In the previous chapter we examined the intentionality of human action. There we claimed that intentional action is intransitive as well as transitive, in that our behavior not only impacts the world around us, but shapes our very selves. In that chapter’s treatment of freedom, we saw the Catechism claim that “by free will one shape’s one’s own life.” As of yet there has been no discussion of exactly how this works. Why is it that our intentional actions shape our very selves? What does this matter for moral theology?

This chapter explores these questions through an examination of virtue. As noted in the introduction, the topic of virtue, through the seven main virtues of the Christian tradition, structures this entire book on moral theology. So this chapter is foundational for the rest of the book. It also provides a lens through which to examine the moral life in a richer way than approaches that concentrate solely on actions, rules, and contentious cases (abortion, death penalty, etc.). To explain why this is the case, the first section examines the relationship between persons and their acts by defining the tricky term “habit.” The second section briefly defines virtue and then answers the “why bother?” question by explaining why attending to virtue—rather than simply good acts—is an important task for moral theology. The third section distinguishes between two categories of virtue: cardinal (these four virtues structure the first half of the book) and theological (these three virtues structure the second half of the book). The fourth section gives basic definitions for each of the cardinal virtues. The fifth and final section examines why the four cardinal virtues have been such a consistent way to characterize the good life in the Western tradition, and yet why there are important differences in naming the specific acts of those virtues.

In the words of one contemporary moral theologian, we human creatures are “underdetermined.”See Paul Wadell, The Primacy of Love (New York: Paulist, 1992), 106–24. We have many capacities: to eat, make decisions, allot goods, have sex, and so on. How well or how poorly (and in what particular ways) we develop these capacities depends on how our freedom is exercised—or, in the terms of chapter 1, what morality we have and what rules we live by. We have capacity for greatness, and also great destructiveness, to both ourselves and others. Particularly in the formative college years, but even throughout our lives, our lives are unfinished, and each of us can become the sort of person who is pleased with, or who regrets, who he or she is.

This is really a lofty way of saying we are free. But we are free not only in what actions we perform, but also in the very selves that we sculpt. As the Catechism claims, by our freedom we shape not only what we do, but who we become. How does this happen? Obviously our actions are crucial to who we are. As the gospel says, a tree is known by its fruits (see Matt. 7:17–18 and 12:33; Luke 6:43–44). No discussion of who a person is can neglect what she does. It would be ludicrous to label someone cruel who always genuinely acts generously to others. That said, we commonly speak as if someone should not be equated with her acts. We know that a cruel person can perform a considerate act, and a just person can break the law. We even say things like, “she’s not like that!” when we observe a discrepancy between a person’s act and who she is. But how do we ascertain who she is, and how does she get that way?

Western thinkers from Greeks such as Aristotle, through medievals such as Aquinas, and up until today have used the term “habit” to describe an abiding quality a person has that characterizes who he is.The classic text in Aristotle where he explains the moral importance of habit is books II and III of the Nicomachean Ethics in The Basic Works of Aristotle, ed. Richard McKeon (New York: Random House, 1941), 927–1112. See also Aristotle’s Categories, especially chapter 8, 1–137 of the same volume. For Aquinas’s most systematic thought on habits, see his Summa Theologiae (New York: Benziger Bros., 1948), I–II 49–54. We often refer to mindless activities like biting your nails, or vices like smoking as habits. But the term has a broader, richer meaning in moral theology. “Disposition” and “inclination” are also terms that capture the meaning of the technical term “habit,” though the latter is used here since it the most common translation of the original Latin term habitus. Habits are a sort of middle ground between a person and the person’s acts. They are more stable qualities of the person than particular actions. So when our friend arrives late and we say, “that’s not like him,” we are saying that he was late in this particular action, but he is not the sort of person who is late. Habits are the more enduring qualities that make you a certain sort of person. Yet they are still changeable. One can be a stingy person, and later in life become quite generous. Hence habits are more indicative of who we are now than individual actions, and still may be changed over time.

How do we obtain habits? A very common way of obtaining a habit is through repeated actions. Consider the example of developing the habit of exercise in order to be healthy. Initially this may involve the first step of overcoming a contrary habit, such as your inclination to sit on the couch, watch TV, and not worry about exercise. You resist this and go to the gym instead because you know you want to be healthy. The second step would be repeating this act over and over to ingrain it, so it becomes more natural to you. You may eventually arrive at the third and final stage in the development of a habit, when the habit becomes such a part of who you are that you exercise effortlessly—with pleasure and promptness—such that you even feel “off” if you stop exercising regularly. Good habits make us the types of persons who do good things readily.

Consider another example. Your friend Joe continually has the capacity and opportunity to donate money to those less fortunate, and yet consistently refuses to do so. Joe develops the habit not of generosity but of stinginess. We would call Joe cheap, and though he might perform an occasional act of generosity, such as picking up a tab for his friends at a restaurant, we would be surprised if he did so and say, “that’s not like Joe!” Of course, if Joe began to perform generous acts repeatedly, eventually we would stop saying it was out of character and call Joe generous. But that would entail first overcoming his habit of stinginess, then repeating generous actions to ingrain the new habit, and eventually—and ideally—doing generous acts with pleasure and promptness.

As noted above, sometimes when we hear the English word “habit” we can think of simple, mechanistic repeated actions. I might say I have a habit of tapping my pen on the desk when I read. But the term habit, as it is used in moral theology to apply to persons with reason and will, has a richer sense that includes not only consistent external actions but also their corresponding intentionality. For instance, consider two other people besides your friend Joe who is cheap. Mary is generous, and does as much as she can to help those in need. While Joe is, unfortunately, still cheap, Mary is generous.

A third person, Lucy, is also accustomed to donating money to charitable causes. Yet in Lucy’s case, she only does this in public settings, as when the collection goes around in church, or when a club is raising money in her dorm. She is doing it in order to look generous in front of others. In fact, if she had an opportunity to be generous with no one watching, there is little chance she would donate the money. She does not have the same habit as stingy Joe, because she does indeed donate money at times. But neither does she develop the same habit as generous Mary, even though both consistently perform similar acts of donating money to those in need. The difference between these latter two is their intentionality. As a stable quality of a person, a habit consists not only of what exterior acts one does, but also of the intentionality of the act (its “intransitive” feature). Lucy consistently donates money to the poor, but since she does it to look good in front of others, she does not develop the habit of generosity. Of course, it is better for Lucy to occasionally donate money to those in need (even if it is done to look good in front of others) than, say, steal from those in need. But she is not rightly called a “generous” person because though the object of her action (giving money) may help others, the goal (intention) of her action is not for the good of those in need. That fact will impact how and when she gives money to those in need. Note that Lucy does indeed develop a habit—but it is the habit of doing good acts to be seen by others. We might use the terms two-faced, hypocritical, or self-promoting to name the habit Lucy develops with regard to helping those in need.

Therefore a habit should not be thought of as a mechanistic rut where meaningless actions are performed repeatedly. The reason habits develop has everything to do with intentionality. In the above example, Joe, Mary, and Lucy all have different intentions. Recall an intention is an act of will and reason since something is pursued or avoided (will) as it is understood to be (reason). How people consistently act reflects and further ingrains the way they see situations. The stingy person (Joe) sees his resources as solely for his own use, and he acts accordingly. The generous person (Mary) sees her resources as there to serve her own needs but also those of others, and she acts accordingly. The person who gives only to appear generous (like Lucy) sees her resources as aimed at the further goal (intention) of aiding her reputation, and acts accordingly. By repeatedly acting on these intentions, they ingrain in themselves a way of seeing things, and thus a settled way of acting in similar situations.

Thus habits are related to, but not equated with, performing certain types of actions. This relationship is cyclical. It is often through repetition of intentional actions of a certain type that habits develop in the first place. Then, once one possesses a certain type of habit, one is inclined to do more such actions in the future. Again, habits of character do not operate deterministically. In other words, though they incline one to more such actions in the future, one can act out of character. Nonetheless, the influence of our habits is such that Aristotle famously called habits “second nature.”

It is this point that makes attention to habits in moral theology so important. Recall from the last chapter that each of us is a constellation or triangle of different goals or priorities that stand in different degrees of relative importance. Pursued intentionally, these attachments or priorities shape who we are. Taken as a whole, these stable characteristics or habits represent a person’s moral character since they reflect (and when acted upon further ingrain) not only what the person does but also who the person is. The various habits a person possesses are the way to ascertain the person’s character, what he or she is all about.

Having come to an understanding of habit, we are ready to understand what a virtue is. Simply put, a virtue is a good habit. Since a habit is an abiding quality in a person that inclines one to act in a certain way, a virtue is a habit that inclines one to act in a good manner (both externally and intentionally). Conversely, a vice is a bad habit. It was noted above that we humans have a multitude of capacities (eating, making decisions, allotting goods, having sex, etc.). What acts we perform from a certain capacity, and how we understand those acts, defines the habit we have regarding that capacity. A good habit is a virtue, and a bad one a vice. These virtues and vices often have common names. Generosity is using one’s resources well with genuine concern to help others. Stinginess is using one’s resources poorly by refusing to help others when one can. Determining exactly what acts characterize a virtue versus a vice is a task for discussions of specific issues. For example, chapter 6 will explore what virtuous drinking of alcohol looks like versus vicious, or vice-like, drinking. The task here is to explain exactly what a virtue is, and argue what difference it makes to attend to virtue in moral theology.

What difference does it make to think about morality from the perspective of virtue? Chapter 2 provided us the resources to evaluate particular actions as good or bad—object, intention, and circumstances. If morality is about how to live, why bother attending to what virtues (or vices, for that matter) people have? Isn’t this just another way of saying that someone performs a certain good (or bad) action frequently?

The resources for answering this question have already been mentioned in the previous section on habit. A habit is not simply a way of calculating how frequently a person performs a certain type of activity in a certain way. A habit is an abiding disposition that changes who a person is. It resides in a person like a second nature, according to Aristotle. Therefore, the virtuous person is not simply someone who consistently performs good actions, although that is certainly the case. Having a virtue also changes who one is. Understanding this is crucial not only for evaluating specific cases, but also for helping ourselves become virtuous people. Therefore, some word on the difference between being a virtuous person, and simply performing good actions, is necessary here.

C. S. Lewis uses the example of playing tennis to differentiate someone who has a virtue from someone who simply performs good actions.See Lewis’s Mere Christianity (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2001), 79–80. The same could of course be said concerning having a vice versus performing bad actions. Imagine two people playing tennis. One is an accomplished player, and the other unskilled. Surely the good player may miss a shot. And the poor player may occasionally hit a good shot. But it is the good player who will reliably hit good shots, and the poor player who will not. This is a perfect example of how the sort of habits one has—in other words, the sort of person one is—may not be accurately represented in a particular action. The virtuous person is obviously akin to the good player.

Why is being a good player in life more important than simply doing good things? The first reason Lewis mentions is reliability. The person with a virtue, like the good tennis player, does good actions more frequently and consistently. This is surely important. But it is actually a consequence of having one sort of habit over another. The virtuous person’s goodness abides in the self in the form of a habit, rather than simply in the acts. There is something different about who the person is. Aristotle says that the person with a virtue has that quality even when it is not being exercised. So a mathematician is a mathematician even in her sleep. On Lewis’s example, the good tennis player is such even while he is not playing tennis. He is in shape, has certain muscle memory, a well-trained eye, a sense of tennis strategy, and so on. Having a virtue—or a vice, for that matter—changes who you are, and it is that change that leads to a greater frequency of good acts.

There are further consequences of the fact that having a virtue changes who one is. Having a virtue is not simply an indicator of past action, but more importantly a dynamic disposition to act well in the future. The virtuous person, due to who she is, enters a new situation already inclined to respond virtuously. On Lewis’s example, the abiding qualities in the trained tennis player lead him to see situations on the court in such a way that enables him to play well. He does not come at the game from scratch, but rather already inclined to serve well, volley well, and the like. The same is true of the virtuous person. Every new opportunity for moral action is not begun from scratch, but rather with an inclination to act well. Her virtue provides this inclination.

In fact, having a virtue usually enables one to do good acts spontaneously and automatically. A good tennis player seems to hit effortlessly and reacts automatically. But effortlessness and spontaneity are results of training. The same is true of the virtuous person, who seems to do good things easily and without thinking.

Furthermore, the virtuous person’s inclination to act well is easily “spread-able” to related areas in life. We can easily imagine an excellent tennis player using his athletic skills to excel in other sports. In fact, in university intramural programs, varsity athletes in other sports are often the most proficient in the different intramural sport at hand. Their skills transfer, if you will, to help them in new sports. The same is true of the virtuous person. Even with no prior experience in the exact activity at hand, the virtuous person’s habit of acting well in similar situations will tends to spread into the new area so that she acts well. This is why prospective employers, for instance, seek recommendation letters from those who know an applicant. The recommender cannot know how the applicant will do in the exact job being applied for, since the applicant has never done it. But an employer trusts that the habits the applicant demonstrates in former positions will spread to their work in the new job. And so they seek recommendations to know if an applicant is lazy or diligent, punctual or constantly late.

An ordinary example will help illuminate these differences. As mentioned below and discussed extensively in a later chapter, chastity is the virtue for using one’s sexuality well. The lustful person uses his sexuality poorly. Determining what exactly constitutes chaste vs. lustful behavior is a task for later in the book, but an obvious example will help us here. Consider two men. Matt is chaste and thus accustomed to treating women with dignity. He is not prudish, but neither does he see women as objects for his sexual enjoyment. He has gained this habit through repeated past actions. Jim, on the other hand, is lustful. He is able to act in a friendly manner toward women, but through repeated past actions he tends to see, and thus treat, women primarily as potential sexual partners for his own enjoyment. These two men are marked by their respective habits (one a virtue, the other a vice), even as they sit together in a room talking.

Suddenly they look up at the door and see a very attractive woman enter the room. Jim immediately sees this woman as someone who can satisfy him sexually. He does so automatically, without thinking. In fact, he has never even seen this woman before, but his vice of lust inclines him to approach such situations in this manner. Matt, on the other hand, immediately sees this woman certainly as attractive, also as a person with dignity who is not simply there for his own sexual satisfaction. He does not have to think about this; it is just how he spontaneously responds. His abiding habit of chastity inclines him to act in this new situation in the way he generally has in the past, and he treats the woman accordingly.

This simple example shows exactly why it is important to attend to virtue and vice in moral theology. People do not enter situations from scratch, but rather already inclined to act well or poorly.Another interesting fact not explored further here is that other people often easily pick up on how we react–chastely or lustfully, generously or with stinginess, and so on. By examining particular actions alone, this broader scope is neglected. Indeed, both Jim and Matt might politely greet the woman when she enters the room. They may both chat casually with her when she sits down. But those similar external acts may have different meanings given the different habits underlying them. Matt is genuinely interested in the woman for far more than her sexuality. Jim’s vice, however, shapes how he engages the woman in conversation. Even if he does not eventually “hook up” with the woman, that further goal still shapes his interactions with her. Therefore, attending to external actions is indeed crucial for moral theology. But the habits that abide in us are what incline us to act in one way or the other, and the intentionality that they hold gives meaning to how those external acts are done. Ironically, we do not even understand particular acts well without attending to habits, whether virtues or vices, and the intentionality they hold.

All of these reasons reveal why it is important in moral theology to focus on developing virtues rather than simply performing good acts. What must not be forgotten is that one’s habits reveal not only what acts one frequently performs, but how one sees things and why one does those acts. The virtuous person not only does the right thing, but does so for the right reasons, willingly, with the right attitude.

In sum, attending to virtue means attending to who a person is, inside as well as out, in a manner that counting good actions alone cannot do. The importance of such interiority is particularly evident in Christ’s Sermon on the Mount in Matthew. Many are shocked when they hear Christ criticize people who pray, fast, and give money to the poor.These three activities, discussed in Matt. 6, are central to the Christian life, but especially important for Catholics in the observation of Lent. Aquinas thought these acts, done in the proper manner, in some way govern the whole Christian life. Prayer indicates right relationship with God. Giving alms indicates right relationship with others, especially the poor. And fasting indicates a proper ordering of self-regulating desires. That is exactly what Christ does. But his dismissals in all three cases are of those who do these good acts “so that others may see them” (see Matt. 6:2; 6:5; 6:16). Like Lucy in the example above, the hypocrites decried in Matthew 6 do good acts but for the wrong reasons. Christ says “they have received their reward” because they are indeed seen by those in front of whom they pray, fast, and give alms. That was why they acted (their intention), and that purpose is achieved.

Christ instead praises those who do good things in secret, telling them they will be rewarded by their heavenly Father who “sees in secret.” Is Christ telling us here that all public good works are morally bankrupt? No. The examples from the gospels where Christ praises public acts are too numerous to allow us to draw this conclusion. After all, Christ sees—and praises—the poor woman in the temple when she donates two small coins (see Luke 21:1–3). But Christ is indeed saying that if our good acts are done to be seen, such that they would not be done in secret, then they are not emblematic of the persons Christ calls His followers to be.

This emphasis on persons rather than acts alone is also quite evident in the Beatitudes, which are the opening lines of the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew. The Beatitudes are those famous verses where we read, “happy are those who . . .” The fact that it is happiness to which Christ calls his listeners here is extraordinary, and reminds us of the claim, in chapter 1, that the moral life is one of true happiness. But these verses are quite relevant for this chapter as well. For Christ clearly praises people, and not simply acts, in these lines. He does not say happy are those who act peacefully or mercifully. He says “happy are the peacemakers” and “happy are the merciful.”The Catholic Study Bible edition, which is the New American translation, uses the term “blessed are those….” The Greek term makarios means “happy” or “blessed.” Properly understood, the two are actually synonymous. But “blessed” is often chosen since it connotes a more exalted happiness that is not simple revelry in base pleasures. It connotes “truly happy are those who. . . .” For more on the continuity between simply earthly pleasure and full happiness promised by Christ, see Josef Piper’s Happiness and Contemplation (South Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press, 1998), esp. 13–19. These people will, of course, perform such types of acts. Yet they are not merely performing external acts. They are marked by the interior transformation, the habits (in this case virtues), that are so important to fully understanding the moral life.

Having come to an understanding of virtue, and why it is so important for moral theology, the next task is to name, define, and categorize different particular virtues. Recall that this chapter began with the claim that we have capacities for all different sorts of activities, and that these capacities can be developed for good or ill. The former are virtues, the latter vices. A virtue or vice is said to govern, or direct, a particular human capacity for certain types of action. There are many ways to group virtues and vices into categories. One of the most important is by the type of activity that is being done well (or poorly, in the case of a vice). There is a virtue for using one’s sexuality well (“chastity— which does not mean simply, “don’t do it”), for enduring suffering well (patience), for believing true things about God and God’s relationship to humanity (faith), for seeking pleasures well (temperance), for seeking union with God in this life, and fully in the next (hope), for distributing goods well among others (justice), and so on. In each of these cases, the virtue is named for the sort of activity that is being done well. A technical name for the sort of activity is the “object.” You recall this term from the previous chapter.

The numerous virtues can all be placed into two broad groups based on whether their type of activity, or object, falls into one category or the other. The first category is called theological virtue, and includes the virtues faith, hope, and love.The classic place these are found in scripture is 1 Cor. 13:13. But see also 1 Thess. 1:3. What distinguishes these virtues is that their activities, or objects, all concern God directly.See Aquinas’s Summa Theologiae, I–II 62 for a detailed discussion of the theological virtues. These virtues are examined more carefully in the second part of this book.

The second category of virtue consists not of virtues that concern God directly, but those that concern innerworldly activities. Such activities include eating, drinking, engaging in sexual relations, distributing goods, making practical decisions, and facing difficulties. Anyone who lives in our world engages in these activities.This would be true even of those who apparently renounce certain activities, such as the celibate person or the pacifist. Hence the objects of these virtues are called “innerworldly.”The term “innerworldly” is taken from John Paul II Veritatis Splendor (Encyclical Letter, 1993), 65. The group of virtues concerning such activities has often been labeled moral virtue. Given that the term moral is used so frequently and broadly, moral virtues will be called cardinal virtues here.

The number of moral virtues is rather numerous, since there are so many innerworldly activities. The cardinal virtues are four particular moral virtues (prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance) that have long been posited in the Western tradition as encapsulating the virtuous life in this world.This is seen in the work of Aquinas, who actually uses the term “moral virtue” to refer to virtues concerning innerworldly activities, but on certain occasion employs “cardinal virtue” to avoid confusion. See Summa Theologiae I–II 61. Thomas examines all moral virtues under the auspices of one of the four cardinal virtues. See his Summa Theologiae, II–II 47–170. Aquinas claimed that all other virtues concerning innerworldly activities could be grouped under one of these four virtues.Again here he is following the likes of Gregory the Great and Cicero, both of whom he cites at Summa Theologiae I–II 61,2 and 61,3 respectively. So generosity is a sub-virtue of justice; chastity a sub-virtue of temperance; patience a sub-virtue of fortitude; and, foresight is a sub-virtue of prudence. Therefore, what distinguishes cardinal virtues from theological virtues is that the objects of cardinal virtues are innerworldly activities. The next section defines the four cardinal virtues in more depth, since those four cardinal virtues are used to structure the remaining chapters in the first half of this book.

The four cardinal virtues are justice, prudence, temperance, and fortitude. Each of these is easily misunderstood, so it is worth pausing to state exactly what type of innerworldly activity is done well by the person with each of these virtues.C. S. Lewis’s brief chapter on the cardinal virtues in Mere Christianity (76–81) was formative for this section. First, consider justice. Aristotle famously claimed that we humans are social animals. Our lives are interdependent, such that living a good life must entail good relationships with other people. Justice is the virtue that inclines us to good interactions and relationships with others. We may immediately think of the courts and the law when we hear “justice,” and such matters do indeed fall under justice. But any activity where we give another his or her due is a matter of justice. Honesty, generosity, keeping promises, being a loyal friend, and respect between parents and children are all matters of justice.

Another central component of human life in this world is bodily desire. We desire and act to obtain things that are pleasant to touch, taste, or experience. Such objects of our desire include food, drink, sex, and recreation. Any good life in this world will be marked by such desires, but these desires must also be well-ordered. Temperance is the virtue of well-ordered desires for pleasures. When we hear the word “temperance,” we may think solely of alcohol, or even more specifically of the temperance movement in the early part of the twentieth century in the United States. A moderate desire for alcohol is indeed important for temperance, but temperance also includes desires for food, sex, and recreation. The person who drinks too much is acting intemperately. But so too is the person who is obsessed with video games, or who neglects important duties to spend leisure time with friends.We commonly assume that vices are always examples of excess—in the case of temperance, excessive desire for pleasure. This is understandable since this problem is by far the most common. But Aristotle and Aquinas are clear that one can be “intemperate” by having too little desire for, and initiative seeking, pleasure. This is clearly the case with eating, but can even be true of people who prudishly condemn anything pleasurable as sinful.

Life in this world entails facing difficulties. Fortitude is the cardinal virtue that enables us to face difficulty well. “Courage” and “bravery” are synonyms of fortitude. When we think of bravery we may immediately think of a soldier on the battlefield risking her life for her friends and nation. This is indeed an example of bravery. In fact, since the greatest danger we can face in this life is our own death, a willingness to literally lay down one’s life has always been seen as the paradigmatic act of fortitude. Yet this virtue may also be demonstrated in any difficulty in life, such as a sick person facing his sickness well, a student stepping up during stressful exam periods to perform well, or a person enduring pain after a hard breakup. These are all examples of fortitude.

The final cardinal virtue is perhaps the most difficult to understand. In all areas of life, we have to make practical decisions that guide our actions. Even if we mean well and have good desires, we must choose well in order to effectuate those good desires. Prudence is the virtue of choosing well, or doing practical decision-making well. When we hear the word “prudence,” we commonly think of being cautious and wary. At times the virtue prudence may indeed call for cautious hesitation. But it may also call for decisive action. In all cases, we act prudently when we accurately size up the situation at hand and make good practical decisions. This virtue is particularly important because it is required for the exercise of the other cardinal virtues.For this reason prudence has traditionally, in both Christian and non-Christian sources, been called the “charioteer of the virtues.” See, for instance, the Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd ed. (Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1997), 1806. One may desire to drink moderately, but without an accurate grasp of what constitutes moderate drinking, one cannot effectuate that desire. One may desire to help those in need by giving money to a charity. But if one contributes to a fraudulent charity, then the poor are never served. Surely we can make poor decisions out of unavoidable ignorance.We see here the close relationship between prudence and conscience. These topics will be treated together in chapter 5 on prudence. But the prudent person uses the good sense she is capable of in order to choose well concerning all activities in this world.

The cardinal virtues may rightly be called the path to the good life, or happiness, in this world. These four virtues, and all of the sub-virtues under each of the four, cover all aspects of a good life as it concerns activities in this world (innerworldly activities). In fact, the very term “cardinal” comes from the Latin “hinge” since a good life is said to hinge upon these virtues. There is actual remarkable consistency throughout the Western tradition in affirming the centrality of these virtues for the good life.There are even important commonalities between Western thought on the cardinal virtues and non-Western thought. See, for example, Lee H. Yearley’s Mencius and Aquinas: Theories of Virtue and Conceptions of Courage (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990). They may be found in scripture, where the book of Wisdom, describing God’s spirit of wisdom, claims “she teaches moderation and prudence, justice and fortitude, and nothing in life is more useful for men than these” (Ws 8:7). Plato uses these four virtues to describe both the well-ordered society and the well-ordered individual.See book iv of Plato’s Republic, trans. G. M. A. Grube (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 1974), 85–109. This is one of the reasons why early Christians such as Justin Martyr thought Plato was exposed to the Old Testament (which is not true!). Roman philosopher Cicero also reduces all virtues to these four.Aquinas makes this claim at Summa Theologiae I–II 61,3, where he cites Cicero’s De inventione rhetorica ii. Saints Augustine, Gregory the Great, and Thomas Aquinas are just a few Christian thinkers who appeal to the four cardinal virtues when describing the moral life.See Augustine’s On the Way of Life of the Catholic Church (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1966), i.15, 19–28. See Gregory the Great’s Morals on the Book of Job, ii, is cited at Aquinas Summa Theologiae I–II 61,2. Aquinas’s own treatment of the cardinal virtues is cited above. Thus there is a remarkably consistent emphasis in the Western tradition, Christian and non-Christian alike, on the crucial importance of the cardinal virtues in the moral life.

What can account for this consistency? Since the cardinal virtues concern innerworldly activities, any person or society, regardless of varying beliefs or religious commitments, must have some vision (explicitly stated, or just implicit in how people act) of how to engage in these activities well. All persons everywhere face difficulties, desire sensual goods, relate to others, and make practical decisions. Living in this world necessarily entails these activities. For this reason, doing such things has traditionally been called “natural” for human beings. The norms or guidelines that dictate how to do them well have been called the “natural law.” Of course, just because an activity is natural does not necessarily mean that every person does it well, or even knows exactly how to do it well. Yet since all rational persons engage in these activities and can at least in principle discern how to do them well, the cardinal virtues are said to be accessible to reason.

Nevertheless, it would not be accurate to say that therefore all these voices in the Western tradition share a solitary vision of what is morally right and wrong. This points us to another observation about the cardinal virtues—and indeed the natural law. The cardinal virtues incline their holder to act well in different areas of life: making practical decisions, desiring pleasures, relating to other, and facing difficulties. Yet specifying good action in particular cases is not necessarily and immediately evident to all people. What exactly constitutes acting well concretely in each of these areas? The traditional answer to this question has been that virtue resides in the mean, or middle, course between excess on one side and excess on the other. In other words, the brave person (the one with fortitude) is neither too cowardly nor too foolhardy. The chaste person is neither too promiscuous nor too prudish. Virtue lies in the mean between two extremes.

Perhaps we can all agree on this claim that virtue lies in the mean. But this really just pushes back one further step the problem of naming specific acts as good or bad. What constitutes promiscuity, or being too prudish? A virtue approach to morality has the advantage of being supple. It can accommodate individual, as well as cultural, differences as to what constitutes, say, temperance concerning alcohol. But some have criticized the virtue approach to moral theology for not offering specific enough rules to guide our lives in practical situations. Is this criticism accurate? Yes and no.

First, consider why this criticism is not accurate. Though supple, a virtue approach is not so abstract or formal as to render anything potentially virtuous. Two things guard against such a “content-less” morality. The first is the reliance of the virtue approach on exemplary, or paradigmatic, actions to exemplify each virtue.For more on this point, see Jean Porter’s Nature as Reason: A Thomistic Theory of the Natural Law (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 190–203. For instance, fortitude is the virtue of facing difficulty well, but its exemplary, or paradigmatic, act is the willingness to lay down one’s life for an important cause. We can certainly debate which of our country’s wars are just and thus warrant laying down one’s life, or whether the circumstances in a particular battle justify a retreat. But bravery will always be a willingness to lay down one’s life for a truly important cause. On no one’s terms is it brave to abandon one’s country mates in the heat of battle in an important fight. That is cowardice.

The second and related guard against a virtue approach being completely abstract, and content free, is the naming of certain actions that are necessarily incompatible with, and thus opposed to, virtuous activity. A classic example here is the intentional killing of innocent persons. This is always unjust.See Pope John Paul II’s encyclical Evangelium Vitae (Encyclical Letter, 1995) on this topic. Aquinas names this act as always immoral in his Summa Theologiae II–II 64,6. There has been a contentious debate in Catholic moral theology over the past few decades on the existence of, and process of naming, intrinsically evil acts. As noted in a later chapter on justice and fighting war justly, there are great debates on whether and when it is ever virtuous to kill in the name of justice. Some think pacifism alone is fully virtuous. Others think waging war, even with its necessarily killing, can be fully virtuous, but even these people grant that the virtue of justice shapes and indeed limits how war may be waged. Surely in the Christian tradition and arguably beyond, it is never just to intentionally kill innocent people in the name of justice.This claim will be explored in great detail in chapter 8 on the bombing at Hiroshima. This is called an absolute norm (a norm is a rule), since it can never be violated by the virtuous person. Even phrasing it in this way reveals why. Justice guards the value of human life in society by inclining people to right relations with others. Intentional killing of the innocent is necessarily opposed to that protection, to such right relation. This is why St. Paul famously warns that one must not—because it makes no sense—“do evil that good come of it” (Rom. 3:8). Therefore, due to its reliance on paradigmatic acts, and its recognition of certain absolute norms, a virtue approach to morality is not completely content free.

In another sense, however, the criticism that a virtue approach lacks specificity is accurate. But the problem, if it can be called that, is not one with virtue but rather with real life. Aquinas famously argued that in concrete individual cases, there is so much contingency and detail that general rules are liable to fail.See Summa Theologiae, I–II 94,4. For more on this difficult topic of the relationship between law and prudence, see Thomas Hibb’s Virtue’s Splendor: Wisdom, Prudence and the Human Good (New York: Fordham University Press, 2001), 88–108. In other words, saying “be temperate in your use of alcohol” is a good start, but more is needed. Identifying the relevant virtue, and any relevant absolute norms, is only the start of the process of discerning how to act well in a particular situation. A norm particular to the exact situation must be formulated in order to act well.

For instance, virtue discussions of alcohol use assume there is a mean of temperance, and ways to deviate in excess or defect. But where to draw the lines is something that needs to be specified through further examination of the particular activity at hand. For what purposes is alcohol being used? How does alcohol impact the body? What social forces are at work inclining one toward or preventing one from alcohol use? What influence does an individual’s history or physique have on the decision to use alcohol? Further reflection, at both the individual and communal level, serves to clarify the mean of, in this case, temperate alcohol use, and establish specific norms for the situation at hand.For the importance of the community in such reflection, see Pamela Hall’s Narrative and Natural Law: an Interpretation of Thomistic Ethics (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994). The ability to formulate particular rules concerning activities accessible to reason, and the very rules themselves, is what is meant by natural law. It is the possession of the cardinal virtues that enables one to identify and observe it.

Therefore, it is indeed accurate that a broad discussion of virtue, such as found in this chapter, cannot provide specific rules to dictate how to act well in any situation. Life is varied and rich enough that, though means can be stated and absolute norms heeded, the virtue of prudence is needed to specify virtuous action in particular situations. This is one important and unavoidable reason why moral theology relies on virtuous people (authorities, to recall chapter 1) for specific norms. It is also a reason why, even in matters of natural law, there will be better and worse ways people live out their lives.

Not all differences in how people live out the cardinal virtues can be accounted for by the varying contingencies of particular cases. Why is that so? If the cardinal virtues concern innerworldly activities that are in principle accessible to reason, why are there so many different understandings of what constitutes a just, or brave, or prudent, or temperate act? How can some societies regard hari-kari as honorable, and others condemn suicide as wrong? How can certain societies differ so radically on their views of gender or race relations, or of what constitutes virtuous sexuality or alcohol use? Some individual and communal differences as to what constitutes virtuous action reflect the simple truism that the good life has many expressions. But other differences seem incompatible with each other, and not so easily explained.

Even though an activity is innerworldly and in principle accessible to unaided human reason, the way things really are concerning that activity may be contested. For instance, what is the true purpose of sexuality? Different people may disagree on this, or even that there is a real purpose of sex. Are men and women truly equal, and if so how should that equality be instituted in a society? Clearly people continue to disagree on this. This does not necessarily mean there is no such thing as temperance or justice. It simply means that people disagree on the meanings of innerworldly activities. There are many possible explanations for these differences, such as malice, ignorance, evil social structures, and the like. As examined in a later chapter, the Christian tradition holds that human sin is one major cause of these differences.

Another important cause is that one’s understanding of the way things really are concerning innerworldly activities is importantly shaped by one’s beliefs about the way really things are concerning God and God’s relationship to humanity. In other words, what one believes about God shapes how one regards innerworldly activities, and how one judges whether or not they are being done well. Of course, all differences about cardinal virtues such as temperance and justice do not boil down to differences of faith. However, to neglect the impact of faith on how one lives in this world leads to an impoverished view of the cardinal virtues. In the second section of this book we will attend more explicitly to exactly how different faith commitments and the possession of the theological virtues shape how one practices the cardinal virtues.

We have come a long way since the beginning of this chapter. Recall the opening question for this chapter: why is it that by exercising our freedom we shape not only how we act, but our very selves? By understanding the concept of habit, and how habits connect persons and their particular actions, this question has been answered. We were also able to describe why it is important to attend to habits—be they virtues or vices—in moral theology, rather than simply examining particular actions.

Defining virtue as a good habit also led us to two categories of virtue: theological and cardinal. Theological virtue is a subject for the second half of this book. The four cardinal virtues, however, were briefly defined in preparation for the rest of the first half of the book. These virtues are literal mainstays in the Western tradition, and describe the path to the good life in this world. We now turn to the first of these cardinal virtues, temperance, which will be especially useful in a later discussion of drinking alcohol.

1. What is a habit? Describe how a habit is related to a person’s particular actions.

2. What steps are given in this chapter to describe the development of a virtue? Give an example.

3. Give at least three reasons why it is important to focus not just on particular actions, but on virtues, in doing moral theology. Use an example to show how having a virtue is not the same as simply performing good actions.

4. What is the difference between theological and cardinal virtue?

5. List and define each of the four cardinal virtues. For each, tell how some people commonly misunderstand it, and why it actually means more than that.

6. Why are people of any time or place said to have some vision of the cardinal virtues?

7. Define natural law. How is it related to the cardinal virtues?

8. Why do different people define the acts of the cardinal virtues differently at times? Give three reasons.

habit, virtue, vice, theological virtue, cardinal virtue, justice, temperance, fortitude, prudence, natural law, absolute norm

1. One potential problem with virtue approaches to morality is circularity: you can only perform good acts with pleasure and promptness if you already have a virtue, but obtaining a virtue generally occurs by performing good actions! Is this a fatal problem for virtue ethics? What contribution might rules and authorities make toward a solution to this dilemma?

2. Some people criticize virtue approaches to morality by saying they cannot account for occasions when we act for reasons that are not clear to ourselves, or from unconscious motives. Can a virtue approach explain these situations?

3. With the section “Focusing on Virtue: Why Bother?” in mind, explain what difference—if any—attending to virtue makes in discussing a particular moral issue like drinking alcohol or deciding when to have sex or whether euthanasia should be legal.

4. How helpful are the cardinal virtues as starting points for cross-cultural or interreligious dialogue over ethical issues? What is attractive about this approach, and what limitations are there?

The driving influence behind this chapter is again the Summa Theologiae of Thomas Aquinas. See his discussion of habits and virtues at I–II 49–70. The entire Secunda Secundae is structured according to the theological and cardinal virtues. For detailed work on the cardinal virtues, see II–II 47–170. See also Aquinas’s treatises On the Virtues in General and On the Cardinal Virtues. For a helpful introduction to the moral importance of virtue, see Paul Wadell’s Primacy of Love, esp. 106–124. The Catechism has a brief sketch of virtue and the types of virtue at 1803–1845. For extended treatments of each virtue, see Josef Pieper’s Faith, Hope and Love, and his Four Cardinal Virtues. For more on the complicated issues surrounding the specificity of virtue ethics, the need for prudence in norm specification, and the relationship between virtue and natural law, see both Thomas Hibbs’ Virtue’s Splendor and Jean Porter’s Nature as Reason.