An essay of reflection on Book II of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics
If we were to reflect on ethics and divide it into two great fields of virtues, we would probably follow Aristotle, distinguishing them into intellectual and moral. The former concern thought and knowledge, wisdom, science and prudence, and are acquired mainly through teaching, accumulated experience and time dedicated to learning. The moral virtues, such as justice, courage and temperance, do not depend solely on theoretical instruction, but on constant habit and effective practice in daily life.
This distinction is fundamental because it shows that moral excellence is a progressive construction. Unlike sight, which is naturally given to us, no one is born virtuous or vicious. Virtue is the fruit of repeated choices and a disciplined effort to act rightly in the various situations of life. In other words, man becomes virtuous only insofar as he makes the practice of good a stable and permanent habit.
Courage, for example, is not a natural state that arises spontaneously, but the result of repeated confrontations with fear. Likewise, justice is not merely an abstract idea, but is made concrete in repeated acts of respect for law and balance in relationships. It is action that shapes character, not the other way round.
That is why ethics is not mere philosophical speculation, but above all a practical exercise. If the intellectual virtues depend on the cultivation of reason, the moral virtues require discipline, training and perseverance. It is in the repetition of good acts that man educates and forms himself, until his conduct becomes naturally oriented towards the good.
The very word “ethics” comes from ethos, which means habit. This is not a linguistic detail, but a central point of Aristotelian philosophy: no one becomes virtuous merely by knowing theories or listening to discourses about the good. It is repeated practice, constant exercise, that moulds character and generates a firm disposition to act rightly. Just as we learn an art through repetition, so too do we learn to live well through habit.
The example of the musician is clear: no one is born knowing how to play an instrument. It is in daily practice, repeating scales and melodies, that the musician achieves excellence. The same applies to the architect, who learns by building, and to the citizen, who becomes just by practising just acts. Virtue, therefore, does not arise from abstract theory, but from concrete action, repeated until it becomes part of the person.
This reasoning reveals the decisive importance of education and law. If character is shaped by habit, it falls to the educator and the legislator to create the conditions for men to practise the good repeatedly, until that behaviour becomes natural. Law is not only a brake to restrain vice, but above all a guide that directs citizens towards the practice of good.
Ultimately, Aristotelian ethics rests upon this simple and profound principle: we make ourselves good or bad by the way we choose to act repeatedly. Moral excellence lies neither in chance nor in innate gifts, but in the constant habit of seeking what is just, temperate and courageous.
Virtue and Moral Balance
The most celebrated notion of Aristotelian ethics is the doctrine of the mean. For Aristotle, virtue does not consist in fleeing from passions nor in surrendering to them without measure, but in finding the right proportion. Excess and deficiency are equally destructive; only balance sustains true good.
Courage, for example, is not the absence of fear, but the balanced stance between cowardice, which paralyses, and recklessness, which leads to senseless risks. In the same way, temperance is not insensitivity, but the intermediate point between apathy towards pleasures and unrestrained indulgence in them. In this sense, virtue is always an exercise in discernment and moderation.
Aristotle compares this idea to bodily health: just as it depends on harmony between nourishment and exercise, so too does the health of the soul depend on balance between pleasure and pain. When we choose the right measure in the face of situations, we keep our character in order. That is why virtue is not a fixed rule, but the art of finding, in each concrete circumstance, the middle path that leads to moral excellence.
The way each person reacts to pleasure and pain clearly reveals the quality of their character. The truly temperate man finds satisfaction in avoiding excess and feels serenity in choosing what is moderate. The intemperate, on the other hand, suffers when distancing himself from pleasures, as if deprived of something essential.
That is why moral education must go beyond intellectual teaching: it must mould the human heart so that it learns to love what is good and to reject what is evil. It is not enough to obey rules; the goal of ethical formation is to cultivate a sensibility oriented towards the good, capable of turning desires into allies of virtue. Vice, on the contrary, arises when we seek pleasure at the wrong moment, in an exaggerated way or in inappropriate circumstances.
In the arts, it is enough for someone to accomplish a work correctly to be recognised as competent. If the musician plays the melody rightly or the architect raises a solid building, the result suffices to prove his skill. Yet in the field of virtue it is not so: one good act, practised in isolation, does not make anyone virtuous.
The Conditions for the Development of Virtue
Virtue requires three inseparable conditions: first, to know what one is doing; second, to choose the good for its own sake, and not by chance or convenience; third, to act from a firm and stable character that continually sustains that choice. Thus, virtue is not merely the execution of just or courageous acts, but the formation of a lasting inner disposition that guides the whole life of the individual.
Aristotle defines virtue as a disposition of character, linked to choice, consisting in a mean relative to us, determined by practical reason (phronesis). This means that virtue is not a passing state, but a stable quality that orients our decisions and attitudes. It always lies between two vicious extremes: deficiency and excess. Thus courage is the mean between cowardice and recklessness; generosity, between avarice and prodigality; gentleness, between apathy and uncontrolled anger. This balance, however, is not a mathematical measure valid for all. It is “relative to us”, because it depends on circumstances and the condition of each person, and is discerned by prudence.
However, Aristotle warns that not everything can be reduced to the logic of the mean. There are actions and passions that are evil in themselves, regardless of the intensity with which they are manifested. Adultery, envy, theft and homicide do not admit a just measure, for their very nature is contrary to human good. In these cases, it is not a matter of finding balance, but of recognising that there are realities that must simply be avoided. This observation protects Aristotelian ethics from a relativistic or permissive interpretation: although virtue is defined by the mean, the ultimate criterion is always right reason, which indicates what accords with human dignity.
The Theory of the Mean
Moral life is not realised in abstract definitions, but in concrete situations. It is at this point that Aristotle presents a kind of map of virtues, placing each of them as an equilibrium between two opposing vices: one of excess and the other of deficiency. Thus, courage lies between cowardice and recklessness; temperance, between insensitivity and intemperance; liberality, between avarice and prodigality. And so on, in a list that extends from the use of money to the handling of anger, from the way of seeking honours to the manner of amusement. Each virtue is therefore a just measure that avoids destructive extremes.
This mean must not be confused with mediocrity. The middle path is, in fact, the optimum point, the state of moral perfection. Extremes are always vices, but in different degrees: sometimes excess is more harmful than deficiency, sometimes the reverse. With regard to courage, for example, cowardice is the more radical opposite than recklessness; whereas with temperance, it is the excess of pleasure that threatens more than insensitivity. This shows that virtue depends both on the nature of each action and on our natural tendency, since men are more inclined towards pleasure than towards its renunciation.
That is why being good is difficult. Virtue demands discernment, prudence (phronesis), because there is no mathematical formula to define the exact measure of each situation. To be angry, for example, may be just, but it requires knowing when, with whom, for what reason and in what intensity. Anyone can feel fear, spend money or become irritated; the challenge is to do so in the right way, at the right time and for the right reason. That is why virtue is rare, noble and worthy of praise.
As a practical path, Aristotle suggests three attitudes: to withdraw from the most dangerous extreme, as one straightens a crooked branch; to be especially watchful in the field of pleasure, where we are most easily deceived; and to accept a margin of error, knowing that it is not possible to calculate everything with mathematical precision, but that the essential is to avoid evident extremes. Thus, moral education is not merely a set of theories, but a training of character so that the person learns to feel pleasure in good and repulsion in evil.
In summary: each moral virtue is a dynamic balance; vices are always in the extremes; and the mean, although difficult to achieve, is what makes human life truly good. The task of education is precisely to train habit and taste to find this just measure.
Crime and Punishment and the Overcoming of Nihilism
To believe in the premise that man is formed by the repetition of good, it is essential to understand that virtue is not an innate gift, but a construction. It is at this point that Aristotelian philosophy encounters, in a nearly prophetic way, the literature of Dostoevsky.
In Crime and Punishment, Raskolnikov embodies the opposite of this vision. For him, good is not born of habit or discipline, but is only a social invention, fragile and disposable before the so-called “extraordinary men”. By denying the moral order, he gives himself over to depressive nihilism, believing that he can create meaning for his life above good and evil. The murder of the old pawnbroker is not only a crime: it is the attempt to prove that virtue would be dispensable, that life would not need an ethos. But his supposed superiority reveals itself not as greatness, but as a distortion of reality that leads him into emptiness and guilt.
The result is devastating. Far from attaining the freedom he imagined, Raskolnikov plunges into emptiness and guilt. His mind is corroded by delusions, his body falls ill and his soul shatters. The experience shows, through suffering, what Aristotle had already affirmed: man does not find happiness by fleeing virtue, but by practising it until it becomes a stable habit and a natural orientation. Ethics, therefore, is not abstract speculation, but a way of life.
In Raskolnikov we see what happens when the balance between cowardice and recklessness is broken: excessive self-confidence and lack of moderation lead not to greatness, but to ruin. As Aristotle foresaw, some actions do not admit a mean: homicide, injustice and cruelty are intrinsically evil. It is precisely here that Dostoevsky’s drama finds its strength: Raskolnikov’s crime cannot be relativised or justified. His attempt to found his own ethics, without reference to practical reason or human dignity, can only result in destruction.
The way out does not come from rational calculation, but from openness to the other. In Sonia, who endures extreme suffering without yielding to nihilism, Raskolnikov finds a mirror of what true virtue means: not the power to impose oneself, but the strength to love and to forgive. For Aristotle, virtue is a stable disposition chosen for the good in itself; for Dostoevsky, it is fulfilled fully in sacrificial love that restores life.
Ultimately, both Aristotelian philosophy and Dostoevskian literature affirm the same truth: we make ourselves good or bad by the way we choose to act repeatedly. Virtue is neither chance nor theory; it is habit, balance and responsibility. Nihilism, by denying this construction, condemns man to self-destruction. Ethics, by educating the heart and reason, points the way to true freedom.