shows his recognition
that the practical good—the ‘good’ in the sphere of action—is quite distinct from the
goals of our biological nature. Just as Aristotle’s notion of the good in the natural
world begins from the observed directionality and normativity of change in the
natural and organic world, so his analysis of the normativity of human action
elaborates on the structure of action and its differentiation from animal pursuit.
At the heart of his implicit position lies a move I call ‘Socratic bootstrapping’,
wherein agents not only value certain goals but take them to be valuable, i.e. to be
reasonably defensible goals for agents like themselves to hold. Taking a goal to
be reasonably defensible commits agents to engage with the views of other practical
reasoners, and so to strive for truth. I argue that, thus understood, Aristotle’s attempt
to ground ethics within an analysis of the nature of action offers a promising
perspective on the origin of normativity.
Although the aim of this work is to reconstruct Aristotle’s own view, this issue is
not one of merely historical interest. Aristotelian virtue ethics is one of the most
active research programmes in contemporary ethics, yet many regard the usefulness
of an Aristotelian framework as limited by his apparent assumption that human
nature is the source and justification for ethical demands. This is viewed as a
limitation, either because the prospects for an Archimedean naturalism are ham-
pered by the direction of contemporary biology (which seems to deny that well-being
or flourishing of individuals is a natural goal) or because our biological nature does
not look very attractive as a basis for ethics. Scientific study of our biological heritage
might reveal us to have oppressive or hierarchical tendencies that we might none-
theless rationally reject or reform. Clarifying the extent to which Aristotle’s view is
hampered by an Archimedean naturalism is important to appreciating its potential
applicability as well as its historical value.
The methodology here is somewhat unorthodox for a work on the history of
philosophy, since it begins by asking how Aristotle would respond to questions from
modern ethics. I extract two research questions from modern readings of the
Aristotelian programme before turning to consider the ancient philosophical evi-
dence, where I believe that it is possible to discern implicit answers. The following
study engages more with readings of Aristotle and with his contemporary appropri-
ators than is customary for ancient scholarship, keeping textual discussion to a
minimum. It also involves more reconstruction than is usual for readings that
begin from questions asked by the texts themselves.
Aristotle’s ethical views have featured prominently in some recent debates. Among
those struggling to unseat the prevailing non-cognitivism of twentieth-century ethics,
some prominent figures have turned to the history of philosophy to reveal and
challenge the metaphysical picture thought to undergird this prevalence. The intel-
lectual dominance and respectability of the modern sciences is sometimes credited
with casting doubt on the status of truth claims in ethics, since the latter seem to lack
comparable truth-makers, methods of verification, or patterns of convergence. Many
ethicists today accept the force of arguments based on the so-called ‘is–ought gap’ or,
following J. L. Mackie, the ‘argument from queerness’.¹ Ethical statements are treated
as fundamentally different in kind from statements about the natural world. Not only
this, but their status as truth-apt is thought to suffer by comparison. Ethical claims
are variously reinterpreted by non-cognitivists as reflecting commitments, desires or
feelings of the participants, rather than as literal truth claims.
Yet in the latter half of the twentieth century, some prominent ethicists have
challenged this picture and urged the strength of Aristotle’s outlook as a potent
alternative. The challenges at issue are those which question the status of the very
worldview that has given rise to non-cognitivism. Korsgaard’s account stands in the
company of a number of major ethical works, all of which can be seen as in some way
responding to Anscombe’s ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’ (1958). These include
MacIntyre’s After Virtue (1981); Williams’s Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy
(1985); Foot’s Natural Goodness (2001),² and McDowell’s ‘Two Sorts of Naturalism’
(1998a). These challengers have quite different projects, and—whether or not this
is explicit—can be seen to echo different features of Anscombe’s article.³ But they
are alike in that they offer competing historical narratives, aimed at challenging
contemporary non-cognitivism; all of them consider Aristotelian virtue ethics as a
serious contender for an alternative ethical framework.
From one perspective, the Rezeptionsgeschichte or subsequent interpretation of our
subject matters little to scholars: historical exegesis might seem better served by ignoring
modern appropriations of Aristotle and focusing on the questions and topics that arise
directly from the text. But there are two reasons why scholars might need to pay
attention to contemporary readings. One is that those readings are philosophical,
and as such help expose assumptions, categorizations, and lenses that scholarly inter-
preters might be bringing to the text. Since scholarship cannot avoid interpretation,
awareness of our own biases is critical. A second is that larger interpretative framings can
sometimes expose questions that are missed by close textual readings. To regard textual
exegesis as straightforwardly revealing a philosopher’s intent presupposes that the
received texts are a finished product, constructed to be read as complete arguments.
With Aristotle, we cannot assume that. There is more than one surviving ethical treatise,
and reasons that I will explore in Chapter 4 for doubting whether even Nicomachean
Ethics can be read as a finished statement of Aristotle’s position. Understanding
Aristotle’s thought may thus require us to step back from the transmitted texts, and
also to consider the relationship between various works. Moreover, the assessment of the
validity and viability of Aristotle’s ideas plays a role in philosophical scholarship. This
can be enhanced by considering how his ideas look from the vantage point of history.
The modern narratives listed above present very different accounts of Aristotle’s
metaethical position. The very point that Korsgaard treats as his weakness—the cen-
trality of the appeal to human nature—Foot regards as a strength. Williams is ambiva-
lent: he sees a commitment to ethical naturalism as central to the coherence of Aristotle’s
view, but also as an aspect that makes it unavailable to modern audiences.⁴ McDowell,
conversely, denies that Aristotle intended to make any such appeal.⁵ Two questions are
highlighted by considering these interpretations: is Aristotle to be read as a certain kind
of ethical naturalist, and did he engage in second-order reflection on the foundations of
his ethics at all? Accounts of the supposed gap dividing us from the philosophical world
of the ancient Greeks are important to considering whether he could even have asked
the questions that preoccupy philosophers today. It is here that I begin.
ordered forms the metaphysical underpinning to the notion that ethical demands are
binding on all. She claims that our own natural direction of development towards
virtue seemed sufficient reason—to Aristotle—why we should be moral. On this
view, inquiry into the origin and obligatory power of normative constraints would
not have been considered a serious question, but rather a symptom of some failing in
the person asking it.⁷ Korsgaard claims that it would have seemed credible to the
ancients—as it did not to the moderns, living in a disenchanted universe—that the
natural world was normatively informed. Aristotle ‘came to believe that value is more
real than experienced fact, indeed that the real world is, in a way, value itself ’.⁸
On this account, only the ‘disenchantment’ of the modern world picture brought
metaethical questions to the fore.⁹ In the modern world, by contrast, the idea that
Form is somehow embedded in nature lost credibility. Korsgaard uses ‘Form’ to
stand in for whatever principles were thought to govern the proper direction of
organic development, i.e. the means whereby the directionality to change was
supposedly embedded in the natural world. This account of natural development,
she tells us, could no longer be sustained against the background of modern materi-
alism. The two questions Korsgaard sees as distinctively modern are whence norma-
tive claims originate, and why they should be regarded as authoritative.¹⁰
Korsgaard offers only a very brief outline of pre-modern ethical thought: her
point is to invoke a historical platitude that Plato and Aristotle—sometimes ‘the
ancients’¹¹—did not engage in the kind of metaethical reflection about the sources of
normativity that preoccupies modern philosophy. This opposition of ancient and
modern has a distinguished pedigree, but it is not unproblematic. The claim would be
plainly false if it were that Plato and Aristotle were unaware of challenges to
teleological naturalism. She proposes that it might have seemed credible in antiquity,
as it does not in the modern world, that ethical striving is simply part of our nature
and thus not in need of defence. A modern worldview—wherein the material world
has come to be regarded as ‘reluctant, recalcitrant, resistant’—made it incredible that
nature provides the grounding for moral demands, thus prompting reflection on the
metaethical grounding of ethical demands.¹²
Korsgaard’s point in sketching this narrative is to present a specific response—the
Kantian notion of obligation—as the culmination of a historical process.¹³ She sees
the notion that ethics is grounded in obligation as first formulated in Judeo-Christian
ethics, which posits the imposition of ethical demands by a divine lawgiver. ‘The
ancients’ are considered by Korsgaard only as a precursor to the modern perspective,
inasmuch as the appeal to divine legislation is purported to have filled a perceived gap
or failing in earlier ethical thought. As Korsgaard acknowledges, this narrative is
vaguely formulated;¹⁴ it is also problematic as a historical account.¹⁵ Are we to believe
that Judeo-Christian morality flourished because of a loss of faith in the notion that
Form is embedded in nature? This triumphal narrative seems to originate with
seventeenth-century Christian philosophers seeking to demonstrate the superiority
of their own metaphysical picture.¹⁶ Nonetheless, it is striking to witness a contem-
porary ethicist resurrecting this ‘quarrel of the ancients and the moderns’. And
Korsgaard is not alone in this: a common theme in several of the historical narratives
written in response to Anscombe is that changing ideas about the natural world
brought a new problem about the status of ethics to the fore.
It is undoubtedly the case that certain assumptions about the nature of the physical
world were sharpened and clarified at the time of the emergence of the early modern
sciences. In ancient Greek natural philosophy, there was little agreement as to the
properties that could properly be ascribed to matter. A solidifying consensus about a
mind–body distinction was an early modern artefact, one which helped highlight
questions about the status of ethical properties and normative claims. Yet it is not at
all clear that so sharp a divide exists between the reflective abilities of ancients and
moderns merely because of the development of the modern sciences and a sharpened
mind–body distinction. The variety of ethical positions formulated in antiquity belies
the notion that failure of traditional answers in a disenchanted universe was a
necessary trigger for reflection on the source and grounds of ethical claims. There
is more continuity and overlap between ancients and moderns than Korsgaard’s
narrative implies. Her historical account may be offered lightheartedly, but it has
problematic implications, particularly when it reinforces mistaken assumptions
about Aristotle’s naivety.¹⁷
Korsgaard’s history should be read in contrast to that offered by Elizabeth
Anscombe. Written in 1958, Anscombe’s ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’ juxtaposed
modern and Aristotelian perspectives to make a quite different point.¹⁸ Anscombe
may appear to be the source of the emphasis, among contemporary readers, on
Aristotle’s appeal to human nature as a source of ethical norms.¹⁹ Certainly Foot, and
perhaps MacIntyre—both of whom share Anscombe’s concern to resist the prevail-
ing subjectivism of twentieth century ethics—take its teleological naturalism to be the
appeal of Aristotelian virtue ethics. However, I do not believe this is the best reading
of Anscombe’s article, nor of Aristotle.
For Anscombe, the contrast between ancient and modern ethics is not the tri-
umphant development of metaethical reflectivity. Rather, the division hinged on the
modern creation of an artificial need to justify ethics to its audience, because of a
restricted view about the kinds of facts that could legitimately ground knowledge
claims. Anscombe’s account implicitly challenges the assumption that the modern
preoccupation with the authority of morality results from our possession of a more
sophisticated world picture. While Korsgaard saddles Aristotle with a faith in the
naturalness of ethics that is now simply unsustainable, Anscombe rather sought to
undermine the robustness of the fact–value distinction that supports this assessment.
Anscombe’s challenge to the fact–value distinction negates the supposition that
modern ethicists—expelled from the Garden of Eden of naive naturalism—are left
with only subjectivist means to ground ethical claims.
Anscombe notes that many everyday concepts—not just ethical terms—only make
sense against a background of institutional practices that share both descriptive and
normative aspects. The problem is not that the metaphysics of earlier times was too
permissive, but rather that ours is too narrow. The metaphysics Anscombe decries is
not necessarily that of a ‘disenchanted’ universe, but of a particularly positivist
reading of the modern predicament.²⁰ It is perfectly possible to welcome the know-
ledge gained from the modern sciences without supposing that they render other,
non-empirical discourses suspect. The spare landscape of positivism created the
environment in which non-cognitivist metaethics flowered, since it bars us from
knowing much that we might otherwise take ourselves to know. But the positivist
programme imploded. There is no reason, then, for us to accede to its claims about
the status of ethical truths.
This challenge to the significance for ethical discourse of the ‘is–ought’ or ‘fact–
value’ gap may be the farthest-reaching aspect of Anscombe’s complex article. She
resituates ethics among other social practices, implicitly challenging the suggestion
that there is anything ‘queer’ about normative facts.²¹ ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’
also laments the modern classification of the moral, as opposed to a part of the
broader category of ethical evaluation that is found in Aristotle.²² The moral realm is
viewed as an area of life defined by other-directed concern and self-sacrifice, in
conflict with self-interest, so that the question why we should be motivated to accept
its demands seems particularly pressing. A related but more subtle claim is that it is
the tendency to think that the language of ‘ought’ has a special moral sense—one not
grounded in human or social facts—that led modern moral philosophers to create an
artificial problem about the sources of normativity. From this perspective, the differ-
ence is not that ancient ethicists failed to recognize a need for justification because
they naively saw the world as normatively laden, but rather that modern schools of
thought created a pseudo-problem by dividing the world of facts from that of norms.
Anscombe’s own historical account of the rise of subjectivism and the shift away
from the notion of ethics as truth-apt is not the aspect of her account that has won
most adherents. Alisdair MacIntyre’s After Virtue offers an important addendum to
Anscombe’s article, in that he traces a more complex and convincing history of ethics.²³
He is particularly concerned to show how the Aristotelian virtue approach persisted
and infused Christian thought, only to be properly supplanted by what he calls ‘the
Enlightenment project’. It was the Enlightenment, with its faith in human reason as a
source of value, that led to the denial of the authority of other sources of ethical
guidance grounded in ways of living, evolving traditions, or the ‘thick’ ethical language
of every day.²⁴ On MacIntyre’s account, the Christian appeal to divine decree did not, in
fact, replace virtue ethics, which continued to inform medieval and early modern ethical
thought. This friendly revision to Anscombe’s historical narrative would preclude the
supposition that the Judeo-Christian ethical view flourished because it filled a perceived
gap in the Aristotelian view, or was necessarily seen as inimical to the latter. This more
complex history weakens any argument for a sharp divide between ancient and
modern, or for one that coincides with the Scientific Revolution.²⁵
MacIntyre challenges the belief that the fact–value distinction is a timeless truth
discovered from within the modern disenchanted worldview, rather than a normative
view in its own right. Charles Taylor elaborates on MacIntyre’s criticism of contem-
porary subjectivism, showing more clearly how it is the heir to the nominalist
rejection of Aristotelianism.²⁶ Just as some advocates of divine will saw more potential
for divine power in a morally neutral picture of the universe, so modern advocates of
human autonomy put over their ‘ethic of disengaged freedom’ as timeless truth.²⁷
Nothing about the modern scientific project—on MacIntyre’s account—requires us to
‘discover’ the groundlessness of ethical language. Rather, he suggests, the ambition to
view human will as the source of value gave rise to non-cognitivism.
We find—in reviewing alternative historical narratives—just how thoroughly
ideological considerations shape the telling of history, and especially the formulation
of an opposition between ancient and modern. The distinctions drawn between the
different historical periods are based on supposed changes in views about the nature
of the natural world and our knowledge of it. But there are various and conflicting
²³ MacIntyre (1984), p. 53; Taylor (1994), p. 16. ²⁴ See Long (1983), for a helpful commentary.
²⁵ Cf. Crisp (2004). ²⁶ Esp. Taylor (1994), pp. 17 21; MacIntyre (1984), pp. 51 9.
²⁷ Taylor (1994), p. 21; cf. MacIntyre (1998), pp. 85 6.
explanations on offer of the reasons for the divide. Korsgaard sees the modern
concern with metaethics as a response to the disenchantment of the world: she does
not suppose that the distinction between ancient and modern is based on heightened
awareness of cultural relativity. The concern with cultural variation does feature in
some of the narratives offered in Anscombe’s wake—Williams makes much of it—but
this concern alone would not have sufficed to yield such a supposed divide between
ancient and modern ethical worlds.²⁸ Ancient Greek ethicists were perfectly capable of
recognizing cultural variation. More is needed to explain why moderns are inclined to
lose confidence in their own views in the face of the evidence of variability, rather than
to conclude that their own practices are nonetheless superior. MacIntyre’s account is
different again.
Anscombe suggested that the Aristotelian schema had much to recommend it, as
an alternative to the subjectivism she found so ethically problematic. At least it shows
us a way to do ethics without a divine legislator,²⁹ since Aristotelian ethics focuses on
what came to be called ‘thick’ ethical concepts, like ‘chaste’ and ‘truthful’, rather than
‘thin’ concepts like ‘right’ or ‘good’. Thin concepts have lost their moorings for those
who have abandoned the metaphysical underpinnings of Judeo-Christian morality,
she argued. The practice of contemporary philosophical inquiry reflects that confu-
sion, so we would be better theorizing with thick virtue concepts. We understand
their descriptive content, and thus make fewer fundamental mistakes in using them.
Anscombe’s complex paper had an enormous impact on ethicists: the contempor-
ary revival of virtue ethics is often traced back to it. However, it is seldom noted that
the article offers two quite distinct suggestions as to how an Aristotelian virtue ethics
might help us escape the lures of subjectivism. One is the suggestion that the virtues
are truth-apt because they are linked to an account of human nature; the other is that
they are truth-apt because they are grounded in social practice. The first is the thread
followed by Foot; the second is the line pursued by those like MacIntyre, Williams,
and McDowell who ground the truth claims of ethics in ‘thick’ ethical concepts, social
practices, and the norms embedded in our life world.³⁰ While the roots of both ideas
can be found in ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’, I shall propose in what follows that the
second is at once more representative of Anscombe’s piece, and a more promising
approach to Aristotle.
²⁸ Williams (1985); cf. also Lovibond (1995), p. 104; Thomas (2006), pp. 2 3.
²⁹ Anscombe (1958), pp 14 15.
³⁰ Williams (1985) ascribes the former to Aristotle, but in his own voice pursues the latter.
kind for human beings.³¹ It is one of several different options countenanced, and
receives only a short paragraph: it is not explicitly endorsed, but on the other hand, it
does look like the last man standing. This is the line of inquiry pursued by Philippa
Foot, who takes the appeal to natural norms to offers an escape from non-cognitivist
ethics. Foot—and Rosalind Hursthourse, who follows her lead in many respects³²—
develops a virtue ethics based on the notion that human nature provides a grounding
for the truth of value claims. As I shall show, the robustness of this naturalism turns
out to be either untenable or deeply qualified. Other readers follow what I take to be
the more sophisticated and viable thread in Anscombe’s thought: that of recognizing
the truth-claims of specific features of ethical discourse, i.e. thick concepts and the
internal evaluation of practices. Rather than accepting the fact–value divide and
trying to resolve it by grounding the evaluative in the natural, these readers take up
Anscombe’s challenge to the cogency of that divide.
In Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy, Bernard Williams articulates a naturalistic
reading of Aristotle’s ethics. Although Anscombe only appears in a footnote, Williams
could be read as a sceptical alternative to the Anscombean suggestion that Aristotle’s
ethics constitutes a viable alternative for modern ethicists.³³ Bernard Williams
reads Aristotelian natures as intended to provide an ‘Archimedean Point’ or external
point of leverage.³⁴ Williams introduces the metaphor of the ‘Archimedean Point’
to signify a location outside of the ethical realm, from which we can get leverage
against the sceptical challenge. We need such a point of leverage to justify morality
to doubters such as the character Callicles, who appears in Plato’s Gorgias. Williams
takes Aristotle to be offering a substantive promise of well-being via the appeal to
human nature. This promise—the idea that we have real interests and not just
subjective preferences—is meant to provide the rationale for ethics.³⁵ We have, as he
puts it, an ‘inner nisus’ towards developing civic virtue.³⁶ This vision depends, Williams
believes, on Aristotle’s teleological picture, wherein it is feasible to believe that nature
provides for the well-being of individuals and provides reason to believe that actual-
izing our nature is a desirable and achievable goal.
Williams himself is sceptical of this vision. For one, our psychology may well be
such that evil pays off, at least judging by the naturalist’s standard of the ‘bright eye
and the gleaming coat’.³⁷ For another, many different ethical visions are compatible
with human nature, and could conflict both with one another and with other
legitimate pursuits: