Aristotle On Habituation-The Key To Unloking The Nicomachean Ethics PDF

1523-08_EthPersp_03_Bowditch 19-09-2008 14:07 Pagina 309
Aristotle on habituation: The key to

unlocking the Nicomachean Ethics
Nathan Bowditch
The American University in Cairo, Egypt
ABSTRACT. This paper explores Aristotle’s discussion in the Nicomachean

Ethics of the relation between the rational and nonrational parts of the soul to
make sense of his claim that “we cannot be fully good without prudence [prac-
tical wisdom], or prudent without virtue of character.” The significance of this
interpretive project for an understanding of the Nicomachean Ethics as a whole
cannot be understated. While Aristotle’s conception of human excellence
clearly incorporates both cognitive and conative capacities – which he calls
virtues of the intellect and virtues of character –, Aristotle’s commitment to
the biconditional relation between these capacities is less obvious. It follows
that to understand his account of either form of virtue is to understand both,
as well as the ways in which they are related. By attending to his account of
the process through which an ethically undeveloped human being becomes a
virtuous person, I approach this interpretive challenge from an angle too often
neglected by contemporary readers of Aristotle. Although the Nicomachean
Ethics contains no sustained treatment of the virtuous person’s development
through time, the text is rich with materials that emerge in a variety of con-
texts and indicate the extent to which the very possibility of virtue itself
depends on how one is brought up. By attending to the details of the devel-
opmental story, we will put ourselves in a much better position both to make
sense of Aristotle’s characterization of the fully developed virtuous person,
(that is, a person whose soul ‘expresses virtue’), and to respond to the inter-
pretive challenges articulated above.
KEYWORDS. Aristotle, ethics, virtue, habituation, character development
‘I say that habit’s but long practice, friend,

And this becomes men’s nature in the end.’
(NE1152a33-35)
ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES 15, no. 3 (2008): 309-342.

© 2008 by European Centre for Ethics, K.U.Leuven. All rights reserved. doi: 10.2143/EP.15.3.2033154
ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES – SEPTEMBER 2008
INTRODUCTION
I n this paper, I explore Aristotle’s discussion in the Nicomachean Ethics of

the relation between the rational and nonrational parts of the soul in an
effort to make sense of his claim that “we cannot be fully good without
prudence [practical wisdom], or prudent without virtue of character.”1, 2
The significance of this interpretive project for an understanding of the
Nicomachean Ethics as a whole cannot be understated. While it is clear that
Aristotle’s conception of human excellence incorporates both cognitive
and conative capacities – what he calls virtues of the intellect and virtues
of character –, why Aristotle should be committed to the view that these
capacities stand in a biconditional relation is less obvious. Since he is, how-
ever, it follows that to understand his account of either form of virtue is
to understand both, as well as the ways in which they are related.
In this paper I approach this interpretive challenge from an angle too
often neglected by contemporary readers of Aristotle, that is, by attend-
ing to his account of the process through which an ethically undeveloped
human being becomes a virtuous person.3 While this might appear to be
putting the cart before the horse (‘why puzzle over the details of the
developmental story first?’) I do not think that it is. Although the Nico-
machean Ethics contains no sustained treatment of the virtuous person’s
development through time, the text is rich with materials that emerge in
a variety of contexts and indicate the extent to which the very possibility
of virtue itself depends on how one is brought up. By attending to the
details of the developmental story, we will put ourselves in a much bet-
ter position both to make sense of Aristotle’s characterization of the fully
developed virtuous person, (that is, a person whose soul ‘expresses virtue’)
and, eventually, to respond to the interpretive challenges articulated
above.4
In the first section of the paper, I discuss Aristotle’s account of
the structure of the human soul and draw out some of the interpretive
problems that this account presents. In the second and third sections,
— 310 —
Ethical Perspectives 15 (2008) 3
BOWDITCH – THE KEY TO THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS
I examine three interpretations of Aristotle’s account of moral develop-

ment and the crucial role of habituation in this process. I conclude by dis-
cussing Aristotle’s account of the role of character in practical reasoning.
I. ON THE STRUCTURE OF THE HUMAN SOUL
One might be tempted to read Aristotle as presenting a bipartite account

of the human soul according to which the elements of the soul, the
rational part and the nonrational part, are mutually antagonistic. Passages
in the text seem to support such a reading: “For in the continent and
incontinent person we praise their reason, that is to say, the [part] of the
soul that has reason, because it exhorts them correctly and toward what
is best; but they evidently also have in them some other [part] that is by
nature something apart from reason, clashing and struggling with reason”
(NE1102b15-20).5, 6 Alternatively, one might read Aristotle as presenting
an account according to which these two elements are not at odds, but
simply do different jobs. On this reading reason orchestrates, through
calculation and deliberation, the satisfaction of desire. “We deliberate not
about ends, but about what promotes ends. A doctor, for instance, does
not deliberate about whether he will cure, or an orator about whether he
will persuade, or a politician about whether he will produce good order,
or any other [expert] about the end [that his science aims at]”
(NE1112b12-15; see also NE1111b27). The nonrational part and the
rational part are functionally independent: one provides ends, and the
other the means to satisfying them.7
While both of these interpretations – hereafter referred to as the Adver-
sarial and Functional Independence accounts – appear supported by the text,
Aristotle suggests that the nonrational part of the soul can stand in a more
dynamic relation to the rational part of the soul than either recognizes or
allows. To make sense of this claim, we can begin by attending to a further
distinction drawn between two sub-parts of the nonrational part of the soul:
— 311 —
The nonrational [part], then, as well [as the whole soul] apparently has
two parts. For while the plantlike [part] shares in reason not at all, the
[part] with appetites and in general desires shares in reason in a way,
insofar as it both listens to reason and obeys it. This is the way in
which we are said to ‘listen to reason’ from father or friends, as
opposed to the way in which [we ‘give the reason’] in mathematics
(NE1102b29-35).
Additionally, later, in Book VI, Aristotle draws yet another distinction

between two sub-parts of the rational part of the soul:
Previously, then, we said that there are two parts of the soul, one that
has reason, and one nonrational. Now we should divide in the same
way the part that has reason. Let us assume that there are two parts that
have reason: with one we study beings whose principles do not admit
of being otherwise than they are, and with the other we study beings
whose principles admit of being otherwise…. Let us call one of these
the scientific part, and the other the rationally calculating part
(NE1139a5-15).
In these passages, Aristotle sketches a picture of the soul that breaks down
into four distinct parts: the purely nonrational part, the distinctively human
nonrational part (which ‘listens to reason’ and thus shares in it to the
extent that it does this), the scientific part (theoretical reason), and the
rationally calculating part (prudence or practical reason).
These further distinctions appear to make room for an explanation
of how the rational and nonrational parts of the soul interact in ways
ruled out by the overly simplistic interpretations briefly sketched above.
According to Aristotle, there are two parts of the human soul (the dis-
tinctively human nonrational part and practical reason) whose function it
is to interact in a way that produces actions that are both truly rational
and distinctively human. But these further distinctions do not, in them-
selves, explain much. While there is a claim made that these two sub-
parts of the soul can interact, nothing in the account explains how they in
fact do. So at least more has to be said if these distinctions are to shed
— 312 —
any light on the issue. An alternative interpretation that respects the com-
plexity of what Aristotle says must be able to answer the following ques-
tion: in what relationship do these uniquely human nonrational and
rational parts of the soul stand to each other if not adversarial or func-
tionally independent?
In the early chapters of Book VI, Aristotle provides an account of the
proper function, and thus virtue, of practical reason.8 He suggests that the
soul has three capacities that are present in, or play a role in, deliberate
action: perception, reason, and desire. He points out that perception,
something which animals share with us, cannot, by itself, generate delib-
erate action (NE1139a18-20). The relations of assertion and denial to
both forms of (rational) thought are parallel to the relations between pur-
suit and avoidance, and desire (NE1139a21-23). With these elements in
place, Aristotle makes two important claims. “Now virtue of character is
a state that decides; and decision is deliberative desire. If, then, the deci-
sion is excellent, the reason must be true and the desire correct, so what
reason asserts is what desire pursues” (NE1139a24-26). And a few lines
later: “That is why decision requires understanding and thought, and also
a state of character; for acting well or badly requires both thought and
character…. That is why decision is either understanding combined with
desire or desire combined with thought” (NE1139a34-b5). These further
clarifications suggest that the Adversarial and Functional Independence
accounts are inadequate because they appear unable to accommodate the
idea that a desire might be ‘correct’ or itself ‘deliberative,’ or the idea that
reason and desire might be ‘combined.’
At the end of the first long quotation above – NE1102b33-35 – Aris-
totle hints at one way in which we might approach this interpretive prob-
lem. He claims that the reason-responsive nonrational part of the soul lis-
tens to practical reason in the way that one listens to a friend or a parent.
Unfortunately, what he means by this is not obvious. So to respond to the
various problems presented by the interpretations above, we need to be
able to provide an alternative interpretation in which the reason-responsive
— 313 —
nonrational part of the soul and practical reason can (and in the virtuous
person, do) interact harmoniously in something like a friend-friend or child-
parent relationship. In an effort to provide such an interpretation, I will
now focus on Aristotle’s discussion of the process through which an ethi-
cally undeveloped human being becomes a virtuous person.
II. MODELS OF HABITUATION
According to Aristotle, one cannot be virtuous without having a virtuous

character. Habituation plays a critical role in his account of the develop-
ment of character, and therefore in being virtuous. At the beginning of
Book II he writes:
Hence it is also clear that none of the virtues of character arises in us

naturally. For if something is by nature in one condition, habituation
cannot bring it into another condition. A stone, for instance, by nature
moves downward, and habituation could not make it move upwards,
not even if you threw it up ten thousand times to habituate it; nor
could habituation make fire move downwards, or bring anything that
is by nature in one condition into another condition. And so the virtues
arise in us neither by nature nor against nature (NE1103a19-25).
We are not ‘by nature’ virtuous; virtues are not natural capacities, like the
senses, that are automatically activated (or ‘switched on’) when we exer-
cise them.9 While this claim is not novel in itself, something suggested by
it is. Aristotle takes it to be a fact, the same kind of fact that makes it
impossible to habituate a stone to move upward or fire move downward,
that we may become virtuous by habituation. This is borne out by expe-
rience, specifically, by the way that we raise our children. The question
addressed by the discussion of the stone, then, is not ‘how do we become
virtuous?,’ but ‘does habituation activate (in the automatic sense alluded
to above) a natural capacity?’ Since the virtues do not arise in us ‘by
nature’ the answer to this question must be no. Instead, Aristotle
— 314 —
suggests that a virtue is something that we are, due to the nature that we
have, “able to acquire” (NE1103a26). Again, we are not naturally virtu-
ous but become so through habituation. This is why he repeatedly stresses
the import of habituation: without the proper upbringing we will not
reach our full potential and fulfill the proper function of a human being.
So how are we habituated to virtue?
Virtues we acquire, just as we acquire crafts, by having first activated

them. For we learn a craft by producing the same product that we must
produce when we have learned it; we become builders, for instance, by
building, and we become harpists by plying harp. Similarly, then, we
become just by doing just actions, temperate by doing temperate
actions, brace by doing brace actions… For what we do in our deal-
ings with other people makes some of us just, some unjust; what we
do in terrifying situations, and the habits of fear or confidence that we
acquire, make some of us brave and other cowardly. The same is true
of situations involving appetites and anger; for one or another sort of
conduct in these situations makes some temperate and mild, others
intemperate and irascible. To sum it up in a single account: a state [of
character] results from [the repetition of] similar activities (NE1103a33-
b22).
One immediate response to this suggestion is anticipated by Aristotle.

Surely someone who does just, temperate, or brave acts is just or temper-
ate or brave already (NE1105a16-21). Aristotle claims, however, that
merely doing as the virtuous person does is not enough to be virtuous;
one must do what the virtuous person does in the way that the virtuous
person does it. This claim explains little in itself. It does, however, intro-
duce a question of central interpretive importance: how does repeatedly
imitating the actions of a virtuous person make one virtuous? One might
object to this question by pointing out that it suggests that the only model
of habituation available is overly simplistic: it reduces habituation to mere
imitation and repetition. But according to Aristotle, the process by which
one is habituated to virtue is, from a practical perspective (the standpoint
of one interested in habituating a young person to virtue, the parent or
— 315 —
teacher), one that involves imitation and repetition. We become just

by acting as the just person does, and doing this involves doing our best
to imitate the actions of a just person. Whether this means that habitua-
tion is merely a matter of imitation and repetition is another matter
entirely.10
One way to interpret Aristotle’s various remarks about habituation is
to take him to be saying that by habituation one develops the ‘moral mus-
cle’ to act as the virtuous person does.11 By repeatedly acting as the vir-
tuous person, a person does learn to control the desires and emotions
that she has which initially prompt her to act otherwise. A child learns
through repeated admonition that being mean to others when she is
unhappy is contrary to virtue. As a result she comes to develop the abil-
ity over time to resist her urge to be mean when she is unhappy.12 But
clearly, as it stands, this interpretation – what I will call the Moral Mus-
cle model – cannot be right. Aristotle repeatedly insists that being virtu-
ous involves being in the proper dispositional and affective state. Being
virtuous is not and cannot be a struggle, so no moral muscle is required
to be virtuous.13
Alternatively, one might suggest that habituation molds the disposi-
tional and affective states of the young person. Unlike the Moral Muscle
model of habituation, this interpretation takes it to be the goal of habit-
uation that the student should end up with a virtuous character and not
just the ability to act as virtue ‘demands.’ The student reaches moral matu-
rity when she finds pleasure in acting as the virtuous person does: freely
and deliberately from an established character. This model of habituation,
unlike the Moral Muscle model, is supported by the text. In NEII.3 Aris-
totle partially clarifies what he means by acting in the way that the virtu-
ous person does.
But we must take someone’s pleasure or pain following on his actions

to be a sign of his state… For Pleasure causes us to do base actions,
and pain causes us to abstain from fine ones. That is why we need to
have had the appropriate upbringing – right from early youth, as Plato
— 316 —
says – to make us find enjoyment or pain in the right things; for this
is the correct education (NE1104b7-14).
So at least part of what it means to act as the virtuous person does is to

get pleasure from virtuous activity (and not from vicious activity). What
imitation and repetition provide, according to this account, is the habit of
taking pleasure in some kinds of acts and not others.14 We can rework the
example above to fit this model. The child experiences, through repeated
admonition and other sanctions, pain (or at least a distinct lack of pleasure)
when she is mean to others when she is unhappy. In addition, she experi-
ences pleasure when she is praised for not responding to her unhappiness
in the way that she once did. (One might add that in time she comes to
internalize these corrective processes – admonishing herself upon realizing
that she has acted viciously, for example – thus making it possible for her
to take a part in her own moral education.) This combination of admoni-
tion and praise lead her to take pleasure in acting in accordance with virtue
instead of vice, and eventually it becomes second nature to her to respond
to her own unhappiness in the way the virtuous person would. Consequent
on this set of experiences she actually comes to have the means to make
herself feel better (experience pleasure) when she is unhappy.
This interpretation is attractive for a number of reasons. First, it is
more faithful to the text than the Moral Muscle account. Second, it
explains how and why the young person develops as she does: repetition
and imitation bring the young person to take pleasure in acting virtuously.
Her appetites and emotions are such that what she wants to do is be vir-
tuous, and consequently she takes pleasure from acting virtuously and sat-
isfying this desire. Third, it partially explains what Aristotle means by act-
ing in the way that the virtuous man does; the young person eventually
takes pleasure in virtuous action in the same say that the virtuous person
does. Finally, it makes room for the possibility that a person might play
a role in her own moral development by internalizing the corrective
processes by which she is habituated.
— 317 —
This model of habituation – which I will call the Conditioned Char-

acter model – while more attractive than the Moral Muscle model, is
nonetheless problematic. What this interpretation fails to explain is
what role reason plays in being virtuous. In a sense, it is a mindless
model of habituation: all that habituation effects is the nonrational part
of the soul.15 Consequently, no interaction of the rational and nonra-
tional parts of the soul is required for virtuous action. Character pro-
vides the ends and thus the only role that reason can play in virtuous
action is the distinct one of calculating means to achieving those ends.
When fleshed out, this model of habituation harmonizes perfectly with
the Functional Independence account of the relation between the non-
rational part and the rational parts of the soul limned in section I. But
as we’ve already seen, while such an account does make room for rea-
son in being virtuous, it ignores what Aristotle says about the way that
the nonrational and the rational parts of the soul interact in the virtu-
ous person.
III. ARISTOTLE’S ACCOUNT
At the end of Book VI, in which he discusses the virtues of the rational
part of soul, Aristotle makes the following claim: “What we have said,
then, makes it clear that we cannot be fully good without prudence
[practical wisdom], or prudent without virtue of character”
(NE1144b32-33). Virtue of character and practical wisdom stand in a
biconditional relation. If one has a fully virtuous character, then one is
also practically wise; if one is practically wise, then one also has a fully
virtuous character. This claim reinforces two suggestions made above,
but to show how it does will take some work: (1) both the Adversar-
ial and Functional Independence accounts of the relation between the
rational and nonrational parts of the soul are unable to explain Aristo-
tle’s various claims about the way in which reason and desire interact
— 318 —
in the virtuous person, and, (2) the Moral Muscle and Conditioned
Character models of habituation fail to explain how character and prac-
tical reason come to stand, from a developmental perspective, in this
biconditional relation. To make sense of the claim that having a fully
virtuous character requires practical wisdom, I will provide an alterna-
tive account of habituation that builds on the Conditioned Character
model. To make sense of the claim that to be practically wise one must
be virtuous, I will discuss what Aristotle has to say about the virtues
of the rational part of the soul in Book VI. Having done this I will
return to the two suggestions above.
Aristotelian Habituation
To the extent that the Conditioned Character model explains moral

development, it does so adequately. The suggestion that habituation
trains a young person to take pleasure in acting virtuously seems both
correct and supported by the text. There is, however, much more
involved in acting virtuously than just this. First, one must possess cer-
tain discriminatory skills. To ‘see’ that a certain situation calls for a
response of a specific kind, one must be sensitive to various aspects
of that situation. Which details of a situation should be attended to,
that is, which details are morally relevant and which are not? Second,
one must have the ability to critically assess one’s own affective
responses to specific situations. One must consider the following
kinds of questions: Am I overreacting? Under-reacting? To answer
these questions, one must be able to distance oneself from one’s
responses enough to reflect on them. Finally, one must be able to
particularize the often general ends provided by character. Action, as
Aristotle repeatedly stresses, requires the presence of a desire that
establishes a specific end. Without further discussion, how habituation
yields a character that generates desires specific enough to act on
remains mysterious.
— 319 —
a) The Role of Perception
Aristotle mentions the role of perception in ethical contexts a number of

times in the Nicomachean Ethics. First, in a discussion of deliberation in
Book III, he says the following:
Nor do we deliberate about particulars, about whether this is a loaf, for

instance, or is it cooked the right amount; for these are questions for
perception, and if we keep on deliberating at each stage we shall go on
without end (NE1113a1-5).
Although in this passage he is not speaking directly about the role of per-
ception in ethical matters, it does suggest that the form of perception he
is talking about provides the unquestioned details that make up – provide
much of the prereflective ‘content’ of – the situations in which we find
ourselves and to which we respond.
For these variable facts are the starting-points for the apprehension of
the end, since the universals are reached from the particulars; we must,
therefore, have perception of these particulars, and this perception is
understanding [intuitive reason] (NE1143a35-b5).16
Clearly how one sees the particulars of a situation, which features of it one
takes to be relevant and worth attending to, is crucial if one is to act as
the virtuous person does. Consider the following examples: (1) I’m hun-
gry for a sandwich and so I go to the breadbasket and see a loaf of bread,
(2) I see my son in a playground at the bottom of a ladder clutching a
bleeding knee and crying. In both of these situations how I attend to (or
agian, ‘see’) the particulars of the situation is crucial to how I respond to
them. In the first case, suppose I see the bread but stop to consider
whether or not my wife is playing a trick on me by placing a plastic loaf
of bread in the breadbasket. One might respond to this case in one of two
ways. Either I’m being practically irrational, or there are details missing
from the example that explain why my response is reasonable. If there is
— 320 —
no reason for me to doubt that the bread is real (my wife is not a prac-
tical joker, I’ve never been duped by a fake loaf of bread, etc.) then my
considering the possibility that it is shows that I am not being reasonable.
I am not, strictly speaking, being irrational. Of course it is possible that
the bread might indeed be plastic. But I am being practically irrational.
Were I to respond regularly to similarly mundane day to day situations in
this way, I would impede my own ability to function properly: I would
be partially debilitated by paranoia.
The second case is structurally similar, but the consequences of my
being practically irrational are quite different. Suppose that when I see
my son crying and clutching his bleeding knee, I consider the possibility
that he is faking it and playing an ingenious trick on his father. Again,
unless there are critical details being left out of the story my behavior is
practically irrational. It is also, however, unlike in the case above, obvi-
ously morally problematic. The way that the situation appears to me
reveals a moral failing on my part. It is not that I do not see my son
bleeding and crying that represents the failure; it is that I do not see him
suffering. I am not being irrational or intentionally cold-hearted. Rather,
I am failing to see an important, and very real, feature of the situation.
Aristotle distinguishes between perception proper – seeing a red apple
on the table – and the form of perception discussed above. If a person
fails to see a red apple as red but instead sees it as green then something
is wrong with her physiology. Failing to see the morally relevant aspects
of a situation is not a failure of this sort. It would be wrong, however, to
conclude that the virtuous person and the vicious person see the same
thing but interpret it differently. The virtuous person actually sees things
that the vicious man does not (suffering, for example) but this difference
in what is seen cannot be explained by a difference in physiology. This is
why, I think, Aristotle introduces this second form of perception, (distinct
from perception proper), which he calls intuitive reason.17
What does all this have to do with habituation and learning to be
virtuous?
— 321 —
Therefore we ought to attend to the undemonstrated sayings and opin-

ions of experienced and older people or of prudent people no less than
to demonstrations. For these people see correctly because experience
has given them an eye they see aright (NE1143a35-b5).
I take Aristotle to be saying two things in this passage: first, that to be

practically wise one must be ‘experienced and older,’ and second, that to
become practically wise one must learn from those who are. Both of these
claims are familiar but the context in which they are placed is not. To be
practically wise is, at least in part, to have developed over time a percep-
tual capacity to attend to the particulars of a situation in a way that a
vicious person cannot. It is not that the vicious person sees but decides
to ignore certain features of a situation. Rather, like the father in the sec-
ond example above, she fails to ‘see aright.’18
How does habituation instill the eyes of the virtuous person in a
developing person? While Aristotle does not explicitly respond to this
question, what he does say about habituation suggests how he might. In
the discussion of the Conditioned Character model above, I suggested
that the parent, by means of various methods like admonition and praise,
brings the child to take pleasure in acting virtuously. It would seem also
that part of this process is going to involve the parent bringing the child
to compose the scene she is confronted with in the right way. It is quite
common for children to get embarrassed and upset by the laughter which
is a product of their parents’ joy in watching them struggle and succeed
in various endeavors. What do we say to children when they respond this
way? We try to explain to them why our laughter was not intended as a
slight; we try to make them see the situation from another perspective,
viz. a parent’s perspective. Similarly, one of the great challenges of par-
enting is to bring one’s child to understand what ‘being fair’ means. Part
of instilling this understanding involves bringing the child to see things
from a perspective which takes into account the feelings of other people
she is involved with. Again, this involves more than bringing the child to
interpret the situation she is presented with in a certain way. It involves
— 322 —
helping the child to see things that she previously did not, helping her
make finer grained distinctions by pointing out features of the situation
that she previously overlooked. Of course, development of this percep-
tual capacity takes time; the child must not only see things as she is told
to (ideally as the virtuous person does), but also develop the ability to do
this on her own. This will involve the child participating in the process,
asking for explanations and justifications.19 Clearly it will not be a mind-
less process. I will explain what I mean by this in more detail below.
b) Making Space for Reflection
Aristotle spends a great deal of time discussing the requirement that one’s
affective responses (and the actions that flow from these responses) ‘hit
the mean.’20 To do this one must first possess the discriminatory skills
mentioned above so that the affective response is directed at the morally
relevant features of the situation. In addition, one must be able to criti-
cally assess the strength of one’s response. Is the strength of the affec-
tive response appropriate to the situation? His definition of virtue makes
this clear:
Virtue, then, is a state that decides, consisting in a mean, the mean rel-
ative to us, which is defined by reference to reason, that is to say, to
the reason by reference to which the prudent [practically wise] person
would define it (NE1107a1-4).
Aristotle here makes explicit something I have suggested repeatedly above.

Though the virtues he is discussing in this section of Book II are virtues
of character, and thus virtues of the nonrational part of the soul, they
cannot be fully described without reference to their intrinsic rationality.
To determine whether or not one’s affective response to a situation hits
the mean, one must be able to do two things. First, one must be able to
distance oneself enough from one’s feelings that those feelings can be
critically assessed. If I am so overwhelmed by my anger at being cut off
— 323 —
by another driver while in traffic that I quickly pass him, making rude
gestures, and then proceed to cut him off, I have clearly failed to hit the
mean with respect to both my feelings and the actions that they produce.
Part of this failure is a result of my inability to distance myself from my
anger, to gain a perspective from which I can evaluate the situation I am
in and consider how I should respond to being cut off. One of the things
that Aristotle says about the virtue of temperance is relevant here: it pre-
serves practical wisdom (NE1140b13). I take it that what he means by this
is that temperance is the virtue that prevents us from being overwhelmed
by our concerns regarding pleasure and pain: it is thus a virtue that helps
make space for critical reflection.21 The second thing a person must be
able to do to hit the mean is more obvious: she must assess the situation
she is in and respond with the appropriate degree of affect. This is what
hitting the mean consists in. Clearly determining this will involve the
rational part of the soul (regardless if one’s determination is ultimately
correct, that is, the same determination the practically wise person would
make in the same situation).
Again one might ask what role habituation plays in the development
of the ability to hit the mean. I have suggested that to hit the mean a per-
son must be able to do two things: she must be able to distance herself
enough from her feelings that she is able to critically assess them, and she
must be able to determine whether or not her affective responses and
intended actions actually hit the mean. Hitting the mean requires both
critical space and critical capacities. At the end of Book I, in a passage dis-
cussed briefly above, Aristotle says that the nonrational part of the soul
listens to the rational part of the soul in the same way that a child listens
to a parent (NE1102b33-1103a4). What happens when a child listens to
a parent? First, the child pays attention to the parent. ‘Stop what you are
doing and listen to me!’ Commands like this are issued to bring the child
to a state in which she is able to be receptive to what the parent has to
say. Before there can be any communication between parent and child
about the particulars of the situation, any discussion aimed at bringing
— 324 —
the child to appreciate and understand the situation she is in and how he
should or should not respond to it, the child must be brought to atten-
tion. Often when trying to get the attention of a very young child more
than just words is required: sometimes physically removing a child from
a situation, sitting her down and calming her down is necessary. There are
countless ways to get the attention of a child (many of which, like a slap
in the face, we might find deplorable) but they all serve the same purpose:
to bring the child to a state where she is able to listen to what the parent
has to say.22
One might point out that the analogy breaks down because it is
unclear how to make sense of the role of the parent as being internal-
ized.23 How can the rational part of the soul call the nonrational part to
attention? It can’t. The rational part of the soul produces rational judg-
ments, arguments, and determinations. But it seems impossible that any
of these could induce the initial state of receptiveness required to engage
them (NE1179b5-11). This is why a good upbringing is so important. If
one has not been habituated to distance oneself from one’s feelings
enough to reflect on them, it is unclear how else this ability (habit) would
be developed. Without the ability to make room for, and the tendency to
engage in, rational reflection, one cannot even begin to make determina-
tions as to whether or not one’s affective responses and intended actions
hit the mean.24
c) From ‘Wish’ to Desire
I said above that through habituation the well brought up young person
comes to have appetites and emotions which make her want to act virtu-
ously.25 The general desire to act virtuously does not seem to be a desire
one could immediately act on. Clearly some prereflective desires will
indeed be specific enough to produce actions that are virtuous: my desire
to provide first aid to my son’s bleeding knee, for example. But there
would seem to be a range of cases in which my desire to help someone
— 325 —
lacks the degree of specificity required to act on. I want the students that
I teach to get good grades. Just wanting (or desiring) my students to get
good grades, however, does not seem to be a specific enough desire to
act on prereflectively. I could satisfy this desire in any number of ways. I
could give them all the best grades I could get away with regardless of the
quality of their work, or I could meet with them individually every week
in an effort to help them do work which will get them good grades. These
different ways of satisfying my desire that they get good grades are each
going to incorporate more specific desires which I actually act on. But
clearly which more specific desire I act on is going to have an impact on
whether or not I act virtuously.
Aristotle divides desires into three general categories: appetites
(which are desires generated by specific physical urges), emotional
impulses (like anger which for Aristotle is always linked to a specific
desire to do something), and ‘wish’ or ‘rational desire.’26 These are
desires for things conceived of as good (NE1113a15). A rational desire
has two distinctive features: it is a desire for something at a distance, and
its object is such that desiring it does not automatically carry with it a
specific enough desire to act on. These features are related: the objects
that satisfy rational desires are such that the desiring of them does not
automatically generate responses that satisfy them. Thus the satisfaction
of this kind of desire requires reflection in a way that the satisfaction of
the prereflective desires of appetite and emotion do not. Reflection is
required to identify or formulate the means to satisfy the end estab-
lished by the more general rational desire. One might object that I am
confusing the means to satisfying the rational desire with what I have
been calling the more specific desire that is acted on. I am not confus-
ing them, I am equating them; the more specific desires that are acted
on are precisely the means to the satisfaction of the more general
rational desire. According to Aristotle, where there is no desire there is
no action (for example, De Anima 433a21-5), so if the rational desire
itself is not a desire I can act on then another, more specific, desire
— 326 —
must also be present if I am to act at all. Moreover, to secure the ends

established by these more specific desires other means will be required.
If I decide to give my students the best grades I can get away with
regardless of the quality of their work, how I go about doing this still
must be determined. Making this determination is going to require the
same kind of reflective space and critical activity as is involved in mak-
ing determinations in an effort to hit the mean.
There are two distinct stages in the development of the ability to
have and act on rational desires, both of which involve habituation.
First, a child must be brought to have desires distinct from those gen-
erated by appetite and emotion. This will obviously involve similar
methods to those used in bringing a child to reflect on the desires she
has: helping her to see that her life is entwined with the lives of other
people who are effected by what she does, or helping her to see how
the actions of the present effect her life in the future. By helping the
child to see these things, repeatedly calling attention to them and their
import, the child’s interest in more distant objectives is stimulated. Sec-
ond, the child must develop the ability to satisfy these less specific
rational desires in a way that supports the development of a virtuous
character. Though a child might come to care deeply about being liked
by people, have the desire to ‘fit in,’ she might not yet understand that
acting in the way that she thinks they want her to is not the way to do
this. It might not be the best way to do this because often people are
turned off by people who appear sycophantic. More importantly, how-
ever, she might not yet appreciate that acting the way she thinks others
want her to might lead her to do things that, all things considered, she
knows she should not. The ‘all things considered’ is important. It sug-
gests that part of what a child must be habituated to do is, sometimes
at least, assess what it is she is doing and why she is doing it. Again, this
is not something reason can do on its own; before one can exercise
one’s critical capacities and ‘listen to reason,’ one must be in a position
to be receptive to it.27
— 327 —
It is not possible to have a virtuous character without practical wisdom…
Earlier, in a discussion of the development of the perceptual ability to

make finer grained distinctions and see the world with the eyes of the
virtuous person, I suggested that Aristotle does not conceive of habitua-
tion as a ‘mindless’ process. The activities of the rational part of the soul
also play a crucial role. In Book X, in a discussion of the role of argument
in moral education, Aristotle suggests something like this:
Now if arguments were sufficient by themselves to make people

decent, the rewards they would command would justifiably have been
many and large, as Theognis says, and rightly bestowed. In fact, how-
ever, arguments seem to have enough influence to stimulate and
encourage the civilized ones among the young people, and perhaps to
make virtue take possession of a well-born character that truly loves
what is fine; but they seem unable to turn the many toward being fine
and good (NE1179b5-11).
While this passage is often quoted to highlight what Aristotle says about
the inability of argument to help or persuade adults who have been
brought up poorly (or allowed themselves to become vicious) to be vir-
tuous, my interest in it is different.28 One of the things this passage
shows us is that Aristotle considers argument to play a crucial role in
moral education.29 Arguments can help a child who has already been
habituated to take pleasure in acting virtuously (that is, she is already a
lover of the fine and noble) but does not yet know exactly how to do
this in the varying situations in which she finds herself. For an argument
to persuade, encourage, and stimulate a young person two things must
happen. First, she must learn how arguments work, taught to see the dif-
ference between a good and a bad argument. The rational part of the
young person must be developed. Second, she must be in a position to
‘listen to reason.’ For this to happen, as I have argued above, she must
be perceptive, self-conscious and critical. The development of these
capacities, however, involves both the rational and nonrational parts of
— 328 —
the soul. Although initially habituation consists in little more than con-
trolling, channeling, and redirecting the appetites and impulses of the
nonrational part of the soul, as the child matures the process becomes
dialectical. The child, once receptive to the external voice of reason, is
introduced to the practice of critically assessing what she feels and why
she feels it. She is prompted, urged, and coaxed to see the world and
her responses to it in the way that she was previously unable to. She is
given justifications and explanations that explain why and how she
should think about how she sees and responds to the situations in which
she finds herself. Eventually the once external voice of reason is inter-
nalized and she is ‘ready to be possessed by virtue.’
All men, then, seem somehow to divine that this kind of state is virtue,
viz. that which is in accordance with prudence. But we must make
a slight change. For it is not merely the state in accordance with
right rule, but the state that implies the presence of the right rule, that is
virtue; and practical wisdom is a right rule about such matters
(NE1144b25-30).
What this suggests is that virtue involves a state of character that has a
certain structure. Moreover, this structure doesn’t just reflect right rule,
but reveals its presence. What I take Aristotle to be saying here is that
a virtuous character is one that is structured from within by practical
wisdom. One way to make sense of this suggestion is to look at Aris-
totle’s account of the way in which a person’s character is formed. What
the discussion above suggests is that for a person to have a character
that reveals the presence of practical wisdom, she must be habituated
to incorporate the rational part of the soul in how the nonrational part
of her soul expresses itself. While this claim puts us in a position to
make some sense of the first half of the biconditional – if one has a fully
virtuous character then one is also practically wise – to fully understand
what he means by this we must look at what he has to say about the
second half.
— 329 —
… nor to have practical wisdom without having a virtuous character.
Near the end of Book VI, Aristotle introduces a new term into the
discussion: ‘cleverness.’
There is a capacity, called cleverness, which is such as to be able to do

the actions that tend to promote whatever goal is assumed and to attain
them. If, then, the goal is fine, cleverness is praiseworthy, and if the
goal is base, cleverness is unscrupulousness; hence both prudent and
unscrupulous people are called clever (NE1144a25-29).
This passage would seem to complement the Functional Independence

account discussed in section I. Prudence and cleverness, it suggests, are
the same capacity directed at different ends. When the end is good we call
the deliberative capacity that determines the appropriate means to satis-
fying that end prudence. When the end is bad, it is called cleverness.
Immediately following this passage, however, Aristotle makes the follow-
ing claim:
Prudence is not cleverness, though it requires this capacity. [Prudence,]

this eye of the soul, requires virtue in order to reach it fully developed
state (NE1144a 30-31).
Again, the Functional Independence account oversimplifies matters. If

the only difference between practical wisdom and cleverness is the ends
at which their operation is directed, then why does Aristotle say that prac-
tical wisdom cannot reach its fully developed state without a good char-
acter? Either this is a pretty trivial claim – ‘prudence’ just means clever-
ness directed at good ends – or the answer to this question is going to
explain, at least partially, why the Functional Independence account is
wrong.
Aristotle tells us that a person who is prudent is, “able to deliberate
finely about what is good and beneficial for himself, not about some
restricted area – about what sorts of things promote health or strength,
— 330 —
for instance – but about what sorts of things promote living well in gen-
eral” (NE1140a 25-29). The deliberations of a practically wise person,
then, will have at least two features: a formal structure (this will capture
at least part of what it means to deliberate well or ‘finely’) and a generally
specifiable content (they will be about, or directed at, promoting living
well). This claim, however, leaves open the possibility that the difference
between the deliberations of the practically wise person and the clever
person lies in the difference in what I have called the content of their
deliberations, and if this is the only difference then the Functional Inde-
pendence account still stands.
We might think of deliberation as that process whereby we calculate
the means to satisfying an end or desire. I desire X and deliberate as to
how to satisfy it. If I do Y to satisfy my desire for X, then were I asked
to explain why I did Y I might say, ‘because I wanted X.’ While this might
sometimes be accepted as an adequate response, one might object that I
haven’t really explained why I did Y. Simply referring to the desire that ini-
tiated the process that ended in my doing Y only partially explains my
action. A more satisfying, or at least complete, response would also
explain why I took Y to be the appropriate means to satisfying X. What
this suggests is that deliberation involves more than just an end (the desire
for X), a set of beliefs that bear on the satisfaction of X, and calculation
(‘How do I, the facts as they are, satisfy X?’). In Book III Aristotle says
the following:
[W]e lay down the end, and then examine the ways and means to
achieve it. If it appears that any of several [possible] means will reach
it, we examine which of them will reach it most easily and most finely;
and if only one [possible] means reaches it we examine how that means
will reach it, and how the means itself is reached, until we come to the
first cause, the last thing to be discovered (NE1112b16-19).
According to Aristotle, deliberation is the process by which we determine

which means, if any, should be employed in achieving our ends.
— 331 —
Rational choice is the product of deliberation (NE1112a18). The pas-

sage above suggests that, according to Aristotle, when I choose to do Y
I do so not under the description ‘I do Y because I want (desire) X,’ but
instead ‘I do Y because I want X and I have determined that Y is the best
way to go about getting X.’ A rational choice, then, expresses not only a
desire for something, but also a judgment or determination about the best
way to go about satisfying that desire. Consider the following example.
Suppose that I find out that a friend of mine has fallen ill and has been
hospitalized. Concerned, I decide that I should send him flowers to let
him know that I am thinking of him. I know that my wife is generous and
sympathetic and would happily call the florist on my behalf and have
them send flowers to the hospital. I also, know, however, that I could eas-
ily do it myself. What should I do? Formalizing things a bit, we get the
following picture: I desire that my friend receive flowers from me (X), and
I can either have my wife call the florist (Y), or make the call myself (Z).
I will assume that the end to which my deliberation is aimed (X) is good.
In a sense, then, whether I do Y or Z, I will be ‘doing the right thing.’ In
addition, it would seem that Y is the ‘easiest’ way to achieve X (my wife
would enjoy doing it, and I would not have to do as much – I could
spend more time watching television). So far, nothing taken into consid-
eration suggests that I should do Z: several possible means will reach X,
and Y will reach it most easily. But should I do Y? Is Y the finest way to
achieve X?30
Before addressing this question, consider a modification of this exam-
ple. Suppose that Y and Z are equally efficient ways of achieving X. On
what basis am I to choose to do one or the other? In one sense both Y
and Z are perfectly rational ways to achieve X. But, according to Aristo-
tle, for a choice to be rational I must make some determination: I cannot
(rationally) do both Y and Z. It would seem that no amount of calcula-
tion will help me in this case. I use the word ‘calculation’ here in what I
take to be a familiar way. Calculation is usually defined by reference to its
role in mathematics. It is a process that involves accepted objective facts
— 332 —
(numbers) and rules (axioms, formulas, etc.). Using Aristotle’s terminol-

ogy, the product of a correct calculation ‘does not admit of being other-
wise’; it is known ‘by necessity’ (NE1139b22-25). If after I make my cal-
culations I come to find that Y and Z produce the same result (X) with
equal ease and efficiency, what should I do? Calculation cannot help me
here.
What, however, should we say about the first example? If I make a
calculation and determine that Y is the most efficient (easiest) way to
achieve X, I can do one of two things. I might decide that optimal effi-
ciency is a good basis on which to make my decision and choose Y. I
might decide, however, that I am concerned with more than just optimal
efficiency. I might want to act as I think a good friend would. Were this
the case, I might have a reason for choosing to do Z. If I do choose to
do Z for this reason, I have done more than merely calculate that Z is
the best way to achieve X; I have calculated that both Y and Z will achieve
X but determined that I should do Z. The distinction between calculation
and determination is implicit in Aristotle’s account of deliberation. He
says that if it appears that any of several possible means will achieve the
end, we ‘examine’ which of them will reach it most easily and most finely.
I am suggesting that the result of such an examination is a determination:
a conclusion that cannot be reached through calculation alone. The pas-
sage above makes it clear that both calculation and determination are
required to make a rational choice. When I choose to do Z and not Y I
do so because I have determined that Z is the ‘finest’ way to achieve X.
The clever person and the prudent person are the same in the follow-
ing respect: they are both excellent calculators. Calculation alone, however,
cannot always provide the practical guidance required for action. One must
also make determinations, and the difference between the clever person
and the practically wise person lies precisely in the determinations that they
each make. Aristotle’s claim that practical wisdom cannot reach its fully
developed state without virtue is clearly not trivial; ‘prudence’ does not
mean merely cleverness directed at good ends. While the
— 333 —
practically wise person does deliberate about how to achieve good ends, the
examples above suggest that this does not necessarily (or always) distin-
guish him from the clever person. While the ‘content’ (end for which they
deliberate) and the ‘form’ (the calculations they make regarding efficiency,
for example) of their deliberations might be the same, the deliberations of
the clever person and the practically wise person are clearly different. Delib-
eration, according to Aristotle, involves more than means-end calculation.
It also involves making determinations about which combinations of ends
and means are best to act on. Deliberation is thus irreducibly character
laden. The clever person lacks practical wisdom because her deliberations
involve determinations which are not those of a virtuous character.
I pointed out earlier that according to Aristotle the practically wise
person is “able to deliberate finely about what is good and beneficial for
himself, not about some restricted area – about what sorts of things pro-
mote health or strength, for instance – but about what sorts of things
promote living well in general” (NE1140a 25-29). This suggests another
important difference between the deliberations of the clever person and
the prudent person. Practical wisdom produces particular deliberations
that involve virtuous determinations. It also produces deliberations which
have two objectives: the achievement of a particular end (like X in the
cases above), and the achievement of a more general end, the promotion
of ‘living well in general.’ While it might be tempting to treat the partic-
ular objective as really an expression of a more general desire, I see no
reason to do this. Aristotle does not say that the virtuous man deliberates
with the aim of achieving the same end (the general end of promoting liv-
ing well in general) every time he deliberates. Although one of the objec-
tives of the practically wise person’s deliberation is the achievement of a
general end, this does not mean that this is the end which is ‘first laid
down,’ the ‘particular end’ of the deliberation. How, then, is the general
end incorporated into the deliberation, and how is it achieved?
The discussion above suggests an answer to this question. The gen-
eral end is incorporated into the deliberation when one considers which
— 334 —
of all possible means to achieving the particular end will do so most finely,
that is, in the way that best promotes living well in general. When a per-
son considers which means achieves the particular end most finely, what
she is doing is evaluating the proposed action – under the description ‘Y
for the sake of X’ – and seeing how it fits or fails to fit with other desires,
interests, objectives, and values she has. This set of desires, interests,
objectives, and values constitute his conception of what it means to live
well. We might say that the promotion of living well in general is an
implicit premise in all of the deliberations of the practically wise person.
I suggest that it is an implicit premise because it is not obvious to me that
the practically wise person should, or needs to, always explicitly consider
whether a particular means promotes living well in general. However, it
is important to notice that while the virtuous person’s conception of liv-
ing well in general might only be an implicit premise in most of her delib-
erations, this does not mean that she is unaware that she has such a con-
ception. To deliberate with practical wisdom, one must have the ability
to see one’s life from a perspective partially disengaged from the partic-
ular situation one is in, but also to see one’s life as a coherent whole into
which the present situation must be incorporated. To do this, it would
seem essential that one have a relatively clear conception of what ‘living
well’ means.
I will not try to explain what Aristotle means by ‘living well in gen-
eral’ in any detail.31 Most generally to live well is to live actively, express-
ing virtue. What he means by this is explained by the Nicomachean Ethics
as a whole; it is a philosophical analysis of what he considers the func-
tion of a human being to be. Much of the discussion above sheds some
light on what he means by this. However: one need not understand what
Aristotle says in the Nicomachean Ethics to be virtuous. Being virtuous
requires practical wisdom, not philosophical education.32 The fully virtu-
ous person sees how the means and ends she deliberates about fit together
and cohere with her conception of what it means to live well in a way that
the person of incomplete virtue does not. “But if someone acquires under-
— 335 —
standing, he improves his actions; and the state he now has, though still
similar, will be virtue to the full extent” (NE1144a13-15).
CONCLUSION
According to Aristotle, virtue of character and prudence stand in a bicon-

ditional relation; in the fully virtuous person they are completely inte-
grated and interdependent. I have explained why, for Aristotle, a virtuous
character is one that is irreducibly rational and thus reveals the presence
of rationality. In addition, I have shown why, according to Aristotle, delib-
eration is irreducibly character laden, and also what distinguishes the delib-
erations of the practically wise person from those of the clever person.
The Adversarial and Functional Independence accounts, presented in sec-
tion I, are unable to explain Aristotle’s various claims about how reason
and desire interact in the virtuous person, for two reasons. First, they fail
to incorporate all that Aristotle says about the rational characteristics of
the nonrational part of the soul of the virtuous person. The desires of the
virtuous person are not brute urges that arise from a part of the soul that
is ‘deaf to reason.’ Rather they are desires that arise in a person who has
been habituated to see, feel, and respond to the world in a distinctively
rational way. Second, they ignore the extent to which one’s character influ-
ences one’s capacity to deliberate well.
These interpretive achievements constitute a response to the chal-
lenges articulated at the outset of this paper. The discussion above, how-
ever, suggests that they are also something more. If we can appreciate
Aristotle’s claim that virtue of character and prudence stand in a bicon-
ditional relation only if we attend to his account of habituation, then these
conclusions also represent an argument. If it is true that we cannot under-
stand the Nicomachean Ethics without understanding why Aristotle is com-
mitted to the view that virtue of character and prudence stand in a bicon-
ditional relation, and we cannot understand this claim without attending
— 336 —
to his account of habituation, then it follows that to understand Aristo-

tle’s ethics one must understand his account of habituation.
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NOTES
1. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. Terence Irwin, 2nd ed. (Indianapolis: Hackett Publish-
ing Company, 1999). All future citations of Aristotle will be drawn from this translation and placed
in the body of the text as follows: (NE1144b32-33).
2. In the Irwin translation of the Nicomachean Ethics cited immediately above, phronesis is ren-
dered ‘prudence.’ While ‘prudence’ is not an inaccurate translation, it is not unproblematic. Irwin
agrees: “A good translation of for phronesis would be ‘wisdom’ if that were not already needed for
Sophia. ‘Prudence’ (from the Latin rendering of prudentia) is a good rendering, since it suggests good
sense about one’s own welfare, but it may mislead, if we identify prudence with narrow and self-
ish caution” (Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, (op cit), 345.). To mitigate the influence of this possibly
misleading interpretive decision I will use ‘prudence’ and ‘practical wisdom’ – a more common
but no less problematic rendering of phronesis – as synonyms.
— 338 —
3. I do not here mean to suggest that contemporary readers of Aristotle uniformly ignore
that habituation plays a crucial role in his ethics. This is certainly not the case. Broadie, Burnyeat,
Cooper, Kosman, McDowell, Nussbaum, Sherman, and Sorabji, for example, are alive to the
importance of this dimension of Aristotle’s conception of virtue. However, with two notable
exceptions – Burnyeat and Sherman – none explore the ‘process through which an ethically unde-
veloped human being becomes a virtuous person’ in much concrete detail. This is an unfortunate
oversight because – as I argue in this paper – an understanding of how and why habituation works
as it does provides distinctive, if not unique, insights into Aristotle’s ethics. Finally, even Burnyeat
and Sherman fail to consider how Aristotle’s account of habituation illuminates a claim central to
the Nicomachean Ethics: namely, that prudence and virtue of character are interdependent.
I should note here that this charge of neglect need not be qualified with respect to much of
the standard introductory literature on Aristotle’s ethics. For example, in the essay on Aristotle’s
ethics in The Cambridge Companion to Aristotle (1995), D.S. Hutchinson devotes less than two of
thirty-seven pages to a discussion of habituation. Moreover, ‘habituation’ is not found in the
subject index, nor is it found among the fifteen subject headings in the copious 309 entry ‘Ethics’
bibliography. Things are no better when it comes to contemporary introductions to Aristotle on
the internet. In Richard Kraut’s contribution to the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (2007), only
one of eighty-two paragraphs is specifically devoted to discussion of Aristotle’s account of habit-
uation.
4. This interpretive approach was inspired by M.F. Burnyeat’s excellent “Aristotle on Learn-
ing to Be Good” (1980, especially 69-71).
5. The expression ‘parts of the soul’ in these passages is somewhat problematic in that it
suggests that the parts alluded to are distinct, isolable, and separable entities. This is not what Aris-
totle means when he uses the expression. In De Anima he claims that ‘a part of the soul’ is the
thing picked out by, and associated with, a particular potentiality (433a30-b5). This passage, and
others in De Anima (e.g., 433b22-25), make clear that according to Aristotle the ‘parts of the soul’
are separable “only in definition, and inseparable by nature” (NE1102a33-34). See Sarah Broadie’s
Ethics With Aristotle (1991, chapter 2) for more on the ‘anatomy’ of the Aristotelian soul.
6. This passage might be read as suggesting that Aristotle’s account is in an important way
similar to that of Plato’s. See, for example, Republic 439c-e.
7. One might read Aristotle as here presenting an account similar to Hume’s. For discus-
sions of Humean readings of Aristotle’s moral psychology see Broadie (1991, 67-72), McDowell’s
“Some Issues in Aristotle’s Moral Psychology” (1998), and Sherman’s The Fabric of Character: Aris-
totle’s Theory of Virtue (1989, chapter 3, section 4).
8. “Now a thing’s virtue is relative to its own proper function, [and so we must consider
the function of each part]” (NE1139a18-19). For excellent analyses of Aristotle’s ‘function argu-
ment’ see Jennifer Whiting’s “Aristotle’s Function Argument: A Defense” (1991), and Gavin
Lawrence’s “The Function of the Function Argument” (2001).
9. For more on the ethical dimensions of Aristotle’s conception of nature, including human
nature, see Julia Annas’ The Morality of Happiness (1993, chapter 4).
10. At this point in the development of my interpretation I am not concerned to make pos-
itive assertions as to the nature of Aristotelian habituation. Rather, I am concerned only to more
— 339 —
sharply articulate the issues and problems that I will engage in the remainder of the paper. I would
like to thank an anonymous reviewer for Ethical Perspectives for prompting me to clarify my intent
in this passage.
11. I borrow the term ‘moral muscle’ from Broadie (1991, 108).
12. Joachim appears to endorse such an interpretation in his classic Aristotle: The Nicomachean
Ethics (1951). See, for example, 84-87.
13. This is not to say that acting virtuously cannot sometimes be the result of one exercis-
ing one’s moral muscle. Nor is it to say that the virtuous person has not use, or even need, for
moral muscle. Rather, I am simply arguing that, according to Aristotle, there is much more to virtue
than just moral muscle.
14. Burnyeat might be read, at times at least, as endorsing such an interpretation. For exam-
ple, he characterizes habituation as the process whereby one is brought to ‘love what is noble’
where “what you love in this sense is what you enjoy or take pleasure in” (1980, 76). In a similar
vein, see Kosman (1980, 109-115).
15. Most contemporary readers of Aristotle (including all those mentioned in the first para-
graph of note 3 above) assert that Aristotelian habituation is not a ‘mindless’ process. Unfortu-
nately, with a few notable exceptions – Sherman and, with reservations, Broadie, Burnyeat, and
Sorabji – well developed accounts of why this is the case are rare.
16. While Aristotle does think that understanding (intuitive reason) must be distinguished
from prudence (practical reason), it is also clear that it is reason of a sort. Therefore, the percep-
tion of the particulars of which a situation is composed is not an activity of the nonrational part
of the soul. In addition, Aristotle suggests that practical reason plays the role of ‘the eye of the
soul’ (NE1144a31-33). His use of this metaphor suggests that prudence and understanding are not
as distinct as he sometimes claims that they are. For more on Aristotle’s view of the relation
between the particular and the universal in practical reasoning see Sorabji’s “Aristotle on the Role
of Intellect in Virtue” (1980) and Wiggins’ “Deliberation and Practical Reasoning” (1980).
17. See McDowell’s “Are Moral Requirements Hypothetical Imperatives?” (1978, 13-29),
and “Deliberation and Moral Development In Aristotle’s Ethics” (1996) for excellent discussions
of the role of this form of perception in Aristotle’s account of virtue.
18. Of course, a vicious person might indeed see the suffering (in this respect ‘see aright’)
and choose to ignore it, or worse, sit back and take pleasure in witnessing it. These sorts of vicious-
ness, however, are clearly distinct from the sort presently under consideration.
19. For more on this aspect of Aristotle’s conception of proper parenting see Sherman
(1997), chapter 5, section 5.
20. Detailed treatments of Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean can be found in Urmson’s “Aris-
totle’s Doctrine of the Mean” (1980) and Hursthouse’s “A False Doctrine of the Mean” (1999).
21. This claim suggests another problem with the Conditioned Character model of habitu-
ation, viz., that it misunderstands Aristotle’s account of the relationship between virtue and pleas-
ure. If it were true that Aristotle intended to identify the virtuous and the pleasurable (as Burnyeat
and Kosman at times appear to suggest – see footnote 14 above), what need would the virtuous
person have for temperance?
22. See Broadie (1991, 105-108), for more on the suggestion that part of what habituation
involves is bringing a child to attention and thereby ‘making space’ for reason and reflection.
— 340 —
23. In The Morality of Happiness (1993) Julia Annas argues if not in defense of this analogy,
then in defense of something quite close to it. For example, she suggests that habituation is a life-
long process the control of which initially lies in the hands of others (during one’s early upbring-
ing) but which eventually one assumes for oneself. See, for example, 49-66.
24. I have suggested that to hit the mean, one ‘must assess the situation one is in and
respond with the appropriate degree of affect.’ It is important to note, however, that one need
not pause and self-consciously ‘assess the situation one is in’ in every case. We might say that ini-
tially, in learning to hit the mean one needs to do this, but in time and with practice these assess-
ments can often be made with little or no reflection. (Indeed, there are cases in which my paus-
ing to reflect would prevent me from doing what the virtuous person would.) All this means is
that the requirements for learning how to hit the mean and the requirements for doing so once
one has learned to do so are not identical. This, however, does not seem too surprising: that the
requirements for learning and doing are different would seem to hold true in the case of many (if
not most) abilities.
25. Aristotle’s account of the emotions and its relation to his ethics is, arguably, the topic
of more work on Aristotle’s ethics in recent years than any other. For excellent treatments of this
topic see Nussbaum’s The Therapy of Desire (1994), Sherman (almost everything she has written on
Aristotle touches on this topic, but see especially chapter 2 of Making a Necessity of Virtue: Aristo-
tle and Kant on Virtue, (1997)), and essays by Cooper, Nussbaum, and Striker in A.O. Rorty’s Essays
on Aristotle’s Rhetoric (1996).
26. An excellent discussion of bouleusis (here translated as ‘wish’ or ‘rational desire’) can be
found in McDowell’s “Some Issues in Aristotle’s Moral Psychology” (1998).
27. The preceding discussion sheds light on an issue raised at NE1114b1 where Aristotle con-
siders the following challenge to his account: “But someone may say that everyone aims at the
apparent good, and does not control how it appears, but on the contrary, his character controls
how the end appears to him.” If one’s character determines the ends one pursues, and character
is the product of one’s upbringing, then how can anyone be responsible either for the condition
of his or her character or the actions that flow from it? Clearly, this challenge is based on a mis-
understanding of Aristotelian habituation. While character is the product of one’s upbringing – an
essential component of which is habituation (NE1103b22-25) – this is not a unidirectional process
over which the ‘habituated’ has no control. To the contrary, as we have seen, part of what it involves
is gradually bringing the young person to take control of, and responsibility for, the shaping of her
own character. Moreover, habituation is not a process that is completed or finished at any partic-
ular moment in one’s life. (See footnote 23 above for more on this claim.) While Aristotle does
suggest that at some point in a person’s mature life the condition of her character might no longer
be in her control, it is clear that there is a significant gap between this point and the point at which
her upbringing (broadly conceived) was completed. For this reason, Aristotle can consistently assert
that “the person who is [now] unjust or intemperate was originally free not to acquire this charac-
ter, so that he has it willingly, though once he has acquired the character, he is no longer free not
to have it” (NE1114a20-22). For more on this issue see Broadie (1991, chapter 3, sections 5 and
6), and Kosman’s “Being Properly Affected: Virtues and Feelings in Aristotle’s Ethics” (1980, espe-
cially section 5). I would like to thank an anonymous reviewer for Ethical Perspectives for drawing
my attention to this important issue and its relevance to the subject of this paper.
— 341 —
28. For an interesting discussion of NE1179b5-11 and Aristotle’s claims regarding his
intended audience (i.e., those that can still benefit from reading the Nicomachean Ethics) see chap-
ter one of Tessitore’s Reading Aristotle’s Ethics: Virtue, Rhetoric, and Political Philosophy (1996).
29. A treatment of Aristotle’s account of the role of argument in moral education can be
found in Sorabji’s “Aristotle on the Role of Intellect in Virtue” (1980, especially 213-219).
30. For more on the role of to kalon (‘the fine’ or, according to some translators – e.g., Irwin
– ‘the noble’) in Aristotle’s ethics see Korsgaard’s “From Duty and for the Sake of the Noble:
Kant and Aristotle on Morally Good Action” (1996).
31. Extensive analyses of what Aristotle does mean by ‘living well in general’ can be found
in Cooper’s Reason and Human Good in Aristotle (1975), Kenny’s Aristotle on the Perfect Life (1992),
and Kraut’s Aristotle on the Human Good (1989).
32. Aristotle does suggest, however, that the goal of the philosophical study of virtue is irre-
ducibly practical: “This is why a youth is not a suitable student of political science… since he tends
to be guided by his feelings, his study will be futile and useless; for its end is action, not knowl-
edge” (NE1095a4-6). (It should be noted that this view is not isolated to the early overtly ‘prac-
tical’ books of the Nicomachean Ethics but also appears as late as 1179a.) So while Aristotle thinks
that one need not be a philosopher to be virtuous, clearly he also thinks that what he has to say
can help the well-raised person become practically wise.
— 342 —

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1523-08_EthPersp_03_Bowditch 19-09-2008 14:07 Pagina 309

Aristotle on habituation: The key to

ABSTRACT. This paper explores Aristotle’s discussion in the Nicomachean

KEYWORDS. Aristotle, ethics, virtue, habituation, character development

‘I say that habit’s but long practice, friend,

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES 15, no. 3 (2008): 309-342.

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES – SEPTEMBER 2008

I n this paper, I explore Aristotle’s discussion in the Nicomachean Ethics of

BOWDITCH – THE KEY TO THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS

I examine three interpretations of Aristotle’s account of moral develop-

I. ON THE STRUCTURE OF THE HUMAN SOUL

One might be tempted to read Aristotle as presenting a bipartite account

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES – SEPTEMBER 2008

Additionally, later, in Book VI, Aristotle draws yet another distinction

BOWDITCH – THE KEY TO THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES – SEPTEMBER 2008

II. MODELS OF HABITUATION

According to Aristotle, one cannot be virtuous without having a virtuous

Hence it is also clear that none of the virtues of character arises in us

BOWDITCH – THE KEY TO THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS

Virtues we acquire, just as we acquire crafts, by having first activated

One immediate response to this suggestion is anticipated by Aristotle.

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES – SEPTEMBER 2008

teacher), one that involves imitation and repetition. We become just

But we must take someone’s pleasure or pain following on his actions

BOWDITCH – THE KEY TO THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS

So at least part of what it means to act as the virtuous person does is to

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES – SEPTEMBER 2008

This model of habituation – which I will call the Conditioned Char-

III. ARISTOTLE’S ACCOUNT

BOWDITCH – THE KEY TO THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS

To the extent that the Conditioned Character model explains moral

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES – SEPTEMBER 2008

a) The Role of Perception

Aristotle mentions the role of perception in ethical contexts a number of

Nor do we deliberate about particulars, about whether this is a loaf, for

BOWDITCH – THE KEY TO THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES – SEPTEMBER 2008

Therefore we ought to attend to the undemonstrated sayings and opin-

I take Aristotle to be saying two things in this passage: first, that to be

BOWDITCH – THE KEY TO THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS

b) Making Space for Reflection

Aristotle here makes explicit something I have suggested repeatedly above.

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES – SEPTEMBER 2008

BOWDITCH – THE KEY TO THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS

c) From ‘Wish’ to Desire

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES – SEPTEMBER 2008

BOWDITCH – THE KEY TO THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS

must also be present if I am to act at all. Moreover, to secure the ends

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES – SEPTEMBER 2008

It is not possible to have a virtuous character without practical wisdom…

Earlier, in a discussion of the development of the perceptual ability to

Now if arguments were sufficient by themselves to make people

BOWDITCH – THE KEY TO THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES – SEPTEMBER 2008

… nor to have practical wisdom without having a virtuous character.

There is a capacity, called cleverness, which is such as to be able to do

This passage would seem to complement the Functional Independence

Prudence is not cleverness, though it requires this capacity. [Prudence,]

Again, the Functional Independence account oversimplifies matters. If

BOWDITCH – THE KEY TO THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS

According to Aristotle, deliberation is the process by which we determine

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES – SEPTEMBER 2008