The Spanish missionary Bartolomé de Las Casas wrote his ‘Defense of the Indians’ in response to the theologian and philosopher Juan Ginés De Sepúlveda’s ‘On the Just Causes of War against the Indians’. Both Casas and Sepúlveda point to Aristotle as a source for their arguments. This chapter approaches the debate as a way to think through the relationships between race and Indigeneity. First, I introduce the concept of Indigeneity and the ways it has been negotiated between Indigenous peoples and settler-colonialists. I then move to critically analysing Casas’ arguments, showing how his understanding of Aristotle’s notion of ‘barbarians’ has had a lasting legacy on the definition of Indigeneity. Finally, I turn to the absence of Indigenous voices in Casas’ account as a broader moment to consider Indigenous future(s) in Classics and possible areas for re-negotiating reception and Indigenous scholars’ agency in those negotiations.

This chapter explores the role and construction of race in Plato and Aristotle’s political philosophy. Focusing especially on Plato’s noble lie and Aristotle’s theory of natural slavery, I argue that both philosophers appeal to racial difference in order to reinforce and justify the differential access of the members of the societies they consider to political power and even freedom. While Plato introduces race into the kallipolis in order to persuade the farmers, craftsmen, and soldiers to accept their political disenfranchisement, Aristotle draws on and racializes existing Greek stereotypes about non-Greeks in support of his theory of natural slavery. Despite the significant differences between their respective accounts of and attitudes towards race, I argue that Plato and Aristotle’s accounts cumulatively show that the classical philosophical tradition was already quite interested not only in existing racial stereotypes and classifications but also in the mechanics of racecraft and the political uses of race.

This chapter explores the range of philosophical, literary, and religious ideas about the rational-discursive faculty and species identity that medieval audiences inherited from ancient Greece and the Hellenizing poetry of ancient Rome. It argues that this inheritance was profoundly ambivalent. In both the medieval Ovide moralisé and Plato’s Timaeus, any cognitive differences between species become relativized by the assertion that souls continually transmigrate from one body to another; additionally, under certain circumstances, it seems as though the rational-discursive faculty can be located beyond the limits of the human being. Aristotle advanced a comparatively hardline position: Humans are the only rational animals (although certain creatures like parrots raise potential difficulties). On the level of literary fantasy, the “Philomena” tale of the Ovide moralisé and the Old Occitan Novas del papagay probed at the limits of the same questions investigated by ancient authorities and their medieval translators, the ambivalent details of their diction condensing some of the thorniest dilemmas hidden at the intersection of speech and species.

Arendt asks, “Is our ability to judge, to tell right from wrong, beautiful from ugly, dependent upon our faculty of thought?” Her answer is yes, and this chapter argues that this thinking–judging connection is central to her moral philosophy. She derives the connection indirectly, by reflecting on three Socratic propositions: that thinking consists in the back and forth of inner dialogue; that it is better to suffer injustice than to commit it; and that wrongdoing leads to inner disharmony. The chapter examines these, and from this examination it reconstructs Arendt’s argument for the thinking–judging connection. The chapter connects Arendt's and Kant's conception of “enlarged thinking” with Adam Smith’s sympathy-based moral theory. It spells out additional implications that Arendt never drew explicitly, and concludes by comparing Arendt’s views with those of Stuart Hampshire, who believes that inner conflict is in fact “the best condition of mankind,” contrary to the Socratic and Aristotelian moral psychology – an important corrective that requires modification to Arendt’s view.

The Introduction summarises my book’s contents and highlights its key themes. I will argue that there is a human nature, from which flow a raft of ‘pre-moral’ (or ‘ultimate intrinsic’) goods. My Aristotelian (teleological and essentialist) theory of ‘natural perfectionism’ is, I will argue, compatible with Darwinism and subsequent evolutionary biology. It is not an account of normativity across the board, however. Specifically, it does not tackle the manifold quandaries that arise in the domain of practical reason; it does not treat supernatural goods (supposing these to exist); and it does not examine natural perfections in plants or the lower (non-human) animals. Two cautionary notes: first, my book treats perfectionism in the philosophical, not the colloquial, psychological, sense; more specifically, it elaborates a perfectionism of powers or faculties. Second, by focusing on powers or faculties, it avoids the pseudo-essentialisms of class, race, nation, sex etc. Last, I tackle three values that are absent from my book: namely, autonomy, pleasure and wellbeing. These cannot be natural perfections, I argue, because they fall short of being ultimate intrinsic goods.

I begin by explaining why ‘goodness as natural perfection’ is a metaphysical rather than linguistic or conceptual thesis (even J. J. Thomson’s sophisticated version of the latter). I then unpack what I call the ‘Aristotelian functionalist schema’, which informs my view of how human faculties or powers are teleologically ordered to various natural perfections or ultimate intrinsic goods. This schema embodies a ‘bottom-up’ movement, which culminates in our governing, rational, function; and also a ‘top-down’ movement, which reveals how rationality conditions our subordinate (vegetative, perceptual, productive, locomotive) functions. I then go on to look at two post-Darwinian analyses of function, that of Cummins and that sponsored by the ‘standard evolutionary conception’. I argue that the first is relativistic and the second hyper-reductive – so neither gives us reason to abandon the Aristotelian functionalist schema. Finally, I explore the theory of ‘natural goodness’ elaborated by Philippa Foot and Michael Thompson. I maintain that it improperly reduces natural goodness to moral goodness, and, moreover, ends up being more Kantian than Aristotelian – rendering its form of ‘naturalism’ highly etiolated.

This chapter introduces the Aristotelian conception of moral character that is predominant in philosophical virtue ethics as well as in adjacent disciplines such as social psychology. According to the Aristotelian conception, moral character traits – virtues and vices – are hexeis, or dispositions to experience emotions, feelings, and desires, as well as to make choices. Following this, the chapter points to the growing number of studies in recent decades that have engaged with Kant’s concept of moral character and virtue. It concludes by sketching a philosophical problem that serves as the starting point for the subsequent study: central aspects of Kant’s practical philosophy, particularly his emphasis on transcendental freedom as the freedom of choice, seem to make it difficult to assign a significant role to the concept of character within his moral philosophy, at least as long as it is interpreted along Aristotelian lines. This suggests that the best way forward is to examine the aspects in which Kant’s conception of moral character fundamentally diverges from Aristotle’s.

This chapter raises the question of whether in Kant’s view there is a psychological mechanism or entity that renders an individual’s virtuous moral character or Gesinnung abiding and stable. Several recent Aristotelian interpretations of Kant that aim to identify a parallel between Kant and Aristotle in this regard are being discussed. These readings seek to identify psychological structures inherent in a person’s empirical character that render support to a person’s good Gesinnung. The readings are challenged on the grounds that such psychological structures cannot provide support, either as necessary and sufficient conditions or as enabling conditions, for excellent moral choice in Kant. What results from this is a picture of human moral identity as fundamentally precarious and exposed to uncertainty which is radically unlike the Aristotelian conception. The chapter closes by showing how this Kantian picture naturally opens up a space for divine grace to intervene in human moral life.

This chapter challenges foundationalist interpretations of Kant’s conception of moral character, or Gesinnung. Central to such readings is the belief that moral character functions as a foundational ground, preceding and pre-determining particular moral choices and actions. This idea also underpins the Aristotelian conception of character, which asserts that actions and decisions can be explained and predicted by reference to a person’s character, as it precedes and shapes those choices. Two forms of foundationalist readings are examined: Dispositional foundationalism, which likens Kant’s moral character to Aristotle’s notion of character as a disposition or habitus, and Principle foundationalism, which views moral character as the choice to commit to a fundamental principle that pre-determines future moral decisions. The latter is the dominant interpretation among contemporary readers of Kant. The chapter presents arguments against both versions of these foundationalist readings of Kant’s notion of Gesinnung.

This chapter serves as a reference point for the subsequent discussion of Kant in two ways. First, it systematically examines a reciprocal relationship between the idea of committing oneself to a normative principle of action and the concept of moral character. On one hand, by committing to a normative principle, a person not only decides how to act in the present moment but also views this decision as a precedent for future actions, thus projecting themselves as a consistent character into future situations of choice. On the other hand, to genuinely commit to a principle, a person must act in accordance with it consistently and non-accidentally. As will be explored in later chapters, Kant can be interpreted as defending similar claims, thereby aligning with our common-sense understanding of character. Second, the chapter offers a more detailed outline of the Aristotelian conception of moral character and its underlying motivation, also linking character to commitment to a normative principle. This outline serves as a contrast for the discussion of Kant in the chapters that follow.

The Lex Talionis (‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth …’ ) was introduced by Hammurabi of Babylon, as a measure to control private vengeance and concentrate punishment in the hands of legitimate authority. It also carried the message that punishment should be proportionate to the crime, a principle that was pressed by progressive thinkers in later ages, such as Montesquieu. As the law was formulated, an offence committed merited an equivalent punishment: one eye for an eye, not two. Over time the Lex became the standard-bearer of backward-looking retributivism, which carries the idea that offenders deserve to be punished simply because of the offence they have committed. As such, it was an obstacle in the way of any burgeoning abolitionist thought, in particular because it prescribed ‘a life for a life’. The abolitionist Giuseppe Pelli attacked the Lex head-on. In doing so he drew on the diverse critiques of the Lex of a succession of earlier (non-abolitionist) thinkers. The Lex Talionis has staying power. It embodies a basic human conviction that retaliation is due for injuries suffered. As such, it is outside the law; it will coexist with, and survive, any legal environment.

In the course of advocating forward-looking punishment, Plato opened up a specific line of attack on retributivism. He characterized backward-looking punishment as irrational, bestial, and motivated by revenge. This gave rise to a debate over the moral status of revenge and the closely associated emotion of anger, which drew in and divided philosophers from Aristotle to Camus and beyond. Of our two pioneer abolitionists, it was Pelli rather than Beccaria who attacked retributivism directly, following a line taken by the Stoic Seneca on vengeance and anger in succession to Plato. Pelli and later opponents of retributivism have been unable to deliver it a knock-out blow, for the reason that, like its standard-bearer the Lex Talionis, retributivism is grounded in the gut feeling, part rational, part emotional, that we are responsible for the evil that we do, that crime merits equivalent or proportionate punishment: that there is in effect a ‘good’ vengeance. This was, and is, reflected in public opinion and in the attitude and practice of judicial and political establishments, whatever some philosophers might argue.

In Sources of the Self, Taylor suggests that the ancient Greeks, despite possessing various linguistic devices for reflexive self-reference, did not have a way of making “self” into a noun. This nominalization of the self is, in his view, characteristic of the modern sense of selfhood. In fact, Aristotle does nominalize autos, the intensifier that functions in Greek much as “self” does in English, in three passages in Nichomachean Ethics IX where he describes a friend as another self. Taylor cites one of these passages in a footnote, commenting that “this doesn’t have quite the same force as our present description of human agents as ‘selves’”, but does not elaborate. This chapter considers what force it does have, exploring three senses of self in Aristotle. Two of them are familiar – the social self expounded in the first nine books of the Nicomachean Ethics and the more contemplative self emerging predominantly in EN X and in De Anima III. Much less familiar is the bodily self that can be discerned at various points in the De Anima and Metaphysics, and that is rather prominent in the Generation of Animals. This conception of the self has its source in the intimate connection between a psuchê and the particular body of which it is the form.

Drawing from both the medieval Scholastic philosophical-theological tradition and Aristotelian virtue ethics, Thomas Aquinas offers a comprehensive and nuanced account of the virtuous life – one that suggests fruitful relationships not only with contemporary philosophical and theological discussions but also with recent empirical work. In this short chapter, I sketch the big picture using an Aristotelian, four-causes approach. Section 1 mainly addresses the final cause or telos of virtue: ultimately, perfect happiness in eternal life – although a good earthly life affords “a certain participation” in happiness. Section 2 considers virtue’s quasi-material causes: reason and the appetites, including the intellectual appetite or will. Section 3 focuses on the formal causes (modes) of virtue in general and of the cardinal and theological virtues in particular, as well as the relationships between various virtues in the larger structure of Thomistic virtue ethics – including the possibility of a unity of the virtues. And Section 4 discusses proposed efficient causes of such virtues, drawing on the various ways in which virtues are developed and related to each other in the Thomistic picture. Throughout, I consider connections between Aquinas’s account of the virtuous life and contemporary work in ethics, psychology, and education.

The earth’s shadow darkens the initial Heavens of Dante’s ascent, the shadow waning the nearer a Heaven is to that of the Sun.The inhabitants of the last earth-shadowed Heaven turn to that Heaven hoping to be free from the imperfections of terrestrial existence.But these Heavens’ vestigial earthiness exerts an effect.Each focuses on a particular imperfection: the fragility of moral vows; the defect of human law as a vehicle of justice; and the reign of “mad love.”These produce an urge to transcend this region.

But Dante has readers assess the losses as well as the gains that accrue when we leave our world behind.This assessment puts reason on trial, its inadequacies seeming to sanction reason’s subordination to faith as provided in the vision that beckons above.But these Heavens ask not only whether that’s possible but desirable.Reason’s inadequacies are shown to be inseparable from moral responsibility, from more just politics, and from the desires that generate the Comedy.Asking whether the transcendence of terrestrial existence makes for a happier life, Dante gives readers cause to consider the possibility that these earth-shadowed Heavens are more than merely a necessary step on the way to perfection.

This chapter explores Aristotle’s intellectual development, methodological distinctiveness, and ethical thought, particularly as expressed in the Nicomachean Ethics. It begins with an account of Aristotle’s biography, including his long association with Plato, his departure from Athens, and the eventual founding of his own school, the Lyceum. A crucial distinction is drawn between the genres of Platonic and Aristotelian texts: Plato’s dialogues are literary-philosophical compositions, while Aristotle’s surviving works are mostly lecture notes. The chapter argues that this difference in genre has shaped interpretive traditions. Central to Aristotle’s ethics is the idea that observation of human life, rather than abstract theorizing, grounds our understanding of the good. Ethics, he argues, must be treated with appropriate imprecision due to its practical and variable subject matter. Happiness (eudaimonia), for Aristotle, is not pleasure or honor but a life of activity in accordance with virtue, achieved through habituation and deliberate choice. Virtue is conceived as a mean between extremes and guided by phronêsis (practical wisdom). The chapter concludes by emphasizing Aristotle’s belief in the divine dimension of human flourishing and his view that ethics, properly understood, is inseparable from civic life and human interrelation within the polis.