Why can't I be taught moral virtues again?

At this ridiculous hour (oh sleep, my allusive friend), I find myself contemplating how frightfully mistaken Aristotle is in claiming that the intellectual virtues are a prerequisite to the moral virtues. While I already took this issue up in my small-group assignment, it's a problem that strikes a personal philosophical chord within me. Further, I feel that this mistake stems largely from establishing moral virtue as something that must be learned through practice and intellectual virtue as something that can be taught. If Aristotle had considered that both forms of virtue can be taught and/or learned through practice, then the need for intellectual virtue as a prerequisite to moral virtue would be largely eliminated. Here's why...

Intellectual virtue is useful because it acts as an instructional compass by which a person discerns what is right or wrong in a given situation. As such, intellectual virtue must be acquired first in this model because otherwise the person in question has no means by which to aim (with any degree of accuracy) toward moral virtue. However, there are instances in which intellectual virtue can go awry, deviating from this purpose. One easily cited example is the intelligent sociopath, who devotes all of his or her time toward developing intellectually while using said intellect to exploit others. Despite this, intellectual virtue MUST be a prerequisite to moral virtue, right? Because how else are we wayward humans going to hit the mean between excess and deficiency? A lucky dart throw or toss of the dice, perhaps? Unfortunately, this is where I feel Aristotle's model leaves us, if you accept the shortcomings of intellectual virtue. Let's tweak the model a bit.

If moral virtue can be taught, then there is no need for intellectual virtue as a prerequisite. In fact, given this possibility, moral and intellectual virtue could be developed at the same time, and indeed moral virtue could provide the impetus for the development of intellectual virtue. Just as Aristotle suggests that the intellectual virtues direct us toward the mean of moral virtues, so could learning moral virtue direct us toward a more virtuous use of intellectual gifts. If, for instance, we have learned from our parents that courage is a moral virtue, and have similarly learned how to largely avoid its deficiency and excess, then we could easily be directed towards an intellectual exploration of courage. Further, the intellectual virtues would still be desirable, even if they are no longer a prerequisite for the moral virtues, because they lead to happiness and they enable a person to more deeply appreciate moral virtues.

Virtue vs. Justice: the Inner and Outer Worlds Distinction

Aristotle lines it up pretty clearly. Virtue deals specifically with an individual's moral state; as such, virtue is associated with a single individual's inner world and does not involve other people. Justice, on the other hand, is like virtue on a macro-level; justice involves acting virtuously (according to the doctrine of the mean) in relation to other people. While it seems there can be a reasonable amount of overlap here (I mean, both concepts have to do with the overall cultivation of the good), the distinction between virtue, associated with the inner-world of a single person, and justice, associated with interpersonal relations with others, seems an important distinction for the construction of a just society. Here's why...

If you imagine society like a brick wall, the integrity of that wall relies partially on both 1) the soundness of each individual brick, and 2) the overall stability of the wall, which results from the orientation of each of the bricks to one another. As you've probably guessed, 1) and 2) correspond to virtue and justice, respectively. If you have a wall in which the bricks seems to be laid stably in relation to one another, but each of the bricks is crumbling, old, or weak, then you have an infrastructure for what could be a just society built on non-virtuous citizens. I would be willing to argue that this sort of brick wall (or society) doesn't exist, as it seems that both the wall and the society (built upon spurious foundations) would crumble despite the attempt at structure. So, it would seem (and I think Aristotle would agree) that virtue is a necessary prerequisite to a just society, insofar as society is made up of individuals.

However, if I stay true to my metaphor, just because a just society (or a brick wall) necessarily means that the individual units of which it is made are sound does not mean that having sound individual units (bricks or virtuous people) necessarily leads to a just society. Here is where I believe, to a certain extent, Aristotle and I part ways. In Aristotle, it seems like justice should naturally flow from virtue; one should almost guarantee the other by its very nature. If you consider the brick wall again, though, it is possible to have a brick wall comprised of perfect, completely sound bricks....and to still have a crap brick wall. The relation between the bricks must be such that the wall is given structural integrity by its very design; it's not enough that the individual bricks are perfect (or virtuous, take your pick). As such, the distinction between justice and virtue is useful because, despite their overlap, they are different things and their relationship may not necessarily be reciprocal.

Greatness of Soul: Akin to Modern Pride, yes?

Greatness of Soul (aka: magnanimity) is a virtue akin to what may be understood today as justifiable pride. Someone who manages to achieve this mean is someone who believes himself worthy of great honor and reward...and he actually is. That brings us to the endgame of the magnanimous man: honor. One who achieves greatness of soul isn't just of any nature; for instance, he is not a man of mediocre moral fiber who recognizes as much, and who accepts appropriate honor and reward for his mediocrity. The magnanimous man strives for, and achieves, the highest good among men; as such, someone who has achieved greatness of soul is worthy of (and accepts) great honor. While the man who has greatness of soul is at an extreme in regard to the magnitude of his claims, greatness of soul is a mean insofar as the claim the magnanimous man makes is right.

If this is so, then what is the excess and deficiency of greatness of soul? First, I'll address the excess. The excess, vanity, is the lesser of the two vices. The vain man considers himself to be worthy of more honor than he actually is, and so considers himself to be of greater moral worth than is really the case. The deficiency, which Aristotle seems to regard as the greater of the two vices, is what he calls smallness of soul (but what I would call humility). The small-souled person claims for themselves fewer honors and moral deserts than they rightly deserve; however, unlike with the great-souled man, Aristotle portrays the small-souled individual as being of a more variable character. For instance, the great-souled man is, by definition, worthy of great honors. The small-souled man, though, may be worthy of very few or a substantial amount of honors, and yet believes himself undeserving.

When I think of Greatness of Soul, I think of Gimley from Lord of the Rings. He is a proud character, proud both of himself in regards to his accomplishments and skills and in regards to his dwarvin culture. He takes no insults upon his character when he believes them to be undeserved, and (the majority of the time, short of some comic-relief moments) he does so rightly. Further, he does not claim any honor or desert that rightly belongs to his comrades. Lastly, he's just a great dwarf, and I mean great in the fandom and in the Aristotelian type of way.

Sibling Rivalry Battle Royale: The Mean, Excess, and Deficiency

Having read Book II of Nichomachean Ethics (for the second time around), I'm always struck by the doctrine of the mean. I know that what's about to follow isn't the most philosophically groundbreaking material that I could write about, but it is something very near-and-dear to the realm of human experience. That, of course, is something I appreciate the most about Aristotle: his down-to-earth quality (well, moreso than Plato, anyway). As you might imagine, the empiricist in me is as happy as a kid in a candy store. But I digress...

Anyway, the doctrine of the mean has always seemed marvelously, intuitively, and infuriatingly human to me. The manner in which human beings are supposed to aim for the mean is equally so. Since Aristotle is so fond of moral virtue being developed through action, I will propose a personification of the doctrine of the mean in the most action-packed environment most college students get to engage in these days....the party environment. Consider the token example of this doctrine, the mean of courage accompanied to the party on either side by his brothers cowardice and rashness. At this party, courage would be like the over-achieving older brother; neither of his siblings quite know how he became such a virtuous goody-two-shoes, nor do they have the slightest idea how to emulate him properly. In any case, he somehow manages to enjoy the party without making a blubbering idiot of himself, and other party-goers are better (more cheerful, perhaps more virtuous) for his company.

Rashness is the drunken party boy who takes what he believes to be the boldness and extraversion of his older brother WAY too far; he is the guy with a lamp-shade on his head at the end of the night, and the same guy that brings other party-goers down with him a dangerous drunken stupor...not exactly the picture of virtue. Lastly, you have cowardice, who recognizes that Rashness has just gone completely off the deep end and, at any rate, is too busy being a nervous (okay, agoraphobic, possibly wetting himself) wallflower to engage in the party; this guy is not deriving any virtue from his activity, and the other people at the party aren't exactly deriving a great deal of enjoyment (or virtue) from his company, either.

The problem with the excess and deficiency is the same issue you see in many sibling rivalries. Courage just seems so perfect, and impossible to copycat, that all the other two can do are settle with approximations. The only difference is.....all human beings are the younger brothers (or sisters) in this situation. We all display different dimensions of excess and deficiency, and we all shoot for that ideal of the mean....and sometimes, we get it right. But we're human, fallible, the younger siblings of absolute virtue; we're never going to get it exactly right all the time.

This example carries over further into aiming for the "lesser of two evils," trying to emulate the mean by overshooting and coming closer to the vice that is closest to it. Granted, Rashness gets himself into some serious trouble, but at least he interacts with people at the party; the same cannot be said for cowardice. Humans go through this continuous cycle of sliding from one extreme (excess) to the other (deficiency), and occasionally hit right on the mark. As I said, this doctrine is very human. That's one reason it resonates with the imperfection in all of us.