Understanding Moral Weakness (Value Inquiry Book Series)

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CONTENTS Editor’s Introduction

vii

Acknowledgments

ix

ONE

The Problem of Moral Weakness 1. Introduction 2. An Example to Start 3. Moral Weakness and Theories of Morality 4. Regarding Terminology 5. Organization of the Book

1 1 2 3 5 5

TWO

Socrates 1. Introduction 2. Background for the Views of the Early Socrates 3. Interpretation of the Early Socrates on Strict Akrasia 4. Interpretation of the Early Socrates on Weak Akrasia 5. Assessment of the Early Socrates’ Position 6. The Later Socrates on Akrasia 7. Conclusion

9 9 10 11 16 23 26 29

THREE

Aristotle 1. Introduction 2. Aristotle on Motivation and Akrasia as a Character Trait 3. Practical Wisdom and Akrasia 4. The Practical Syllogism and Akrasia 5. Conclusion

31 31 32 37 39 45

FOUR

Augustine 1. Introduction 2. Voluntarism vs. Intellectualism 3. An Augustinian Explanation of Strict Akrasia 4. Augustine Contrasted with Socrates and Aristotle 5. Conclusion

51 51 54 57 61 65

FIVE

Aquinas 1. Introduction 2. Aquinas on the Will 3. Aquinas on Voluntary Action 4. Assent, Consent, and Akrasia

67 67 68 71 72

Contents

vi

5. Aquinas on the Importance of Habit 6. Aquinas on the Structure of the Akratic Action 7. Aquinas Compared with Aristotle and Augustine 8. Conclusion

73 74 77 79

SIX

Weak Akrasia 1. Introduction 2. Diachronic Belief Akrasia 3. Evaluation of Terrence M. Penner’s Position 4. Donald Davidson and Synchronic Akrasia 5. Inverse Akrasia 6. Conclusion

83 83 84 89 92 98 101

SEVEN

Strict Akrasia 1. Introduction 2. Theoretical Issues 3. Practical Difficulties 4. Conclusion

103 103 104 109 114

EIGHT

Habit and Moral Weakness 1. Introduction 2. Habit Defined 3. Habitual Action and Akrasia 4. Addiction, Habit, and Akrasia 5. Conclusion

115 115 115 116 119 122

NINE

Future Prospects

125

Notes

131

Bibliography

145

About the Author

151

Index

153

EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION Hundreds of books and articles are published each year in the general field of ethics. Many of these argue for one or another approach to answering the questions of how we should act and how we ought to live. Those are undeniably crucial questions and deserve the attention they receive. Even so, having the correct answers to these questions—assuming for the sake of argument that you had the correct answers—would be of limited value if you failed to follow through and act on the conclusions of your own reasoning. Different reasons exist for why people fail to act on the conclusions they reach about what is the morally best thing to do. Fear is one possible factor. Many people have had good reason to fear the punishments of oppressive political regimes. Others have feared to act on the promptings of their consciences due to fear of the disapproval of family or peers. Fear is far from being the only factor preventing people from acting in accord with what they believe morality requires. Moral weakness—also variously referred to as weakness of will and moral incontinence—is another major impediment. Moral weakness is observed when a person knows on some level what he or she ought to do and yet acts otherwise. Understanding what moral weakness is and how it occurs would seem to be necessary first steps on the road to lessening its negative impact. Philosophers and others have been trying to come to an understanding of moral weakness since the time of Socrates. As a result, there has been a sustained literature on the subject over the centuries, although not nearly as extensive as the amount of material produced in the general area of ethical theory. Daniel Thero’s book makes several noteworthy contributions to the available literature on moral weakness. First, Thero develops the idea that more than one theoretical model may be necessary for explaining the full range of cases of morally weak action. This does better justice to the richness of human experience and motivation than could any one model by itself. A second significant feature of this book is that the positions and arguments of major figures from the history of philosophy are examined in relation to one another and are rendered accessible and relevant for understanding a problem that is just as troubling today as it was in the past. Some previous books and articles have compared the positions of, say, Plato and Aristotle, or Aristotle and Aquinas, on the topic of moral weakness. Thero’s book takes this a step further in offering a sustained analysis and comparison of the views of Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, and Thomas Aquinas together under one cover. The book also considers the

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positions of several contemporary philosophers, and relates these to their historical antecedents. These features have the effect of making the book a fresh contribution to the literature on moral weakness and also an accessible introduction to the subject for those who have little prior familiarity.

Robert A. Delfino Editor, Studies in the History of Western Philosophy Value Inquiry Book Series (VIBS)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I want to begin by thanking John Kekes. He was my advisor during the time that I was in graduate school at the University at Albany, State University of New York. Kekes was a great help to my intellectual development during those years, and has remained extremely generous with his time and expertise even now that I am no longer his student in the technical sense. He has patiently read different versions and drafts of this manuscript and asked many critical questions that helped me to refine my ideas about moral weakness. If this book has any positive features to recommend it, they owe much to his insights. I want to thank Josiah B. Gould and Jonathan Mandle. In 1995, I took a graduate seminar on Aristotle, taught by Gould. The paper that I wrote for that class introduced me to the philosophical study of moral weakness and to the issues that Aristotle considers in Book VII of Nicomachean Ethics. Mandle has given me insightful comments and recommendations, many of which are reflected in clarifications that I have made at different points in the text. I presented earlier versions of two chapters of this book at colloquia held in the Philosophy departments of the University at Albany and Siena College. I am grateful to the many members of the faculties of these institutions who provided me with valuable feedback by way of their questions and comments. Dennis E. Tamburello, O.F.M., provided significant help with formatting. Jean Marie Carcasole, Daniel M. Kehn, and Jason M. Santora each proofread portions of the manuscript. I am exceedingly grateful for their assistance. I wish to thank Robert Delfino, special series editor for Value Inquiry Book Series, for the attention that he has given to my manuscript at each stage of the review and publication process. His promptness in addressing my questions and concerns has been a source of encouragement. Finally, I want to thank my parents, James and Elizabeth Thero, who have sacrificed much over the years so that I could pursue my academic interests. Their constant love, encouragement, and support have been invaluable to me. I gladly dedicate this work to them.

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One THE PROBLEM OF MORAL WEAKNESS 1. Introduction The human experience of acting in opposition to what you ordinarily take to be the best course of action is all too common. This is sometimes referred to as “moral weakness,” and a person who exhibits such weakness is often said to “lack willpower” or to be “weak-willed.” The Ancient Greeks recognized the existence of this phenomenon and its status as a serious problem that often destroys the quality of individual lives, ruins families, and diminishes the wellbeing of society. They even had a name for it: akrasia. This word might be translated as “lacking strength.” Akrasia can be seen as the opposite of moral strength or of being “strong-willed.” The tragic consequences of moral weakness are widely depicted in literature and the arts, and attested to by the events of history. The project of this book is to clarify the philosophical issues involved and to arrive at a better understanding of how such morally weak action is possible. I recognize two general types of akrasia: “weak” and “strict.” All akrasia is weak in the sense of being “moral weakness,” but in the context of the phrase “weak akrasia,” I ask the reader to understand the term “weak” to mean “satisfying a less stringent set of criteria.” What these criteria are will be spelled out initially at the start of Chapter Two, and will then receive further elaboration in subsequent chapters. For the present moment, let us say that in weak akrasia, your moral beliefs are temporarily suppressed or otherwise obscured in such a way that you do not act against what you think best at the moment of action itself. In contrast, strict akrasia does involve acting against what you take to be best at the moment of action. I argue that further distinctions can be made within these two general types of akrasia. Instead of proposing a single conceptual model to explain all cases of akrasia, I propose that the variation that exists among cases warrants there being multiple models that each satisfy the basic definitional requirements. I examine several significant models, historical and contemporary. I conclude that although none of these is likely to provide the correct explanation for all occurrences of akrasia, several of them are each capable of explaining some cases. This is one aspect of my approach that represents something new: as far as I know, all prior philosophical treatments of akrasia have each attempted to provide a single theoretical model to explain all occurrences of the phenomenon.

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Although it would be nice to find a single model that covers all cases of akrasia, since that would satisfy our desire for simplicity and elegance, I think this is probably an unrealistic expectation. The mental life of human beings is extremely complex. The combination of this complexity with akrasia’s being a broadly defined character state results, I think, in the need to consider multiple models for how akrasia comes about and to entertain the possibility of these models being complementary instead of being mutually exclusive. My overall approach in this book is to treat the development of our understanding of akrasia as a sort of evolutionary process, not in the sense of biological evolution, but in the sense in which ideas that have a long cultural history change and yet remain the same in particular ways over time. Plato (through the character of Socrates), Aristotle, St. Aurelius Augustine, and St. Thomas Aquinas, each made major contributions to our understanding of akrasia. Their most fruitful ideas have survived the test of time and have been incorporated into more recent theories. This incorporation of their ideas into contemporary philosophical treatments is what I have in mind when I say that the evolution of our understanding of akrasia involves the transformation and retention of ideas. I take seriously this historical development, and focus a good deal of attention on the integration of the positions of philosophers from different time periods. This is probably a good point to say something about the degree of precision that can reasonably be expected for an investigation of this sort. In Book I of his Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle advises his readers: “Our discussion will be adequate if it has as much clearness as the subject matter admits of; for precision is not to be sought for alike in all discussions, any more than in all the products of the crafts.”1 This should not be understood as an apologetic for sloppy thinking, but instead as following naturally from recognition that human beings are more complex than anything else that we encounter in our everyday experience. This incredible complexity makes it difficult, and probably in some respects impossible, to achieve the sort of precision in regard to the study of human behavior that can be attained in some other areas of study. As indicated above, I will argue that more than one theoretical model is needed for understanding moral weakness, and I think this thesis fits well with Aristotle’s injunction. 2. An Example to Start Examples of moral weakness abound in everyday life and also in literature and the media. To begin, let us examine a commonplace—yet serious— example. Consider the following case. A man stops at a bar after work to have a couple of drinks. While he is sitting there, a woman begins flirting

The Problem of Moral Weakness

3

with him. After a time, the man realizes that the hour is getting late and that he should go home to his family. The man loves his wife, and normally would not think of doing anything that would jeopardize his marriage. However, at this moment, the temptation is strong: The woman is attractive and has indicated that she is interested in a sexual encounter. The man thinks of his wife and how devastating it would be for her if she found out that he was unfaithful. He thinks of how his family life would be severely damaged by such a revelation. He thinks of his good reputation, and also that he has always considered adultery to be wrong. He considers all of these things, and yet the temptation remains. The opportunity to commit adultery is blatantly apparent, and a decision must be made quickly. The story can proceed in either of two directions. In one scenario, the man gives in to the temptation and commits adultery. Predictably, he later regrets this, feels extremely guilty, and wonders how he could have allowed lust to get the better of him. Here we have the core problem of moral weakness: How is it possible to go against your considered judgment? In the second scenario, the man manages to resist the temptation and heads home to his family. In this case, he acts in favor of his considered judgment. Even so, we still wonder how the temptation held such force to begin with, even in the face of his considered judgment. Sometimes people succumb to temptation, and sometimes they do not. When they succumb, they are said to be morally weak. When they resist, they are said to be morally strong. For some, moral weakness is a limited problem and is not emblematic of their character. For others, this is a problem that can ruin the quality of their lives and often the lives of others as well. Because moral weakness can lead to such serious results, it should be of interest to anyone who is concerned with morality. 3. Moral Weakness and Theories of Morality Reasons also exist for why moral weakness should be of concern to those who advocate specific types of moral theories. First, consider those who espouse virtue theories. They are interested in good character and how to inculcate it. In general, they emphasize that having a good character is a necessary condition for living a good life. If you are prone to being morally weak, especially in situations in which serious matters are at stake, then you are unlikely to be able to live a good life. Next, consider the situation of utilitarians. They are concerned with maximizing the good, which is usually defined in terms of happiness, pleasure, or some variation thereof. As I indicated above, moral weakness involves acting against your considered judgment. Admittedly, your considered judgment will not always favor the action that maximizes the

4

UNDERSTANDING MORAL WEAKNESS

good. However, if the good is defined as happiness or pleasure, this will likely happen in more cases than not. This is because, ceteris paribus, the greater overall happiness or pleasure will more likely be achieved when you take into account all relevant considerations than when you act on your most immediate desires. The objectives of utilitarians would normally be furthered by having a society in which people act on their considered judgments, and their objectives would be thwarted by a predominance of moral weakness in society. Deontologists should also be interested in moral weakness, although this is perhaps less obvious. They are ostensibly uninterested in consequences. Even so, I think that deontologists should be concerned about the prevalence of moral weakness. Acting on principle is often a difficult thing to do, especially if a principled action produces unpleasant or unpopular consequences. However, just such principled action is called for by deontologists. If you are morally weak, you will pursue the pleasures of the moment and temporarily will cast aside that which your considered judgment reveals to be your duty. Deontologists presumably want a society in which persons not only recognize their duties, but also act on them. Naturally, this is an ideal, unlikely ever to be fully achieved, and most deontologists harbor no illusions about this. Even so, a high prevalence of moral weakness among the individuals who comprise a society will effectively prevent the society from achieving anything even remotely close to this ideal condition. Finally, a great many people obviously look to religious scriptures or revelation as the source or grounding for morality. Even so, many of those who believe in a divinely ordained moral order still find themselves asking questions similar to those asked by secular deontologists and consequentialists—questions about duty and rights or about the greatest good for society—when it comes down to making moral decisions in particular instances. In any case, those who look to ground morality on a religious basis should be concerned about the prevalence of moral weakness for many of the same reasons as those who seek a non-religious foundation for morality. Additionally, to the extent that a religious tradition regards living a moral life as being essential for individual or group salvation, members of that tradition should be concerned that moral weakness will stand in the way of these soteriological aims. I have argued that understanding moral weakness should be of concern to anyone for whom morality is crucial, including those who espouse the major traditional theories of morality. The next step is to make a point of clarification regarding the terminology that I use throughout this book.

The Problem of Moral Weakness

5

4. Regarding Terminology As indicated above, the phrase “moral weakness” is a translation of the Ancient Greek word “akrasia.” Other common English translations of “akrasia” include “weakness of will” and “incontinence.” Each of these translations has disadvantages. The term “incontinence” is most commonly used today to refer to a lack of control over your bodily functions. Using it to refer to actions or character states is in some sense outdated and, in any case, has the potential to result in confusion. In regard to the phrases “moral weakness” and “weakness of will,” some ambiguity exists as to whether they are synonymous or not. If you think that morality is limited in scope and that much of human life falls outside of its purview, then you may well think that many actions exemplify weakness of will but not moral weakness. In contrast, if you think that moral considerations pervade most aspects of life, then you will be more likely to think that “moral weakness” and “weakness of will” are roughly coextensive in terms of the cases that they cover. In addition to this ambiguity, another reason exists for not using “weakness of will,” namely, it being anachronistic in relation to some of the philosophers whose ideas I will consider. Plato’s Socrates and Aristotle each discuss akrasia, and I will devote a good deal of attention to their positions, but the idea that we have a definite mental faculty or power of will does not appear until centuries later. It assumes a central role only when we arrive at the writings of Augustine. For all of these reasons, I think it best in most instances to forego translation into English and instead to use “akrasia,” and this is the general practice that I will follow. However, I use “moral weakness” in the title of the book, because it would not be appropriate to use a perhaps unfamiliar Greek term in that setting. I also use it in several of the chapter titles. 5. Organization of the Book My intention is that each of the subsequent chapters of this book will build on earlier ones. Chapters Two through Five focus on the positions of Socrates, Aristotle, Augustine, and Aquinas. Although, not surprisingly, these chapters have a strong historical flavor, I do not think of them only as providing background information. Instead, I contend that many of the ideas of these philosophers remain extremely influential in shaping contemporary theories of akrasia. In Chapter Two, I argue that the early Socrates of Plato’s dialogue Protagoras implicitly recognizes the distinction between weak and strict akrasia. He denies the existence of strict akrasia, but he then provides a serious explanation of weak akrasia in terms of the susceptibility of mere

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belief to being deceived by the illusory power of bodily pleasures. Socrates is mistaken in thinking that this explanation covers all cases of akrasia, but I think that it provides us with the basis for a good explanation of some cases. I discuss the ways that Terrence M. Penner uses the Socratic position as the core for what I think is one of the more interesting contemporary theories of akrasia. I argue that the reason the theory of Socrates and Penner is ultimately inadequate to cover all cases is its quality of being overly intellectualistic. The theory postulates that akrasia results from a lack of moral knowledge, which is equated with a faulty belief system. This allows a person’s beliefs to shift around and become unstable. Although it may be reasonable to think that some—perhaps many—cases of akrasia come about in this way, I argue that no good reason exists to think that all cases are of this sort. The later Socrates of the dialogues Republic and Phaedrus thinks that evil actions (including, presumably, akratic actions) result when a lack of proper harmony in the soul allows the appetites to gain the upper hand. One problem with this theory is that it relies upon the questionable metaphysical concept of a tripartite soul. Even so, the theory represents an advance in that it postulates that appetites remain as a component of the soul even if a person acquires moral knowledge. They may be suppressed, but they remain under the surface and could reemerge if the rational and spirited parts of the person fail to be sufficiently vigilant. Please note that the positions expressed by the character that I am calling “the later Socrates” are widely thought to be the mature philosophical positions of Plato himself. This historical issue, though interesting in its own right, is beyond the scope of this book. My use of the phrases “the early Socrates” and “the later Socrates” allows me to sidestep the thorny question of the relationship between the views of the character Socrates and the positions held by the historical Socrates or by Plato. In Chapter Three, I argue that Aristotle produces two main innovations in regard to understanding akrasia. First, he situates akrasia as a character state in relation to vice, moral strength, and virtue. The distinctions that he makes are sufficiently useful that I utilize them in my discussion throughout the remainder of the book. Second, Aristotle introduces the idea of the practical syllogism and uses it to provide us with insight into the way that desire might temporarily suppress what is ordinarily your best judgment. In Chapter Four, I will consider Augustine’s introduction of the concept of the will as a volitional faculty, distinguishable from such other mental faculties as understanding, memory, and feelings. Augustine postulates that the will is flawed in such a way that we can act in opposition to our best judgments. Although the Socrates of Republic and Phaedrus thinks that the appetitive aspects of a person can be controlled by knowledge, Augustine is

The Problem of Moral Weakness

7

not so optimistic. He thinks that everyone acts akratically some of the time, even with the best sort of education and habituation that human society can provide. This is because the propensity to act akratically is something that all human beings are born with, instead of something acquired as a result of living in families and societies that fail to instill adequate discipline and temperance. In Chapter Five, I explain how Aquinas adopts the concept of the will from Augustine and synthesizes it with the Aristotelian idea of the practical syllogism. This synthesis allows more room for free choice in regard to akrasia than does Aristotle’s conception. I argue that in contrast with Augustine, Aquinas’s theory commits him to the position that all cases of akrasia fall under the rubric of weak akrasia. This is not to say that Aquinas in any way downplays the detrimental effects of akrasia on human life and on one’s spiritual state, but instead to say that these negative effects are fully capable of being brought about by a phenomenon that falls under our definition of weak akrasia. Chapters Six and Seven deal with weak and strict akrasia, respectively. Penner introduces the terminology of diachronic and synchronic akrasia, which he then utilizes to discuss several conceptual models of akrasia. He classifies the position of Socrates in Protagoras as diachronic belief akrasia, and then espouses a version of this position. In Chapter Six, I argue that Penner’s model is useful for understanding how some cases of akrasia come about. I also argue that Donald Davidson provides us with a model of synchronic akrasia that proves useful for explaining still other instances of weak akrasia. In Chapter Seven, I argue that all successful models for strict akrasia will have to include a volitional faculty that can function with a sufficient degree of independence from the faculty of understanding as to allow for a radical divergence between our best judgments and our desires. Such a volitional faculty will be fundamentally similar to Augustine’s conception of the will, although naturally it might differ in regard to details. I also argue that all instances of strict akrasia must also be instances of synchronic akrasia. I conclude with a discussion of the practical difficulty of identifying cases of strict akrasia. Chapter Eight discusses the relationship between habit and akrasia. I argue that habitual actions can be akratic, although many are not. I next examine the relationship that holds among addiction, habit, and akrasia, and conclude that most actions done from addiction are not akratic. We will see that the relationship that exists between habit and akrasia can help to explain why some people are akratic, say, in regard to sex without also acting akratically in regard to eating and drinking. Finally, in Chapter Nine, I will

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conclude our examination by briefly considering possible future directions for research on the topic of akrasia.

Two SOCRATES 1. Introduction The aim of this chapter is to understand what Socrates thought about akrasia. Although we will see that his position has some limitations, Socrates provides us with significant material that we will draw upon throughout the remainder of the book to clarify the nature of akrasia. Before proceeding with our inquiry, we must introduce some criteria for identifying akrasia. As indicated above, I distinguish between two major forms: strict and weak akrasia. I adopt the term “strict akrasia” and much of the general concept from Alfred R. Mele.1 In strict akrasia: (1) You act against your fully considered judgment (that which is normally your best judgment). (2) Your action must be intentional. (3) Your judgment about what is best must be made from the perspective of your own values, moral principles, beliefs, and objectives. (4) After you act, you regret having done so. (5) You must recognize, at the moment the action is performed, that the action is contrary to what you judge to be best. Cases of weak akrasia can then be identified as deviating from strict akrasia in a particular way. They meet criteria (1) through (4), but fail to meet criterion (5). As an example, consider the case of a man who lies to his wife about some crucial matter. Let us suppose that he has, on many occasions in the past, given thought to the question of whether he would ever be justified in deceiving his wife. Each time he has considered the issue, he has decided that such deception is not justified, and most especially when the matter in question is a serious one. This is his fully considered judgment. Let us further suppose that, in arriving at this judgment, he has employed principles and beliefs that he personally accepts. He believes, for example, that intimate relationships must be built on trust. Suppose also that the man truly has as one of his objectives that his marriage be successful, and believes that lying about a crucial matter would be inimical to this objective. So far, conditions (1) and (3) have been met. Next let us suppose that the man’s action is intentional. At the moment that he perpetrates the lie, he is aware that he is lying and chooses in favor of

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lying. Therefore, condition (2) is met. Let us suppose that later in the day, the man returns to his original fully considered judgment, and then regrets having lied. So, condition (4) is met as well. So far, this scenario is compatible with both strict and weak akrasia. In order to illustrate the difference between the two, we must consider two divergent additions to the scenario. First, let us suppose that, at the moment he lies, the man is honestly saying to himself: “I should not be doing this. This is wrong. I will definitely regret this later.” On this version of the scenario, condition (5) is met, because the man recognizes, at the moment the action is performed, that the action is contrary to what he judges to be best. This version of the scenario meets all five conditions for strict akrasia. Consider a second version of the scenario. Let us suppose that in the seconds leading up to and containing the act of lying, the man tells himself that it would not do any great harm to lie to his wife just this once and focuses his mental attention on some potential benefit that might accrue from lying. At the moment the lie is uttered, the man is acting on the belief that to lie would be the best course to follow. This version of the scenario fails criterion (5), while satisfying the other criteria, and therefore illustrates weak akrasia. 2. Background for the Views of the Early Socrates I will first discuss some considerations that are helpful for understanding the context of Socrates’ position. I will then examine the position taken by Socrates in Plato’s early dialogue Protagoras. Finally, I will consider the later position presented by Socrates in Plato’s middle period dialogues Republic and Phaedrus. The Ancient Greek philosophers, including Socrates, see morality as knowledge of how to achieve eudaimonia, which can be understood to mean enduring happiness or a condition in which a person flourishes as a human being. The eudaimon person is one who has attained a good life. The sort of knowledge required in morality is moral wisdom. The Socrates of Plato’s early dialogues thinks of moral wisdom as the knowledge required for acting virtuously.2 All this is true of the later Socrates and Aristotle as well, but the early Socrates also holds moral wisdom to be sufficient for achieving a good life.3 In this regard, he differs from Aristotle and from the Socrates of Plato’s middle dialogues, who both think that moral wisdom is necessary but not sufficient for good lives.4 Said differently, the early Socrates holds the uncommon thesis that knowledge of how to act virtuously is sufficient for having a good life. To understand why the early Socrates holds this surprising thesis, we must consider the distinction between external and internal goods. External

Socrates

11

goods are physiological, psychological, or political in nature.5 Physiological external goods include “absence of extreme deprivation, debilitating illness, disabling accidents, or serious handicaps.”6 Political external goods include peace, security, and social justice, while psychological external goods include “possession of at least average cognitive, emotional, and volitional capacities.”7 Internal goods, in contrast, are “the goods of mind and character,” such as the attainment of virtue or a sense of satisfaction with how your life is progressing.8 The early Socrates thinks that external goods are unnecessary for a good life.9 He also thinks that all internal goods are reducible to one, namely the possession of virtue.10 This is why Socrates holds that knowledge of how to act virtuously is sufficient for having a good life. 3. Interpretation of the Early Socrates on Strict Akrasia The traditional interpretation of the early Socrates’ position on akrasia is roughly the following: “There is no such thing as akrasia. It just does not occur. Instead of being a real phenomenon, it is an empty concept that has resulted from the muddled thinking of the many.” As it stands, this looks like an indefensible position. Some philosophers have taken it to be just that and have quickly moved on to an examination of the thought of Aristotle or some other figure that they take to be more open to the existence of akrasia. Edward John Lemmon exemplifies the tendency to regard Socrates as just mistaken. He writes: It is so notorious a fact about human agents that they are often subject to acrasia that any ethical position that makes this seem queer or paradoxical or impossible is automatically suspect for just this reason. Of Socrates we can say that as a plain matter of fact he was just wrong.11 Fortunately, I think that firm ground exists for concluding that the early Socrates’ position is not just some simple mistake. There exist interpretations that render his position more plausible than the preceding quote suggests. The early Socrates maintains several theses that are widely regarded as paradoxical. Importantly for our purposes, he holds that no person does evil voluntarily.12 Nobody chooses to do evil. This thesis appears prima facie to be false. It appears all too obvious that we often do what we acknowledge to be wrong, and sometimes even relish this. Socrates would say that in such cases we are making an implicit distinction between what we acknowledge to be good and evil by convention and what we believe to be good and evil from our personal perspective. Although Socrates recognizes that we may do

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that which we acknowledge to be evil by conventional standards, he denies that we ever do what we think to be evil as judged from our perspective at the moment that the action is performed. We must clarify the implications that this thesis would have for akrasia, if it were correct. In his 1960 monograph on Aristotle and akrasia, James J. Walsh tells us that Xenophon, Plato, and Aristotle all agree in interpreting Socrates’ doctrine that no one does evil voluntarily to mean that akrasia does not occur.13 Walsh apparently agrees with this assessment, saying, “the Socratic denial of akrasia is a direct corollary of the doctrine that no one does wrong voluntarily.”14 I agree to an extent. I see no way to avoid the conclusion that the early Socrates is committed to the denial of the possibility of strict akrasia. One of the necessary conditions for strict akrasia is that we must recognize, at the moment of action itself, that we are acting contrary to what we judge to be best. When the early Socrates claims that we never voluntarily do evil, he is claiming that we never willingly act in such a way that, at the exact moment the action is performed, we believe it to be evil when judged from our perspective. Therefore, the early Socrates denies the possibility of strict akrasia. It would be natural at this point to wonder why the early Socrates thinks that people never willingly do what they judge to be evil from their perspective. If you work from the assumption that we all approach the world from different moral perspectives, then it might seem implausible that Socrates could have good grounds for making this general claim that nobody ever willingly does evil. The key to understanding Socrates on this point lies in his notion that each of our moral perspectives on the world does have the same fundamental core: psychological hedonism.15 Socrates implies this at Protagoras 351b–e: “I mean to say, in so far as [pleasures] are pleasant, are they not also good, leaving aside any consequences that they may entail? And in the same way pains, in so far as they are painful, are bad?” Hedonism in general equates pleasure with the good. Psychological hedonism is the view that the ultimate motivation behind all of our actions is always the securing of pleasure. This is an empirical, instead of a normative claim. As Justin Gosling says, “the view that pleasure is the good is argued not on the grounds that we ought to pursue it, but on the grounds that there is nothing else that we do value or pursue.”16 Terrance Irwin makes a similar point, although he suggests a different name for the doctrine. He writes: Socrates does not offer hedonism as an alternative to eudaimonism, but as an account of the good that eudaimonism takes to be our ultimate end. Let us say, then, that he affirms epistemological hedonism, taking judgments about pleasure to be epistemologically prior to judgments about goodness.17

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Regardless of the name that we affix to the doctrine, the point is that the early Socrates argues against the possibility of strict akrasia from the view that all voluntary human actions find their ultimate motivation in the desire to secure pleasure. I suggest that we take the early Socrates to be saying that psychological hedonism rules out the possibility of any actions meeting all of the criteria that we set forth above for strict akrasia. Socrates reaches this conclusion because he thinks that simultaneous belief in psychological hedonism and akrasia leads to absurdity.18 He says the following at Protagoras 358b–c: “Then if the pleasant is the good, no one who either knows or believes that there is another possible course of action, better than the one he is following, will ever continue on his present course when he might choose the better.” Irwin lays out the argument as follows:19 (1) Suppose that A chooses Y instead of X, knowing that X is better overall than Y, but overcome by the pleasure of Y. ([From Protagoras] 355a5– 355b2) (2) “Pleasant” and “good” are two names for the same thing. ([From Protagoras] 355b3–355c1) Since (2) licenses the substitution of “pleasant” for “good” in (1), we can replace (1) with: (3) A chooses Y instead of X, knowing that X is better overall than Y, but overcome by the goodness of Y. ([From Protagoras] 355d1–355d3) This leads to the following absurd conclusion:20 (4) A chooses Y over X, knowing that X is better than Y overall, because A believes that Y is better than X overall. As Socrates himself says at Protagoras 355a–d: “What ridiculous nonsense, for a man to do evil, knowing it is evil and that he ought not to do it, because he is overcome by good.” We might well wonder why Socrates adopts psychological hedonism in Protagoras. This appears to conflict with Socrates’ repudiation of the identification of pleasure with the good in such dialogues as Gorgias and Phaedo. One possible explanation is that perhaps the historical Socrates adopted hedonism at one time and asceticism at another time. A more plausible possibility is pointed out by Gerasimos Santas. He reminds us that one of the early Socrates’ principal methods of argument is to take two different popular beliefs, each of which might be labeled as “conventional

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wisdom,” and show them to be incompatible with each other.21 The two beliefs shown to be incompatible in the present case are psychological hedonism and the belief “that in some cases men are ‘overcome by pleasure.’”22 A third possibility is espoused by Terrence M. Penner, who declares that the hedonism that Socrates assumes is none other than “Socratic eudaimonism.”23 Penner asserts: “The so-called Socratic hedonism of the Protagoras is just eudaimonism—a doctrine it is no more shocking to attribute to Socrates than it is to attribute to Plato in the Republic.”24 He explains: “The pleasure which Socrates endorses . . . is simply happiness. It is a mistake to identify anything in the Gorgias, the Phaedo, or the Republic as inconsistent with the eudaimonism of the Protagoras.”25 In support of his interpretation, Penner asks us to consider that the early Socrates has an intellectualist (and eudaimonist) theory of desires. This means that, for Socrates, “desiring always results in one’s going for what one thinks . . . most likely to make one happy.”26 Penner then asks us to assent to the proposition that Socrates thinks of pleasure in fairly broad terms, instead of narrowly focussing on bodily pleasure. This proposition appears reasonable, given that Socrates finds pleasurable such activities as engaging in discussion, improving himself, and improving others.27 Penner then takes the next step in his argument by reasoning that since one always desires what one thinks most likely to give one happiness, then, if one “has a sufficiently broad conception of pleasure” (as does Socrates), one will always pursue “what one thinks most pleasant.”28 Penner concludes that Socrates’ position in Protagoras, far from being a crude version of hedonism, is just a perspective on the Socratic eudaimonism espoused in Plato’s other early dialogues. The interpretations of Santas and Penner each have a measure of plausibility. The early Socrates does frequently set out to show inconsistency between popular beliefs espoused by his interlocutors, a consideration that lends credibility to Santas’s interpretation. Penner’s interpretation offers the advantage of rendering the psychological hedonism of Protagoras compatible with the views expressed by Socrates in the other early dialogues. More significantly for our purposes, Penner’s view frees the Protagoras’ treatment of akrasia from the sort of hedonism that most philosophers regard as mistaken. If we assume a narrower and cruder definition of pleasure than Penner recommends, and if Santas is correct in his description of Socrates’ objective as merely demonstrating the incompatibility of two popular opinions, then serious limitations are imposed on the applicability of Socrates’ conclusions beyond the borders of the dialogue itself.

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I resolve this apparent conflict in the following way. Santas is right in thinking that Socrates intends to show that we cannot consistently hold at the same time that psychological hedonism is true and that strict akrasia occurs. This does not entail, however, that Socrates’ espousal of psychological hedonism is just for hypothetical purposes. In truth, if we imagine this hedonism to be endorsing bestial pleasures, then it would make sense to think that Socrates’ adoption of the position is for argumentative purposes only. Otherwise, it would be quite anomolous in relation to the position that he espouses fairly consistently in the other early dialogues. If we think of Socrates as including among the pleasures such activities as tend to the moral improvement of human beings, we see that the sort of eudaimonism that Socrates endorses elsewhere can be accommodated within the purview of the psychological hedonism of the Protagoras. Since psychological hedonism equates the good with pleasure, and since virtue is good, we can conclude that virtue (its possession or exercise) is a species of pleasure. As stated above, the early Socrates holds that knowledge of how to act virtuously, or moral wisdom, is sufficient for a good life (for being eudaimon). If you have knowledge of how to act virtuously, then you will have a good life. People who accept psychological hedonism equate pleasure with the good life that eudaimonism seeks. Therefore, “pleasure” can be substituted for “a good life” in the above conditional. Once this is accomplished, pleasure is seen to be a necessary condition for having the knowledge that constitutes virtue or moral wisdom. Since lacking knowledge is the same as being ignorant, it must be that people who perform actions that deprive them of pleasure are afflicted with a sort of ignorance. A reasonable initial reaction to this conclusion might be to think the view to be crude, open to so many exceptions that it will not be viable. Undeniably, people often forego pleasurable activities in order to further the achievement of other objectives. For example, you may decline an invitation to a party that you would like to attend, in order to prepare for an imminent examination. Or you may cancel a long-anticipated vacation in order to attend to a sick relative. But the early Socrates’ position is sufficiently nuanced to handle such cases. First, Socrates’ concern is with what is most pleasant overall.29 He interprets psychological hedonism as claiming that our ultimate motivation is always the attainment of the greatest overall pleasure, and that allows foregoing some lesser pleasures. Second, “Socrates accepts, and holds that we all understand, the distinction between something’s being pleasant considered in isolation, and being pleasant overall, taking into account the action itself and its consequences.”30 Third, Socrates recognizes that we are often attracted to a course of action that will provide immediate pleasure

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over an alternative course of action that will provide greater overall pleasure in the long run.31 The reason such instances do not count as strict akrasia is that we act out of a sort of ignorance. We are ignorant in the sense of being taken in by appearances. We make the mistake of judging some immediate yet ephemeral pleasure to be preferable to one that is in actuality greater overall.32 We have seen that the Socrates of Protagoras holds that the knowledge that constitutes moral wisdom is sufficient for pleasure. We have also seen that psychological hedonism asserts that our primary motivation is always to attain pleasure. Given that the knowledge that constitutes moral wisdom represents a direct path to the attainment of that which we are always motivated to seek, we can conclude that a feature of human psychology is that we never act against this knowledge. Socrates holds that this knowledge is dominant and masterful. It cannot be overcome by pleasure, fear, anger, or any other emotion, since we always by nature act on it. The motivational force of moral wisdom is never defeated.33 Socrates acknowledges at Protagoras 352b–c that his estimation of the strength of knowledge stands in marked contrast to that of most people. Most people, he tells us, think that knowledge lacks any substantial motivational force. Generally thought to be weak relative to the passions, it ends up “as a slave, pushed around by all the other affections.”34 Socrates credits this discrepancy between his view of knowledge and that of most people to inconsistencies in their understanding of the relationship between knowledge and such other factors as pleasure, desire, and action. The arguments in Protagoras are, I think, conclusive in showing that if the doctrine of psychological hedonism is true, strict akrasia is impossible. But this still leaves us with the challenge of explaining the nature of the ubiquitous occurrences that people typically describe as “going against one’s better judgment” or as “being weak-willed.” I propose that some such cases should be treated as instances of weak akrasia: they meet the first four criteria for akrasia, but fail to meet the criterion for strict akrasia that you think at the exact moment of your action that the action is opposed to your greatest overall pleasure. The early Socrates does not draw an explicit distinction between strict and weak akrasia, but I believe that he draws an implicit distinction. He rejects strict akratic action, while providing a coherent explanation for some actions that we would want to regard as instances of weak akrasia. 4. Interpretation of the Early Socrates on Weak Akrasia The remainder of my discussion of the early Socrates’ views will consist of an examination of his explanation of weak akratic action. In all such cases,

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Socrates holds that the akratic person’s objective is what has changed.35 You still do what you think best to do at the moment of action. What you think it best to do at that moment, however, is different from what you thought it best to do prior to that moment, and is perhaps different from what you will think it best to do at times subsequent to that moment.36 Justin Gosling writes: It may indeed be that others think my initial objective better. I may myself, in my more reflective moments, wish that I could keep steadily to that objective. All this may give sense to calling that my better judgment. It remains that I only do what at the time I think it best to do.37 The early Socrates holds that if our perception of pleasures was not led astray by illusion, we would always choose whatever course of action would lead to the greatest overall pleasure, even when this means choosing some future pleasure over an immediate one. At Protagoras 356a–b, he says: “If anyone objects that there is a great difference between present pleasure and pleasure or pain in the future, I shall reply that the difference cannot be one of anything else but pleasure and pain.” An underlying assumption is operative here, that we can assess the prospective pleasure yields of possible actions, in the immediate and in the more distant future. Also, there exists the assumption that we can arrive at correct assessments under some conditions. Socrates asserts that illusion can prevent these ideal conditions from obtaining. Gosling says that in the case of persons whose assessment capacities are afflicted by illusion, “they always do what they think best, but their views on what is best have no sure grounding, and change with changing appearances.”38 James J. Walsh explains that illusions capable of interfering with our capacities to assess the relative values of prospective pleasures would be analogous to illusions affecting spatial perspective.39 The most relevant sort of spatial illusion would be that in which smaller objects that are nearby appear to be larger than objects of considerably greater magnitude that happen to be much farther away. Fortunately for us, we are not misled by most instances of large objects appearing small because they are far away and small objects appearing large when near at hand. Due to corrective faculties that have evolved as part of our minds’ innate endowment, or due to learning through trial and error during early childhood, or both, we are almost always able to judge the relative sizes of objects at varying distances in our environment with sufficient accuracy to serve the purposes of everyday life. However, this capability regularly fails in some cases. For example, many people assume the sun and the moon to be

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of roughly equal size, since they appear to be so when seen in the sky. Only with the acquisition of a form of knowledge do we come to an awareness of the enormous size difference between these two celestial bodies. The Socrates of Protagoras holds that something analogous obtains in cases of weak akrasia. We are able to make reasonably accurate estimates of the relative magnitudes of many pleasures that lie at different temporal distances from us. Even so, some sorts of pleasures exist that tend regularly to mislead the majority of people, to one extent or another, in regard to their magnitudes relative to other potential pleasures and pains. These are, notoriously, the pleasures of sex, eating, and drinking. William Charlton says, in reference to those who are misled by the deceptive power of pleasures of these types: “It is not the case that they know that the bad consequences of their action exceed the good, but act in spite of that; they mistakenly believe that the good consequences exceed the bad.”40 Gosling concurs, saying: “the analogy with the untutored viewer who is deceived about sizes is supposed to give us the condition of the putative weak person ‘overcome’ by passion.”41 Just as a kind of knowledge is needed in order to correct for the spatial illusion that the moon is as large as the sun, some sort of knowledge is necessary before we can correctly evaluate the pleasures of sex, eating, and drinking, relative to other competing pleasures. As Socrates asserts in Protagoras, the knowledge needed is a knowledge of how to measure.42 A person who possesses such knowledge is “like an expert in weighing,” who is able to “put the pleasures and the pains together, set both the near and the distant in the balance, and say which is the greater quantity.”43 George Maximilian Anthony Grube explains that, on Socrates’ view, given our hedonistic motivation and faced with the illusory power of immediate pleasures, we require “a more accurate science of measurement.”44 We have seen that on the early Socrates’ view, moral wisdom is knowledge of how to get a good life, and is both necessary and sufficient for the attainment of good lives. If your life is full of instances in which the illusory power of some sorts of immediate pleasures causes you mistakenly to select immediate pleasures over other pleasures of greater overall magnitude, then your life will be less good than it would be if you always made accurate estimations of the relative magnitudes of pleasures. Think, for example, of a man who, during the course of his life, ends up forsaking several satisfying and meaningful long-term relationships in order to engage in fleetingly pleasurable one-night stands. Since knowledge of how to measure and rank pleasures accurately is an antidote to the power of illusions to mislead, and since it therefore removes what is for many of us a major stumbling block to the attainment of good lives, its acquisition must be regarded as a crucial step in the development of moral wisdom.

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Gosling suggests several potential criticisms of this view. First, the early Socrates supposes that possessing the skill is a sufficient condition for exercising it.45 The implication is that once we learn to assess accurately the magnitudes of potential pleasures that lie at different temporal distances from us, we will automatically perform this procedure whenever we are confronted with the prospect of two or more conflicting pleasures. But this supposition appears to conflict with our experiences in regard to other acquired skills. Take, for example, the skill of doing long division. We may know perfectly well how to do long division, and yet sometimes choose not to perform the procedure when confronted with problems that could be solved by using it. We may just be too lazy or tired to bother with the calculation. Socrates needs to give us reason to think that the measuring skill for pleasures will differ in some relevant respect from this and similar examples. Gosling’s second criticism of the measuring skill view is that Socrates appears to assume that one who possesses the skill will “always have the time or information to reach a true conclusion.”46 Again, this assumption conflicts with our experience regarding other skills. Gosling’s third criticism is that Socrates assumes “conviction follows immediately on calculation.”47 Gosling thinks that this is sometimes not true and offers as an analogy the case of a person who comes upon a rope bridge suspended over a deep gorge.48 The person is struck with fear at the thought of walking across the bridge. He proceeds to perform accurate measurements and mathematical calculations to determine the strength of the bridge, and discovers that the bridge is many, many times stronger than it would need to be for him to cross safely. He appears to employ the appropriate illusiondispelling skills. Even so, his fear does not disappear and he is unable to bring himself to walk across the bridge. Just as the employment of the appropriate measuring skills did not lead to conviction and action in the case of the person standing before the rope bridge, Gosling asserts that no reason is given in Protagoras for thinking that a correctly applied measuring skill for pleasures will carry along a person’s judgment with it in all instances.49 This third criticism boils down to a criticism of the strong cognitivism of the early Socrates’ moral theory. This cognitivism, combined with psychological hedonism’s claim that the ultimate motivation behind all of our actions is always the attainment of the greatest overall pleasure, leads Socrates to think that we will always follow that course of action that we rationally assess to be most likely to yield the greatest overall pleasure. Any other motivations that conflict with this primary motivation are always defeated. I suspect that what lies behind Gosling’s criticism is the thought that we can sometimes be motivated by impulses whose source is other than what we

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take to be the relevant facts of a situation. In the case of the rope bridge, for example, it may be that our evolutionary heritage bequeaths to many of us a strong visceral aversion to treading on narrow walkways across deep gorges. Such an aversion may be rooted in our nervous systems in such a way that no amount of information regarding the strength of the bridge will successfully override it. We may well be convinced on a cognitive level that the benefits that will accrue to us (pleasure) by reaching the other side of the gorge are enormous and the risks of crossing miniscule, and yet be unable to cross due to fear that reflects evolution’s general verdict on the cost-benefit ratio of walking along precipices. Likewise, we might reach a firm cognitive conviction about which of two potential pleasures is greater overall, and yet pursue a lesser pleasure instead due to some non-rational impulse rooted deeply within us. I suspect that the early Socrates would answer this criticism by saying that such a person is mentally ill (he would say “mad”), but we do not have to agree with that assessment. It will prove quite useful to add to our discussion of weak akrasia the contribution that has been made to the interpretation of the early Socrates’ position in several articles by Terrence M. Penner. His interpretation adds depth and nuance to our understanding. Penner explains that his interpretation of the early Socrates’ view relies on a notion of epistemological strength.50 The sort of epistemological strength that he means is for people to be able to maintain their intellectual grasp or perspective on a situation even as different aspects of the situation present themselves to their minds in temporal succession.51 His interpretation also relies on the notion of a temporal context for every action, and on a rigorous distinction between knowledge and mere true belief. The temporal context of an action has three components. The first is “the time immediately preceding the action.”52 During this time, we consider the possibility of performing and not performing the action.53 The second is the moment at which the action is performed, the time during which the movements that constitute the action occur. The third is “the time immediately following the action,” during which we may approve of or regret our action.54 Many philosophers, most notably including Aristotle, think any distinction between knowledge and belief to be irrelevant to akrasia.55 They think this because it appears that belief can be held with just as much conviction as knowledge.56 In truth, those who have strong beliefs often take the content of their beliefs to be knowledge. The early Socrates’ view that belief, even true belief, is vulnerable to being overcome, while knowledge always remains steadfast, is widely rejected. Penner thinks that those who reject the early Socrates’ view because they reject as irrelevant the distinction between knowledge and strongly held belief are mistaken in so

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doing. They err by failing to understand what the early Socrates means by knowledge. Penner argues that the early Socrates is right to hold that knowledge is strong, while mere true belief is inherently unstable.57 If you think of knowledge and true belief strictly in terms of individual propositions considered in isolation from one another, then it truly would be difficult to explain how the one could provide an opening for akrasia even as the other remains immutable. On such a conception, the conviction with which a proposition is held would seem to be the only factor relevant to the sticking power of the proposition in the face of the sort of illusions discussed above. A person who is strongly attached to a false belief would be no more susceptible to acting against that belief than would a person who possesses knowledge be susceptible to acting against the knowledge. Penner claims, that when the early Socrates says “knowledge is something strong,” he is not thinking in terms of the steadfastness of some individual isolated proposition.58 Instead, Socrates is thinking in terms of the interconnectedness within the whole system of a person’s beliefs about moral matters.59 Internal consistency within a person’s system of moral beliefs and the absence of any false beliefs within the system are necessary conditions for the person having moral knowledge. But this just looks to be what we have referred to elsewhere as moral wisdom. If so, then when the early Socrates asserts that knowledge is strong, within the context of morality, we can take him to be saying that moral wisdom is strong. It should come as no surprise whatever that he would say this, since we have already seen that he holds moral wisdom to be sufficient for good lives. If moral wisdom were susceptible to illusions, then something else would be necessary in addition to moral wisdom to control the illusory power of immediate pleasures, and to make good lives possible. The knowledge that constitutes moral wisdom is stable, and “no one ever acts contrary to what they, throughout most of the temporal context of the action, know to be the best (most advantageous) option open to them.”60 This is because someone who has knowledge “will have no relevant falsehoods about goods and bads in their belief-structure.”61 In contrast, Penner interprets the early Socrates as claiming that true belief (and a fortiori all other belief) is prone to instability.62 This is because systematic interconnectedness ensures that a false belief anywhere within an individual’s belief-structure will create the potential for any given true belief within the system to be defeated. Even a single false belief will render each true belief unstable.63 If most but not all of the beliefs within your system are true, you may go along fine for a while and appear immune to illusions affecting your perception of the relative magnitudes of potential pleasures. “But then,” Penner tells us,

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UNDERSTANDING MORAL WEAKNESS perhaps unexpectedly, a different aspect of the situation flashes itself at the agent, thereby focussing the agent’s attention on matters that bring into play a quite different, and false belief, within the agent’s beliefstructure. Then, as different gestalts flash themselves at the agent, the agent begins to “change up and down.”64

In such cases, a new viewpoint on a situation fools you into abandoning even a true belief.65 Your conviction about what course of action is likely to yield the greatest overall pleasure may change suddenly and dramatically, remain in this changed state for as long as it takes to perform the action in question, and then change back in equally dramatic fashion. Note that we can, consistently with Penner’s view, maintain that people always act according to the beliefs that they hold at the instant of action regarding what it would be best to do.66 Penner is concerned with the steadfastness of a person’s system of beliefs, when looked at across the larger temporal context of the action. In contrast to a person who has true belief but lacks knowledge, a person who has the knowledge that constitutes moral wisdom always knows what is worth trading for what, “from no matter what point of view your choices are presented.”67 Such people will not vacillate in their judgment about which of two or more options is preferable. Instead, their judgments will be resolute and will reflect the wisdom of their whole interconnected system of knowledge relevant to moral matters. Insights from an article by Mele can help us to appreciate further why people’s minds admit tempting gestalts for consideration in the first place and why they have the effect that they so often do. Mele suggests that some cases of weak akrasia may be cases in which the reversal of judgment that occurs in the moment prior to the action is the result of a “motivationally biased process.”68 What happens in the case of such processes is that at the time when people are presented with the possibility of acting against their original judgments, they have some motivation to believe that taking the new course of action would be permissible.69 This motivation may be consciously recognized or not. Mele writes: “Motivation can enhance the vividness or salience of certain data.”70 He explains that this effect occurs because “[d]ata that count in favor of the truth of a hypothesis that one would like to be true might be rendered more vivid or salient given one’s recognition that they so count.”71 Mele asserts that some psychological studies provide empirical evidence that suggests that our wanting some proposition to be true often biases our beliefs in the direction of thinking that the proposition is true.72 “Sometimes,” says Mele, “the pertinent beliefs may be about what it would be best, or permissible, to do.”73

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Penner’s Socrates would, I think, hold that people who have knowledge would never experience such motivational bias. This is not to say that people who have knowledge will not be aware of different perspectives or gestalts on a given moral situation. In truth, in order for people even to realize that a given situation is moral in character, it may be necessary that they be aware of the existence of alternative perspectives. Such perspectives may be suggested by other people or may be conjured up by a person’s own mind. In any case, a person who possesses knowledge will automatically evaluate each perspective against a complete, consistent, and true, system of moral beliefs. If a person has knowledge, and an accurate understanding of the factual aspects of the situation, the process of evaluating alternative perspectives will always end in the person choosing to perform the right action.74 The right action will be the one most likely to bring about the good, which the Socrates of Protagoras equates with the greatest overall pleasure. When Socrates asserts that the acquisition of a measuring skill is necessary in order to nullify the power of immediate pleasures to mislead us, he does not specify the content of this measuring skill. The use of the term “skill” might lead us to expect something along the lines of a technique, perhaps analogous to techniques of using rates of radioactive decay in order to determine which of two archaeological artifacts is older. However, I do not think that we need to regard Socrates’ measuring skill in such literal terms. Recall that in the analogy involving the perceptual illusion that the sun and moon are roughly the same size, the acquisition of knowledge is what defeats the power of the illusion to deceive us. Likewise, it appears reasonable to suppose that the acquisition of a type of knowledge might be the “measuring skill” that Socrates advocates in Protagoras. But this sounds exactly like the sort of thing that Penner has been describing: a consistent and complete system of true moral beliefs. I want to suggest that moral knowledge in the systemic sense in which Penner describes it might well be what is needed to add content to the empty container designated in the above discussion by the formal term “measuring skill.” 5. Assessment of the Early Socrates’ Position Let us take account of the early Socrates’ position on akrasia. The early Socrates sees morality as knowledge of how to attain a good life, and he equates this knowledge with moral wisdom. He advances the strong thesis that moral wisdom is sufficient for a good life. Socrates assumes the truth of psychological hedonism in Protagoras. This hedonism equates the good with the pleasurable, allowing that pleasure can be defined quite broadly to include the satisfaction that comes with human flourishing, and it equates evil with that which is painful (including, presumably, whatever detracts

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from human flourishing). It asserts that we always pursue what we take to be most pleasurable (best) overall and shun what we take to be painful (evil). For this reason, the early Socrates denies that we ever do what we think to be evil as judged from our perspective at the moment of the action. Since acting contrary to what we think best overall at the moment of action is a necessary condition for strict akrasia, the early Socrates denies the possibility of strict akrasia. Whenever we pursue a course of action that provides immediate pleasure over an alternative course likely to provide greater overall pleasure in the long run, the early Socrates thinks that we act out of a sort of ignorance. The antidote for this ignorance is a measuring skill, which will allow its possessor to gauge accurately the relative magnitudes of different potential pleasures. If lacking this measuring skill is a sort of ignorance, then to have the skill is to possess a sort of knowledge. It amounts to having moral wisdom. A viable candidate for Socrates’ measuring skill is the possession of a complete and consistent system of morally relevant beliefs. If your system of moral beliefs is complete and consistent, you will have moral wisdom, and this moral wisdom will empower you to maintain your convictions in the face of shifting perspectives on a given moral situation. The early Socrates’ position on akrasia is of sufficient complexity and coherence to merit much greater consideration than many philosophers have thought appropriate to it. Even so, I can think of two significant problems faced by the position. The first is a problem primarily for Penner’s interpretation, while the second pertains to the early Socrates’ view in general. The problem for Penner’s interpretation is that of how to draw boundaries between moral knowledge and other kinds of knowledge. As we have seen, Penner’s Socrates holds that you have knowledge if and only if you have a complete and consistent system of properly interconnected true moral beliefs. Some propositional beliefs are obvious candidates for inclusion in this system. One example would be Socrates’ thesis that all of the virtues form a unity.75 A second would be that moral wisdom is always steadfast, and another would be that care for the well-being of a person’s soul is more important than concern for bodily health or wealth.76 Also, we would need to include Socrates’ famous thesis that when we are wronged, we should never do wrong in return.77 At the other extreme lie propositions that would indisputably fall outside of a complete system of moral knowledge. Examples here would include propositions concerning the distances between galaxies, the composition of distant planets, the exact height of Mt. Olympus, or the exact number of hairs on Socrates’ head. In between lies a gray area of propositions that may or may not belong within the complete system of morally relevant

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knowledge. I am thinking especially of propositions that make factual instead of normative claims, but which are often used in conjunction with normative claims as premises in arguments that have normative conclusions. An example of this sort of claim would be the thesis of psychological hedonism itself. A second example would be the thesis that the soul (psyche) is immortal.78 Today we might think especially of examples that could be drawn from among the laws and principles of the social sciences. Recall that Penner’s Socrates held that even one false belief within a person’s moral system would render every other belief within the system unstable and would be sufficient to prevent any of them from achieving knowledge status. The false belief would make the system inconsistent. But presumably the absence of some belief that belongs within the system would have the same deleterious effect, since this would render the system incomplete. If no way to determine with certainty that our moral system is complete and consistent exists, then we can never be certain that we will in the future be immune to illusions affecting our perception of the relative magnitudes of potential pleasures. The early Socrates never claims to have knowledge of virtue.79 At one point, Penner himself suggests that perhaps the reason for this lack of assurance is that Socrates is not certain that his belief system is complete and consistent.80 But if Socrates, who has spent most of his life thinking hard about the true and exact relationships that obtain between moral concepts, remains in serious doubt as to whether anything that he thinks about morality counts as knowledge, what hope is there for the rest of us? If moral knowledge is something so difficult to obtain that even the herculean efforts of Socrates have not secured it, then perhaps the early Socrates or Penner (or both) have set the qualifying bar for moral knowledge too high. A second problem facing the view of the early Socrates is that it just appears to be too strongly cognitivist. The early Socrates assumes that no non-rational forces or impulses could potentially override an accurate assessment of the relative magnitudes of potential pleasures. He thinks that knowledge is always dominant over any impulses that might be attributed to the lower faculties of persons, to those bodily and psychical elements that we have in common with non-human animals. The reason we should be suspicious of this notion is that it does not seem obvious that we have evolved so far from the beasts that there would be no overlap between that which often moves them (instinct, non-rational impulses) and that which moves persons who possess knowledge. Also, as suggested above, non-rational impulses need not always be of the “active” sort associated with sex, food, and drink, but could also take the form of feelings of tiredness or laziness. Aristotle and many other

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subsequent philosophers would embrace the idea that the acquisition of a coherent system of knowledge will greatly improve the likelihood that you will flourish as a human being, but most philosophers would reject the claim that the acquisition of such knowledge will completely prevent any intrusion of non-rational forces into your motivational processes. Although the views offered by the later Socrates in Republic and Phaedrus do not offer much assistance with the first of these problems, they purport to offer a great deal by way of an antidote to the (probably) excessive cognitivism of the Protagoras doctrine. I turn next to the views of the later Socrates. 6. The Later Socrates on Akrasia The Socrates of Republic and Phaedrus adopts a tripartite model of the soul. He also embraces an account of knowledge that reflects the development of the metaphysical doctrine of the Forms. As a result of these two innovations, the later Socrates’ understanding of akrasia is different from that of the early Socrates. I will examine the relevant aspects of these innovations, and discuss the conception of akrasia that emerges. The later Socrates agrees with the early Socrates that knowledge is strong, in the sense that we never act against knowledge. Even so, “the account of knowledge has changed beyond recognition.”81 Instead of propositional knowledge or even a complete and consistent system of true moral beliefs, the later Socrates holds that in order to have knowledge, we must attain apprehension of the immaterial and changeless Forms. This requires extensive philosophical training. When we come to apprehend the Forms, their beauty “wins a response of intellectual love that distracts our desire from other things and concentrates it on this alone, bringing peace to the soul and order to our inclinations.”82 On this view, I would contend, knowledge is strong in an indirect sense. The locus of strength becomes the soul (psyche), which has been fortified through knowledge of the Forms. Apprehension of the Forms fortifies the soul by bringing its constituent parts into a harmonious relationship with one another. The beauty of the Forms elicits an aesthetic response manifest in a focusing of the soul’s attention onto the higher and more permanent echelons of reality. This brings us to the topic of the tripartite soul and of the proper integration of its parts. According to the view espoused in Republic and Phaedrus, a human soul has a rational part, a spirited part, and an appetitive part. John M. Cooper writes that each of these three parts is taken by the later Socrates to be an independent source of motivation.83 Cooper stresses that the reasoning part, “when it proposes an end on its own authority . . . contributes a desire of its own (the desire to achieve that end), and this is an additional

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motivating force, over and above whatever other kinds of desire may also be operating.”84 Anger, competitiveness, and a desire for esteem, are attributed to the spirited part, while the appetitive part accounts for lust, gluttony, and other intemperate desires. If each part of the soul is an independent source of motivation, you cannot possibly collapse all of your desires into a single desire, such as a desire for pleasure. For example, “thirst is a desire for drink, not a desire for the good. This allows for the possibility that our desire for a drink may come into conflict with our desire for what is good.”85 This represents a departure from the Protagoras doctrine of psychological hedonism. According to the earlier view, if you are “overcome by pleasure,” this must be because you suffer from a sort of ignorance. This ignorance might, for example, consist of some inconsistency within your network of moral beliefs. According to the later Socrates, however, evil actions or morally weak actions may stem from the lower parts of the soul, and such motives may have sufficient strength to overcome motives derived from the rational part of the soul.86 As John Kekes explains, “[e]ach of the three parts motivates us, but morally untrained souls are motivated in conflicting directions. Part of the role of moral wisdom is to put an end to this ‘civil war of the soul.’”87 This makes it look quite plausible that the later Socrates’ position on human motivation is a response to the criticism that the early Socrates’ view is too highly cognitivist. In one sense, akrasia still results from ignorance on the later Socrates’ view, as long as we define ignorance as a lack of an intimate acquaintance with the Forms. Ignorance of true propositions, which concerned the early Socrates, is no longer regarded as directly responsible for akrasia. Even so, I would argue that deficiencies within people’s networks of propositional beliefs about moral matters will remain indicative that they are likely to be susceptible to akrasia, since such deficiencies could arise only if they have insufficient knowledge of the Form of the Good. If people have sufficient knowledge of the Form of the Good, then they will know how to think properly about the true relationships among moral concepts. This is precisely why Socrates asserts in Republic that rulers should be chosen from among those who know the Form of the Good: nothing is more important for a state than being moral, and those who know the Form of the Good will best understand how to implement morality. Yet a degree of optimism exists here that is not supported by Socrates’ argumentation. He does not foreclose on the possibility that a person “may know what the good is and yet not act on it because moral wisdom’s control over the lower parts of [the person’s] soul has slipped.”88 In Phaedrus, Socrates illustrates both the inherent tension and the potential harmony among the parts of the soul by means of a metaphor. He

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proposes that we “compare the soul to a winged charioteer and his team acting together.”89 He continues on to say that the “ruling power” (the rational part) in human beings has its hand on the reins of two horses, one of which is “fine and good and of noble stock, and the other the opposite in every way.”90 The noble horse represents the spirited part of the soul, while the bad horse represents the appetitive part. The bad horse constantly tends toward evil actions. The key to avoiding evil is for the spirited part to become focused in such a way as to be allied with the rational part. Only when working together can these two parts control the wanton desires of the appetitive part. The way in which this alliance is brought about is through apprehension of the Forms. Through the philosophical activity of the rational part of the soul, the Forms come to be known. Once the Forms are apprehended, their intrinsic beauty will stimulate the spirited part to join forces with the part whose activity is responsible for their apprehension. The passions of the spirited part provide the judgments of reason with “the emotional backing required to control obstreperous appetite.”91 Note that in this metaphor the bad horse is not destroyed. Nor is it made good in the sense of being converted into a duplicate of the chariot driver or the noble horse. Instead, it retains its wanton nature, but is reined in and forced to conform to the agenda of the alliance of driver and noble horse. This is to say that the appetitive part of the soul is neither eliminated nor made good, but instead is forced to move toward the good by the joint forces of the rational and spirited parts. All the while, it retains its unruly nature and will, if permitted, reassert its natural tendencies. We find nothing analogous to this picture in the early Socrates. On the early Socrates’ view, once you have moral wisdom, you will henceforth be secure against being overcome by appetites that are contrary to your overall good. On the view of the early Socrates, the acquisition of moral wisdom eliminates the bad horse that represents chaotic appetites, while on the view of the later Socrates, the best moral wisdom can do is to suppress and redirect the bad horse. The tripartite view of the soul expressed in the Phaedrus’ chariot metaphor closely parallels the view of the soul found in Republic. There, too, we find the soul divided into rational, spirited, and appetitive parts. The Republic stresses that each of the parts has its proper function and, when the right functions are performed by the correct parts, “the individual will be moral and will do his own job.”92 Whenever immorality is found, the later Socrates explains, we find that the three parts of the soul are in conflict with one another, “intruding into one another’s work, and exchanging roles, and one part rebelling against the mind as a whole in an improper attempt to usurp rulership.”93

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We should take account of the views of the later Socrates on akrasia. The claim that people cannot knowingly do wrong is not, as is the case for the early Socrates, a claim about the strength of knowledge as opposed to mere true belief. Instead, in the hands of the later Socrates, it becomes a claim about a special state of complete knowledge, which people attain if and only if they know the Forms, and about the effect of this special knowledge on their personalities.94 As Justin Gosling says, “[I]n the last resort it is an empirical thesis about the effect on our other desires of a love and understanding of the structure of the universe.”95 I have presented the later Socrates’ position on akrasia by way of a contrast with the position of the early Socrates, but I question whether these positions must be mutually exclusive. Walsh, for one, appears to assume that they are compatible. He asserts that the fully developed thought of the mature Plato, who he equates with what I have been referring to as the later Socrates, includes three features of human experience that need to be considered “when it is said that reason is overcome.”96 The first is opinion. Perhaps a person who exhibits akrasia did not truly have knowledge, but instead merely opinion.97 Walsh thinks that this early Socratic explanation for akrasia is retained by the later Socrates, with the difference that it becomes one among several possible explanations for any given instance of akrasia. According to Walsh, the second feature of experience that requires consideration is the spirited part of the person. Walsh says that even if right opinion is present, without the association of the faculty for indignant anger, the right opinion may “wander or be ineffective in the face of the forces of the appetites.”98 Calling to mind that anger is a function of a person’s spirited part, Walsh explains that the later Socrates thinks it necessary for overcoming akrasia to add to the early Socrates’ measuring skill “the punitive powers of anger.”99 The third aspect of experience that Walsh thinks factors into akrasia is appetite, which requires careful habituation in order to make it “docile to command.”100 Having examined the positions of the early and later Socrates, I will conclude this chapter with an overall assessment of Socrates on akrasia. 7. Conclusion The early Socrates thinks that if we have a sort of knowledge, namely that knowledge of virtue that constitutes moral wisdom, then we will not be susceptible to strict or weak akrasia. It makes sense to think that having moral wisdom will lessen our susceptibility to akrasia. It will do so by allowing us to recognize which course of action is truly in our best interest, and by helping us to hold fast to our judgments in the face of the illusory

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powers of immediate prospective pleasures. However, to lessen our susceptibility to akrasia is not sufficient for eliminating akrasia altogether. To the extent that the early Socrates’ conception of motivation asserts that moral wisdom will entirely eliminate akratic tendencies, it must be judged inadequate as a description of the facts of human experience. The later Socrates appears to recognize the empirical inadequacy of the early Socrates’ conception. His tripartite model of the soul allows for conflicting sources of motivation. Since human beings often feel conflicted in their motivations, it appears that the view of the later Socrates is in a sense more empirically adequate than is the view of the early Socrates. However, the view of the later Socrates is tightly connected with the metaphysical doctrine of Forms. This presents a problem in terms of the theoretical adequacy of the view, since, to say the least, a great many subsequent philosophers have not found the doctrine of Forms compelling. The challenge, then, is to arrive at a conception of akrasia that preserves (or enhances) the empirical adequacy of the later Socrates’ position, while avoiding close connections with his more controversial metaphysical claims. Aristotle attempts to meet this challenge, so we turn next to consider his contributions to the study of akrasia.

Three ARISTOTLE 1. Introduction The aim of this chapter is to understand what Aristotle thought about akrasia and to understand the ways Aristotle’s treatment of akrasia in Nicomachean Ethics advances the discussion begun by Plato through the character of Socrates. I argue that Aristotle’s views represent an attempted synthesis of the views of the early Socrates of Protagoras and the later Socrates of Republic and Phaedrus. The purpose of this synthesis is to retain those insights of each view that seemed right to Aristotle, while eliminating those aspects that seemed to him to be questionable. I argue that Aristotle agrees with the early Socrates in rejecting strict akrasia, while disputing the early Socrates’ strong distinction between knowledge and opinion in terms of their efficacy in preventing akrasia. Likewise, I argue that Aristotle agrees with the later Socrates that an inherently non-rational part of the human being exists, while rejecting the later Socrates’ strong emphasis on the role of extra-natural universals in overcoming akrasia. In the course of his discussion of akrasia, Aristotle produces several innovations, whose significance will be examined in this chapter. One innovation is his placement of akrasia within a broader spectrum of character traits. Another is the development of the model of practical reasoning known as the practical syllogism, which Aristotle utilizes as the core of his explanation of how akratic action occurs. The introduction of the practical syllogism opens new approaches to understanding akrasia by providing Aristotle with a tool for analyzing the sort of knowledge or belief possessed by the akratic person. As we will see in subsequent chapters, the practical syllogism turns out to be a fairly enduring contribution to the historical evolution of ideas about akrasia. It plays a central role in St. Thomas Aquinas’s discussion of the topic, and retains a role in the theories of some philosophers today. Aristotle’s employment of the practical syllogism is not an unmitigated success, since it also creates new concerns that need to be addressed. I begin with a description of Aristotle’s classification of human motivations. I then examine Aristotle’s placement of akrasia relative to other states of character. Following that, I examine Aristotle’s position on how

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akrasia is possible, and then assess this position in relation to the positions of the early and later Socrates. 2. Aristotle on Motivation and Akrasia as a Character Trait The general term that Aristotle uses for desire, want, or appetition is orexis.1 Orexis can be divided into rational and non-rational desires. The primary form of rational desire is boulesis: wishing or willing. This is especially characteristic of human beings, and Aristotle did not think that it could be found in any non-human animals. Boulesis is formed by the sort of beliefs to which truth or falsity can be ascribed, and it represents a wish that some particular state of affairs would come about.2 Boulesis is centrally involved whenever we are moved to act by reason, deliberation, or calculation.3 Suppose, for example, that I decide to exercise because I think that would be a healthy thing to do. There exists a wish on my part to exercise, and this wish is rational in the sense that I have reasoned from a desire to be healthy to the desirability of exercise. I have utilized my rational capacities to calculate that exercise is likely to yield improved health. While non-rational desires do not arise through the use of reason, they need not be opposed to reason either. They are called “non-rational” instead of “irrational” for that reason. Non-rational desires take two forms: thumos and epithumia.4 Thumos can be translated as “passion,” and includes “positive” and “negative” emotions. Primary examples of thumos are love, anger, fear, hate, envy, pity, and shame.5 For example, you experience thumos if you are angry at having perceived an insult, or if you feel shame at having been exposed as a liar. Some non-human animals can experience thumos, since they can, for example, fear being attacked by other animals. Epithumia can be translated as “appetite,” “craving,” or “yearning.” Aristotle used the term epithumia to designate those desires that human beings share with even the lower animals. In particular, epithumia includes sexual desire, hunger, and thirst.6 These desires are rooted primarily in perceptions and bodily states, instead of in deliberation or calculation. You are hungry, for example, because your stomach is empty, not because you have calculated that you should increase your consumption of nutrients. Aristotle understands the human psyche as having three independent sources or types of motivation: boulesis, thumos, and epithumia. In a given instance, the motivations that arise from these different sources may be complementary or they may be in competition with one another. According to Aristotle, if we construct a progression from the worst character state to the best, we find the bad states to be brutishness, vice or self-indulgence, and akrasia, and the good states to be moral strength or continence, virtue or excellence, and heroic or superhuman virtue.7 Akrasia

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is the least bad of the negative states, while moral strength is the least good of the positive states.8 In the case of akrasia, appetite or passion is involved somewhere in the course of committing the moral error. How and when it becomes a factor is a matter that will occupy a large portion of the discussion in this chapter. As is the case with akratic individuals, people who are morally strong know that they have bad appetites, but rational principle leads them to refuse to satisfy these appetites.9 Even though moral strength is counted among the positive character states, it should, nonetheless, be contrasted with virtue, since Aristotle’s virtuous person has no bad desires to be overcome.10 Aristotle’s distinction between akrasia and moral strength is not difficult to see, since the akratic person acts differently than the morally strong person. Harder to see is the distinction between the akratic person and the person who is characterized by vice or self-indulgence. The distinction is real, but cannot be immediately observed, since the akratic and the vicious person behave outwardly in the same or nearly the same way. The difference is primarily internal: akrasia involves regret, while vice does not.11 As D. S. Hutchinson explains, Aristotle thinks of vice as a condition of the soul in which an emotion is incorrectly adjusted, and the rational part of us does not realize that anything is wrong; the emotion is felt either too much or too little, but to the man himself it seems about right.12 Vicious people act as they do because they think that, all things considered, they ought to act in that way. They have no regrets and no remorse, since they have no thought that they ought to have done otherwise. The only sort of regret that vicious people might have is regret at having been caught in the act. Another difference between akrasia and vice is that vice is a constant condition, while akrasia manifests itself only intermittently. For short periods of time, akratic people act as vicious people do, but the rest of the time they may act more like virtuous people. Aristotle compares vice to “a disease such as dropsy or consumption,” while comparing akrasia to epilepsy: “the former is a permanent, the latter an intermittent badness.”13 We might well wonder how action done from vice differs from action done from simple ignorance regarding how we should act in a given sort of situation, or even how it differs from action done as a result of ignorance of the factual particulars of a situation. The difference is that vice is part of a person’s established character, whereas being honestly mistaken about what act is good in a particular circumstance is not. We can have a general disposition to do what is good and avoid what is bad, and yet make an “honest mistake” about what should be regarded as good and bad in a

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particular sort of situation. In contrast, the vicious person is inclined in general and sometimes even by nature (or by “second nature,” to the extent that the vice arises from habituation) to act badly. Aristotle ranks akrasia as less bad than vice, due to the akratic person’s thoughts about moral matters being more nearly correct than are the thoughts of the vicious person. The akratic person has knowledge (or, minimally, true belief) that the vicious person lacks, namely that pertaining to correct conduct. Presumably, possessing knowledge or true belief regarding correct conduct is always preferable to lacking such knowledge or belief. Even so, we might still want to argue that the akratic person is in truth worse off. After all, she or he knows the right thing to do, but fails to do it anyway. In the case of vicious people, the possibility exists that they will become convinced that they ought to change how they act. Conversion of the understanding is possible in cases of vice, but not in cases of akrasia. This is because vicious people lack some belief or piece of knowledge that akratic people do not lack, and the possibility is there that the requisite belief or article of knowledge might be taken up by a vicious person if the right circumstances were to come about. This argument is faulty for the reason that it neglects the importance of habituation as a factor in human actions. Let us suppose that a vicious person pursues some pleasurable activity with significant frequency over a long period of time, and does so with complete confidence that she or he ought to pursue such pleasures. Let us then suppose that this person experiences an intellectual conversion and comes to think that she or he ought to change his or her ways and avoid the accustomed pleasure. Although there exist cases in which persons in such circumstances succeed in changing their actions, there exist many more cases in which they fail to change. If bad habituation has occurred, then an intellectual conversion will probably not be sufficient to transform a vicious person into a virtuous person. The more likely scenario is that an intellectual conversion will turn a vicious person into an akratic person. Generally speaking, vicious action is deeply ingrained in the character and is not easily shed, even if a person’s beliefs about the rightness or wrongness of particular actions change.14 This discussion of akrasia and character leads us to the question of whether akrasia ought to be regarded as a trait of character, instead of as a feature of individual acts. Aristotle’s answer is that akrasia is both, but first and foremost a state of character. Akratic acts are normally done by an akratic person, just as virtuous acts are normally done by a virtuous person.15 If a virtuous person falters on a rare occasion and acts badly, we might describe that particular action as akratic, but not without qualification. The description must be qualified because the action did not flow naturally from the person’s established character. Likewise, if an akratic person resists

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temptation on one occasion out of twenty, we might describe his or her action on that one occasion as morally strong, but only in a qualified sense. For Aristotle, therefore, character is primary, while moral evaluations of particular actions are secondary and derivative. Aristotle thinks that the character trait of akrasia has to do most centrally with the same sorts of pleasures and pains that are connected with the character trait of vice.16 Aristotle says that some people are akratic without qualification, while others require qualification of one sort or another.17 Those people who are akratic without qualification are akratic in regard to the sorts of pleasures that are indulged in by vicious people. These are the pleasures with which epithumia is concerned: those of sex, eating, and drinking. This is akrasia proper. We might assume that akrasia in relation to drinking must involve the consumption of alcohol. After all, many people experience a strong desire to consume excessive amounts of alcohol, more so than with other types of drinks. Drinking excessive amounts of alcohol often leads to personal and societal problems in a way and to an extent that drinking other sorts of beverages normally does not. Drinking reasonably large amounts of water, in contrast, is seldom harmful. Instead, this is often touted as being good for your health. Even so, a person can be akratic in regard to consuming nonalcoholic beverages. For example, let us suppose that a person wishes to lose weight and is dieting. Suppose further that he or she knows that soft drinks generally contain a lot of calories and little nutritional value. However, the person enjoys drinking cola and is persistently tempted to stray from his or her diet to indulge this craving. Let us finally suppose that the person does frequently stray, to his or her later consternation. For another example, let us suppose that you are a member of a group traveling in the desert. The supply of drinking water is limited and you know that you are supposed to control your intake in order to assure that the communal supply will be adequate for everyone. Suppose that you are strongly tempted to drink more than what you know to be your fair share (and more than is necessary to maintain your physical wellbeing). You give in to this urge and consume an excessive quantity of water when nobody is looking. You later feel guilty and regret having done this. These examples illustrate that akrasia can occur in relation to the consumption of nonalcoholic beverages, even though cases involving alcohol are often the most serious and are the ones that are usually presented as being paradigmatic. According to Aristotle, the purview of akrasia can be extended, but only with qualification, to anger and desires for wealth, victory, and honor. Aristotle explains: “[W]e apply the term to anger by virtue of a resemblance; and this is why we say with a qualification ‘[akratic] in respect of anger’ as we say ‘[akratic] in respect of honor, or of gain.’”18

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We might well wonder about the grounds on which Aristotle distinguishes akrasia in respect to anger, for example, from unqualified akrasia. Aristotle’s distinction appears to be based largely on his belief that akrasia “in respect to anger is less disgraceful than that in respect of the appetites.”19 Aristotle offers two claims in defense of this belief. First, he says, “anger seems to listen to reason to some extent, but to mishear it,” while appetite does not listen to reason at all.20 Second, Aristotle asserts: “[E]very one who acts in anger acts with pain,” while someone who is akratic in regard to sex, food, or drink, “acts with pleasure.”21 While I find these two claims to be fairly plausible, I do not think they are sufficient to establish the position that akrasia in respect to anger is, without qualification, less disgraceful than akrasia in respect to the appetites. I think that we can come up with examples of akrasia in respect to anger that most observers would find to be more disgraceful than many instances of akrasia in respect to the appetites. Consider the case of people who frequently give in to anger and verbally assault others in public places, embarrassing and frightening them and shocking onlookers. Next consider the case of people who, though on a diet, frequently give in to the temptation to eat sweets. Most external observers likely would rate the first type of case, an example of akrasia in respect to anger, as more disgraceful and more shameful than the second case, which exemplifies akrasia in respect to the appetites. While I concede that Aristotle is successful in differentiating unqualified from qualified akrasia on the internal grounds that the thought processes of the unqualified akratic are more shameful than those of the qualified akratic, I do not think that the overt actions of the one need be more shameful than those of the other. The next question to consider is whether akratic action is chosen. Aristotle’s answer is that it is not. Aristotle holds that an action is chosen if directed toward some chosen end or goal.22 As Daniel Robinson explains, what is done out of passion or appetite or the impulses of the moment is unchosen specifically in the sense that the consequences of the action were not the productions of rational deliberation. What is done under such conditions may be regarded as voluntary but not as chosen.23 Gertrude Elizabeth Margaret Anscombe asserts that, on Aristotle’s conception, an action is chosen only if it functions as a means to those things or states of affairs that the agent wills (boulesis) to obtain or bring about.24 She goes on to explain that even if a significant amount of calculation is involved, if this is “only a means to the objects of a man’s [epithumia], his ‘desires,’ then unless his ‘will’ in life is to satisfy these desires (as holds for the licentious man) it is not a ‘choice.’”25 Not only is akratic action not

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chosen, but instead it becomes a characteristic of the akratic person to act to satisfy an appetite opposed to his or her considered choice.26 A morally strong person, by contrast, overcomes bad appetites and acts from choice. Consider, for example, the case of a person who engages in elaborate calculations regarding how best to commit adultery without being caught. Yes, this person is employing rational faculties, but if the motive for wanting to commit adultery is lust, it falls under epithumia instead of boulesis. The prospective adulterer’s rational faculties are being employed to formulate a means to an end, but the end itself is not the result of rational deliberation. Therefore, the adulterous act, if committed, is not chosen, even though quite likely voluntary. As Anscombe suggests, an akratic adulterer is not willing to say: “This is my idea of good work . . . this is the kind of life I want.”27 Aristotle’s discussion in Book VII of Nicomachean Ethics is intended to help us to understand akrasia in two principal ways. First, it places akrasia in context in relation to other character states and the range of human motivations. Second, Aristotle’s discussion attempts to explain how akrasia can occur in the first place. I have so far examined the first of these ways. The next several sections of this chapter focus on Aristotle’s treatment of the occurrence of akrasia. 3. Practical Wisdom and Akrasia James Opie Urmson writes that the issue of what sort of knowledge is possessed by the akratic person is the paramount problem regarding akrasia.28 A case can be made that this is one of the central concerns in Aristotle’s treatment of the topic. Aristotle himself states that he is concerned with “[W]hat kind of right belief is possessed by the man who behaves [akratically].”29 Aristotle presumes that akrasia results when some necessary belief or item of knowledge is rendered less than fully available to the agent. The problem then becomes one of determining what necessary component is ineffectual and how it becomes relegated to that status. Aristotle’s discussion of these issues draws upon his concept of the practical syllogism. Before we can properly comprehend Aristotle’s employment of the practical syllogism for understanding akrasia, we must first examine his position regarding practical wisdom. Having practical wisdom, or practical knowledge, requires that you have the right desires, adequate reasoning ability, and knowledge of general principles and facts about particular situations.30 If, due to bad habituation, mental trauma, or disease, you have bad desires, then you are unable to possess practical wisdom (phronesis). Likewise, if you lack the ability to reason well about moral matters, or if you are ignorant of morally relevant general principles, then you will lack practical wisdom. Practical wisdom is

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broader in scope than practical reason, which is the ability to reason well about means to ends. A person can possess practical reason and yet employ it toward corrupt ends. Aristotle’s practically wise person, in contrast, will never pursue corrupt ends. Since, on Aristotle’s account, a practically wise person will avoid corrupt ends, such a person will not be found acting akratically. As Aristotle asserts, “No one would say that it is the part of a practically wise man to do willingly the basest acts.”31 The reason Aristotle thinks it to be absurd to say that practical wisdom could ever be overcome is that practical wisdom is the strongest state of all and will always prevail over appetite.32 Aristotle’s practical wisdom is comparable in many respects to the early Socrates’ conception of moral wisdom. Both are understood to be the strongest state that a human being can achieve. Aristotle’s practically wise person and Socrates’ morally wise person are each impervious to akrasia. The major practical difference between the two conceptions lies in the relationship that each has to the achievement of a good life. As discussed previously, the early Socrates held the strong thesis that moral wisdom is sufficient for achieving a good life. Aristotle, in contrast, held that practical wisdom is necessary but not sufficient for a good life.33 Aristotle thinks that even the practically wise person is susceptible to the negative impact of external events beyond his or her control.34 Compare this to Socrates’ belief that external factors are irrelevant to whether lives are good.35 On Aristotle’s view, achieving practical wisdom is one of the most effective steps you can take in order to attain a good life, since it empowers you to remain always steadfast against vice and akrasia. It falls short of being a guarantee, since vice and akrasia are not the only potential impediments to good lives. If, on Aristotle’s view, practical wisdom is sufficient for avoiding akrasia, then the occurrence of akratic action is indicative that the agent falls short of having practical wisdom. We may lack practical wisdom because we lack familiarity with relevant general principles. In such cases, however, we would be vicious instead of akratic, since vicious people are ignorant about what their ends ought to be. Two other ways that we can fall short of having practical wisdom are if we lack proper habituation or if something interferes with our reasoning processes. As we will see, either of these shortcomings is capable of opening the door for akrasia. Aristotle’s explanation of akrasia in Nicomachean Ethics centers mainly on the issue of how the reasoning process of the akratic person is rendered ineffectual at the moment of action. Aristotle’s discussion focuses on a model of practical reasoning referred to as the practical syllogism. We turn next to an examination of the role of the practical syllogism in Aristotle’s analysis of akrasia.

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4. The Practical Syllogism and Akrasia A syllogism is a model of reasoning that has a set structure: a major premise, a minor premise, and a conclusion.36 Aristotle’s primary treatment of syllogisms is found in his logical works, where the syllogism is presented as an argument whose conclusion is a proposition. These syllogisms are referred to as assertoric or demonstrative. Practical syllogisms have a form that parallels that of such arguments, but practical syllogisms differ from their logical cousins in three respects. First, a practical syllogism is part of the decision process about what course of action a human being will take, whereas the other types of syllogism are used to arrive at propositional truths about states of affairs. Second, the major and minor premises of assertoric syllogisms are each general (they begin with “all,” “no,” or “some”), but practical syllogisms have one general premise and one premise that focuses on a particular instance. Third, the conclusion of a practical syllogism is an action, instead of a proposition.37 This third point is not immediately obvious, since one cannot tell merely by looking at the formal qualities of a practical syllogism that the conclusion will be an action, since syllogisms which give rise to action are not distinguishable by possession of a form distinct from that possessed by other sorts of syllogisms.38 In truth, some commentators express doubt that Aristotle ever thought that the conclusion must always be an action, instead of a statement.39 Even so, the standard interpretation remains that the conclusion is an action. Peter Loptson suggests that the practical syllogism holds the value it does as a model of practical reasoning because of this fact: Part of its appeal resides in a merger of thought and action, the mental and the physical, logic and bodily movement, that exhibits just the sort of unitary, non-dualistic notion of the whole, non-bifurcated person that so many twentieth-century theories avow but generally fail to provide content to.40 Aristotle does not claim that all practical thinking takes the form of a syllogism. Instead, he only speaks of syllogisms, premises, and so on, in a very special case, namely, where the minor premise contains as one of its terms a demonstrative or personal pronoun, and where the immediate outcome of the syllogism is an action undertaken at once.41

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Even so, this happens to be exactly the situation relevant to akrasia, and for that reason Aristotle’s discussion of how akrasia occurs relies heavily upon the practical syllogism. Although the practical syllogism parallels the syllogisms of Aristotle’s logical works, the practical syllogism is not explained in nearly as much detail. Gerasimos Santas even remarks that Aristotle gives us no theory of practical inference as such, in the sense that he nowhere undertakes anything like a systematic discussion of the topic.42 No discussion is to be found of practical syllogisms taking different logical forms.43 This is in marked contrast to Aristotle’s detailed discussion in the Prior Analytics of the different possible forms of assertoric syllogisms. Aristotle makes no mention of any procedure for distinguishing valid from invalid forms of practical reasoning.44 Although some might see this as a shortcoming of Aristotle’s discussion, others think that Aristotle already makes too much of the similarity between practical and assertoric syllogisms, and are no doubt relieved that he refrains from drawing an even closer parallel. For example, Ronald Dmitri Milo holds that Aristotle contributed to some of the confusion surrounding the nature of the practical syllogism by significantly overemphasizing the commonalties between practical and theoretical reasoning.45 Milo is concerned that too close an analogy between the two types of reasoning “makes us look for the ‘cause’ of rational action in the domain of logical necessity. It leads us to look for an entailment relationship that does not exist.”46 Perhaps this problem arises because Aristotle fails to distinguish between logical and psychological necessity.47 Milo suggests that psychological necessity, instead of logical entailment, renders it “impossible for one who accepts the premises [of a practical syllogism] not to act in the required manner.”48 This interpretation has the advantage of maintaining the notion of necessity, while freeing us from having to make sense of how an action could be logically required by premises that are themselves propositions instead of actions. As indicated above, in the case of a properly functioning practical syllogism, a person’s acceptance of the premises implies that the conclusion will follow in the form of an action. Consider, for example, the following practical syllogism: Universal or major premise: Broccoli is a good food for me to eat. Particular or minor premise: This food in front of me is broccoli. Conclusion: I eat the broccoli. (An action) I should say by way of clarification that a person would perform the action ceteris paribus. I add that caveat because non-akratic factors exist that

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might prevent a person from reaching the conclusion. Imagine that you have just finished eating five pounds of broccoli and then additional broccoli is placed in front of you. You may well recognize that broccoli is good for you to eat and that the food in front of you is truly broccoli, and yet be unable to force down even one more ounce of the stuff. This point is almost never mentioned in discussions of akrasia; perhaps the point is taken for granted. Even so, for the sake of accuracy and completeness, I think it to be worth keeping in mind that akrasia is not the only thing that might keep a practical syllogism from reaching its conclusion. Note that this only serves as further evidence that we do not have anything like logical entailment operative in the case of practical syllogisms. If the above was an assertoric or demonstrative syllogism, we would want to make sure the premises and conclusion were expressed in standard categorical form, but we do not need to concern ourselves with this in the case of a practical syllogism. What we do need to concern ourselves with is the issue of what goes wrong in cases of akrasia. If the conclusion is an action and the correct action is not performed, then something must prevent the syllogism from reaching its conclusion. To put it another way, something happens in cases of akrasia that prevents the agent from completing the syllogism properly. According to the standard interpretation, what happens is that the particular premise of the syllogism is somehow lost (forgotten or suppressed) at the moment that the akratic action occurs. According to this interpretation, akrasia does not affect our understanding of the universal premise.49 What we “fail to actuate” in the akratic moment is the knowledge that the potential action is bad for us, though this may be something that we know beyond doubt at other times.50 Additionally, epithumia (appetite or desire) is what causes the particular premise to falter.51 As James J. Walsh says, the “sophistry of desire” has the effect of generating an absence of “opinion about what is good in the particular situation.”52 The particular premise is not genuinely unknown to the akratic individual. The case of acting against our best interests because we are genuinely ignorant is fairly straightforward to understand. What happens in cases of akrasia is that the akratic person has knowledge of the particular premise in the sense of being “potentially capable” of knowing it, but “temporarily incapable of actually knowing it.”53 Appetite does not cause us to forget the general principles that serve as universal premises in our practical syllogisms, but instead prevents us from bringing the universal to the situation at hand. As Hutchinson explains: We fully realize the general truth that certain sorts of things are right and wrong, but we don’t quite realize that our own immediate situation

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The notion that the particular premise of the practical syllogism is rendered ineffectual in instances of akrasia is intended to capture an intuitive understanding regarding the sense in which the akratic person can be said to have knowledge. Milo characterizes this understanding as a recognition that there exist different senses in which a person can know something. He explains that if a distinction is made between these different senses, “then, while it may be absurd for a man to act against knowledge in one sense, it may not at all be absurd for him to act against it in another sense.”55 One sense of “knowing” is that according to which the geometer “knows the theorem of Pythagoras when he is not thinking about geometry and the sense in which he can be said to know it only when he is actively engaged in proving it to himself or someone else.”56 As this example shows, Aristotle draws a distinction between a faculty, or potentiality, and the utilization of that faculty.57 Another way of expressing this is to say that Aristotle distinguishes the situation in which we possess an item of knowledge but are not using it from the situation in which we are using it.58 Aristotle compares what happens to knowledge of the particular premise of the practical syllogism in cases of akrasia with what happens to knowledge in instances of madness and drunkenness.59 Although this comparison is intriguing, we should recognize that differences exist between akrasia, on one hand, and madness and drunkenness, on the other hand. In particular, one difference is in terms of the degree of generality of the suppression of knowledge. As Anthony Kenny writes, mad and drunk “states result in an obfuscation of knowledge in general, or over a wide area,” while akrasia “is at most the obfuscation of knowledge of a particular principle.”60 Although we fail to complete the “correct syllogism” in cases of akrasia, we do not remain idle. Instead, we perform some action, namely, the akratic action. In order to account for an action being performed, some commentators have postulated the notion of a second practical syllogism being operative. This would be a syllogism whose conclusion is the akratic action.61 The “correct syllogism” represents the “reason-wish motivation,” and has a universal premise that forbids the akratic action. 62 The “akratic syllogism,” in contrast, has a universal premise to the effect that all things possessing some characteristic X are pleasant.63 According to this interpretation, epithumia interferes with the minor premise of the first syllogism, while the particular premise of the second syllogism is left to operate freely and that syllogism achieves its conclusion.64 The particular premise of the second syllogism would be that some object within the agent’s perceptual field has the tempting characteristic X.65

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Some commentators have wondered whether Aristotle thought a situation could ever arise in which both syllogisms were completely actual in a person’s mind. If Aristotle did think this was possible, he does not explicitly say so, and he does not explain what course of action would be followed by a person who has both syllogisms completely actual.66 It should be noted that a theoretical problem for any view about akrasia that claims that two completely actual and opposed practical syllogisms are involved is that one of the two must be overcome to avoid stalemate and inaction, and the one that ends up being overcome in instances of akrasia is the one that represents the reason-wish motivation (boulesis). This appears to strike against Aristotle’s claim that practical wisdom is dominant and not susceptible to being overcome by passion. For this reason, it appears unlikely that Aristotle intends for us to think in terms of two completely actual syllogisms being present together in the mind of the akratic person. Additionally, the idea of two complete and competing syllogisms would only be intelligible if the conclusion of each syllogism is not necessarily an action. Otherwise, a situation would arise in which it would be mandated that two incompatible actions occur (a situation in which a person gives in to the temptation to act akratically and, at the same time, resists the temptation). As we have seen, Aristotle thinks that the particular premise fails to be actualized in instances of akrasia, and this failure is related to appetite or passion. By contrast, he holds appetite to be incapable of affecting a person’s understanding of the universal premise.67 Undoubtedly, one reason that Aristotle takes this position is that it does in a sense preserve the Socratic contention that knowledge is not overcome in akrasia. Without doubt, what Socrates is most concerned about is “true universal knowledge,” instead of beliefs (doxa) about material objects or events in the world. Urmson draws our attention to its being the particular premise of a practical syllogism that embodies “knowledge” of objects or events (judgments of perception).68 The presumption is that Socrates would not be too upset by the thought that appetite or passion overcomes the particular premise, since this state of affairs is consistent with his claim that episteme is not “dragged about like a slave.”69 At no time does the akratic person profess “universal premises contradictory to those he professed before his desires emerged.”70 Since the universal premises are those that embody genuine knowledge, and since these remain steadfast in the face of appetite, Aristotle can preserve the Socratic contention that episteme is the strongest state possible for human beings. Although Aristotle’s insistence that the universal premise of the practical syllogism is never overcome by appetite allows him to preserve something of the early Socratic position, there does not exist any apparent reason to think that this insistence is justified by empirical evidence.

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Experience appears to show that there exist some cases of akrasia in which the universal premise is “lost” due to appetite, although these undoubtedly represent a minority of cases. For example, consider a man who knows that the course of action he is about to follow counts as adultery, given how adultery is ordinarily defined. Let us suppose that normally he accepts the standard definition of adultery and also the judgment that adultery is morally reprehensible. In the akratic moment, however, while under the influence of appetite and passion, the man tells himself that morality’s condemnation of adultery is childish and prudish. He tells himself that adultery is not such a bad thing as he had previously believed. Once the act is consummated, he returns to his usual judgment that adultery is reprehensible and then feels remorse for what he has done. This plausible scenario appears to contradict Aristotle’s position, since the universal premise (“adultery is reprehensible”) is what is suppressed by the forces of non-rational desire. Although empirical evidence appears to refute Aristotle’s claim that only the particular premise is susceptible to the influence of the appetites and passions, this is not a reason to cease using the model of the practical syllogism in explanations of how akrasia occurs. Instead, we may need to modify Aristotle’s theory to include the possibility of epithumia temporarily suppressing recognition of the universal premise. One factor that can have a profound effect on the extent to which we allow appetite and passion to influence the premises of our practical syllogisms is habituation. Aristotle famously stresses the vital role played by habituation in moral development, asserting that proper habituation is a necessary condition for living a good life.71 One of the ways that proper habituation helps us to achieve good lives is by making us less inclined to akrasia. People who are properly habituated become used to controlling their appetites and passions. In contrast, bad habituation leads to bad desires, and bad desires prevent people from achieving practical wisdom. Terrance McConnell raises the prospect that proper habituation is needed in addition to the correct syllogism in order for a person to have “full and complete knowledge.”72 If both of these are necessary, then it looks as though the notion of “full and complete knowledge” amounts to the same thing as Aristotle’s concept of practical wisdom. As indicated above, practical wisdom requires good desires, adequate reasoning ability, and knowledge of general principles and facts about particular situations.73 Good desires result from good habituation, while possession of the “correct” syllogism implies the possession of adequate reasoning skills, knowledge of general principles, and awareness of relevant facts. As we have seen, the practical syllogism is the centerpiece of Aristotle’s explanation of how akrasia occurs. We have also seen that the practical

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syllogism embodies Aristotle’s understanding of the relationship among passion, reason, and action. Our next step is to evaluate Aristotle’s treatment of akrasia, and to do so through a comparison of Aristotle’s views with the positions of the early and later Socrates. This analysis will reveal the ways that Aristotle’s innovations advance the discussion begun by Socrates, and also the ways that Aristotle’s understanding still falls short of being an entirely adequate treatment of akrasia. I begin by giving a review of the Socratic positions, based upon the arguments and analysis in the preceding chapter. 5. Conclusion Recall that in Protagoras, the early Socrates espouses a form of psychological hedonism that ought to be regarded as a type of eudaimonism. He arrives at the conclusion that strict akrasia is impossible by arguing that psychological hedonism and strict akrasia are incompatible. The early Socrates then explains weak akrasia as resulting from a type of misperception. He holds that if your perception of pleasures is not led astray by illusion, you will always choose whatever course of action will most likely lead to the greatest overall pleasure. Whenever you choose an immediate yet ephemeral pleasure over a greater future pleasure, you do so as a result of illusion. In particular, the pleasures of sex, eating, and drinking, tend regularly to mislead people in regard to their magnitudes relative to other potential pleasures. The early Socrates holds that the key to avoiding akrasia lies in being able to maintain your intellectual grasp on a situation even as different aspects flash before your mind. Ultimately you are able to maintain your intellectual grasp if your system of moral beliefs is internally consistent and free from any false beliefs. Several problems plague the early Socrates’ position. First, there exists the extremely difficult, if not impossible, problem of knowing for certain when your system of moral beliefs is complete and coherent. This is such a high standard that it appears nobody could attain it. It appears that some less rigorous epistemic standard is compatible with moral strength, and perhaps even with virtue. A second problem with the early Socrates’ position is its excessive cognitivism. He assumes that there exist no non-rational aspects of a person that could override an accurate assessment of the relative magnitudes of potential pleasures. This is not a realistic conception of the human condition. The later Socrates agrees with the early Socrates that people never act against knowledge, but knowledge for the later Socrates amounts to an intellectual apprehension of the eternal Forms. According to the later

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Socrates, human souls have rational, spirited, and appetitive parts, and the functioning of these parts becomes integrated if and only if persons apprehend the Forms. If these three parts are not properly integrated, with the rational part in control, then the non-rational part will lead a person into akrasia. The appetitive part cannot be eliminated; the best we can hope for is for the rational and spirited parts to keep it under control. As is the case with the early Socrates, the later Socrates’ position presents problems. First, most people do not believe that immutable Forms exist in a realm outside of space and time. Second, even if the Forms do exist, empirical evidence appears to show that knowledge of them is not necessary for avoiding akrasia. On the later Socrates’ view, everyone who is not a philosopher would be highly prone to akrasia or vice. However, ordinary observation reveals that some people who have no philosophical training are much more steadfast against akrasia than many that have had such training. Aristotle’s position on akrasia represents a synthesis of the views of the early Socrates and the later Socrates, together with new insights. Instead of attempting to examine akrasia in a vacuum, Aristotle sets out to keep those insights of both Socratic views that seem correct to him, while eliminating those that seem incorrect. I will briefly summarize this synthesis and then explore some aspects of it in more detail. On one hand, Aristotle thinks the early Socrates is right to deny the possibility of strict akrasia. On the other hand, Aristotle thinks that the early Socrates is wrong to make a strong distinction between knowledge and belief or opinion in terms of the efficacy of each in preventing akrasia. Aristotle thinks that the later Socrates is right in holding that an ineliminably nonrational part of each human being exists. This is a recognition that there exists a desirous part of each person, which may be controlled with difficulty, and yet always remains a part of a person’s makeup. However, Aristotle thinks that the later Socrates is wrong to make the theory of Forms and the notion of a tripartite immaterial soul central to his understanding of character development. Aristotle and the early Socrates each deny that a person could be in possession of the strongest form of knowledge relevant to moral action and yet act against this knowledge. In the case of the early Socrates, this strongest state of knowledge is characterized as having a complete and coherent system of true beliefs relevant to moral matters. For Aristotle, the strongest form of morally relevant knowledge is practical wisdom (phronesis). Just as the early Socrates thinks that a person who truly has moral wisdom will always know how to act for the good and want to act for the good, Aristotle thinks the same of a person who has practical wisdom. As Urmson states, Aristotle’s position is intended to allow him to claim “it is

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not true universal knowledge that is overcome by pleasure in weakness of will, but the ‘judgment of perception’ that the immediate situation falls under the universal.”74 Also like the early Socrates, Aristotle recognizes that there exists a real phenomenon that people commonly call moral weakness or “being overcome by pleasure.” Since the early Socrates denies the existence of strict akrasia, the phenomenon that people call “being overcome by pleasure” receives an explanation as weak akrasia. In a parallel sense, Aristotle’s denial that people can act against practical wisdom amounts to a denial of strict akrasia. His subsequent analysis of akrasia in terms of something going wrong with the practical syllogism parallels the early Socrates’ analysis in terms of a false belief lurking somewhere within a person’s structure of morally relevant beliefs. According to Aristotle’s version, “what the akratic does is first corrupt his knowledge, and then act in a manner that would be permissible were the facts as he has made them out to be.”75 Aristotle’s position allows him to do justice to the common view that there exists such a thing as moral weakness, for, as Urmson writes, Aristotle’s akratic person “acts against knowledge of a sort, knowledge that will be fully actualized when the appetite is absent and will lead to regret.”76 While Aristotle agrees with the early Socrates in denying that strict akrasia occurs, he disagrees sharply with Socrates’ claim that the distinction between knowledge and belief is significant for understanding akrasia. The early Socrates sets up a contrast between knowledge and belief: you cannot act against knowledge, although you can act against even strongly held belief or opinion (doxa). The reason Aristotle thinks that the Socratic distinction is irrelevant is that no necessity exists that knowledge and belief differ in the strength of the conviction with which they are held by a particular agent.77 As Aristotle says, “some men are no less convinced of what they think than others are of what they know.”78 Aristotle thinks that you can act against both knowledge and strongly held belief, but only in a qualified sense. That sense is that if knowledge or belief is held potentially but not actually at the moment of action, then you can act against it. Aristotle agrees with the later Socrates that an irreducibly non-rational part of each human being exists. For the later Socrates, this is the monstrous part of the soul represented by the twisted, crooked horse in the Phaedrus’ chariot metaphor. For Aristotle, the corresponding element is that part of the structure of human motivation that falls under the rubric of epithumia. The later Socrates and Aristotle see danger lurking in the non-rational element. The danger is that the non-rational aspects of character, if left uncontrolled, will overwhelm the other parts of character. Your psyche will become a slave to your appetites.79 Such an occurrence will form a virtually impenetrable

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obstacle to moral growth. Since substantial development of Socratic moral wisdom or Aristotle’s practical wisdom is a necessary condition for attaining a good life, the achievement of a good life is rendered impossible by the presence of unfettered desires. In spite of this similarity between the positions of the later Socrates and Aristotle, real differences remain. The later Socrates thinks that the nonrational part of a person can be suppressed entirely through an arduous process of philosophical training and that such complete suppression is a highly desirable outcome. Aristotle does not claim that the complete suppression of appetite is possible or even desirable. He is more concerned with controlling appetite and integrating it with the rest of a person’s character than he is with complete suppression. A common criticism of the early Socrates is that his view of human motivation is excessively cognitivist. He holds that knowledge always prevails over appetite and passion. As we have seen, the early Socrates even makes a distinction between knowledge and strongly held opinion in terms of their motivational efficacy, a distinction presumably grounded in part in the belief that opinion is subject to being influenced by the passions. Critics contend that this degree of cognitivism paints an unrealistic portrait of human motivation. Because of his agreement with the Socratic denial of strict akrasia, Aristotle might seem open to similar criticism. This charge is heightened by the observation that Aristotle takes the concept of the syllogism from the realm of logic and employs it in his explanation of akratic motivation. All this is true, but we must not overlook other considerations that greatly mitigate the excesses of Aristotle’s cognitivism. Recall the way that Aristotle thinks the practical syllogism fails at the moment of akratic action: the non-cognitive factors of epithumia cause one of the premises of the practical syllogism to be lost. This occurs when appetite or passion distracts a person from focusing adequate attention on that premise. Far from representing a denial of the role of non-cognitive factors in akrasia, Aristotle’s practical syllogism affords a theoretical framework for understanding how the cognitive reason-wish motivation and the noncognitive motivations of appetite and passion exert their respective influences on human action. Seen in this light, Aristotle’s understanding of how akrasia occurs appears more comprehensive and ultimately more adequate than that of the early Socrates. It does better justice to the common perception that human beings are motivated by their rational wishes and also by non-cognitive desires that we share with the other animals. A possible weakness of Aristotle’s treatment of akrasia is that he does not address the source of the non-rational desiring elements in people’s characters. To some extent, their presence is attributed to habituation. There

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also appears to be a sense in which they may be partly inborn. Aristotle appears to take it as a given that some people are naturally just more susceptible than others to the temptations of sex and excessive eating and drinking.80 Recall that bad habituation can be voluntary or involuntary, depending in large part upon whether it occurs in young childhood or later in life. If it occurs later in life, and is for that reason voluntary and culpable, the question arises as to why people allow themselves to fall into bad habits. Aristotle does not give a straightforward answer to this question. He appears content to accept it as just an empirical fact that there exists an irreducibly nonrational and antisocial aspect of human beings. In extreme cases, he calls this disease or madness, but he does not want to call it that in all cases. Such a move would in effect render all cases of akrasia involuntary and free from culpability. Aristotle wants to say that many cases of akratic action are truly morally blameworthy. Another weakness of Aristotle’s position lies in his failure to present adequate grounding for his assertion that practical wisdom (phronesis) is truly the strongest state that people can achieve in relation to motivation. His claim that practical wisdom cannot be overcome by appetite or passion appears to be based more in a desire to retain something significant from the early Socratic position than in real observations of human experience. The next step in the development of our understanding of akrasia will come with an increased recognition of the depth of the human psyche. This recognition will come through introspection and introversion, and for this we turn next to St. Aurelius Augustine.

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Four AUGUSTINE 1. Introduction The aim of this chapter is to understand what St. Aurelius Augustine thinks about akrasia and to examine how he furthers the discussion that was begun by Socrates and Aristotle. Augustine is a Christian thinker (and a Christian saint). For this reason, we should not be surprised to find that his views on the nature of human beings differ significantly from those of the Greek philosophers. I argue that Augustine’s most significant innovation in regard to akrasia is the introduction of the concept of the will and, in particular, the idea that each of our wills is inclined toward evil. I also argue that Augustine’s conceptual understanding of human beings allows for strict akrasia. This is in contrast to Socrates and Aristotle, whose theories preclude the possibility of strict akrasia. Augustine does not devote any of his works just to the topic of akrasia, but his thought is sufficiently systematic and coherent to allow us to piece together an Augustinian position on the subject. Such a reconstruction is a large part of what I will do in this chapter, along with an analysis of the position. Since Augustine did not separate philosophy from theology in his writings, my discussion of his position must not ignore the interplay of these two aspects of his thought. Naturally, achieving some separation of the philosophical from the theological confers some benefits, such as making it easier to compare Augustine’s position on akrasia with that of other philosophers. Achieving this separation is a challenging objective, however, and one that I think can only be partially realized. The reason that this project is so difficult is that Augustine’s philosophical arguments often begin with premises that are derived from his religious cosmology and cosmogony. For example, consider the claim mentioned above that each of us has a will and that each of our wills is inclined toward evil. If we consider Augustine’s philosophy in complete isolation from his theology, then the proposition that we have evil wills must be treated as just another brute fact about the world. However, if we want to know Augustine’s explanation for why we have evil wills, then we must consider aspects of his theology, such as his interpretation of the narrative of the Fall in the biblical book of Genesis. Since my project here is philosophical, I will not delve deeply into the theological reasons behind many of the propositions that Augustine holds.

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We should just keep in mind that Augustine’s philosophical claims are frequently grounded in his larger world view, which is theological at its core. Augustine’s philosophy has sometimes been called a metaphysics of wills, in testament to the centrality of the idea of the will in his thought.1 For Augustine, the will “is a mental power which denotes the human psyche in its role as a moral agent.”2 It, together with memory and understanding, comprise the mind.3 Some interpreters hold that Augustine understood the will to be a separate part of the soul.4 Others interpret Augustine to be saying that the will is one facet of a unitary soul, “inevitably connected with the cognitive power.”5 The resolution of this dispute does not matter for our purposes. As long as we understand that Augustine sees the will as the seat of volition, it will not matter whether we ascribe to it the ontological status of a separate entity. The will is free to choose between proposed actions, some of which are moral and others immoral. Although Augustine, like Aristotle, recognizes that a person can be well or badly habituated, he holds that the will maintains a significant degree of freedom to choose between alternative actions. As Thomas Williams explains: Because it has free choice, the will, truly the captain of its soul, looks out over the vast sea of good things and sails wherever it pleases, blithely unaffected by the winds and waves of cause and effect that steer unthinking and unfree vessels.6 However, as we will explore in more detail below, Augustine thinks that, unless fortified by God, the fallen human will always freely chooses to do evil. Augustine is committed to the idea that we have free will in part because the truth of that claim would, he reasons, make sense of another claim to which he is fundamentally committed: namely, the proposition that we are morally responsible for our actions.7 His moral vision is one in which we are actors, instead of tragic victims, and are “integrally responsible” for the presence of evil in the world.8 Whether you are strongly habituated, on Augustine’s view, your choices are indicative of what you truly love. Each person loves different things, for example, holiness, honor, power, or bodily pleasure, and loves each to different degrees. You implicitly arrange your loves in a hierarchy or order of precedence, and generally speaking, your actions are external manifestations of your internal hierarchy of loves. Your actions may be explainable on the level of “conscious intention and explicit choice,” but, on Augustine’s view, an explanation in terms of your loves is one that ultimately functions at a deeper level of analysis.9 In order to have a good

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will, your hierarchy of loves must be such that you give highest precedence to spiritual instead of self-centered and corporeal concerns. An evil will, or carnal will, is directed toward bodily things, instead of toward spiritual concerns. It has been corrupted and turns away from its ideal and intended state. An evil will is not just superficially defective, but instead defective at a fundamental level. Augustine holds that an evil will is incapable of becoming a good will without external assistance from God. Perhaps an analogy will help with this point: an evil will is like a building that has a major structural flaw running all the way down to its foundation. Unless braced up by external supports, the entire edifice will collapse into ruin. According to Augustine, when the first human beings freely chose to do evil, the human will became corrupted for all subsequent generations.10 Instead of being inclined toward good, the will’s inclination shifted permanently toward evil.11 This defect of the will became part of the condition of all human beings during the tenure of their earthly lives. The will, at present, is sufficiently inclined toward evil so that, as a matter of course, all human beings fall short in their relationships with God and become guilty of wrongdoing.12 Because of the will’s corruption, the rational part of the soul is no longer able to exercise effective mastery over the body. No longer does reason always win in its conflicts with appetite.13 Augustine explains: “[E]ven when we do see what is right and will to do it, we cannot do it because of the resistance of carnal habit, which develops almost naturally because of the unruliness of our mortal inheritance.”14 Although Augustine sees the existence of evil in the world and in humankind as contingent instead of necessary, he maintains that a predisposition toward evil has become for us “a kind of ‘second nature.’”15 Because Augustine thinks that our corrupted wills are naturally inclined toward evil, he argues that we need the assistance of grace in order to refrain from wrongdoing.16 As Vernon J. Bourke explains, “Augustine took grace to mean a help which God gives to men, over and above their natural endowments.”17 Even in the case of the most moral person, Augustine insists that a constant infusion of grace is required to prevent the will from reverting to evil.18 Grace is the external support alluded to in the above analogy, necessary to shore up the edifice representing the will. As Ann A. PangWhite explains: The predicament of fallen human nature is that the spiritual will, by itself, is insufficient to rekindle the flame and to arouse the sweetness of loving righteousness to the extent of overcoming the temptation of the carnal will. The assistance of grace is necessary to enable the fallen human will to do good.19

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I mention that Augustine held grace to be necessary for living a good life in order to round out our picture of his overall position. I will not pursue Augustine’s concept of grace further, since this is not directly relevant to the matter of akrasia. My concern here is with what goes wrong in cases of akrasia, instead of what Augustine thinks can go right when grace intervenes to augment our depleted natural endowments. 2. Voluntarism vs. Intellectualism For Socrates and Aristotle, akrasia is intrinsically connected with ignorance. This ignorance, while only temporary, lasts just long enough to suppress some piece of knowledge or some cognitive ability for assessment. The interference with your ordinary cognitive endowment facilitates the shift in your desire from what is truly in your best interest to what mistakenly appears best in the akratic moment. Moral theories that explain action along these lines are sometimes called “intellectualistic,” since, according to such theories, a positive cognitive assessment of a proposed action will necessarily lead to a desire to perform that action. If the powers of your intellect reach a resolution regarding what action is best, even if only temporarily, this will provide an overriding motivation to perform that action. The reason the concept of the evil will is necessary for understanding Augustine on akrasia is that it breaks the connection between what a person takes to be good (in general or at the moment of action) and what that person desires to do.20 The concept of the evil will results in a shift from intellectualistic moral theory and psychology of action to a conception of morality and psychology often labeled “voluntaristic.”21 This difference in moral theories is real and significant, but we also must be careful not to interpret it too sharply or we will end up ignoring “anticipations of voluntarism in Greek thought or reminiscences of Greek intellectualism in Christian thought.”22 On Augustine’s view, actions performed against a person’s better judgment can still be explained in terms of a sort of ignorance.23 Augustine allows that, in principle, human beings would always act in accord with correctly functioning reasoning.24 The problem is, as he thinks, that our reasoning powers do not function correctly. This is because, in our fallen condition, they are prone to being mastered by our appetites. Augustine thinks “evil arises in the will of rational creatures and makes itself felt by clouding their reason and making it impossible for them to think clearly or to see the truth.”25 Sin is a break in the relationship between human beings and God that results from corruption of the human will. The presence of sin “changes our epistemic capacities” for the worse.26 If a

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human being’s will was perfect, it would always choose “those means and goals which it judges best. Hampered by sin, the will chooses wrong goals and means only because as such it is defective.”27 Augustine agrees with Socrates and Aristotle that people never act against correctly functioning reason, but disagrees strongly with their assumption that some human beings reason correctly about moral matters without the direct aid of Divine intervention. As Gillian R. Evans says, “the effect of evil upon the mind is to make it impossible for the sinner to think clearly, and especially to understand higher, spiritual truths and abstract ideas.”28 Augustine thinks this is true even of those who are destined to take their place among the saints. Augustine holds that the origin of the evil will in humankind has no efficient cause.29 He believes that at the beginning of history, the wills of the first human beings turned toward evil. This first turning is not subject to any coherent explanation. Augustine adds: “[T]here was no first bad will that was made bad by any other bad will—it was made bad by itself.”30 Said differently, the first occurrence of evil in the human will is, for Augustine, something like a brute fact about the world, and is not amenable to further analysis. Augustine says that attempting to uncover causes of the will’s choosing evil “is like trying to see darkness or hear silence. True, we have some knowledge of both darkness and silence. . . . Nevertheless, we have no sensation but only the privation of sensation.”31 Augustine thinks that evil wills are the cause of evil in the world. This includes, first and foremost, the evil that human beings do to each other. Augustine also holds that natural evil has its ultimate cause in evil wills. Natural evil includes disease and other forces of nature that so often lead to human suffering and bodily death. As Augustine says, the first human beings—Adam and Eve—“were so created that, had they not sinned, they would have experienced no kind of death.”32 They had no experience of disease, pain, accidental injury, or any other sort of calamity that could lead to bodily death. The world was as though like a perfect crystal sphere, without flaw and yet delicate. When the first human beings chose evil, a hammer struck the sphere and shattered it. At that moment, evil entered the world in all of its forms, including natural disasters, disease, ignorance, unjust and oppressive social structures, and the harms that individual human beings cause by their actions. Most of today’s readers, including most theists, would likely reject Augustine’s claim that natural evils such as earthquakes, cholera epidemics, and crop failures, occur only because the wills of the first human beings turned toward evil. A complete examination of Augustine’s treatment of the problem of evil is, however, beyond the scope of this chapter. Since my focus is on the human phenomenon of moral weakness, I will set aside the

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issue of natural evil and confine the discussion to the evil that exists within the realm of human interactions. In addition to the concept of the evil will, another innovation necessary for our understanding of Augustine on akrasia is his use of introspection as a methodology for evaluating theories of choice and action. Introspection is most apparent in Augustine’s autobiographical Confessions. When evaluating theories that make claims about the psychology of human action, Augustine considers not only such factors as whether a theory meets the logical demands of consistency, but also whether it does justice to his personal experiences of temptation, choice, wrongdoing, and remorse. This is not to say that introspective elements played no role whatsoever in earlier treatments of moral and immoral action, but introspection does not become a core method until Augustine. Later in this chapter, I will discuss one particular account from Augustine’s Confessions, his theft of pears, which will highlight not only the ways that Augustine differs from Socrates and Aristotle on akrasia, but also Augustine’s use of introspection in developing his philosophical position. In Book Eight of his Confessions, Augustine describes himself as being drawn in two conflicting directions, one leading toward conversion and the other leading back to the licentious actions to which he was accustomed. The idea of our wills being pulled in two directions is sometimes referred to as Augustine’s doctrine of “two wills.” Augustine holds that whenever we experience an inner moral conflict, “two initial and partial tendencies of the will” operate simultaneously.33 One of these two tendencies “becomes whole at the moment of choice” and is realized in the action performed.34 “The initial tendencies are called desires or wishes; but when the choice is made, we speak of it as actual willing or volition.”35 Although a person’s will may seem divided during the course of an inward struggle, “it becomes one and complete in the final choice.”36 Augustine describes the struggle between two competing tendencies of the will as follows: The mind I say commands itself to will: it would not give the command unless it willed: yet it does not do what it commands. The trouble is that it does not totally will: therefore it does not totally command. . . . For if the will were [complete], it would not command itself to will, for it would already will. It is . . . a sickness of the soul to be so weighted down by custom that it cannot wholly rise even with the support of truth.37 It might seem that Augustine’s doctrine implies “the coexistence of two competing natures in a person, with one nature eternally evil and the other eternally good.”38 This is not the case, however. Instead, his doctrine means

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that a single will is divided by two loves or desires (one spiritual and the other carnal). The same will is at war with itself because of the privation of right order it experiences with respect to its loves or desires in its present fallen condition.39 3. An Augustinian Explanation of Strict Akrasia I have discussed Augustine’s position sufficiently to piece together an Augustinian account of strict akrasia: Your will is not entirely separate from your cognitive power, but is sufficiently independent to allow you to will something in opposition to the best judgment of your intellectual understanding. If our wills were pure and desired only to do what is best and most reasonable, we would always will to perform whatever action seemed most in line with our considered judgment. In spite of the partial autonomy of the will from the understanding, each would function in harmony with the other. As I indicated, Augustine thinks that each of us has a will sufficiently inclined toward evil to upset this harmony. Accordingly, it sometimes happens that your understanding tells you that it would be best to do X, but your will opts instead to do Y. Whenever your will makes such a choice, it acts irrationally, since no adequate justification can be given for the choice. On another level of analysis, there must be something wrong with your hierarchy of loves if your will chooses evil when your understanding informs you that a morally superior alternative is available. I will briefly review the criteria for strict akrasia, listed at the beginning of Chapter Two. These conditions are each necessary for strict akratic action: (1) You act against your fully considered judgment (your best or most comprehensive judgment); (2) Your action must be intentional; (3) Your considered judgment about what is best must be made from the perspective of your own values, moral principles, beliefs, and objectives; (4) You must regret your action after completion; (5) You must recognize, at the moment the action is performed, that the action is contrary to what you judge to be best. While all five of these criteria must be met in order to have an instance of strict akrasia, cases that meet criteria (1)–(4), but fail to meet criterion (5), are designated as weak akrasia. When Augustine was sixteen years old, he and a group of other youths stole pears from a neighbor’s tree. I will argue that the young Augustine’s

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action provides unique introspective evidence for the occurrence of strict akrasia. When Augustine thinks back on this theft years later and introspects about his motives, he considers it to have been an especially evil action on his part. The reason he thinks this is that the action had no other motivation than to take pleasure in doing what he knew to be wrong. Augustine says: “We carried off an immense load of pears, not to eat—for we barely tasted them before throwing them to the hogs. Our only pleasure in doing it was that it was forbidden.”40 Intellectualistic theories of motivation claim that your overriding desire is always to do what you judge to be best at the moment of action, but Augustine’s introspective analysis of his motivations at the time he stole the pears serves as evidence against such an interpretation being right in this case. Augustine asserts that not only did he know at the moment of theft that his action was wrong, but that knowledge of the wrongness of the action was the sole source of his desire to do it. He is certain that he did what he did for no other reason. The pears themselves presented no motivation for the theft. As Augustine recalls, “I stole things which I already had in plenty and of better quality. Nor had I any desire to enjoy the things I stole, but only the stealing of them and the sin.”41 He also declares: The malice of the act was base and I loved it—that is to say I loved my own undoing, I loved the evil in me—not the thing for which I did the evil, simply the evil: my soul was depraved, . . . seeking no profit from wickedness but only to be wicked.42 It must be noted from the outset that there exist practical concerns that make it less than conclusive that Augustine’s pear incident is an example of strict akrasia. First, Augustine’s account of the event was written years after it occurred. His recollection of what motivated him at the time of the incident may be clouded by the passage of time. The second concern is similar but more general: introspection, by its nature, does not allow for the sort of intersubjective testing of results that is, for example, a hallmark of the empirical sciences. I will further discuss the limitations of introspective evidence and of Augustine’s example in Chapter Seven. Even so, I think that the sort of introspective evidence that Augustine provides is extremely valuable. This is especially true because introspection provides the only sort of evidence that we have available to us for the purpose of distinguishing strict from weak akrasia, or, for that matter, for making any claims at all about the qualitative aspects of human mental experience. Introspective evidence is the best that we have. Having offered these caveats, I will proceed under the assumption that Augustine’s recollection of his motivations is accurate. I will show that the

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pear incident provides better evidence for strict akrasia than do more typical cases. If the young Augustine truly believed that stealing the pears was evil, he acted against his best judgment. So, criterion (1) was met. His action was intentional; he deliberately set out to steal the pears, and he was under no compulsion. Therefore, criterion (2) was met as well. No reason exists to think that what I am calling his best judgment was not truly his own judgment. Nowhere does he indicate that his theft was a rebellion against societal standards that he thought were unjust or otherwise misguided. When we do something prohibited in order to rebel against laws or societal norms that we think are wrong or repressive, we generally think that our actions contain some amount of good. Said differently, we think that our actions are in some sense justified. We find none of this in the case of the young Augustine. He had no pretense that his theft was justified. It was not a means to righting some wrong or correcting some injustice. That he took pleasure in the evilness of the act indicates that he saw nothing good or positive in it. Therefore, criterion (3) is met, since the young Augustine’s own honest assessment was that his theft was evil. It is not clear whether Augustine regretted his theft immediately after the action’s completion, but it is obvious that he came to regret it profoundly thereafter. This suggests that criterion (4) was met, although there is admittedly some lingering vagueness. Presumably, if Augustine had come to think at any moment, up to and including the moment of action, that his proposed action was not evil, he would have ceased taking pleasure in it. This is because it was not the pears themselves that provided him with pleasure, but the evilness of the act of stealing them. If Augustine had ceased taking pleasure in stealing the pears, it becomes reasonable to expect that he would not have followed through with the action. Since it was the pleasure that Augustine took in the evilness of his action that spurred him on to do it, he must have recognized at the moment the action was performed that it was opposed to what he genuinely regarded as good behavior. Therefore, I argue that criterion (5) was met as well. What makes Augustine’s theft of the pears unique in relation to other proposed cases of strict akrasia is that his awareness of the wrongness of his action is what motivated him to do it. This sets it apart from most other cases of akrasia. Consider, for example, akrasia in relation to sex. People who commit adultery because of lust do not do so because they take pleasure in the wrongness of the act. They truly think that the act is wrong when they are not in the grip of passion; otherwise, it would be an instance of vice and not akrasia. However, the expectation of sexual pleasure is what motivates the

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akratic action, instead of any expectation that pleasure might be gained from the wrongness of the action. The problem with analyzing most typical cases of akrasia, such as those regarding sex, eating, or drinking, is that it becomes even more difficult than in Augustine’s pear incident to determine whether moral agents recognize at the moment of action that the proposed action is contrary to their best judgment. Persons might think that they are aware at the akratic moment that they are acting against their considered judgment, but it still might be that they are momentarily deluded about what is best and just fail to recognize that the delusion is occurring. If a person’s view regarding the best course of action shifts for even a second, that may be enough to prompt the person to act akratically. In such a scenario, the action falls under the rubric of weak akrasia. In contrast, Augustine claims that the only pleasure he took in his theft was in the wrongness of the action. If this claim is accurate, we can be certain that he was fully aware of this wrongness at the moment of action. For this reason, we can be as sure as we are ever likely to be that we are looking at a case of strict akrasia. Given that the young Augustine took pleasure in the very fact that his theft was morally wrong, you might think that his action should be classified as vicious instead of akratic. Recall that on Aristotle’s taxonomy of character states, which I adopt for the remainder of my discussion, “vice is a condition of the soul in which an emotion is incorrectly adjusted.”43 You might reasonably argue that taking pleasure in the wrongness of your actions is evidence that your emotions are incorrectly adjusted. Even so, further examination reveals that Augustine’s action did not truly exemplify vice. In the case of vice, “the rational part of us does not realize that anything is wrong; the emotion is felt either too much or too little, but to the man himself it seems about right.”44 If you are vicious, then you act as you do because you think that, all things considered, you ought to act in that way. This was not the situation of the young Augustine. He recognized that he ought not to do what he was doing. I argued above that Augustine’s action meets all five of the criteria for strict akrasia. Recall that criterion (1) requires that you act against your fully considered judgment, and criterion (5) mandates that you must recognize, at the moment the action is performed, that the action is contrary to what you judge to be best. Vicious actions fail to meet these two criteria, but Augustine’s action satisfies them. If the young Augustine had been vicious, his considered judgment would have been that his theft of the pears was an example of a job well done and an exemplification of his highest ideals. As he describes his thoughts, however, the young Augustine was not proud of his action; he did not regard it as a job well done.

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In the remainder of this chapter, I will examine in more detail the ways that Augustine’s position on akrasia differs from the positions of Socrates and Aristotle. This will allow us to gain a better perspective on Augustine’s place in the historical progression of thought regarding akrasia. 4. Augustine Contrasted with Socrates and Aristotle The early Socrates of the Protagoras denies the possibility of strict akrasia. He thinks that knowledge of how to act virtuously is sufficient for living a good life. Because this knowledge is sufficient, it becomes incapable of being defeated by any other sort of motivational force. The early Socrates holds that you always choose to do what you judge best from your own perspective at the moment of action. As Margaret Falls-Corbitt explains: [On Socrates’] view, the very structure of desire is to declare its object good. To desire something is to think of that something as good. Of course, we can struggle over our desires and doubt that they are ultimately good, but this is because we also experience competing desires, and competing desires are alternate visions of what is good. Once we settle on following a particular desire, however, we necessarily are declaring the satisfaction of that desire more worthwhile than the conceived alternatives.45 This rules out the possibility of condition (5) for strict akrasia ever being met. It will never be the case that you recognize at the moment an action is performed that the action is contrary to what you think to be best at that moment. I argued in Chapter Two that the early Socrates explains apparent cases of acting against your best judgment as instances of what I have called weak akrasia. What happens in cases of weak akrasia is that you fail to maintain your intellectual grasp on the moral situation as different aspects or points of view on the situation present themselves to your mind.46 You are able to maintain your intellectual grasp if your system of moral beliefs is complete, internally consistent, and free from any false beliefs.47 Having such a system of morally relevant true beliefs will effectively prevent the intrusion of any non-rational mental factors into your motivations. According to the early Socrates, what occurs in instances of weak akrasia is that we are led astray by illusion. The pleasures of sex, eating, and drinking, tend regularly to mislead people, to one extent or another, regarding their magnitudes in relation to other potential pleasures and pains. Augustine agrees with the early Socrates that moral knowledge ought to be sufficient for producing moral actions, but thinks that in reality it is not

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sufficient. The most that can be said is that it may be a necessary condition.48 As I discussed above, Augustine thinks that our wills are corrupted from birth in such a way that willing to do evil has become like a second nature to us. Evil, for Augustine, is ultimately inexplicable and irrational. Because of being irrational, it undercuts and confounds the good motivation that would otherwise arise from having moral knowledge. As Ann A. Pang-White explains, “Augustine subscribes to a very un-Socratic line of reasoning, namely, that without the help of grace, akratic agents always choose to sin even when they possess knowledge concerning the wrongness of their potential act.”49 For Socrates, when someone does something morally wrong, “what went wrong was a failure of knowledge.”50 If a person truly knew what was good, then that person would not have done evil. For Augustine, in some cases of wrongdoing, the knowledge that something is wrong is precisely what makes it tempting to do.51 Although Augustine does not mean to assert that all instances of wrongdoing are like his theft of the pears, he opposes the early Socrates “by asserting that there are at least some cases of agents knowingly doing wrong. Wrongdoing is at least sometimes a problem of the will and not of knowledge.”52 I see nothing in Augustine’s thought that would preclude the early Socrates’ view of what occurs in cases of weak akrasia from being the correct explanation of akratic action in some instances. However, Augustine disagrees with the early Socrates’ (and Terrence M. Penner’s) contention that all cases of akrasia can be treated as failures of knowledge. While we might be tempted to dismiss Augustine’s theft of the pears as a youthful indiscretion, he does not see it that way at all. On his view, the incident says something crucial not only about his motivation, but also about the tendencies of human motivation in general. Like the early Socrates, the later Socrates of the Republic and the Phaedrus denies the possibility of strict akrasia, on the grounds that true knowledge is sufficient for living a moral life. For the later Socrates, true moral knowledge is defined as an apprehension of the Form of the Good. Once you apprehend the intrinsic beauty of the Form of the Good, your soul will become ordered in such a way that your reason will never again be mastered, even momentarily, by your appetites.53 A properly ordered soul is one in which the dictates of the rational part always prevail, and the other parts are brought into line with it. As a result, such a soul is harmonious and unified in its pursuit of the good. For the later Socrates, strict akrasia would amount to allowing the appetites to overcome a moral judgment that comes from the rational part of a soul that has already apprehended the Form of the Good. Since this is taken to be impossible, strict akrasia is ruled out.

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You might initially think that the later Socrates does allow for strict akrasia in the case of persons who have not yet apprehended the Form of the Good. Such persons may possess something that could be referred to as their best moral judgment, but this is not an adequately formed judgment. No moral judgment can be adequately formed unless made by someone who has attained knowledge of the Form of the Good. If you lack apprehension of the Good, your appetites will not be properly controlled, and you will frequently act in accord with the appetites and against your best judgment. Recall, however, that the fifth criterion for strict akrasia is that you recognize at the moment of action that you are acting against your best judgment. This is the key to understanding why a person who has not apprehended the Form of the Good is incapable of strict akrasia. On the later Socrates’ view, only true moral knowledge (knowledge of the Form of the Good) is stable and reliable. Such true knowledge is the only thing capable of remaining steadfast in the face of the demands of appetite. If your best judgment is formed by opinions and illusions, instead of by true knowledge, then this poorly formed judgment is predictably and inevitably going to be deluded, suppressed, or otherwise incapacitated, when faced with the pressures of appetite at the akratic moment. If a person’s best judgment is incapacitated at the moment of action, these are to be counted as cases of weak, instead of strict, akrasia. Some definite similarities exist between Augustine’s world view and that of the later Socrates. For example, both think that the body exerts a corrupting influence on the soul. Attaining spiritual health involves distancing oneself from this influence. Augustine holds knowledge to require “spiritual health, and that spiritual health and the resulting clarity of mental vision depends upon separation from all bodily ties.”54 Gillian R. Evans adds that, for Augustine, “the senses are not only incapable of understanding higher things, but if we trust them they will advise us wrongly. We must make our minds strangers to our bodies . . . if we are to see God.”55 If you take this last quote and substitute the phrase “the Form of the Good” in place of the word “God,” then the quote becomes something that could easily have come from the Socrates of Republic and Phaedrus. In spite of such similarities, the positions of Augustine and the later Socrates on akrasia differ in fundamental respects. The later Socrates denies the possibility of strict akrasia; Augustine affirms it. The later Socrates thinks that the souls of some human beings (those suitable to become rulers) are capable of functioning correctly because they can acquire true knowledge by apprehending the Forms, and in particular the Form of the Good. A person who has such knowledge will never act akratically. Because Augustine thinks that flawed souls are part of the mortal inheritance of all human beings, the acquisition of moral knowledge, while desirable and

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necessary for a soul to function correctly and for a person to live a morally praiseworthy life, is not sufficient to bring about this end. On Augustine’s view, even a person who fully understands at the moment of action what she or he ought to do is still more than capable of choosing to do otherwise. For Augustine, reason can be persuaded of the soul’s moral duty and this not be sufficient to engage the will; whereas this option is not open to [the later Socrates] since for him reason is a kind of desire, and indeed a wholly determinative desire when functioning.56 Aristotle, like the early and later Socrates, argues against the possibility of strict akrasia, putting him at odds with Augustine. For Aristotle, practical wisdom (phronesis) is steadfast and not susceptible to being overcome by akrasia. Aristotle thinks that practical wisdom is the strongest state that a person can achieve in relation to motivation. Because it ranks as the strongest state, it cannot be overcome by other motivational states, such as those associated with a desire for bodily pleasure. In order to have practical wisdom, a person must have the right desires, adequate reasoning ability, knowledge of general principles, and true belief regarding the particular facts pertaining to a moral situation. If any of these components is lacking, then the person falls short of having practical wisdom. On the Aristotelian model, in order for an action to count as an instance of strict akrasia, you would have to be in possession of all of the components of practical wisdom and yet still choose to allow your appetites to prevail over your considered judgment. Aristotle insists that this will never happen.57 Augustine would think that meeting the necessary conditions for practical wisdom is beyond the natural capacities of human beings. Recall that the first criterion of practical wisdom is that a person has the right desires. Augustine thinks that the inherent corruption of the human soul is such that good habituation is not enough to ensure that a person will have the right sort of desires. Good habituation is undeniably helpful, but Divine intervention in the form of grace remains necessary. Something similar can be said about Aristotle’s second criterion for practical wisdom: namely, that a person has adequate reasoning ability. According to Augustine, the will is not the only damaged aspect of the soul in need of assistance in order to function as it should. The understanding or intellect is also defective. As a result, a person’s reasoning ability is imperfect and unreliable. The understanding must be supplemented with external assistance in order for it to reason well about abstract ideas and principles, just as the will must be supplemented with grace in order for it to love the good enough to freely choose it over evil.

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5. Conclusion In this chapter, I have discussed Augustine’s concept of the evil will and its relation to akrasia and his acceptance of the occurrence of strict akrasia. I also examined Augustine’s rejection of the strong intellectualism that led Socrates and Aristotle to deny the possibility of strict akrasia. Augustine does not advocate the strongest imaginable sort of voluntarism, but “neither is Augustine an . . . intellectualist, since his ideas of free decision and preferential choice leave space for a ‘second-degree’ free decision in which the judgment concerning what is best does not issue in its pursuit.”58 Socrates and Aristotle hold that there exist some persons who never succumb to akrasia. For the early Socrates, these are the people whose moral wisdom keeps them from being misled by the illusory powers of bodily pleasures. For the later Socrates, those who have, through arduous philosophical training, managed to apprehend the Form of the Good are free from moral weakness. Finally, for Aristotle, those who possess practical wisdom have their motivations structured in such a way that their rational desires are consistently able to direct their non-rational passions and appetites. For Augustine, no human being exists who is entirely free from vice or akrasia. As he explains, the fact is that everyone, however exemplary, yields to some promptings of concupiscence: if not to monstrous crimes, abysmal villainy, and abominable impiety, at least to some sins, however rarely or—if frequently—however venially.59 This is true of those who have experienced a religious conversion of heart and who have been baptized, just as for those who have not: “The will’s inability to act is the basic experience of all human beings irrespective of their soteriological status.”60 Even those destined for salvation, while they are still in this life, “live as divided selves governed by two laws—the law of the mind and the law of the flesh.”61 The time has come to evaluate Augustine’s contribution to our understanding of akrasia. I will first discuss two closely related points of potential criticism, and then review the most significant aspect of Augustine’s positive contribution. The first point of potential criticism regards the dependence of Augustine’s philosophical position on his theology. This is a problem in the sense that not everyone accepts his Christian world view, and even Christians may not accept all of the propositions that Augustine derives from his version of that view. This problem is, in a sense, analogous to that faced by the later Socrates, whose position on akrasia is based on his view that

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true, undefeatable knowledge is attained through an apprehension of Forms that have real existence outside of space and time. The second point of criticism has to do with Augustine’s assertion that our wills are inclined toward evil. Both good and evil are features of the world of human interactions, so we might well observe this state of affairs and conclude that humanity as a whole occupies a position about equidistant between good and evil. Consider the following two claims: (1) Some human beings are naturally inclined toward good, while others are naturally inclined toward evil; (2) All human beings are naturally inclined toward evil, but some do good (and sometimes a great deal of good) because their wills have been helped to function properly through the intervention of Divine grace. It becomes hard to see how we could choose between these two claims on purely empirical grounds, since the truth of either might produce the sort of world that we find when we look around us, with its complex mixture of good and evil. Many Christians do accept claim (2), but they typically do so on the grounds that (2) follows from other points of their theology, instead of from any observationally testable superiority over claim (1). This brings us right back to the first objection: Augustine’s philosophical position in regard to akrasia is dependent on his theology in a way that will appear as a liability to anyone who is not already favorably inclined toward that theology. These problems may well lead you to ask whether persons who reject some or all of Augustine’s religious views ought to just skip over his work in favor of treatments of akrasia by other philosophers. I think that would be a mistake. As I argued above, Augustine’s deeply introspective analysis of his theft of the pears provides unique (even if not entirely conclusive) evidence of the reality of strict akrasia. Also, his introduction of the concept of human beings having a flawed volitional faculty provides a theoretical framework for understanding how strict akrasia could be possible. If Augustine is right about strict akrasia being a real aspect of human experience, then he has made a significant contribution to the ongoing historical discussion of akrasia, since Socrates and Aristotle deny the occurrence of strict akrasia. Augustine did not have access to Aristotle’s treatment of akrasia. He was much more familiar with the Platonic tradition, although this was mainly by way of the Neoplatonists instead of by direct exposure to Plato’s works. One philosopher who did have access to Aristotle’s treatment of akrasia, and also to the thought of Augustine, was the Thirteenth Century Dominican philosopher and theologian St. Thomas Aquinas. I will turn next to an examination of Aquinas’s position on akrasia and the ways his work advances our discussion of the topic.

Five AQUINAS 1. Introduction The aim of this chapter is to understand what St. Thomas Aquinas thinks about akrasia and the ways that his work represents a synthesis of the positions of Aristotle and St. Aurelius Augustine. I argue that Aquinas denies the possibility of strict akrasia, but does so for a different reason than does Aristotle. The difference derives from Aquinas’s adoption of the concept of the will, although in a form modified from the Augustinian conception. As Justin Gosling says, “Aquinas’ treatment is not . . . a mere rehearsal of Aristotle, but is rather an attempt to combine the main lines of the Aristotelian solution with ideas that became current in the centuries after Aristotle.”1 Aquinas adopts the concept of the practical syllogism from Aristotle’s treatment of akrasia. He does not adopt it without modification, however. For Aristotle, the main premise of the akratic syllogism is a statement of fact, for Aquinas a value judgment. As we will see, this allows Aquinas to argue that akratic action is chosen, something that Aristotle denied. Aquinas adopts the concept of the will from Augustine. On Augustine’s view, the will “is a mental power which denotes the human psyche in its role as a moral agent.”2 Augustine holds that the will is the seat of volition, which means that freedom to choose is a function or property of the will. Aquinas, on the other hand, thinks that freedom to choose emerges from the interaction between will and intellect. As Eleanor Stump explains: For Aquinas, freedom with regard to willing is a property primarily of a human being, not of some particular component of a human being. Furthermore, the will is not independent of the intellect. On the contrary, the dynamic interactions of intellect and will yield freedom as an emergent property or a systems-level feature.3 The Thomistic and Augustinian conceptions of will are foreign to Aristotle. Aristotle spoke of desires, choice, and sources of motivation within human beings (boulesis, thumos, epithumia), but he had no concept of there being a faculty of mind or soul that corresponds with medieval or modern conceptions of the will.4

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I will begin by examining Aquinas’s conceptions of will, voluntary action, the distinction between assent and consent, and the potential role of habit in facilitating or forestalling akrasia. I will then analyze Aquinas’s model of the mental steps leading up to an akratic action. Finally, I will make some additional comparisons between Aquinas’s conception of akrasia and the conceptions of Aristotle and Augustine. 2. Aquinas on the Will Aquinas defines the will as rational appetite, an appetitive power that is integrally connected with the rational, evaluating faculties of a person. The will is distinct from sensory appetite, also referred to as the animal appetitive power.5 In non-human animals, which lack a developed faculty of will, “motion follows directly from the sensitive appetite’s positive and negative reaction.”6 This is not the case in human beings. The human will, in conjunction with the intellect, functions to allow people to decide whether and in what way they will respond to the sensory appetite’s reactions to stimuli from their environment.7 The intellect is sometimes referred to as the rational cognitive power.8 The will must work in conjunction with the intellect in order to function properly, but the will is distinct from the intellect in much the same way that it remains distinct from the sensory appetite.9 In addition to being the rational appetitive power, the will can also be defined in a sense as an appetite for goodness.10 This is not to say that the will always pursues that which is good. Like Socrates, Aristotle, and Augustine, Aquinas is well aware that people are frequently mistaken about what they identify as the good in general or their good in particular. As Aquinas says, “sometimes a thing which is evil in itself has the appearance of good so that in desiring it the will does desire evil.”11 For this reason, when Aquinas says that the will is an appetite for goodness, he means it in an attributive sense.12 People attribute the quality of goodness to all sorts of things, some of which embody goodness and others of which are evil. As Ralph McInerny explains: Given that whatever men do they do under the formality of goodness, Thomas can say that all men, simply by dint of acting, pursue the same ultimate end formally considered. The ends of particular actions, though always sought as perfective of the agent, sometimes are such that they truly perfect the agent and sometimes are such that they are falsely thought to perfect the agent.13

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Even so, that Aquinas thinks that every action is done because the action is seen as being in some sense good will prove to be helpful for understanding why he is committed to denying the possibility of strict akrasia. On Augustine’s view, a person’s choices are indicative of what the person truly loves. We implicitly arrange our loves in a hierarchy or order of precedence, and our actions are external manifestations of our internal hierarchies of loves. Aquinas adopts a similar conception. As Alasdair MacIntyre states, Aquinas’ conception of the will follows Augustine’s closely in connecting the will with love; what we will we enjoy, both in willing it and in achieving it, and Augustine’s account of the enjoyment of something as “to cling to it with love for its own sake” . . . is quoted by Aquinas.14 Sensory appetite tends toward a particular object, as that object appears to the senses.15 For example, if you see a plate of food and your sensory appetite reacts by desiring it, the particular plate of food is the thing toward which the sensory appetite tends, instead of toward a conception of food in general. Your sensory appetite often focuses on physical items presented to the mind through the senses, but may also focus on mental images that the mind constructs from prior sense experiences. Think of a situation, for example, in which you are forced to go for a time without food. As you become hungry, you imagine having food. Your sensory appetite is aroused by the mental images of food items that are conjured up by your imagination. If you are then presented with real food, your sensory appetite will likely focus on those real food items, instead of on whatever imaginary images you may have previously had in mind. The sensory appetite, as such, is not rational and, for that reason, cannot recognize that the particular food in front of you is an instance of the category of food in general.16 Since the will is rational appetite, this limitation does not apply to it. Aquinas holds that when the will inclines toward particular objects, “it does so according to an intelligibility (ratio) that is universal. The object may be particular, but is desired somehow in a universal way . . . as an instance of some more general category.”17 For example, if someone who is hungry wills to eat some food, the person tends “primarily toward the pleasure” that she or he will receive, “and only secondarily toward” the particular food in question.18 Consider again the example of a person who is presented with food after a period of deprivation. The person’s intellect arrives, through reason, first at the conclusion that the food before the person will help to satisfy his or her hunger, and then at the conclusion that he or she should eat it. The intellect

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presents this conclusion to the will, and the will comes to desire the particular food as an instance of the general category of things that will satisfy the person’s hunger. Aquinas holds that under most circumstances the will maintains its freedom to choose, but his conception of free will is far from being the most radical version of voluntarism conceivable. A much stronger version might, for example, maintain that the will is an entirely autonomous mental entity, completely capable of ignoring the findings of the intellect and not subject to the pull of habit. Such a version is, I think, unrealistic and, in any case, is not a view held by Aquinas. However, his conception of will maintains a sufficient degree of freedom to allow for culpable akrasia and vice. As Aquinas says, exterior persuasion cannot force the will, nor can something inescapably attractive to the senses arouse the appetite unless the latter is appropriately disposed. Furthermore, even the sense appetite cannot compel either reason or will.19 As indicated above, the will functions in conjunction with intellect or rational cognition. The nature of this relationship is that the will “follows upon rational cognition.”20 This means that reason presents something to the will as being a suitable object of desire.21 In most cases, the will then comes to desire the object. In the above example, reason presents the food to the will as a suitable object of desire, and the will then comes to desire it accordingly, under the aspect of something that will satisfy the person’s hunger. In this sense, reason can be said to direct the activity of will.22 This is not an automatic or mechanical process, however, and reason does not have the power to necessitate the will. “The upshot of this contingency in the will . . . is that choice is primarily an act of will, not intellect, nor does practical judgment constrain the will.”23 Although reason does not necessitate the will, it remains a necessary condition for will to function. If reason were not available to tell the will what is desirable, the will would have no venue in which to operate. The will is ultimately a sort of appetite, and an appetite will not become engaged unless something is presented to it as desirable. If food is placed in front of a person who is full from having just eaten, then the person’s intellect will not see the additional food as falling under the category of things that will satisfy hunger. For this reason, the intellect will not present the food to the will as something that ought to be desired.

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3. Aquinas on Voluntary Action A voluntary action arises from the will and also involves an act of cognition.24 Any impulsive or compulsive action that has no thought behind it cannot be voluntary. On the other hand, stimulation of the sensory appetite is quite compatible with an action being voluntary. Aquinas holds that increasing sensuality renders action increasingly voluntary, up until a point. It might seem prima facie that sensuality would render an action less voluntary than an action done from cool calculation, but Aquinas disagrees. The case of someone who acts akratically while under the influence of sensuality “is not that of someone in whom passion has removed the use of reason.”25 Aquinas thinks that action is voluntary whenever the will desires it. Since “sensuality inclines the will to want what is desired,” it “renders an act voluntary rather than involuntary.”26 Aquinas highlights this point by drawing a distinction between a person who acts from lust and a person who acts from fear. He explains: What is done through fear is involuntary in one sense; this is not at all the case with what is done from lust. An [akratic] man acts against that which he had earlier proposed to do, not against that which he wills then and there. A frightened man, however, acts against that which he would will to do now were things otherwise.27 For example, if a ship were not in danger of sinking, the crew would not will to throw the heavy cargo overboard. The only reason they jettison the cargo is that they fear death and believe that keeping the cargo on board will increase their likelihood of dying. An evil action is voluntary and therefore culpable to the extent that reason keeps its power of decision in the face of concupiscence. Concupiscence can be defined as “the human tendency to lust excessively after what are merely material ambitions and ends.”28 Aquinas thinks that some actions “remain voluntary despite the force of passion, while others do not, precisely because passion can sometimes remove the rational character of choice altogether.”29 As Aquinas states, “there are degrees in being transformed by passion. It may go so far as to bind the reason completely, as happens when vehement rage of concupiscence makes a man beside himself or out of his mind.”30 If appetite or passion completely overcomes knowledge and intellect, then whatever action is performed is not voluntary.31 These would be cases in which people are so overwhelmed with lust or anger that they act without the rational appetite of will even coming into play. Aquinas explains:

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Persons whose reason is bound in this way are, in effect, temporarily insane, and their actions are not voluntary. In the case of akrasia, appetite and passion “fall short of this extreme.”33 As Aquinas says, Sometimes . . . in people swayed by lust knowledge is not entirely taken away; they keep their power of judgment though they lose their concentration about a particular course of action. Yet even this is to be accounted voluntary as lying within the will’s capability; for as it can be responsible for not willing or not acting, so also for not considering.34 4. Assent, Consent, and Akrasia Aquinas draws a distinction between assent and consent. The intellect “is said to assent,” while consent is the province of the will.35 Judith A. Barad interprets Aquinas as holding assent to be “a judgment as motivated by an apprehension of evidence and as committing a person to a certain conception.”36 Consent, on the other hand, “is an act of will which is immediately directed to action.”37 Assent is a necessary condition for consent, and therefore for voluntary action.38 For example, “I must first assent to the proposition that health is a good before I can hold it dear to me as I do in the act of consent.”39 Consent can be thought of as a sufficient condition for action in most instances. It sometimes happens that you consent to perform some action, but are prevented from carrying out the action because of environmental factors beyond your control. However, such external factors are always possible in the realm of moral action and are extraneous to Aquinas’s central concern regarding the role of consent. Consent involves both will and intellect. Reason, which is the working of the intellect, makes a judgment and assents to the proposition that some object is worthy of pursuit. Next, “consent is accomplished when the will fixes itself” on this object.40 Because the assent of reason is necessary in order for will to act, we can say “consent is an act of will which carries intellectual elements along with it.”41 Aquinas’s distinction between assent and consent is relevant to understanding how akrasia is possible. Recall that in instances of akrasia, you act against a fully considered judgment made from the perspective of

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your own values, moral principles, beliefs, and objectives.42 Such a judgment represents intellectual assent to a proposition that some action should or should not be performed. Such assent is necessary if the correct course of action is to be followed, but it falls far short of guaranteeing that you will act in a virtuous or morally strong manner. Ralph McInerny says that Aquinas postulated “a series of will acts [sic] and acts of the mind as mediating between the apprehension of something as good and the active pursuit of it.”43 These “will acts” are steps that intervene between assent and consent. As I will discuss below, weak akrasia occurs when the sequence of mental events leading from assent to consent becomes sidetracked. 5. Aquinas on the Importance of Habit Like Aristotle, Aquinas thinks that habit is an extremely significant factor in relation to human action, including akratic action. “The dynamical factors in habit formation” are inborn tendencies, practice, and reason.44 Although inborn tendencies and capacities are undeniably significant factors and quite likely place limits on the extent to which a person can be habituated in some directions, they “are not sufficient in order to have a habit. They must be disciplined and set in a definite organized complex, through exercise guided by reason, in view of a perfectly concrete aim.”45 Through repeated effort, it may well be possible for a human being to become habituated against that person’s inborn tendencies, although naturally it remains much easier to become habituated in accord with such tendencies. A person’s character is formed over time through habituation. The nature and extent of your appetites and the sort of control that you have over them are among the primary features of your character. If the appetites that are integral to your character are in a disordered condition, then you will be prone to akrasia and vice. As Alasdair MacIntyre says, “it is only desire as disciplined and directed by right moral habit which accords with reason.”46 Any desires that are not disciplined in this way are prone to lead a person to act akratically. As Ralph McInerny says, “if we act contrary to what, on the level of generality, we know we ought to do, our action can be explained by the disordered condition of our appetites.”47 This is one level of explanation. In the next section of this chapter, I will undertake a Thomistic explanation of akrasia by way of an examination of the different steps in the series of mental events leading up to an akratic action.

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The first step in the sequence of events leading up to an akratic action is sense perception. You perceive a potential object of concupiscence and an opportunity to act in accord with your appetite. The would-be akratic adulterer must first observe the presence of someone with whom to commit adultery and perceive that the opportunity exists to commit the act. The woman who knows that she should stay sober in order to drive observes the bottle of fine wine on the table in front of her. The next step is that the person is prompted by what Aquinas calls the fomes. This “corruption of sensuality” is an ineliminable aspect of all human beings.48 In terms of Aquinas’s theology, we can think of the fomes as a manifestation of original sin. As Norman Kretzmann says, the fomes is “the inextinguishable spark of unreason in human nature,” and “the immediate source of the trouble experienced even by the ideal moral man.”49 If you prefer a less theological interpretation, you might think in terms of sources of lust and aggression that lie within a human being’s genes and nervous system. On this view, perhaps the fomes would be seen as a result of our evolutionary heritage. As Kretzmann says, the fact that [Aquinas] takes this insidious incendiary ingredient in human nature to be a consequence of original sin is interesting and important to his theology, but we need not stop now to consider that explanation of our having it. We know we have it, however we get it, whatever we call it. . . . Take the fomes as the beast within, the unpredictable source of impulses selfish, loutish, lascivious, and perverse.50 The third link in the chain of mental events leading to akratic action is a person’s willful failure to reign in his or her imagination and direct it to proper objects of fantasy. This is likely to be the point at which a person can exercise the greatest amount of control and halt the movement toward akrasia. In order to stop this movement, a person needs first to recognize that his or her imagination is entertaining fantasies of a suggestive sort, whether they are of illicit sex, overindulgence in food and drink, or of striking back at another in anger. The person’s will then needs to redirect the imagination to other things. Naturally, this may be more easily said than done. Yet, even so, exercising control at this stage is easier than after strong emotion is allowed to build up. Not to engage your will to redirect your imagination to proper objects of thought amounts, at the least, to culpable negligence. Habituation may play a pivotal role at this stage. On the positive side, you may be habituated to

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redirect your imagination to proper objects of consideration, or, on the negative side, to cultivate fantasies of illicit indulgence. If people fail to reign in and redirect their imaginations, then their sense appetites become energized. This is the next stage in the progression toward akrasia. The sense appetite is the appetitive power that, generally speaking, human beings share in common with other animals. The sense appetite contains separate faculties for concupiscence and irascibility.51 The concupiscible and irascible powers are distinct because they tend toward different ends. The concupiscible power’s “proper object is what is delightful to sense.”52 The irascible power, in contrast, tends toward “what is arduous,” such as angry confrontation. 53 If people do not exercise their wills in order to halt the progression toward akrasia, then strong emotion will build up with the prompting of sensory appetite and uncontrolled imagination. The more emotion is allowed to build, the more difficult it becomes for people to exercise control. Even at this stage, people can still exercise some control, if their intellects recognize the effects of passion and their wills correct for them. As Norman Kretzmann says, “even when the influence of the passions on the rational faculties has been taken into account, the will is not coerced and is still capable of initiating human action, retaining responsibility along with freedom.”54 The next link in the chain leading to akratic action involves the practical syllogism, the general form of which Aquinas adopts from Aristotle. As Aristotle explains, a syllogism is a model of reasoning that has a set structure: a major premise, a minor premise, and a conclusion.55 Recall that although Aristotle holds that syllogisms having to do with propositional knowledge have both major and minor premises that are general in form (they begin with “all,” “no,” or “some”), this is not true of practical syllogisms. Although the major premise of an Aristotelian practical syllogism reflects general knowledge, the minor premise has to do with the situation at hand. Aquinas adopts this model. He explains: “Reason directs human action with two types of knowledge, general knowledge and knowledge of particulars. In deciding to act, the mind constructs a syllogism the conclusion of which is a judgment or choice.”56 Each instance of akratic action involves two practical syllogisms. The first is the syllogism that, if followed to completion, will lead a person to avoid akrasia. For want of a better term, I will call this “the good syllogism.” It is “good” because its conclusion is in accord with what a person ought to do, as determined by whatever moral principles or standards the person takes to be applicable to the situation at hand. It matches up with the person’s all-things-considered best judgment. The second syllogism is

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such that, if followed to completion, it will lead to akratic action. I will refer to this as “the akratic syllogism.” According to Aquinas, sense appetite and the consequent build-up of emotion draw the akratic person’s attention away from the good syllogism. Each of us only has a limited amount of attention to spread around; if it becomes focused in one direction, then there will be little remaining to focus in other directions. Aquinas states: “[I]n the works of the soul a certain concentration is required, so that when it is focused vigorously on one thing it cannot be similarly engaged with another.”57 If people allow sense appetite and emotion to escalate, then their attentions will be focused in that direction and, consequently, “the will, which is the rational appetite, [will have] little or no force for its own activity.”58 Fortunately, this distribution of mental attention works in the other direction as well, allowing for the possibility of persons regaining control and preventing akrasia. As Justin Gosling says, “if I am fantasizing lustfully, my fantasizing will diminish in so far as I succeed in thinking about a more respectable way of behaving, or engage in some activity exercising another faculty.”59 As a concrete example, consider again the case of a person who commits adultery due to akrasia. If the set of moral beliefs that the person holds most of the time includes the proposition that adultery is evil, then the good syllogism would be as follows: Adultery is to be avoided; this (proposed) action counts as adultery; this action is to be avoided. If the person wills to control his or her imagination, emotions, and sensory appetite, then the person will reason through to the conclusion of this syllogism and avoid akrasia. Let us consider the competing akratic syllogism: Pleasure is to be pursued; this action will give pleasure; this action is to be pursued. This is the “akratic” syllogism because the action that follows from its conclusion in the present case represents a falling away from the set of morally relevant beliefs that the person ordinarily holds. This syllogism is not intrinsically akratic; if applied in a different sort of situation, it might well be in accord with a person’s ordinary best judgment. If, for example, a person takes pleasure in eating moderate amounts of healthful foods, then there will likely be nothing akratic about applying the same pleasure syllogism that was regarded as akratic in the above case of adultery. If a person’s finite attention, including his or her emotional energy, is focused primarily on the akratic syllogism, then the person will be unable to give adequate attention to the good syllogism. If the good syllogism is sidetracked in this way, the akratic syllogism and its conclusion end up being adopted by the rational cognitive power of intellect as representing a good course to be pursued.

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When intellect adopts the akratic syllogism, it prompts the will to pursue the action that represents the conclusion of the syllogism. The intellect attributes goodness to the conclusion of the akratic syllogism and presents it to the will under this aspect. The will responds by desiring the conclusion.60 Even here, the will is not entirely without resources for halting the slide toward akrasia. As Eleonore Stump explains: Since will wills something only in case intellect presents it as some sort of good, the fact that will can command intellect to stop thinking about something means that will can, indirectly, turn itself off, at least with regard to a particular action or issue.61 If the will responds to the promptings of intellect by desiring to bring about the akratic action, then choice is made to perform the action.62 Aquinas declares: “Choice is the final acceptance of something to be carried out. This is not the business of reason but of will.”63 Finally, if a person’s will has not intervened at some stage to halt this progression toward akrasia, then the person performs the akratic action. So far in this chapter I have discussed Aquinas’s conceptions of will and voluntary action, and have analyzed the sequence of mental events leading up to an akratic action. The next step is to make several additional comparisons between the position of Aquinas and those held by Aristotle and Augustine. 7. Aquinas Compared with Aristotle and Augustine The first point of comparison has to do with whether strict akrasia is possible. One of the necessary conditions for strict akrasia is that you think, at the moment of action itself, that you are acting wrongly, and yet perform the action anyway. On Aquinas’s model, in contrast, when you act akratically, you momentarily see the action as good.64 For this reason, the above condition is not met and Aquinas’s position entails a denial of strict akrasia. I argued in Chapter Three that Aristotle also denies strict akrasia. According to Aristotle, when people act akratically, they momentarily see their actions as not being evil, due to the suppression of the minor premise of the good syllogism, but they never form a positive judgment that the akratic action is good.65 As James J. Walsh says in regard to Aristotle’s position, the “sophistry of desire” has the effect of generating an absence of “opinion about what is good in the particular situation.”66 For Aristotle, then, the “sophistry of desire” does not make an akratic person think that his or her action is good, but only that the action is not evil.

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In contrast, Augustine allows for strict akrasia. He thinks it to be possible for a person to be fully aware, at the moment she or he performs an action, that the action is contrary to the person’s best judgment about what is good. Through his concept of the corrupted human will, Augustine breaks the connection between what a human being takes to be good at the moment of action and what the person desires to do at that moment.67 Because the will is corrupted, it fails to be properly subject to reason. Since the will is not subject to reason, it has no difficulty in choosing against the counsel of reason. A second point of comparison has to do with whether akratic action is chosen. Aristotle holds that akratic action is voluntary but not chosen.68 Its origin is internal to the agent and no compulsion is present, which is why such action is voluntary. Aristotle denies that akratic action is chosen because he holds that an action is chosen only if directed toward some end or goal that is itself chosen.69 Aristotle thinks that a person who is akratic acts against the ends that she or he has chosen.70 Another way of looking at this is to see that, for Aristotle, an action must be thought good before it can be chosen. Yet, as we saw in the above discussion, Aristotle’s treatment of the role of the practical syllogism in akrasia only calls for the akratic action to be seen as not evil, instead of as being good. As for Augustine’s position on this issue, he holds that akratic action is chosen. Recall that Augustine thinks that a person can choose an action that she or he sees as evil even at the moment of action. Aquinas holds that an akratic action is chosen.71 He agrees with Aristotle that you must see your action as good in order to choose it, but, unlike Aristotle, he thinks that the akratic person does see his or her action as good, instead of just seeing it as not evil. Aquinas’s position ends up close to that of Augustine, in that they both hold that a human being chooses to act akratically.72 They arrive at this conclusion by different routes, however, since Augustine would disagree with Aquinas’s premise that you must see your action as good in order to be able to choose it. The reason Aristotle denied that akratic action is chosen is that he observed that people who are akratic act against the principles and ends that normally direct their lives. Akrasia is only a temporary condition, but a person’s principles and ends are what hold sway most of the time. For this reason, Aristotle thought that it makes more sense to say that those principles and ends are what are chosen and that akratic actions represent momentary lapses from choice. Although Aquinas thinks that akratic action ultimately is chosen, he does see merit in the Aristotelian insight. In order to accommodate this, he introduces a distinction: people act akratically “while choosing” (eligens), but do not act “from choice” (ex electione).73 In order to do evil from choice, an evil action would have to exemplify a human being’s

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normal best judgment. This is not the case with akrasia. A person who is intemperate or vicious, in contrast, acts “from choice,” since that person’s actions are in accord with her or his corrupt principles and ends.74 A third point of contrast has to do with a difference between the akratic syllogisms of Aquinas and Aristotle. In order to illustrate this difference, let us return to the example of the syllogisms that I offered above. Recall that the good syllogism is as follows: Adultery is to be avoided; this action counts as adultery; this action is to be avoided. This would be the good syllogism for Aquinas and Aristotle. Where they differ is in their akratic syllogisms. Again, for Aquinas, the akratic syllogism is: Pleasure is to be pursued; this action will give pleasure; this action is to be pursued. In the case of Aristotle, however, the akratic syllogism takes the following form: X is pleasant; this is X; X is pursued.75 The significant point to notice here is that the major premise of Aquinas’s akratic syllogism is a value judgment, while the major premise of Aristotle’s akratic syllogism is a statement of fact.76 The value judgment in Aquinas’s major premise allows intellect (rational cognition) and will (rational appetite) to have a locus of influence that they would not have on Aristotle’s model. If a person’s intellect accepts the major premise and his or her will comes to desire it, then the person can be said to choose that syllogism. This finding accords with Aquinas’s contention that we choose our akratic actions. On Aristotle’s model, a person automatically follows the akratic syllogism once appetite prevents the good syllogism from being completed. The person does not choose to follow the akratic syllogism. Instead, it comes about as, in effect, a foregone conclusion. On Aquinas’s view, a person directly chooses to follow the akratic syllogism.77 8. Conclusion Thomas Aquinas’s position on akrasia represents a fruitful synthesis of the positions of Aristotle and Augustine. Aquinas agrees with Aristotle in his denial of strict akrasia. This is because they both think it to be impossible to voluntarily perform an action that you hold, at the moment of action, to be evil. Aquinas agrees with Augustine, against Aristotle, that akratic action is chosen. However, Aquinas agrees with Aristotle that akratic action is not done “from choice.” Aquinas’s position does more justice to the internal struggle of the akratic person than does that of Aristotle. Aquinas holds that your intellect, influenced by your will, is moved by opposing desires to represent a thing “as both good (under one description) and not good (under a different description), so that the intellect is double-minded.”78 According to Aristotle, appetite interferes with the minor premise of the good syllogism. That

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syllogism is hindered from reaching its conclusion, and the akratic syllogism is completed instead. This substitution of one practical syllogism for another appears almost mechanical, with no apparent place for inner struggle. Judith A. Barad calls into question the experiential adequacy of Aristotle’s account by saying, the problem is that an account which insists that the minor premise of a practical syllogism has never been present or is suppressed by desire says nothing of a moral conflict. The failure to include moral conflict as a feature of akrasia is an oversight of one of its essential characteristics.79 Said another way, the theory does not do full justice to the experiential aspects of akrasia. Aquinas’s treatment of akrasia advances the discussion of the topic in significant ways, but it ultimately falls short of being an entirely adequate treatment of the topic. Aquinas’s model cannot handle the case of a person who acts akratically because he or she takes pleasure in the wickedness of his or her action. This is because Aquinas does not take as strong of a voluntarist approach to freedom of the will as does Augustine. Augustine thought that we are free to will even something that we know to be evil at the moment of action. The reason Aquinas adopts a less strong version of voluntarism is that he thinks that the will is under the direction of the intellect to a greater extent than does Augustine. Augustine thought that if the intellect presents something to the will as being good, the will can then choose to follow the intellect’s advice or to ignore it. Aquinas thought that if the intellect presents something to the will as being good, the will comes to desire it. This is not to say that the will is a slave to the intellect, automatically doing whatever the intellect commands. The will can, for instance, attempt to force the intellect to reconsider its evaluation. If you think, as I do, that there exist some cases in which people act akratically while believing at the moment of action that they are acting wrongly, then Aquinas’s model is rendered inadequate to handle some cases of akrasia. On the other hand, it may be that such cases occur relatively infrequently. So it may be that Aquinas’s model is an accurate analysis of the majority of akratic actions. The point is that there does not have to be a single model or analysis that covers every akratic action. If weak and strict akrasia both exist, they likely will require separate analyses. Just because an analysis fails to provide for strict akrasia does not preclude the possibility that the analysis is accurate in regard to what occurs in some cases of weak akrasia. To the extent that Aquinas has provided a more detailed and empirically adequate analysis of

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weak akrasia than that of his predecessors, he has to that extent advanced our understanding of the problem.

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Six WEAK AKRASIA 1. Introduction Most philosophers who have written on the topic of akrasia have tried to provide a single explanation that covers all cases. Perhaps they assume that since we are able to use the term akrasia and mean something by it, there must be some one precisely and narrowly circumscribed sort of action or character state to which the term is properly applicable. I see no reason to expect that all instances of akrasia will be so alike that exactly the same explanation will cover them all. One distinction I have made so far is that between weak and strict akrasia. If weak and strict akrasia both occur, this would necessitate there being, at minimum, two different sorts of explanations for akratic actions. What makes them both akrasia, in spite of their differences, is that they both possess the following characteristics: (1) You act against what is ordinarily your best judgment; (2) Your action must be intentional; and (3) Your ordinary best judgment is made from the perspective of your own values, principles, beliefs, and objectives.1 Because you return to being guided by these values and beliefs after the akratic action is completed, (4) you will also feel remorse or regret at having acted as you had. These criteria are sufficient to allow us to use the term akrasia in a cogent and meaningful way, but still offer enough flexibility to allow for realistic variation among individual cases. The focus of this chapter is weak akrasia. I will develop a general explanation of weak akrasia, but one flexible enough to accommodate the differences that experience suggests exist between individual cases. I will begin with Terrence M. Penner’s theory of akrasia, as developed in a series of articles published during the 1990s. I have discussed Penner’s work in previous chapters, but his interpretation of akrasia is sufficiently interesting to merit further consideration here as the starting point for developing a comprehensive view of weak akrasia. I will then turn to Donald Davidson’s work on akrasia, which is one of the most influential recent treatments of the subject. I will argue that Sergio Tenenbaum’s discussion of akrasia in his article “The Judgment of a Weak Will” provides insight for understanding and strengthening Davidson’s theory.2 The work of Davidson and Tenenbaum will be seen to complement Penner’s position by permitting us to retain its strongest insights, and yet providing us with the

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ability to explain some cases of akrasia that Penner’s theory does not handle. Finally, I will examine an interesting set of cases known as inverse akrasia in terms of Davidson’s theory. 2. Diachronic Belief Akrasia Penner sets out the following conceptual distinctions: (1) Synchronic belief akrasia: “Acting contrary to what you at the moment of action believe to be the best option open to you.”3 (2) Synchronic knowledge akrasia: Acting contrary to what you at the moment of action know to be the best option open to you.4 (3) Diachronic belief akrasia: “Acting contrary to what you believe to be the best option open to you throughout most of the general context of the action—including, in particular, (a) the period during which you consider what to do, and (b) the period during which you regret or approve of what you have done.”5 (4) Diachronic knowledge akrasia: “Acting contrary to what you know to be the best option open to you throughout most of the general context of the action.”6 A couple of notes are in order regarding what Penner means by “knowledge” in these definitions. First, the knowledge in question here is moral knowledge. In obviously general terms, morality is about what is best and how people should act, and this is what is relevant to akrasia. Second, according to Penner, having moral knowledge means having a complete and coherent system of morally relevant true beliefs.7 Any particular claim about what is best or what human beings ought to do will count as knowledge if and only if the claim is part of such a system. If a person holds a true belief that is not part of a complete and coherent system of true beliefs, then the claim will not be elevated to the status of knowledge. The position that Penner defends “both as an interpretation of Socrates [in the Protagoras] and as a correct philosophical view of the phenomenon of akrasia” is that no such thing as synchronic belief akrasia exists.8 He calls this claim the Impossibility of Synchronic Belief Akrasia (ISBA): “No one ever acts contrary to what they, at the moment of action, believe to be the best (most advantageous) option open to them.”9 Since what you know you also believe, a corollary of ISBA is that no such thing as synchronic knowledge akrasia exists either.10 If you never act contrary to what you believe at the moment of action, then a fortiori, you will never act contrary to what you know at the moment of action. Penner also denies the occurrence of diachronic knowledge akrasia.11 However, he argues that such

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a thing as diachronic belief akrasia exists.12 According to Penner, this turns out to be the correct description of all purported instances of akrasia: One can (voluntarily) act contrary to what one, throughout most of the temporal context of the action, believes to be the best option open to one—because of the possibility of a brief and sudden mind-change at the moment of action, the mind-change being brought on because one’s beliefs as to the relative desirabilities of various options vacillate as those options are viewed from different perspectives.13 Let us suppose that you hear a comment that was not intended to be insulting, but could be construed as such nonetheless. You reason that the individual who made the comment is not prone to saying insulting things and probably meant no harm. Additionally, you reason that it would be inappropriate to make a scene by confronting the speaker. Your best judgment is that you should let the thoughtless words pass without comment, but your attention abruptly shifts to an alternative perspective on the situation. You recall several recent incidents in which different individuals made potentially insulting comments in your presence. You suddenly see the present instance as one more example of people being insensitive to your feelings. After only a few seconds of focussing on this perspective, your anger boils over and you launch into a verbal attack on the person who made the present comment. Your anger then passes almost as quickly as it came, you return to your senses, and then regret having acted as you had. Penner’s denial of the possibility of synchronic belief akrasia and synchronic knowledge akrasia entails his denial of strict akrasia. This is because one of the necessary conditions for strict akrasia is that a person must recognize, at the moment the action is performed, that the action is contrary to what the person judges to be best. Having such recognition at the moment of action is ruled out if synchronic akrasia does not occur. Penner thinks that the Socrates of the Protagoras is right to hold that knowledge is strong, but mere true belief is inherently unstable. Additionally, he argues that this distinction between knowledge and belief is the key to explaining how akrasia is possible. As I indicated above, Penner thinks that we cannot tell if a person has knowledge or merely true belief by looking at a single isolated proposition that the person holds. Instead, we must take into account an individual’s entire interconnected system of morally relevant beliefs. If a person has all and only true morally relevant beliefs, then he or she has moral knowledge. However, if an individual has even a single false belief within his or her system of beliefs, or presumably if a gap left by the absence of some key belief exists, then that individual falls short of possessing moral knowledge. Due to the interconnection within the

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system of one’s beliefs about moral matters, “false beliefs anywhere else within this part of one’s belief-structure tend to lead to the defeat of any true belief with which one may start.”14 In this way, false beliefs will render a true belief unstable. In contrast to mere true belief, moral knowledge is “stable and unwavering,” since there exist no weak links or gaps in a person’s system of morally relevant beliefs. No places exist within the system at which the illusory power of false appearances can lead a person to make mistaken judgments regarding the relative merits of opposing courses of action. Penner argues that a person who has moral knowledge has a special sort of epistemological strength, which is, in effect, an “ability to hold onto one’s intellectual grasp on the situation as different gestalts on the same situation successively present themselves to the agent throughout the temporal context of the action.”15 Penner speaks of this epistemological strength as the stability of knowledge, as opposed to the instability of mere belief.16 Consider again the example of a person who perceives an insult and judges that it would be best to allow the incident to pass without comment. This time, let us suppose that the person has the sort of complete and coherent system of true beliefs that Penner thinks constitutes moral knowledge. The same alternative perspective flashes before his or her mind: The present incident could be seen as part of a larger pattern of insensitivity. This time around, because the person has all relevant true beliefs and no false moral beliefs, he or she will dismiss this alternative perspective. For example, this time the person recognizes that the insensitivity of an individual’s comments is not compounded by the unrelated insensitivity of past comments by other individuals. The present speaker is not at fault for what was said on those past occasions. Having this in mind, a person will follow through with his or her all-things-considered judgment not to respond to the insult. The person will remain calm and will not allow his or her anger to escalate. One of the interesting implications of Penner’s theory is that you need not know that you have moral knowledge in order for your moral knowledge to effectively prevent akrasia. You may have a complete and coherent system of morally relevant true beliefs, and this system may function perfectly in terms of informing and directing your moral life, without you being certain that your belief system is complete and fully coherent. Penner suggests that perhaps this is why Socrates, who spent much of his time thinking about questions of morality, never claimed to have moral knowledge: Even Socrates was not sure that he possessed a complete and coherent system of true morally relevant beliefs.17 If you avoid acting akratically for a long period of time, you may come to suspect that perhaps you have achieved moral knowledge. But this

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suspicion, however strong, should fall short of certainty. The reason that you cannot be certain is that Penner’s theory allows that some flaws within your system of morally relevant beliefs may result only in infrequent episodes of akrasia. If such flaws are present, a latent potential for akrasia exists, but the flaws remain dormant until situations arise that “activate” them. Some sorts of flaws will be activated by moral situations that arise frequently, and a person who has such a flaw will often act akratically. Other sorts of flaws are such that situations will not often arise to bring them to the surface. They remain hidden for a long time and you may consequently develop the mistaken belief that you have moral knowledge and have become truly virtuous. Another way of expressing this idea is to say that some flaws in your moral belief system are central, but others are more peripheral. Whether a flaw counts as central or peripheral depends on how frequently situations are likely to arise in which the flaw will become relevant in directing your actions. This may be relative to your environment and may change with changing circumstances. Penner argues that mere belief, even strongly held true belief, will lack the epistemological strength of moral knowledge. Akrasia “will on this account consist in not being able to keep your perspective when, during the temporal context of the action, the same situation is successively presented from different points of view.”18 On this stability view, “being overcome is not being able to hold on to a true belief because one cannot avoid being fooled by a new viewpoint of the situation before one.”19 Penner explains that, on this view, akrasia is not the result of different perspectives on a situation vying for attention simultaneously. Instead, what happens is more like “the flipflop of gestalts in familiar cases like the duck-rabbit. You can’t see the duck-rabbit as simultaneously duck and rabbit. . . . Both gestalts are possible, but they are not compossible.”20 Penner provides an example to illustrate his position on the stability of knowledge and the instability of even strongly held true belief: I look at an easily accessible chocolate milkshake, think of my diet, and judge taking the milkshake as less good than refusing it. But then the thought occurs to me that I have been working under pressure, and deserve a break—something a little special—so that I come to believe, momentarily (and, let us suppose falsely, by way of overestimation of the pressure I have been under), that taking the milkshake is the greater pleasure.21 As the word “momentarily” implies, let us suppose that after drinking the milkshake, I regret having violated my diet.

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In this hypothetical case, I act against what is ordinarily my best judgment, namely, that the pressure I have been under is not sufficient to warrant violating my diet. Let us suppose that my best judgment is truly my own: I truly think that my diet is more important and that it calls for refraining from milkshakes. Even so, my taking the milkshake is an intentional action on my part, and not a case of compulsion, unreflective impulse, or instinct. Instead, my action is the culmination of a reasoning process that involves such notions as pressure and justified rewards. Since the case meets these criteria, it counts as an instance of weak akrasia. Note that it falls short of being an instance of strict akrasia, since, at the moment of action itself, I think that I am justified in drinking the milkshake. For this to be a case of strict akrasia, I would have to think that I am unjustified in drinking the milkshake even as I am consuming it. Let us consider how Penner’s theory of akrasia can be applied to explain this example. Although I have true beliefs that my diet is worth the effort and that milkshakes are bad for my diet, these beliefs do not count as knowledge. The reason they are not knowledge is that something is wrong with my overall belief structure concerning such matters as dieting, pressure, justification for rewarding oneself, and the importance of health relative to other goods such as gustatory pleasure. The culprit is probably a false belief somewhere within this system. For example, perhaps I believe that dealing with even a small amount of stress justifies my giving myself rewards; I forget that I always operate under some pressure, so that if I followed this policy I would be constantly rewarding myself. Or perhaps I think that health is not that significant, oblivious to it being much more difficult to have a fulfilling and productive life if I am in poor health. It may be that, when on a diet, I normally resist temptation from milkshakes. However, there must be something in this particular instance that leads me to drink the milkshake. On Penner’s view, this means that there must be something about the situation that brings out the false beliefs in my belief system. Let us suppose that I am in an ice cream parlor for no other reason than to visit with a friend, but then see other people drinking milkshakes. This visual temptation, coupled with the ease with which I can procure a milkshake (I need only step up to the counter and order one), may be what makes the difference. Perhaps if I were not tempted by the sight of milkshakes and if I had to drive to the ice cream parlor to buy one, I would resist in favor of my diet. However, even if I resist the temptation in other situations and under different circumstances, my false beliefs are lurking there beneath the surface, waiting for a situation to arise that activates them. Penner explains that false and true beliefs are “differently located in different people, resulting in different forms and degrees of stability and instability.”22 Because false beliefs can be differently located within the

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belief systems of different people, it will be more difficult in some cases than in others to discern if an individual has moral knowledge or just strongly held beliefs. As I explained above, if you have a false belief but one not centrally located within your belief system, a long time may elapse without any observable signs of akrasia. To other people, and perhaps even to yourself, you may appear virtuous or morally strong. Then along comes a novel situation, or you become aware of a previously unrecognized aspect of an existing situation, and this new perspective brings your false belief into action. Your beliefs about what action is best “change under the influence of differing viewpoints on the objects of desire involved.”23 Then you act akratically, perhaps even to your own surprise. In contrast, if you have moral knowledge, you will be able to make a correct and unwavering judgment as to which of two potential actions is best. You will not be deceived even when presented with new and changing perspectives on situations. 3. Evaluation of Terrence M. Penner’s Position There appears to be something right about Penner’s theory. It makes sense of the above milkshake example and other cases that he discusses.24 I think that it provides a correct explanation of what occurs in many cases of weak akrasia. Penner intends it to be an explanation for all cases of akrasia, but I think it falls short of this. It falls short because it treats the mind as unified and primarily intellectualistic. On his view, whether you act akratically or not depends entirely on whether you do or do not assent to all and only the right propositions. Contrast Penner’s theory with one that includes a concept of will, such as that of St. Thomas Aquinas. Aquinas postulates that the mind includes both will and intellect.25 These are not treated as two isolated entities, but instead as complementary functions that work in conjunction.26 Even so, that Aquinas distinguishes between will and intellect indicates that he believes that there exist qualities and abilities characteristic of will that are not also (or to the same extent) characteristic of intellect. That we can distinguish between the two aspects opens up the possibility that the two could end up being at odds in some situations. The possibility of the will and intellect being at odds definitely appears to be a prerequisite for strict akrasia, but it may also be necessary for explaining some cases of weak akrasia as well. We should also recognize the possibility of there being still other features or aspects of the mind that are involved in cases of akrasia. The most obvious candidates are positive and negative feelings. Love and joy are paradigm examples of positive feelings. Anger, hate, envy, jealousy, greed, and a desire to dominate others, are examples of negative feelings. Such

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feelings as these can play a role because they are not entirely independent of intellect and will. Your feelings of attraction or repulsion in regard to a potential action can motivate your will to oppose your intellect. Feelings can also contribute to forming the contents of your intellect. If you have positive feelings toward an idea or a claim, this will help to keep it in the forefront of your attention. Alternatively, if you have negative feelings, then you may refuse to focus much attention on the idea or claim. I would venture to say that feelings play a significant role in most cases in which will conflicts with intellect. Aquinas recognizes the significant role of feelings in regard to akrasia. He thinks that reining in negative feelings is the primary way to break the chain of mental events that would otherwise culminate in akratic action. Let us suppose that your intellect informs you that you have had enough to eat. You understand that only a limited amount of food is available, and, if you take too much for yourself, there will not be enough left for others. If your will is in accord with your intellect, then you will restrict yourself to your proper share of the food. However, you may will to take more than your share. In that case, your will would oppose the understanding arrived at by your intellect. This is where feelings may become decisive factors. Suppose that you feel anger toward other members of the group because of something that they did. This feeling may prompt your will to oppose your intellectual conclusions regarding fair distribution of the food. In contrast, if you have feelings of love and friendship toward other members of the group, then this will motivate your will to act in accord with your intellect, or even to go beyond what fairness requires. By placing the origins of akrasia always within a system of beliefs, Penner is implicating only one feature or aspect of the mind, namely, the intellect. But if akrasia is always the result of a false belief lurking within a belief system, then correcting this false belief should be sufficient to eliminate akrasia. By eliminating the false belief and replacing it with a true belief, you should change from being akratic to being virtuous. This is because you acquire moral knowledge when you come to have only true beliefs within your system of morally relevant beliefs, and moral knowledge is stable and provides you with immunity to the illusory power of changing gestalts on a situation. Such a sea change may occur in some cases in which a false belief is removed, but this is not what happens in other cases. In many instances, the propensity to mislead a person or to interfere with a person’s normal reasoning, especially in situations involving food, drink, or sex, does not disappear when false beliefs are replaced with true beliefs. Instead, the illusory power of such situations tends to be resilient, which is probably why Aristotle thought of cases of akrasia involving food, drink, or sex, as being

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paradigmatic. Many people continue to be tempted to act akratically in these situations even after whatever false beliefs they may have had are corrected. An article by Olli Koistinen on Baruch Spinoza’s theory of akrasia is interesting in this regard.27 The article compares and contrasts the views of Spinoza with those of Socrates. Koistinen interprets the early Socrates in the same way that Penner does, but, unlike Penner, he thinks that Socrates’ position is not entirely adequate. He argues it to be inadequate on the grounds that the illusory power of some sorts of situations will not disappear with the rectification of a person’s false beliefs. Koistinen argues that Spinoza recognizes this and represents an advance over Socrates’ view. According to Koistinen, Spinoza and Socrates agree that akrasia occurs because a person is misled by illusions. They differ in regard to if and how this can be rectified. Koistinen explains: For Socrates the weakness of the weak agent lies in an intellectual failure that has its origin in the ignorance of [the principle that the nearer more immediate goods look greater than those in the future]. If there were no such ignorance, there would be no such weakness.28 However, Spinoza’s point is that illusions do not disappear even though the agent knew the facts. The appearance of a crooked oar does not disappear, even though we know that oars in water do not bend. In the same way, value illusions do not disappear and do not lose their motivational force, even though we knew that we are being deceived.29 The issue of whether Koistinen provides an accurate interpretation of Spinoza’s position on akrasia is beyond the scope of this chapter. I am more interested in Koistinen’s recognition of the shortcoming in the theory of the early Socrates (and, by implication, in Penner’s theory), and in the direction in which Koistinen’s view points us. Consider that many people are afraid in the dark. I am not denying that times and places exist in which good reasons can be found to fear for your safety at night, but I am referring to those cases in which a person’s fear of the dark persists even though his or her safety is not in doubt. This fear may have become ingrained in the human mind by way of our evolutionary heritage. Perhaps it exists in part as a holdover from a time when the dark brought with it a heightened risk of being attacked by dangerous animals. But regardless of how fear of the dark became ingrained in us, the persistence of this fear in the face of what your intellect takes to be all of the relevant evidence is what is of interest here. Your intellect may tell you that

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you have nothing to fear, and yet you still feel fear. This is evidence that the intellect is not the only feature or function of the mind involved. Your intellect may arrive at the understanding that you have nothing to fear, but non-cognitive aspects of your mind may respond by interjecting a feeling of fear into your psyche. The intellect is apparently insulated in some respects from whatever mental features or processes give rise to the fear, and vice versa. In a similar respect, people who are akratic may have true beliefs about what they ought to do, yet these beliefs may be isolated from the part of the mind that forms the desires that lead to action. The illusion that something is to be feared about the dark is not a perfect analogy to the sort of illusion that occurs in akrasia, but is telling because it provides evidence of the mind not being unified in some respects, which in turn may lead to different aspects of the mind being at odds with one another. The most obvious traditional candidate for the part of the mind at odds with intellect in instances of akrasia is the will. Indeed, the will may be the part at odds with the intellect in many cases. But again, we should not assume this is the best explanation for all cases of akrasia. Some cases may be accurately explained by Penner’s theory, which does not involve the will. Also, there may be other interpretations that are worthy of consideration, and these may lead us to explanations for yet other instances of akrasia. 4. Donald Davidson and Synchronic Akrasia Donald Davidson’s theory of akrasia represents a reasonable development of these ideas in one possible direction. He argues, in effect, that akrasia results from the mind being partitioned into subsystems that are sometimes at odds with one another. I think that Davidson’s position merits serious consideration and may be a viable explanation for some cases of akrasia. However, I resist the notion that Davidson’s theory is an adequate explanation for all instances of akrasia, since, like Penner, he locates the cause of akrasia entirely within the intellect.30 The mental subsystems of Davidson’s theory are subsystems of the intellect that are capable of making what he calls conditional and unconditional judgments. Davidson rejects the idea that such things as acts of will exist.31 In order to understand Davidson’s view, it will be helpful to compare and contrast it with Penner’s position. As discussed above, Penner treats the mind as something unitary. This is why he denies the possibility of synchronic akrasia. In order for synchronic akrasia to occur, you must believe (or know) that you should act in a particular way and yet at the same time be motivated to act in an opposing way. You then act in accord with this motivation (that may be based on other beliefs) and against your original

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belief or knowledge. Penner denies that this ever occurs. He thinks that all instances of akrasia are diachronic. On Penner’s view, your beliefs about what is best for you to do change over the temporal context of the akratic action, but no struggle between competing beliefs or motivations takes place at any given moment within the temporal context. At the moment of action, you believe entirely that you are acting for the best; what makes an action akratic is that your judgment about what is best at the moment of action differs from the judgment about what is best that you make during the broader temporal context of the action. Davidson, however, thinks that akrasia is synchronic in nature.32 On his theory, akrasia results from having two conflicting beliefs about what you should do, both of which are held simultaneously at the moment of action. Davidson says that three principles are at the heart of the problem of akrasia:33 (1) “If an agent wants to do X more than he wants to do Y and he believes himself free to do either X or Y, then he will intentionally do X if he does either X or Y intentionally.” (2) “If an agent judges that it would be better to do X than to do Y, then he wants to do X more than he wants to do Y.” (3) “There are incontinent [akratic] actions.” Davidson thinks that the reason akrasia is a conceptual problem is that each of these principles appear to be true, yet, when the principles are taken together as a triad, an inconsistency appears to arise.34 Davidson thinks that the solution to understanding akrasia lies in interpreting principle (2) in such a way that the triad of principles will no longer appear inconsistent. He claims: [T]here is no (logical) difficulty in the fact of incontinence, for the akrates is characterized as holding that, all things considered, it would be better to do b than to do a, even though he does a instead of b and with a reason. The logical difficulty has vanished because a judgment that a is better than b, all things considered, is a relational, or [prima facie] judgment, and so cannot conflict logically with any unconditional judgment.35 Davidson’s solution hinges on this distinction between conditional and unconditional judgments.36 A conditional judgment is a prima facie, allthings-considered judgment about what a person ought in general to do in the relevant sort of situation.37 It also typically, although not necessarily, reflects a judgment about what anyone ought to do when in such a situation. An

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unconditional judgment is a judgment that actually motivates a person's action. In explaining Davidson’s position, Risto Saarinen refers to unconditional judgments as “absolute judgments” or “judgments sans phrase.”38 Ideally, an individual’s unconditional judgment corresponds to his or her conditional judgment. This correspondence breaks down in cases of akrasia. If you are capable of holding a conditional judgment that you should refrain from doing X and an unconditional judgment that you should do X at the same time, this will provide us with the conceptual underpinnings for postulating synchronic akrasia. As Paul Hurley explains, Davidson argues that the [akratic] actor can judge unconditionally that Y is better than X, hence want Y more than X (by [Premise 2]), hence do Y if he does either X or Y intentionally (by [Premise 1]), while at the same time judging conditionally that X is better than Y (as required by [Premise 3]).39 We saw above how the milkshake example could be explained in terms of Penner’s theory of diachronic belief akrasia. I think that Davidson’s theory, based on a version of synchronic belief akrasia, can provide a reasonable explanation as well. Recall the example: I enter an ice cream parlor for purely social reasons. I am on a diet, I think that my diet is a worthwhile endeavor, and normally would not violate it by drinking a milkshake. However, once I see how good the milkshakes look, I tell myself that I deserve a treat and proceed to order one and drink it. Davidson would say that I have two beliefs operative at the moment I drink the milkshake. First, a conditional belief is present. This is my general, all-thingsconsidered, prima facie belief that I should stick to my diet and not have a milkshake. Second, I have an unconditional, absolute, belief that I should treat myself to a milkshake. The unconditional belief is the one that I act on, and I find myself drinking the milkshake (to my later consternation). You may wonder if this implies that no one correct explanation for a given instance of akrasia exists. After all, I first gave an explanation of the milkshake example in terms of diachronic akrasia, and I just explained the same example in terms of synchronic akrasia. Even so, I am not at all promoting relativism in regard to explanations of akratic actions. I am arguing that sometimes more than one explanation will seem plausible and we may or may not have evidence at hand that will allow us to decide between plausible explanations in any particular case. Such cases are in this respect no different from many other situations that we encounter in life, in which we lack sufficient information to decide between competing plausible explanations. The main point, though, is that Penner fails to provide us with

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an adequate reason to think that an explanation in terms of diachronic belief akrasia will be the right one in all cases. In particular, he fails to show that the mind is unitary in such a way as to rule out competing synchronic mental processes. To return to Davidson’s view, the conditional and unconditional beliefs both produce desires, but the desire associated with the unconditional belief is the one that wins out and is acted upon. The question is how this happens. This is where the concept of different mental subsystems or partitions comes into play. Penner explains Davidson’s position well when he says: “[I]t’s not that opacity seals each thing-believed off from every other thing-believed; it’s just that everything within one partition is sealed off from everything within the other partition.”40 Furthermore, “each partition maximizes good relative to the considerations brought up in its partition, and results in a distinct desire.”41 I think that Penner is right to point out that this explanation raises the further question of why mental partitioning results in akrasia in some cases but not in others.42 The reality is that some people are not nearly as akratic as others. What is it about people who are akratic that leads them to have an unconditional belief opposed to their conditional, all-things-considered belief, and to choose to follow the unconditional belief? Davidson says: “[I]f the question is read, what is the agent’s reason for doing a when he believes it would be better, all things considered, to do another thing, then the answer must be: for this, the agent has no reason.”43 This response appears less than satisfying as a final answer to the question. Yes, an akratic person is by definition in some sense irrational. After all, the person acts against her or his best judgment, and in a sense, what could be more irrational than that? However, even admitting that akrasia involves something irreducibly irrational, we may be able to say more on the question of how it comes about that a person chooses to act on an unconditional belief supported by inferior reasons when the person also has a prima facie belief supported “by better claims to the good.”44 Let us be precise about the problem. On Davidson’s view, the mind contains subsystems that are, in some respects, partitioned off from one another. Each subsystem contains reasons that make sense within that subsystem. Two such mental subsystems come into play in cases of akrasia. One produces an all-things-considered belief about the best course of action. The other produces an opposing belief about what should be done in the same situation. This second belief is not an all-things-considered belief, but instead is based on a more narrowly focussed thought process. It is myopic compared with the first belief. Even so, an akratic person makes the myopic second belief her or his unconditional, all-out belief, and acts on it.

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So, the question is what is it in the mind of the akratic person that leads to choosing the belief that emerges from the more myopic mental subsystem over the belief that results from the more broad-based considerations within the other subsystem? Davidson mentions some familiar possibilities: “selfdeception, overpowering desires, lack of imagination, and the rest.”45 I think that this is right as far as it goes. However, I think that we can say much more about how such factors contribute to a person’s choosing to act on a belief based on inferior reasons when, at the same time, another part of the mind is presenting the person with a belief based on more comprehensive considerations. An article by Sergio Tenenbaum will help us in this regard. Tenenbaum says that the difference between virtuous people and akratic people “is not a difference about the acceptance of the content of the reflective judgment, but rather their understanding of its grounds.”46 In the context of Davidson’s theory, this means that virtuous and akratic people have mental subsystems that produce the same all-things-considered belief about whether to do some action. Tenenbaum continues: “So the akratic agent knows all there is to know in order to choose the right course of action. The akratic agent knows exactly what he ought to do.”47 Note that this claim is in accord with Davidson’s theory of synchronic akrasia, but is incompatible with Penner’s theory of diachronic belief akrasia. Recall that Penner holds that people are akratic precisely because they lack knowledge about what they ought to do. This is why I am treating Tenenbaum’s work as an extension of Davidson’s theory more than of Penner’s. According to Tenenbaum, self-control, which allows a person to avoid akrasia, amounts to “finding a clear and obvious way to present [to oneself] something that one abstractly and perhaps vaguely judges to be good.”48 Tenenbaum uses the term “direct cognition” to refer to something present to the mind in “a clear and obvious way,” and uses the term “oblique cognition” for content present to the mind in a less direct way.49 Applying this distinction to Davidson’s theory, a virtuous or morally strong agent will be one whose all-things-considered belief is supported by a direct cognition, empowering the belief to become actualized even in the face of temptationproducing alternative perspectives on the situation. Part of what is involved in having a direct cognition is directly grasping why alternative cognitions are in truth illusory.50 In cases of akrasia, a person’s reflective, all-thingsconsidered belief is only supported by oblique cognitions, rendering it vulnerable. Tenenbaum explains: As I recognize my reflective judgments as authoritative, I recognize that my unconditional judgments should always come from my reflective perspective. But unless the reflective cognition can do away with the natural plausibility of the other perspectives . . . the less clear my grasp

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is on the reflective cognitions, the more prone I will be to form unconditional judgments that do not in fact arise from my reflective [allthings-considered] perspective.51 In order to illustrate the difference between direct and oblique cognition, Tenenbaum draws a parallel between akrasia regarding action (the kind we are considering) and what he calls “theoretical akrasia.” Let us suppose that you complete a proof of a mathematical theorem. If you have the entire proof in mind, then you have a direct cognition of the conclusion, since you are aware of how the conclusion is true.52 This would be parallel to a practical situation in which you not only know how you should act, but also have in mind a direct cognition both of the reasons in favor of the action and the reasons why opposing actions are wrong. Consider how this differs from having only an oblique cognition. Suppose that you worked through the proof of a mathematical theorem at some point in the past. You remember the conclusion that you reached and that you were able to arrive at that conclusion by way of an appropriate reasoning process, but you no longer have the steps of the proof in mind. Your memory of having proven the theorem stands as a sort of proxy for a direct mental apprehension of the steps of the proof.53 Tenenbaum characterizes this as having an oblique cognition of the theorem.54 He says: “The mathematician who does not see the whole proof of a proposition within a single intuition knows that it is so and even that it must be so but does not know how it is so and how it must be so.”55 Such a mathematician’s belief in the theorem will be vulnerable to doubt in situations in which other beliefs appear to conflict with it. This is what Tenenbaum calls “theoretical akrasia.” The parallel situation in the practical realm would be that you believe, even know, that you should act in a particular way, but you do not at that time have in mind a direct understanding of why you should act in the prescribed way or why exactly alternative actions would be inferior. For this reason, you have only an oblique cognition of what you ought to do, and are therefore prone to akrasia. According to Tenenbaum, avoiding akrasia requires having a direct cognition of why a virtuous action is good and why alternative actions are bad (or, at minimum, inferior). But what is involved in having this sort of direct cognition? There may not be one answer that will hold true in all cases. Even so, it appears that one necessary condition for having a direct cognition in the practical realm is to have the information present in a lively format, so that it will remain more intensely before the mind. Ezio Vailati attributes this view to Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz in an article dealing with Leibniz’s views on akrasia.56 As with Olli Koistinen’s discussion of

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Spinoza’s position, I am not primarily concerned with whether Vailati has the right interpretation of Leibniz. My concern is with the insight he provides to the matter of direct and oblique cognitions. Vailati says that Leibniz thinks “beliefs involving thoughts couched imagistically, possibly the result of firsthand experience, are especially lively.”57 Strictly symbolic thinking, in contrast, cannot instill in us sensitivity to the good of the choices that it counsels.58 Vailati explains: When a piece of information is presented to the mind blindly, or faintly, or it has been obtained long before and has not been rehearsed, or it is not firsthand (let us call information presented in this way “dull”), then it is likely to fail to energize to action the beliefs depending on it.59 5. Inverse Akrasia An interesting type of case in which feelings play a central role in achieving the victory of one mental subsystem over another is that which is sometimes referred to as “inverse akrasia.” According to Nomy Arpaly and Timothy Schroeder, inverse akrasia involves cases in which “akrasia results in what, for lack of a better word, might be called rightdoing of one sort or another. In such cases, the akratic course of action is superior to the course recommended by the agent’s best judgment.”60 As H. Paul Grice and Judith Baker explain, the traditional view is that akrasia “always favors the beastly, selfish passion over the call of duty and morality.”61 As we have seen, for example, Aristotle identifies akrasia as one of the bad moral states.62 Even so, Aristotle does appear to recognize the existence of what we are calling inverse akrasia. He says: There is an argument from which it follows that folly coupled with incontinence is excellence; for a man does the opposite of what he believes owing to incontinence, but believes what is good to be evil and something that he should not do, and in consequence he will do what is good and not what is evil.63 Aristotle offers as an example the character of Neoptolemus in Sophocles’ Philoctetes. Odysseus persuaded Neoptolemus to lie to Philoctetes in order to further the cause of the Greeks in the Trojan War, and Neoptolemus resolved to do so. When the time came, however, his resolve faltered and he did not lie.64 Aristotle says that Neoptolemus “is to be praised for not standing by what Odysseus persuaded him to do, because he is pained at telling a lie.”65

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Most cases of akrasia are of the traditional sort, including all of the examples I have considered in previous chapters. However, this other sort of case (inverse akrasia) does exist, and calls for explanation. I will discuss another example of inverse akrasia and offer an explanation in terms of conflicting mental subsystems. Feelings will contribute heavily toward the content of one of these subsystems. Let us suppose that Bob is prejudiced, having been raised to believe that persons of other ethnic backgrounds are inferior and that he should avoid interacting with them. Additionally, let us suppose that Bob has adopted this view and meticulously avoids any such contact. One day, Bob is taking a walk in the park and encounters someone who is from a different ethnic background. Bob judges that he should ignore this person’s smile and keep walking. However, upon seeing the person smile at him, a feeling of friendliness wells up inside Bob and he engages in conversation with the person. Afterward, Bob returns to his normal judgment and regrets having conversed. Note that the final part of the scenario—that Bob later returns to his normal judgment—is necessary for this to be an example of akrasia. If, instead, Bob had been transformed by the stranger’s friendliness in such a way that on future occasions he would seek out interaction with persons of different ethnic backgrounds (or, at minimum, no longer set out to avoid it), we would then have to regard the initial encounter as a character-changing experience, instead of as an instance of inverse akrasia. Bob enters into the above situation with a resolve to avoid any interaction. He then experiences strong feelings that prompt him to act against his resolution. How can we understand what happens inside Bob’s mind to bring this about? One mental subsystem reaches the conclusion that he should avoid speaking with the person. That subsystem includes beliefs that he absorbed from his environment, most likely from his family upbringing. The conclusion is not based on direct personal experience, but instead on what he has been taught. Bob assumes that what he has been taught is correct and, for this reason, believes that the decision to avoid speaking with the person he encounters represents his best judgment. The other mental subsystem—the one that ultimately motivates Bob’s action— arrives at the conclusion to engage in conversation, based upon feelings of human sympathy and Bob’s first-person observation that the person he encounters is amiable. We applaud Bob’s decision to engage in conversation, although this applause is tempered with disappointment that he later regrets having done so. We think that the sort of beliefs with which Bob was raised are inaccurate, counterproductive, and downright evil. However, this places the

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student of akrasia in the unusual position of commending a person’s decision to act in opposition to his considered judgment. One way to try to extricate oneself from this uncomfortable position would be to deny that Bob’s situation counts as akrasia. A passage is found in Nicomachean Ethics that suggests that this is the approach that Aristotle would take. After discussing Neoptolemus’ decision not to lie to Philoctetes, Aristotle says: “For not every one who does anything for the sake of pleasure is either self-indulgent or bad or [akratic], but he who does it for a disgraceful pleasure.”66 Although Aristotle recognizes the existence of the phenomenon we are calling inverse akrasia, he is hesitant to regard it as a species of akrasia. I submit that this approach fails in our scenario involving Bob, because the situation meets all of the necessary criteria: Bob acts intentionally against his ordinary best judgment, his judgment about what is best is made from the perspective of his personal beliefs and principles, and he later regrets having acted as he had. I think that a better way to make sense of being in the situation of applauding an akratic action in cases of inverse akrasia is to recognize that what we are in truth doing is giving our approval to the lesser of two evils. Consider again the above scenario: The worst outcome would have been if Bob had remained steadfast in his original intention and had ignored the friendly stranger. We applaud Bob’s akratic action because it avoided this outcome. Even so, we do not applaud it to the same extent that we would a truly virtuous action. Although we think it to be good that Bob spoke to the friendly stranger, we also think that it would have been better if he had done so without mental reservations. We think that it would have been much better if Bob’s action had followed naturally from his character. That would have made his action virtuous, instead of an instance of inverse akrasia. Any time you act against your considered judgment, a measure of irrationality is involved. This is true in “traditional” cases of akrasia, but also true in Bob’s case as well. Although we approve of Bob’s action, we still must admit that there remains some sort of irrationality in setting out to do one thing and then doing the opposite. However, I agree with Arpaly that in cases of inverse akrasia, a greater measure of irrationality would be involved if you followed through and acted on your ordinary best judgment.67 Although developing a complete theory of rational motivation is beyond the scope of this book, it appears to me that one of the conditions for being rationally motivated is that you critically examine the ideas and premises that influence your judgments. In the case of Bob, he did not critically examine what his upbringing had taught him regarding the worthiness of persons of different ethnic backgrounds. What Bob had been taught does not

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match up with the way the world is, but he failed to engage in the sort of reflective mental activities that might have brought him to recognize the incongruity between his ideas and reality. The most rational move that could be made if you are inversely akratic would be to rid yourself of your ordinary considered judgment, since that judgment is mistaken, replace it with a correct judgment, and then to act in accord with that new considered judgment. 6. Conclusion The time has come to take stock of the foregoing considerations and to distill from them a theory of weak akrasia. As I suggested at several points above, we need not assume that all cases of weak akrasia will be amenable to exactly the same kind of explanation. Recall once more the criteria for weak akrasia: You act against your ordinary best judgment, your action is intentional, your judgment about what is best is truly made from your own perspective, and you regret your action after completion. There may be more than one sequence of mental events that could lead to an action that satisfies these criteria. Some cases may be best explained in terms of diachronic belief akrasia. In these cases, akrasia involves a gestalt shift over the temporal context of the action. Before and after, you see your action as bad; but at the moment of action, it looks to be the best option. The cause of this gestalt shift is the interaction between false beliefs within your belief structure and changing perspectives on your situation and environment. Other cases may be best explained in terms of synchronic belief akrasia. Synchronic akrasia involves some sort of struggle between beliefs (or, more precisely, a struggle within a person regarding beliefs), instead of just a gestalt shift. One possible scenario, advocated by Davidson, is that in which the struggle is between a conditional, all-things-considered belief and an unconditional, all-out belief. Akratic persons act in accord with the second of these beliefs, even though it is ultimately irrational to do so. The feature of the mind that allows this to happen is its tendency to partition into what might be regarded as mental subsystems. One such subsystem may contain reasoning that leads to the belief that you should refrain from performing an akratic action. A second subsystem may contain arguments and other evidence that support the belief that you should perform the action after all. This still leaves us with the question of why the all-things-considered belief that emerges from one subsystem is defeated by the otherwise inferior belief that emerges from the other. A reasonable answer, derived from the work of Tenenbaum, is that the unconditional belief is supported by direct cognitions, but the all-things-considered belief is supported only by oblique

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cognitions. A direct cognition will include not only an understanding of why a virtuous action is virtuous, but also why opposing actions are morally deficient. In addition, it may be that direct cognitions typically involve evidence presented in a “lively” format, and oblique cognitions may involve evidence presented in a “dull” format. If your beliefs are supported by firsthand evidence or by images conjured up in your imagination, then they will be presented to the mind in a livelier format than beliefs that are held as propositions but which lack such support and embellishment. In addition, I have argued that feelings often play a role. In cases in which a conflict between mental subsystems takes place, feelings may be a key constituent of one or more of these subsystems. The set of cases known collectively as inverse akrasia is exemplary in this regard. I turn in the next chapter to an examination of strict akrasia. In addition to the criteria for weak akrasia, instances of strict akrasia would also need to meet the additional criterion that persons recognize at the moment of action that their actions are contrary to their all-things-considered judgments. Yes, synchronic knowledge akrasia would satisfy these conditions. However, I think that strict akrasia may still be a possibility even if synchronic knowledge akrasia does not occur. This is because we can describe versions of synchronic belief akrasia that would satisfy all of the conditions for strict akrasia. Although Davidson’s version of synchronic belief akrasia is a type of weak akrasia, this does not preclude other versions of synchronic belief akrasia from satisfying all of the criteria for strict akrasia. Recall that Davidson’s version counts as synchronic because a struggle between opposing beliefs occurs, yet it falls under the rubric of weak akrasia because of the way this struggle is resolved. At the moment of action, one belief emerges victorious, is momentarily taken by the mind to represent the superior option, and is then acted upon. However, if there occurs a situation in which a struggle between beliefs is not fully resolved prior to the moment of action, then we would have a case of synchronic belief akrasia that would also count as strict akrasia. I will develop these ideas more fully in the next chapter.

Seven STRICT AKRASIA 1. Introduction The topic of this chapter is strict akrasia. I will begin by discussing the criteria for strict akrasia and how they differ from those for weak akrasia. I will then examine some theoretical issues concerning strict akrasia. Finally, I will discuss the serious practical difficulty of identifying cases of strict akrasia. Experience tells us that akrasia is a real feature of human life. Observation of others and ourselves reveals that probably all of us have acted akratically at one time or another. This happens now and then for some people, but for many others it occurs with such frequency as to be a defining feature of their characters. In all cases of akrasia, you act against your best judgment. I do not mean by this the sort of ideal judgment that would be made by a person who is fully rational and omniscient. More modestly, I mean that judgment that takes into account all of the information and insights to which we ordinarily have mental access. The judgment is “all-things-considered” in the sense that it considers all of the things that we normally take to be relevant. This allthings-considered judgment is truly one’s own. It is not just a judgment about what a person’s family, friends, religious congregation, or society in general, would think best, but truly a judgment about what the person thinks is best from his or her perspective.1 Additionally, the akratic agent’s action is intentional.2 Finally, after the person acts, he returns to his or her ordinary judgment and then regrets his or her action. Each of these elements is a necessary condition for weak akrasia. Considered jointly, they are sufficient for an action counting as weakly akratic. They are not jointly sufficient for strict akrasia, because a further condition must be met as well. I suggested in the previous chapter that more than one correct model is likely to exist for understanding how weak akrasia occurs. Some cases are best explained as diachronic belief akrasia and others fit more closely the particular model of synchronic belief akrasia that follows from the work of Donald Davidson. There may be additional cases that are best explained in terms of yet other models. Strict akrasia meets each of the conditions for weak akrasia, plus the further requirement that you must believe (or know) at the moment of action

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that your action is opposed to the belief you have at that moment regarding what course of action is best.3 All akratic action is irrational in the sense that you act against your all-things-considered judgment. Even so, strict akrasia involves a higher degree of irrationality than does weak akrasia. In most types of action, whether virtuous, morally strong, weakly akratic, or vicious, you pursue that which you take to be best at the moment of action. Strict akrasia is different in the respect that you act against that which you regard at the moment of action to be the best option (the highest good available). Unsettling as it may be to think that we could break with our conception of the good in such a radical way, we sometimes have a sense that we do just that. We could conceivably be wrong about this intuition, and this is a possibility that I will discuss later in this chapter. Even so, this sense that we do sometimes act against our immediate best judgment is what prompts us to postulate the existence of strict akrasia in the first place. Fortunately, we also have the sense that most of the time we act in pursuit of what we take at the moment of action to be the good, and that strict akrasia, when it occurs, is relatively rare. Yet, the possibility of strict akrasia, taken together with its radical nature, warrants our further examination of the topic. 2. Theoretical Issues In Chapter Six, I discussed Terrence M. Penner’s schema for classifying theories of akrasia. Diachronic akrasia involves a shift in perspective at the moment of action. You normally evaluate a potential act (say, having an extra piece of pie) in terms of your all-things-considered best judgment. However, at the moment of action, your perspective shifts and you see the potential action in a different light. There occurs a momentary change in terms of which features of the situation occupy the forefront of our attention. You act in accord with this new perspective on the situation, and against the judgment that you ordinarily take to be best. After you act, your perspective shifts back and then you regret what you have done. Penner thinks that this model can explain all instances of akrasia, but I have argued that he is wrong about it being adequate to cover all cases. Penner also discusses the notion of synchronic akrasia, but he does so only in order to contrast the concept with diachronic akrasia. He thinks that no real cases of synchronic akrasia exist.4 Penner thinks this because he believes that synchronic akrasia would involve acting against what you take to be best at the moment of action, and he thinks it to be impossible to do so voluntarily. One approach to overcoming Penner’s objection to the possibility of synchronic akrasia is that of Donald Davidson. I argued that Davidson’s view represents a viable path to explaining some instances of akrasia. We

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might initially suppose that Davidson’s model is one of strict akrasia, since it involves our retaining our all-things-considered judgment even at the moment of action. It also involves a struggle between beliefs absent from Penner’s model of diachronic akrasia, and the presence of this struggle is something we would expect in cases of strict akrasia. Even so, I argued that Davidson’s model falls under the rubric of weak akrasia. Although you retain your all-things-considered judgment at the moment of action, you make an unconditional judgment in favor of an opposing course of action. Because this opposing judgment becomes your all-out judgment at the moment of action, your action does not break with your conception of the good in the radical way required for strict akrasia. Davidson gives us a model of synchronic akrasia that falls short of meeting all of the criteria for strict akrasia. Even so, there may be a version of synchronic akrasia that does satisfy all of the criteria, and we need to explore this possibility. There is no point in looking for a model of diachronic strict akrasia. That becomes a conceptual impossibility, since the definitions of diachronic and strict akrasia preclude any overlap. In diachronic akrasia, what you think best changes over the temporal context of the action, but you pursue that which you think best at the moment of action. This directly conflicts with the criterion for strict akrasia that you act against what you think best at the moment of action. The sort of synchronic akrasia that would count as strict akrasia (perhaps the only sort that would so count) is one that involves a notion of the will. We need a conception of a will that is, at minimum, partially autonomous from the understanding and which is capable and inclined to sometimes oppose the judgments of the understanding. We find such a version in the work of St. Aurelius Augustine. I discussed Augustine’s position on the will and akrasia in Chapter Four. At that point I had not yet examined Penner’s distinction between synchronic and diachronic akrasia. For this reason, I will reexamine Augustine’s position in the light of this distinction. Augustine thinks of will as a mental power.5 He conceives of the will as the seat of free choice and, since he also thinks that freedom to choose (volition) is necessary for being a moral agent, the will itself becomes a necessary condition for a person’s being a moral agent. Augustine thinks that we all have wills that are fundamentally corrupted, so that our inclinations are shifted permanently toward evil.6 The human will is analogous to a building that has a major structural flaw running all the way down to its foundation. The corruption is deep, instead of merely superficial. The will is sufficiently inclined toward evil that all human beings become guilty of wrongdoing to one extent or another over the course of their lives.7

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Augustine’s concept of the evil will breaks the connection between what a person takes to be good (in general or at the moment of action) and what she or he desires to do. Augustine holds that whenever you experience an inner moral conflict, “two initial and partial tendencies of the will” are operating simultaneously.8 “The initial tendencies are called desires or wishes; but when the choice is made, we speak of it as actual willing or volition.”9 Although the will may seem divided during the course of an inward struggle, “it becomes one and complete in the final choice.”10 This may sound like Davidson’s position, which I classified as weak akrasia. But a significant difference exists: On Davidson’s account, although a struggle takes place between competing beliefs about what action is best, at the moment of action you make a temporary all-out judgment that one action is better than the other, and then perform that action. On Augustine’s account, you have two competing desires, one to act morally and one to perform an evil (less good) action. A struggle occurs within the will as to which action to perform. At the moment of action, you freely choose to perform the evil action. At that moment, you are cognizant that you are choosing the less good alternative; therefore, you are not choosing according to the criterion of goodness. This is not an instance of being temporarily deluded about what is best. The corrupted will is what makes possible this free choosing of the worse alternative. If a person always acted in such a way as to pursue the good, then free choice of what is taken to be the worse alternative would be unintelligible. However, if we take away the requirement that a person always acts in pursuit of what she or he takes to be the good, such choosing becomes intelligible, although still not rational. But we cannot expect it to be rational, because akrasia in all of its forms always has a measure of irrationality to it. In order to have strict akrasia, it appears that we need to have a mental faculty of volition (the will) sufficiently independent of the capacities of understanding and feeling so as to be able sometimes to oppose them. Additionally, this volitional faculty must contain a flaw or imperfection that will allow for the irrationality of choosing a worse alternative over one we believe to be better. Augustine’s conception of will is that of a volitional power that became corrupted at a point in the distant past and remains corrupted for all future generations through original sin. For Augustine, the corruption of the will has distinct theological overtones. However, what is significant for our purposes is the concept of a will flawed in such a way as to allow a radical break between what you take to be good and what you are motivated to do. You may hold that such a flawed volitional faculty arose through a single event (“The Fall”), as Augustine believes, but philosophical reasoning itself does not require you to think this. For example, an alternative

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interpretation to Augustine’s might hold that flawed volition is the cumulative result of aspects of our evolutionary heritage. Patterns of action that we consider to be antisocial or, in general, evil, may have been selected for in our pre-human ancestors. Some such mental tendencies and their associated brain processes may still remain part of human beings, even if in residual form. In this position, they may give rise to powerful motivations that incline the will to act against the conclusions of a person’s considered judgments. The doctrine of a flawed will makes intelligible the notion of strict akrasia in a way that strict akrasia is not intelligible for Socrates or Aristotle. They both think that some human beings have the capability to attain moral perfection. This view is incompatible with the notion of all human beings having an inherently flawed will. Also, Socrates and Aristotle have “intellectualistic” theories, in which akrasia is intrinsically connected with ignorance. Such theories place the understanding in the position of always being the dominant mental faculty. Accordingly, a positive assessment of a proposed action by your understanding will necessarily lead to your desiring to perform that action. The connection between what you hold (understand) to be good and what you are motivated to do is too tight to allow for the sort of struggle involved in strict akrasia. One reason that some people might deny the existence of strict akrasia is that they suppose that it would be indistinguishable from compulsion. I think they are wrong about this, but we need to address this concern. Reflection on how we ordinarily use the term “compulsion” reveals that two different sorts of actions are often labeled as compulsion. The first sort is when you act under duress, usually from a motive of fear, and do something that you would not do otherwise. A man who hands over his wallet to a robber at gunpoint might be said to act under compulsion. The second sort of compulsion involves cases in which you experience an uncontrollable urge to perform some irrational action. If you are seriously addicted to narcotics, then your use of such drugs may be compulsive in this second sense. Your best judgment may tell you that you should not take the drugs, but you experience an uncontrollable urge to perform what you recognize to be an irrational action. Compulsion of the second sort may also manifest itself in repetitious action, as is the case, for example, with people who experience uncontrollable urges to wash their hands hundreds of times per day even though they are not dirty. The first sort of compulsion does not involve a radical break between your belief about the good and your motivation for action. The man who hands over his wallet at gunpoint believes that his life is more valuable than his money, and, in handing over his wallet, he acts on this belief. In truth, he would not normally wish to part with his wallet. Even so, under the

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(hopefully) unusual circumstances of the robbery, his understanding and volition remain in accord with one another. For that reason, this is not the sort of compulsion likely to be confused with strict akrasia. Instead, the second sort of compulsion is the one that might mistakenly be construed as being identical with strict akrasia. This is because the second sort potentially involves your acting against that which you understand at the moment of action to be best, which is also what happens in instances of strict akrasia. Although there exists this similarity between strict akrasia and compulsion, there also exists a significant difference. Strict akrasia is voluntary, but compulsion of the second sort is not. Although in cases of strict akrasia the will is somehow flawed, the flawed will chooses voluntarily to act against your all-things-considered belief about what is best. The will’s being flawed does not obliterate its voluntary character. However, someone who experiences compulsion does not voluntarily choose to act as she or he does.11 Instead, you cannot help yourself, and will not stop without some sort of intervention, such as a change in physiology, the addition of medication that counteracts addiction, or forced withdrawal from opportunities to satisfy your urges. Admittedly, I am no doubt guilty of over-simplifying the distinction between strict akrasia and compulsion by making it sound as though the boarder between the two categories is rigid and unambiguously demarcated. In reality, the boundary “may be fuzzy.”12 I will elaborate more fully on the difference between akrasia and compulsion in the next chapter. In the mean time, I think that the distinction, though perhaps not rigid, is still meaningful. The distinction between strict akrasia and compulsion has implications in terms of moral responsibility for our actions. Because people who act from the sort of overwhelming and uncontrollable urges that characterize compulsion do not act voluntarily, a real sense exists in which they could not have done otherwise. In many cases, this will significantly reduce their moral responsibility for their compulsive actions. Some would say that it eliminates responsibility entirely.13 I think that claim is too strong in most instances. The mitigating factor of uncontrollable urges will fall short of eliminating all moral responsibility to the extent that a person’s past voluntary actions contributed to acquiring the addiction or mental state that presently gives rise to her or his compulsive actions. People who act from strict akrasia are similarly responsible to the extent that their voluntary choices have contributed to developing the strong desires that presently oppose the best judgments of their understanding. The strict akratic is also morally responsible in an additional sense, due to retaining some measure of voluntary control even at the moment of action. This is just what distinguishes strict akrasia from compulsion. Because people who act from strict akrasia could with some effort have acted otherwise, they are

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responsible for making bad voluntary choices at the moment of action, in addition perhaps to having made bad voluntary choices in the past that led to their presently having desires that oppose their best judgments. For this reason, an added layer of moral responsibility exists in cases of strict akrasia that is absent in true cases of compulsion. Prior to discussing the practical problem of identifying cases of strict akrasia, I will examine a final conceptual distinction, namely, the distinction between synchronic belief akrasia and synchronic knowledge akrasia. Synchronic belief akrasia occurs when you act against what you believe to be best at the moment of action, and synchronic knowledge akrasia occurs if you act against what you know to be best at the moment of action.14 Penner does not think that synchronic akrasia of either sort occurs, so he makes this distinction for purely didactic purposes. In contrast, I have argued that synchronic akrasia likely does occur and may provide the most accurate explanation for what happens in many instances of akrasia. I also argued that synchronic akrasia could be either weak or strict akrasia. The question is whether strict akrasia would have to be synchronic knowledge akrasia, instead of synchronic belief akrasia. I think not. Recall that the criterion that distinguishes strict from weak akrasia is that in cases of strict akrasia you act against that which at the moment of action is your all-things-considered judgment about what is best. This judgment could be in the form of belief or knowledge. The definition does not specify that it has to be knowledge, which would represent the more exacting standard. The point to keep in mind is that even if no real cases of synchronic knowledge akrasia exist, this would not rule out there being real cases of strict akrasia. This is because some versions of synchronic belief akrasia would be adequate to satisfy the criteria for strict akrasia. Since belief that falls short of knowledge is no doubt more common than knowledge itself, we can reasonably expect that instances of strict akrasia that are describable in terms of synchronic belief akrasia would be more common than instances that satisfy the standard of synchronic knowledge akrasia. 3. Practical Difficulties So far in this chapter, I have argued that in order for strict akrasia to occur, people must have a volitional faculty capable of willing in opposition to their understanding and sometimes inclined to do so. I explained that Augustine’s conception of the will as free yet corrupted meets these requirements, as might other conceptions that differ from his in some details (such as, for example, details regarding how the will came to be corrupted). I also argued that strict akrasia must be synchronic, and that we could articulate versions

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of both synchronic belief akrasia and synchronic knowledge akrasia that will meet the criteria for strict akrasia. I have defined strict akrasia and situated it in relation to other concepts such as weak, diachronic, and synchronic akrasia. Even so, none of this counts as empirical evidence that strict akrasia ever in truth occurs. Although it appears certain from our experience that akrasia of some sort is a regular part of human life, this in itself is not sufficient to prove that strict akrasia occurs. As we have seen with several of the theories we have examined, someone might claim that all instances of akrasia are cases of weak akrasia. As I suggested above, many people have a strong sense that they do sometimes act against their best judgment even while fully aware of that judgment. Those who wish to question the existence of strict akrasia may argue that such introspective evidence is unreliable, even if reported by many individuals. They may assert that you only think that you retain your all-things-considered judgment at the moment of action, but in truth experience a brief mental lapse and momentarily loose sight of all judgment as to the good or else make a temporary judgment about what is good that opposes your all-things-considered judgment. The claim is that whenever you think that you have succumbed to strict akrasia, you have in reality instead experienced some version of weak akrasia. As William Charlton complains: Not only can no one other than the guilt-haunted adulterer know for certain that at the time he thought it would be better to refrain; he cannot know this for certain himself. Some introspectors may say that the harder they look into themselves the more confused they become; others who claim to see clearly report different things.15 So this is the nature of the practical problem: We have a definition and criteria for strict akrasia, but the only evidence that we have ever had for the actual occurrence of strict akrasia is introspective and first person. Although, as Alfred R. Mele writes, “there is a presumption in favor of the commonsense view that there are strict akratic actions,” we “should hope to get further than that.”16 I argue that Augustine provides us with a case that pushes introspective evidence as far as it can go, but that ultimately even this example falls short of giving us indisputable proof that strict akrasia truly occurs. In Chapter Four, I argued that the young Augustine’s theft of the pears is an especially strong candidate for being a real instance of strict akrasia. This is because the case has an unusual aspect: Augustine claims that, at the moment of action, it was in truth his awareness that his action was evil that

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prompted him to do it. For Augustine, in some cases of wrongdoing, the understanding that something is wrong is what makes it tempting to do.17 Note that this is different from vice, in which a person thinks that her or his evil actions produce the best good available. I contrasted Augustine’s theft of the pears with more typical cases of akrasia, in which people act from motives of pursuing pleasure. For example, people who commit adultery because of lust do not do so because they take pleasure in their action being wrong. Instead, the expectation of sexual pleasure is what motivates the akratic action. The pleasure is seen as a good to be obtained. I am not in any way ruling out strict akrasia in cases involving pleasure. People may be motivated by a desire for bodily pleasure, and may believe such pleasure to be good, and yet, at the moment of action, they may hold the good of obtaining bodily pleasure to be inferior to some other good promised by an opposing action. A struggle of motivations ensues, their corrupted will chooses the inferior good, and we end up with a case of strict akrasia involving bodily pleasure. Naturally, I am speaking hypothetically; the thing itself that we would like to be able to prove empirically is that this sequence of events does sometimes occur. In this regard, the unique nature of Augustine’s pear example brings us as close as I think we are likely to come to proving that strict akrasia occurs. Some commentators have thought that Augustine’s example does prove beyond doubt the occurrence of strict akrasia. For example, John F. Crosby asserts: “Augustine’s famous self-examination requires us to affirm the very thing that Socrates thought impossible: Augustine did wrong knowingly.”18 This conclusion is hardly surprising, since it appears to be supported by Augustine’s own introspective analysis: “I stole things which I already had in plenty and of better quality. Nor had I any desire to enjoy the things I stole, but only the stealing of them and the sin.”19 Augustine continues: “[M]y soul was depraved . . . seeking no profit from my wickedness but only to be wicked.”20 Crosby concludes: “[T]he turning of the person towards bonum is a choice, for there is an alternative; one can hanker after that which agrees with one’s pride and concupiscence and which lacks any aspect of bonum for the one desiring it.”21 This last quote hints at the problem with relying on Augustine’s selfexamination as proof of strict akrasia. In spite of Crosby’s confident statement, an action that “agrees with one’s pride and concupiscence” might not in truth lack “any aspect of [the good] for the one desiring it.” You might well argue that indulging your pride and concupiscence is itself a motivation that falls under the guise of the good. You might well think it to be a distorted view of things that would allow you to see the satisfaction of your pride as a good to be pursued. Even so, Augustine himself is emphatic that

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the corrupted human will is capable of choosing base things over higher goods. You might speculate that the young Augustine took such pleasure in stealing the pears because it was an act of rebellion against God. Perhaps by setting out to violate God’s moral law, he “wanted thereby to ape the divine omnipotence.”22 Perhaps he was “elated by a sense of absolute sovereignty” at having done so.23 Alternatively, perhaps it was not so much the prospect of defying God that motivated the young Augustine, but instead pleasure he took in the spontaneity of the act of stealing the pears. As Ezio Vailati explains, “caprice, acting on whim, can provide a certain pleasure of its own. This can tip the scales of evaluation in favor of some action which otherwise would be the less pleasurable.”24 I cannot prove that any of these motives influenced Augustine to steal the pears, but what is significant for our purposes is that we can easily imagine one or more of them having played a contributing role. For example, let us suppose that the young Augustine was motivated at the moment of action by a desire to rebel against God, and momentarily he saw such rebellion as being the highest good. If his action were even partially motivated by a desire to attain this “highest good,” that would undercut the example as a case of strict akrasia. This is because the example would then fail the criterion for strict akrasia that you voluntarily act against that which you take to be best at the moment of action. If this was the case, Augustine’s theft of the pears would assuredly still count as a case of weak akrasia, but we are concerned here with whether it provides us with an indubitable example of strict akrasia. The above considerations lead me to think that it does not. If Augustine’s theft of the pears does not provide indisputable proof that strict akrasia occurs, then it does not look promising for finding cases that will provide such proof. This is because in all purported instances of strict akrasia, introspective and subjective impressions are likely to be a central part of the evidence that will be put forth to differentiate these instances from cases of weak akrasia. You might wonder whether the practical difficulty of providing an indisputable example should lead us to abandon the notion of strict akrasia entirely. Again, I think not. Although reliance on evidence derived from introspection is not ideal for the reasons discussed above, such evidence is nonetheless the basis for most of the claims that we make about the mental life of human beings. For example, Aristotle distinguishes between vice and akrasia and between virtue and moral strength. These distinctions are based on introspective and subjective evidence. Outwardly, vice and akrasia often appear indistinguishable, as do virtue and moral strength. You must take into

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account what occurs within a person’s mind in order to determine which term to apply to an action, and we obtain this evidence through introspection. If you wish to abandon the notion of strict akrasia because introspective evidence is less than fully rigorous, then you must also be willing to abandon the Aristotelian distinctions between character states as well. This is because the distinctions are based on evidence of similar quality. Abandoning these notions definitely appears to be misguided. I think that we have to give some degree of credence to our introspective analysis of the mental component of events. If not, then most of what we take to be true about human thoughts, feelings, and motivations, would need to be discarded. Even when we make claims about the mental life of others, we draw upon and extrapolate from our subjective first person experiences in order to relate to what others say and do. A wholesale repudiation of introspective evidence would have implications that would extend far beyond the discussion of akrasia, and would preclude most of our ordinary discourse about thoughts and feelings in ourselves and others. Unless you adopt the position of either behaviorism or eliminative physicalism, and therefore perhaps favor doing away with all talk of mental states, you should find this prospect disturbing. Undeniably, we need to be appropriately cautious about introspective evidence in regard to how much confidence we place in it and how we use it. Such evidence is not intersubjectively testable in the same way that scientific evidence is. Even so, I do not think that science itself is ultimately removed from reliance upon introspective evidence. This is because even scientific evidence must at some level be processed through the introspective faculties of human beings. For example, in order to recognize that the results of a scientific measurement are similar to the results of a previous measurement, you must employ introspective capacities to bring to mind the results of the previous measurement. You must remember what came before, and accessing your memory involves a type of introspection. I think that some introspective evidence is in truth quite good, and I think that objective criteria exist that can be employed to judge how much confidence to place in conclusions reached through introspection. For example, a claim based on the subjective experiences of a large percentage of people will, ceteris paribus, be more credible than a claim based on the experiences of only a small percentage. That many people, upon introspection, have the subjective sense that they do sometimes act in opposition to what they hold to be best at the moment of action makes the claim that strict akrasia truly occurs much stronger than it would be if only a small percentage of people had that subjective sense. The claim that some form of akrasia is real is quite strong, since most people report that they sometimes act against their all-things-considered

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judgment. I see no reason to doubt this. Of all the claims we make about the mental life of human beings, it appears that the claim that people sometimes act akratically belongs in the company of those in which we place the greatest confidence. I have argued that the more focused claim that strict akrasia occurs is plausible and also supported by introspective evidence. This evidence is not different in kind from the introspective evidence that we rely on to support the more general claim that akrasia (sans phrase) occurs. The bottom line is that if you take a strongly skeptical position and doubt the admissibility of all introspective evidence, then the existence of weak akrasia will be thrown into question just as much as the existence of strict akrasia. I want to suggest that we should not take such a strongly skeptical position in regard to our mental lives. 4. Conclusion In this chapter, I argued that the idea of strict akrasia is both intelligible and theoretically plausible. I argued that strict akrasia is one form of synchronic akrasia, although not the only form. A notion of the human will as flawed is a necessary component of a theory of strict akrasia. Since strict akrasia involves acting against what you regard as best at the moment of action, it requires a concept of human beings that allows for you to act in opposition to the judgment of your understanding. I also argued that strict akrasia can be distinguished from the overtly similar phenomenon of compulsion, on the grounds that akrasia is voluntary but compulsion is not. Although I find no theoretical impediments to the viability of the concept of strict akrasia, this admittedly does not constitute empirical proof that strict akrasia occurs. The sort of evidence that can be produced for the occurrence of strict akrasia is introspective, and introspective evidence has some limitations that render it less than entirely conclusive. However, I think that the evidence we have is adequate to provide credibility to the notion that strict akrasia occurs, especially given that many people claim to have acted against that which they thought to be best at the moment of action. I have previously discussed the relationship between habit and akrasia, in terms of the potential of good habituation to lessen a person’s susceptibility to akrasia and of bad habituation to increase a person’s likelihood of acting akratically. As we have seen, habituation is an especially important factor for Aristotle and St. Thomas Aquinas. In the next chapter, I will look again at habit and akrasia, this time also considering the relationship between each of these and addiction.

Eight HABIT AND MORAL WEAKNESS 1. Introduction The topic of this chapter is the relationship between akrasia and habit. First, I will argue that, contrary to what you might initially expect, habitual actions can be akratic. I will distinguish between akratic habitual action and nonakratic habitual action. Second, I will examine the relationship that holds among addiction, habit, and akrasia, and will conclude that most actions that are truly done from addiction are not akratic. Even so, a gray area exists between the two, such that it will not always be easy to say whether an action should be classified as akratic or as the result of addiction. Finally, I will discuss how the relationship between habit and akrasia can help explain why experience appears to disconfirm the Aristotelian idea that a person who is akratic in regard, say, to sex will necessarily also be akratic in regard to eating and drinking. 2. Habit Defined For purposes of this discussion, I will adopt a commonsense understanding of what it means for an action to be habitual. This commonsense understanding includes an external condition and an internal condition. First, in order for a type of action to be habitual for a particular person, the person must repeat the action and do so on some number of occasions over some period of time. This is the external condition, since it has to do with the observable, external performance of the action. Presumably, if an action is to count as habitual, it must be performed more than once and there will be some upward limit on the amount of time that can elapse between instances of performing the action. I will not attempt to specify what this limit might be, since it will vary depending on the type of action. For instance, if a person tells a lie once a day, we would say that she or he is in the habit of lying, but probably we would not say that a person is in the habit of smiling if he or she does so only once a day. I do not think that for our purposes we need to be extremely precise about the intervals between performances of a habitual action. It appears safe to say that if you overeat one or more times every day (and also satisfy the internal condition for habitual action, to be discussed shortly), then you are in the habit of overeating. If you overeat only once a year, then I think that

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we can say with confidence that you are not in the habit of overeating. Such statements are fairly general, yet even so are sufficient to allow us to refer meaningfully to an external criterion for an action being habitual. Undoubtedly, there will be difficult cases in which you cannot readily tell if an action does or does not meet the external standard, but there will also be cases in which the answer is fairly uncontroversial. The internal condition for an action being habitual is that a standing disposition exists to perform the action. This is not to say that you will, necessarily, at every moment desire to perform the action, but instead that you will feel drawn to perform it under some regularly occurring circumstances. Let us suppose, for example, that being under stress is a regularly occurring circumstance in your life, but is not a constant condition. Let us suppose further that you are inclined to overeat whenever you are feeling stress, but not usually at other times. If you act on your standing disposition and regularly perform the action of overeating during times of stress, then you have met the internal and external conditions for habitual action. Given that we have arrived at a working understanding of the criteria for an action being habitual, we should next consider whether habitual action can be akratic. We will see that it can be, although habitual action is not so in all cases. 3. Habitual Action and Akrasia There should be no difficulty in seeing how habitual action can be vicious. Recall that vicious action, as Aristotle defined it, occurs when you act wrongly, do so from your established character, and yet think that, all things considered, you are acting as you should. Nothing in this conception of vicious action precludes it being habitual. In truth, precisely the opposite is the case: one of the ways that you might identify a type of action as being part of your established character is that you perform the action with the regularity of habit. Although you can see that habitual action may be closely connected with vice, you might think that habitual action could not be akratic. In order to understand why you might think this, recall again the necessary conditions for an action counting as akratic: (1) a person acts against her or his fully considered judgment; (2) the action must be intentional; (3) the person’s judgment about what is best is made from the perspective of her or his values and beliefs, and (4) she or he regrets the action after the fact. You might suppose that habitual action fails the criterion of being intentional. You might think this because the terms “habit” and “habitual” are commonly associated with actions that are done automatically, in a fairly mindless

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fashion. If an action is done automatically, with little or no conscious attention, then it becomes difficult to see how it could count as truly intentional. Even so, it would be a mistake to write off the possibility of habitual actions being akratic on these grounds. Not all habitual actions are automatic to the extent of being mindless and non-intentional. Consider, for example, the case of a married man who continues to flirt with women other than his wife. Let us suppose that this is a long-standing pattern, and that he has an enduring internal disposition to flirt, a disposition formed long before he was married. For this reason, the man’s actions meet the criteria for habit. Although the man’s actions may be largely nonintentional, no reason exists to suppose that they must be so. He may well be aware that he is flirting and decide to do it, making his action intentional. If it also happens that he is acting against that which is ordinarily his best judgment, and if he regrets his flirtations after the fact, then his action is both habitual and akratic. The preceding example involves a case of action that happens to be both habitual and akratic. As indicated above, there also exist cases of habitual actions that embody vice. Also, thankfully, habitual actions are sometimes virtuous. If you intentionally do the right thing, and the action flows from your established character, then your action is virtuous. If you perform the action many times over an appropriate time period, then your virtuous action meets the external condition for habit. Also, the internal condition will automatically be met, since part of what it means for an action to be virtuous is that you genuinely desire to perform that type of action. Having such a desire definitely counts as having a standing disposition to perform the action. As we have seen, several philosophers—most famously Aristotle— have emphasized the significant role played by habituation in the formation of good and bad character, and experience appears to support their conclusions in this regard. There exists still another class of actions that are habitual yet do not have a place on the moral spectrum that stretches from vice to virtue. These are actions that are done without the person considering what he or she is doing. Such actions are, in truth, not intentional. Consider, for example, the case of a woman who is trying to reduce her intake of alcohol from unhealthy levels. Let us suppose that for years she has kept a supply of liquor in a cabinet in her kitchen and is in the habit of reaching into the cabinet for a bottle the moment she comes home from work. Although she is committed to ending this practice and is quite sincere in this commitment, she arrives home from work and opens the door of the cabinet. She does this out of habit and gives it no conscious thought. In truth, she is appalled when she realizes what she is doing and she immediately withdraws her hand from the cabinet.

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The act of reaching for the liquor was not an intended action on the part of the woman in our story. Since the act is not intentional, it could not be akratic. In truth, since her action is more like a reflex than the product of a decision process, many observers would no doubt want to say that her action is non-moral. I think that this assessment is partially correct, although I also think that you could legitimately fault the woman for failing to pay adequate attention to her actions in circumstances under which she should have been more mindful. She could also take other obvious steps to break her habit, such as removing the liquor from the cabinet entirely. She is quite likely culpable to the extent that she fails to take these steps. You could easily alter the above scenario so that it becomes an illustration of akrasia. Let us suppose that the woman becomes aware that she is reaching for the liquor, realizes that she should refrain, experiences a surge of desire, and proceeds to pour herself a drink and consume it. In that case, she is acting akratically. Also, since she has a longstanding habit of drinking after work, this modified scenario can be said to exemplify a case of acting akratically from habit. Drinking is an action that she has performed many times in the past, which satisfies the external criterion for habit. Additionally, she has a standing disposition to perform the action, which satisfies the internal criterion. We have seen that some habitual actions are akratic and others are not. This entails that the converse—that some akratic actions are habitual—is true as well. However, there exist still other akratic actions that are not habitual. Let us suppose that a person commits adultery on one and only one occasion, and does so in a way that meets the conditions for akrasia. Since this fails to meet the external condition for habitual action (that the action be performed on several occasions over a particular period of time), we have a case of non-habitual akratic action. Likewise, if a person has never become drunk before or has never smoked a cigarette before, and then does so akratically on one and only one occasion, then she or he can be said to have acted akratically yet not habitually. The case study of inverse akrasia from Chapter Six provides us with an additional example of non-habitual akratic action. Recall the particulars of the case: Bob is a bigot and believes that he should avoid interacting with persons from ethnic backgrounds that differ from his. He truly thinks that this is the right approach for him to take, and it generally guides his actions. One day, Bob is taking a walk and encounters someone from a different ethnic background. Bob judges that he should ignore this person and look away. Upon seeing the person smile at him, a feeling of friendliness wells up within Bob and he converses with the person. Unfortunately, Bob later returns to his normal judgment and regrets having conversed. Recall that Bob’s action is inversely akratic because, although his action satisfies the

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criteria for akrasia, he acts as we think he ought to act. For our purposes here, the key thing to note is that his action is not habitual. For all we know, this is the first time Bob has acted in this way, in which case his action fails to satisfy the external criterion for habit. Having examined the relationship between akrasia and habit, I will next ask about the relationship between each of these and addiction. I will argue that actions done under the force of addiction, although usually habitual, are generally not akratic. Significant gray areas are likely to exist, within which difficulties arise in telling with certainty whether an addictive action should be regarded as akratic. 4. Addiction, Habit, and Akrasia Actions done from addiction are almost always habitual. This is because they meet both the external and internal conditions for habit. Such actions are performed on several occasions over some period of time and there definitely exists a standing disposition to perform the action. Exceptions exist, however, which is why I say that actions that flow from addiction are “almost always” habitual. One notable exception would be drugs that affect the nervous system so powerfully that a single use results in addiction. A person would not need to perform the action of using such a drug on many occasions in order for addiction to take hold. Although we should not forget such exceptions, I expect that they are quite rare compared with instances of addiction that fall under the rubric of habitual action. Although most actions involving addiction are habitual, the converse is not true. A great many habitual actions (the majority, no doubt) do not involve addiction. First, since many habits are good, we would not want to call them addictions, since “addiction” has a negative connotation. Second, addiction has the character of compulsion, meaning that it involves an uncontrollable urge to perform some non-rational action. Not all habitual action is compulsive in this sense. For example, in the above scenario of the married man who continues to flirt, no reason exists to assume that his actions are compulsive. Although he may in truth experience an urge to flirt, this urge is unlikely to be “uncontrollable.” Is the distinction between habitual action that involves addiction and habitual action that does not a qualitative one or instead just a matter of degree? I expect it to be a matter of degree, because I also think that compulsion is a matter of degree and, as suggested above, a close connection exists between compulsion and addiction. Even so, perhaps some threshold exists beyond which an action becomes compulsive. This is perhaps an empirical question, the answer to which lies with clinical psychological research. Even so, if my suggestion that compulsion is a matter of degree is

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correct, then it becomes reasonable to expect that there will be some habitual actions that definitely involve addiction, some that definitely do not, and still others that fall into a gray area in which some degree of intentionality coexists along with some degree of compulsion. If a person has developed a habit of drug use, such that she or he would experience serious physical trauma upon attempted withdrawal, then the person’s action of using drugs falls under the heading of addiction. At the other end of the spectrum is the case of a person who frequently lashes out in anger, so much so that it has become second nature for her or him to do so. Such a person’s belligerent and aggressive actions may well be habitual, but they are not the result of addiction. Somewhere between these two ends of the spectrum lies a gray area, within which fall habitual actions whose status in relation to addiction is more ambiguous than we might like. As an example, consider the habit of cigarette smoking. Nicotine causes changes in the body that make it difficult for habitual smokers to quit. Many people quite obviously fail in their attempts to quit smoking. For these reasons, people often speak of smoking as an addiction. Even so, there exist a great many people in the world who have abruptly ceased smoking and who have succeeded in staying away from cigarettes. Such people are in a minority relative to those who have found it extremely difficult to quit smoking, but even so, they likely number in the millions worldwide. You might take this disparity in results between those who succeed in quitting smoking and those who do not as evidence that some habitual smokers are addicted and others are not. Perhaps physiological differences result in nicotine having disparate effects on different people, such that some are highly predisposed to nicotine addiction and others are much less so. This would hardly be surprising. However, you might instead interpret the failure of some to quit smoking and the success of others as evidence of akrasia on the part of the first group and strength of character on the part of the second. You could also interpret the disparity in terms of Terrence M. Penner’s model: a person who falls short in her or his attempts to quit smoking must have some false belief(s) within her or his system of morally relevant beliefs. For example, it might be a false belief regarding the relative merits of immediate satisfaction and long-term wellbeing. This false belief comes into play at the crucial moment preceding the action of smoking, resulting in the person believing temporarily, at the moment of action, that she or he is truly justified in having the cigarette. At the risk of muddying the waters further, I think we must recognize that the gray area of uncertainty between akratic and compulsive actions extends in some sense even as far as those cases that seem most to manifest compulsion. Someone addicted to narcotics, for example, may well claim

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that she could never resist her desire for drugs. If there were any clear-cut cases of compulsion, this would seem to be a prime instance. Yet imagine that our drug addict is about to satisfy her craving by injecting drugs, when suddenly she is held up at gunpoint. She temporarily shifts her attention away from the drugs and toward avoiding being shot. You might think of this as a case of one type of compulsion overriding another. However, the point is that if our addict’s compulsion was such that she was “hardwired” like an automaton, she would have had no choice but to follow through with her initial intention to take the drugs—even if this meant being shot. That she was able to suppress her appetite for the drug, temporarily and under this admittedly extreme circumstance, suggests that she all along retained some small measure of control relative to her compulsion. You might think that the existence of this gray area, within which difficulties arise for telling whether a habitual action is truly addictive, or is instead akratic (or even vicious) but not the result of addiction, implies the illegitimacy of the distinction between actions that result from addiction and those that do not. However, this would amount to falling pray to one of the standard fallacies of informal reasoning, in which a person mistakenly concludes that a distinction between two categories is meaningless unless she or he can specify the precise line of demarcation between the categories. For example, by analogy, it may not always be possible to pick out the exact instant at which an organism changes from being alive to being dead. Even so, the difficulty of drawing a precise line does not imply that no distinction exists between life and death. In a similar way, its being difficult to demarcate an exact cut-off point between those habitual actions that involve addiction and those that do not does not imply that the distinction is false or meaningless. Generally speaking, actions that stem from serious addiction, such as those involving compulsive urges to use narcotics, should not be regarded as akratic. One of the criteria for akrasia is that your action must be intentional, but truly compulsive action is not intentional. To the extent that particular actions involve a lesser degree of addiction, and a lesser degree of compulsion, they may involve some measure of akrasia. The greater the intentionality of the action, the greater the venue for akrasia to operate. What I have concluded about the relationship between habit and akrasia has the added benefit of allowing us to grapple with what appears to be an otherwise problematic implication of Aristotle’s discussion of akrasia. I will conclude this chapter with an examination of this matter.

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Aristotle’s analysis of akrasia appears prima facie to entail that if a person is akratic in regard to sex, then he or she is also going to be akratic in regard to eating and drinking, and vice versa. These three manifestations of akrasia are seen as bound together in a cluster in a way that none of the three are bound together, say, with akrasia in relation to receiving honors. Aristotle contrasts a person who is akratic “without qualification” with one who is akratic “with qualification.” Akrasia without qualification involves sex, food, or drink, whereas akrasia with qualification involves weakness in regard to such things as honors, anger, and the acquisition of wealth. Aristotle groups sex, eating, and drinking together as “necessary” pleasures and also as those pleasures having to do with the body. Such other pleasures as receiving honors and acquiring wealth do not have to do with the body in nearly so direct a way, and for this reason are collectively regarded as non-necessary pleasures. Even more to the point, the manifestations of akrasia in regard to sex, eating, and drinking go hand in hand because they all result from allowing appetite (epithumia) to dominate your other motivations and control the other aspects of your character. It makes sense to think that if your reasoned motivation (boulesis) and passions (thumos) are weak enough to allow this to happen in one sort of case, then they would likely allow it to happen in the other two as well. In spite of this conceptual connection among the different manifestations of akrasia, the claim that a person who is akratic without qualification will be prone to act akratically in regard to any and all bodily pleasures does not appear to be supported by observations of human behavior. It looks as though some people are akratic, say, in relation to eating, but not in regard to sex or drinking. Is Aristotle just plain wrong then in grouping these three manifestations of akrasia so closely together? I propose that the matter is not that simple. This is where habituation comes into play and makes a difference. It may be true that akrasia in relation to sex, eating, and drinking are each connected conceptually to the other two in the sense that each involves appetite, and yet this is not incompatible with habituation contributing to a person being more susceptible to one type than to the others. For example, if a person has received a strong dose of good habituation in regard to controlling his or her sexual urges, but has received little good habituation (or perhaps even truly bad habituation) in regard to eating and drinking, the result may be an individual who experiences little difficulty showing restraint in regard to sex, but who frequently and predictably gives in to her or his urges in regard to overeating and drinking.

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There have been many celibate persons over the ages that became obese or alcoholic because they were akratic in regard to eating or drinking. Likewise, there exist people who are specimens of physical health, who have been habituated in such a way that they would never even think of overeating, but who have problems controlling their sexual urges due to bad habituation in that regard. It appears fair to say that the theoretical connection that Aristotle draws between the different manifestations of akrasia that involve bodily pleasures is reasonable, and yet it does not follow that an individual will be equally susceptible to each of these types. Your history of habituation may be a powerful factor in terms of the development of your propensities to act akratically or to resist temptation in particular types of situations. The time has come to move our examination of akrasia toward its conclusion. Naturally, this will necessitate a review of the terrain that we have covered. It will also involve a brief foray in the direction of future prospects and challenges for the study of akrasia. I turn to these considerations in the next and final chapter.

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Nine FUTURE PROSPECTS Over the centuries, there have been many contributions to the study of akrasia, beginning with Socrates’ treatment of the topic and continuing until the present. As we have seen, the explanation put forth by Socrates retains its importance in large part as the wellspring for some significant modern theories of akrasia. Even so, I have argued that significant progress in understanding akrasia has been made since Plato wrote the Protagoras. I have examined the contributions made to the development of our understanding of akrasia by such major figures from the history of philosophy as Aristotle, St. Aurelius Augustine, and St. Thomas Aquinas, and also contemporary philosophers such as Terrence M. Penner, Donald Davidson, and Sergio Tenenbaum. The Socrates of the Protagoras draws an implicit distinction between strict and weak akrasia. He does so by denying the existence of strict akrasia, and then providing an explanation of weak akrasia in terms of the susceptibility of mere belief to being deceived by the illusory power of bodily pleasures. Although this view may explain some cases of akrasia, I have argued that it does not make room for the inner struggle that characterizes other cases. The later Socrates of Republic and Phaedrus recognizes the existence of this struggle and the need to account for it. To this extent, he advances our understanding. Even so, the answer he gives involves metaphysical entities whose existence has been doubted by most subsequent commentators. Aristotle distinguishes akrasia from vice, and, through his discussion of the practical syllogism, provides us with insight into how desire might temporarily suppress our ordinary best judgments. Augustine introduces the watershed notion of the human will as a volitional faculty flawed in such a way as to allow for breaks to occur between that which we understand to be best and that which we desire to do. As I argued in Chapter Seven, this development is of central importance for understanding how strict akrasia could be possible. Aquinas merges Augustine’s concept of the will with Aristotle’s concept of the practical syllogism. This synthesis allows more room for free choice in regard to akrasia than does Aristotle’s model, and this has implications about moral responsibility for our actions. Aquinas argues that the more you think that your action reaches for some good, the more voluntary is the action. In cases of akrasia, you judge wrongly at the

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moment of action, but your thinking that you are pursuing what is best gives the akratic action its voluntary and culpable character. Penner introduces the terminology of diachronic and synchronic akrasia, which is useful for discussing different conceptual models of akrasia. He also uses this terminology in presenting an updated version of the position first advocated by the early Socrates. I argued in Chapter Six that this model, which Penner characterizes as diachronic belief akrasia, is useful for understanding how some cases of akrasia come about. Finally, Davidson provides us with a model of synchronic akrasia that I think is useful for understanding how still other instances of akratic action may occur. In spite of the significant contributions made to our understanding of akrasia by the above-mentioned philosophers, they all suffer from a common shortcoming: they each seem to assume that there must be one correct model for understanding all cases of akrasia. I see no good reason for that assumption. My approach was to begin by formalizing a list of the necessary conditions for any action to count as akratic. These conditions are disclosed by examining the commonsense understanding of akrasia—by considering what people mean when they say that someone is “weak willed.” Within the general parameters set by these necessary conditions, I argued for a conceptual distinction between weak and strict akrasia. Both weak and strict akrasia involve acting against your normal best judgment. The difference is that in cases of strict akrasia, you are aware at the moment of action itself that you are acting against your best judgment. Weak akrasia, in contrast, involves somehow temporarily forgetting or suppressing your ordinary best judgment at the moment of action. You act in pursuit of what you think is best, but what you take to be best at the moment of action is contrary to that which you would ordinarily think best. After making the distinction between weak and strict akrasia, I considered whether only one viable model exists for each of these two types, or whether there might be multiple models. Again, I see no reason to assume or to conclude that only one model is required to explain all cases within each type. This is especially true of weak akrasia. I argued in Chapter Six that Penner’s diachronic akrasia and Davidson’s synchronic akrasia, and also possibly other models, may be necessary to cover all instances of weak akrasia. There may also be more than one correct model for understanding strict akrasia. However, as I argued in Chapter Seven, all successful models for strict akrasia will have to include a volitional power that can function with a sufficient degree of independence from the faculty of understanding as to allow for a fairly radical divergence between your best judgment and your desires. The problem of proving that strict akrasia truly occurs, as opposed to mere weak akrasia, may ultimately be ineluctable. Even so, as we saw in

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Chapter Seven, the best evidence that we have available to us—that of introspection—points to strict akrasia being a genuine aspect of our experience. I argued that the problem should be understood as a facet of the more general problem of proving or knowing that any particular mental state truly occurs. Skeptics might be quick to point out that introspection is unreliable and that we could simply be wrong about our mental states. This is, however, no more of a problem for akrasia than for virtue, vice, or moral strength, when it comes to the question of agents recounting accurate descriptions of their motives. In regard to introspective evidence for akrasia, Alfred R. Mele writes: It is possible that these ordinary agents are wrong about this, of course. After all, it is possible that malicious Martians compel them to do everything they do—or selectively compel them to do what they do in cases in which they think they are acting akratically—and cause them to have the above-mentioned feelings and beliefs about themselves. But why should one believe that they are wrong?1 The preceding paragraphs serve to review some of the main themes that have been developed in this book. I hope that what I have accomplished is to help clarify the concept of akrasia and to categorize and analyze different models for understanding how akratic actions can occur. I have approached the phenomenon of akrasia using the conceptual tools and perspectives of philosophy. Quite often, the role of philosophy is to define and explain terms, to elucidate the boundaries of concepts, and to analyze theoretical models in order to determine the extent to which they are internally consistent and also consistent with experience. To the extent that the present study has furthered any of these objectives, then perhaps it has contributed in some small way to the discussion of akrasia that has been ongoing since the time of the Ancient Greeks. So, what is the next step? Where should the study of akrasia go from here? It appears to me that our ultimate goal should be not only to understand akrasia, but also to eliminate it as much as possible. Recall that, in Chapter One, I argued that persons of diverse philosophical and religious perspectives who wish to enhance the moral tenor of society should be concerned with understanding how and why akratic actions occur. They should perhaps be even more concerned with expunging such behavior—or, if this is not a realistic objective, they should be concerned with lessening its frequency and negative impact as much as is humanly possible. Given the serious problems caused by akratic actions, it may be slightly surprising that philosophy has had relatively little to say over the centuries by way of proposing treatments or cures for akrasia. Religious traditions

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have perhaps done a bit better in this regard. This may just be a result of philosophy placing a premium on achieving understanding for its own sake, whereas a religious tradition may tend to seek understanding to the extent— and perhaps only to the extent—that this understanding will further its salvific aims. This is no doubt an oversimplification. Some philosophers have made the moral improvement of society their overarching objective, and some religious traditions have placed substantial weight on attaining understanding for its own sake. Also, many philosophers have been religious and many religious people have been philosophers. These caveats notwithstanding, I think that the difference in objectives between philosophy and religion may be significant enough to account for religion having concerned itself more than has philosophy with the challenge of overcoming akrasia. In any case, the prescriptions that have been put forth by philosophy and religion have often been quite similar, if not identical. For example, both philosophy and religion have advised us not to let our minds wander to tempting thoughts and images. Christianity traditionally expressed this admonition by way of the injunction to “avoid the near temptation of sin.” Said differently, avoid whatever your past experience tells you will likely lead you to experience temptation. In Chapter Five, we saw that Aquinas, who was both a Christian saint and a philosopher, thought that actively shifting your thoughts away from tempting images and onto other subjects was, in many cases, the best way to break the slide toward akratic action. I have also discussed the highly significant role played by habituation, in terms of increasing susceptibility to akrasia in the case of bad habituation, and also in steering a person away from akratic action in the case of good habituation. A person who wishes to eliminate akrasia, in herself or in another, would do well to avoid bad habituation and to adopt good habituation as a tool for the achievement of her aim. All of these prescriptions for overcoming akrasia—or for lessening a person’s vulnerability to it—are potentially useful. They have no doubt helped many people over the centuries to live more moral lives and, in the process, have improved society as well. Even so, we may wonder whether there might not be still more that could be done. One potentially fruitful approach that we might pursue would be to reemphasize the importance of developing moral imagination. The man who is tempted to commit adultery might be dissuaded from doing so if he were able imaginatively to step outside of himself and place himself in his wife’s position, to imagine feeling what she would feel if she learned of his betrayal of trust. He might also, in imagination, consider how he would feel if he learned that his wife was unfaithful to him. The woman who is tempted to have another cocktail before driving might use her imagination to place

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herself in the position of a family who lost a loved one due to her driving while inebriated. Recall from Chapter Six that, according to Sergio Tenenbaum, “finding a clear and obvious way to present [to oneself] something that one abstractly and perhaps vaguely judges to be good” is a necessary condition for selfcontrol, which in turn fortifies one against akrasia.2 Using your moral imagination is a means by which you can present otherwise abstract moral precepts to yourself in a vivid fashion. Using your moral imagination in this way requires first that you have developed your faculties of imagination to an adequate degree. This, it appears, brings us back to the central importance of good habituation. Perhaps some people are naturally endowed with a greater faculty for imagination than are others, but, this likelihood notwithstanding, it appears that being inclined to stop before acting in order to imaginatively visualize the impact of your potential actions upon others and upon yourself, is to possess a character trait into which you must be habituated. Philosophical schools and religious traditions have achieved some measure of success in combating akrasia to the extent that they have, at different times and places, encouraged the development of imagination and its application to moral matters. The mere reiteration of rules, unaccompanied by vivid imaginative content, has never been a successful approach for motivating many people to strive for moral improvement. So, it appears that thinking and writing about moral imagination and its impact on character development and action represents one promising direction that future research on the topic of akrasia might take. Finally, I think we must consider the question of what role contemporary psychology and psychiatry might play in helping people to avoid acting akratically. This appears to be primarily an empirical question and, for that reason, it appears unlikely that we can give an a priori answer to it. Even so, I am willing to speculate. Let us first consider what psychiatry might possibly contribute. You might expect that medications that help control some compulsions might also help a person to control the urges and desires that are necessary conditions for the genesis of akratic action. However, to the extent that I am correct in concluding that compulsion and akrasia are different phenomena, we may find that something that proves efficacious for controlling the first is not helpful for overcoming the second. Also, if I have been correct in arguing that different instances of akrasia may call for different explanatory models, then we might discover that some types of akrasia could be ameliorated with impulse control medications while other types may remain resistant to such an approach. We have seen throughout this book that, apart from conforming to the broad necessary conditions for any action counting as akratic, no good

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reason exists to assume that what is true of one akratic action will be true of all others. Clinical psychology typically utilizes talk therapy of one sort or another, instead of taking the medicinal approach characteristic of psychiatry. It would seem that this has the potential to be beneficial to some people in terms of decreasing their susceptibility to akrasia. I envision that therapy could be helpful to the extent that it aids in the improvement of a person’s moral imagination, which, in turn, could help that person to resist or even displace akratic tendencies. In the course of discussing your akratic actions with a therapist, you might come to see them in a broader context than you did previously, in terms of how they adversely affect others and how they impact the broader picture of your own life. This particular payoff is hardly unique to the context of therapy. You could discuss your actions and moral shortcomings with a friend, relative, or mentor, if you have such a person in your life with whom you are able to discuss such matters. At the end of the proverbial day, such conversations with someone who cares personally about your wellbeing may have the greatest impact of all in terms of helping you to see your actions within the appropriate wider context. I think it to be no accident that Aristotle’s discussion of friendship, one of the crowning jewels of his Nicomachean Ethics, follows closely on the heels of his discussion of akrasia and the other character states.

NOTES Chapter One 1. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” trans. William David Ross, in The Complete Works of Aristotle, ed. Jonathan Barnes (Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press, 1984), 1094b121094b15.

Chapter Two 1. Alfred R. Mele, “Socratic Akratic Action,” Philosophical Papers, 25: 3 (1996), p. 149. 2. John Kekes, Moral Wisdom and Good Lives (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1995), p. 46. 3. Ibid. Also: Gregory Vlastos, Socrates: Ironist and Moral Philosopher (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1991), pp. 88, 231. 4. Plato, “Phaedrus,” trans. Reginald Hackforth, in The Collected Dialogues of Plato, ed. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961), 253d ff. Also: Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” trans. William David Ross, in The Complete Works of Aristotle, ed. Jonathan Barnes (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1984), 1099a311099b8, 1155a11155a26. 5. Kekes, Moral Wisdom and Good Lives, p. 35. 6. Ibid., p. 46. 7. Ibid. 8. Ibid., p. 53. 9. John Kekes, Moral Tradition and Individuality (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1989), p. 188. 10. Vlastos, Socrates: Ironist and Moral Philosopher, p. 231. 11. Edward John Lemmon, “Moral Dilemmas,” The Philosophical Review, 71: 2 (April 1962), p. 144. 12. Plato, “Protagoras,” trans. William Keith Chambers Guthrie, 345de, 358cd; “Gorgias,” trans. William Dudley Woodhead, 509e; and “Meno,” trans. William Keith Chambers Guthrie, 78a, in The Collected Dialogues of Plato, ed. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961). 13. James J. Walsh, Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness (New York: Columbia University Press, 1960), pp. 78. 14. Ibid., p. 30. 15. But see Vlastos, Socrates: Ironist and Moral Philosopher, pp. 300301, for the articulation of a contrary thesis. 16. Justin Gosling, Weakness of the Will (New York: Routledge, 1990), p. 9. 17. Terrance Irwin, Plato’s Ethics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), p. 83.

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18. Ibid. Cf.: Gerasimos Santas, “Plato’s ‘Protagoras’ and Explanations of Weakness,” The Philosophical Review, 75 (1966), p. 11. 19. Irwin, Plato’s Ethics, p. 84. 20. Ibid. 21. Santas, “Plato’s ‘Protagoras’ and Explanations of Weakness,” p. 8n7. 22. Ibid. 23. Terrence M. Penner, “Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge: ‘Ptotagoras’ 351B–357E,” Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie, 79 (1997), p. 128. 24. Ibid., p. 129. 25. Ibid., p. 130. 26. Ibid., p. 129. 27. Ibid. 28. Ibid. 29. Gosling, Weakness of the Will, p. 11. 30. Ibid. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid. 33. Kekes, Moral Wisdom and Good Lives, pp. 3738. 34. Plato, “Protagoras,” 352c. 35. Gosling, Weakness of the Will, p. 18. Cf. Mele, “Socratic Akratic Action,” p. 149. 36. Gosling, Weakness of the Will, p. 18. 37. Ibid. 38. Ibid., p. 7. 39. Walsh, Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness, p. 24. 40. William Charlton, Weakness of the Will: A Philosophical Introduction (New York: Blackwell, 1988), pp. 2324. 41. Gosling, Weakness of the Will, p. 14. 42. Plato, “Protagoras,” 357d. 43. Ibid., 356b. 44. George Maximilian Anthony Grube, Plato’s Thought (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1980), p. 61. 45. Gosling, Weakness of the Will, p. 14. 46. Ibid. 47. Ibid., p. 15. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid., pp. 1415. 50. Terrence M. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” Apeiron, 29 (1996), p. 200. 51. Ibid. Also: Penner, “Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge,” pp. 121122. 52. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” p. 201. 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid. 55. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1146b241146b34.

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56. See: Richard Robinson. Essays in Greek Philosophy. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969), p. 140. 57. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” p. 202. 58. Ibid., p. 200. 59. Ibid., p. 207. 60. Ibid., p. 201. 61. Ibid., p. 207. 62. Ibid., p. 201. Cf. Walsh, Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness, p. 30. 63. Penner, “ Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” p. 207. 64. Ibid., p. 212. Cf. Penner, “Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge,” p. 123. 65. Penner, “Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge,” p. 125. 66. Ibid., p. 123. 67. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” p. 226. 68. Mele, “Socratic Akratic Action,” p. 151. 69. Ibid. 70. Ibid., p. 155. 71. Ibid. 72. Ibid., p. 152. 73. Ibid. 74. See: Kekes, Moral Wisdom and Good Lives, p. 38. 75. Plato, “Protagoras, 361b. Cf. Kekes, Moral Wisdom and Good Lives, p. 33; Penner, “Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge,” p. 137; and Vlastos, Socrates: Ironist and Moral Philosopher, p. 231. 76. Plato, “Apology,” trans. Hugh Tredennick, in The Collected Dialogues of Plato, ed. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961), 30b. 77. Plato, “Crito,” trans. Hugh Tredennick, in The Collected Dialogues of Plato, ed. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961), 49cd. 78. Plato, “Phaedo,” trans. Hugh Tredennick, 70d80a; “Meno,” 81ad; “Timaeus,” trans. Benjamin Jowett, 90ad, in The Collected Dialogues of Plato, ed. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961); Plato, Republic, trans. Robin Waterfield (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 608d611a. 79. See, for example: Plato, “Meno,” 71bc, 80c. 80. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” p. 209. 81. Gosling, Weakness of the Will, p. 21. 82. Ibid. 83. John M. Cooper, “Plato’s Theory of Human Motivation,” History of Philosophy Quarterly, 1 (1984), p. 5. 84. Ibid., pp. 78. 85. Gosling, Weakness of the Will, p. 21.

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86. Kekes, Moral Wisdom and Good Lives, p. 65. 87. Ibid., p. 44. 88. Ibid., p. 43. 89. Plato, “Phaedrus,” 246a. 90. Ibid., p. 246b. 91. Vlastos, Socrates: Ironist and Moral Philosopher, p. 88. 92. Plato, Republic, 441e. 93. Ibid., p. 444b. 94. Gosling, Weakness of the Will, p. 22. 95. Ibid. 96. Walsh, Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness, p. 29. 97. Ibid. 98. Ibid. 99. Ibid., p. 45. 100. Ibid., p. 29.

Chapter Three 1. Ronald Dmitri Milo, Aristotle on Practical Knowledge and Weakness of Will (The Hague: Mouton and Company, 1966), p. 22. Also: Amelie Rorty, “Plato and Aristotle on Belief, Habit, and ‘Akrasia’,” American Philosophical Quarterly, 7:1 (January 1970), p. 56. 2. Rorty, “Plato and Aristotle on Belief, Habit, and ‘Akrasia’,” p. 56. 3. Milo, Aristotle on Practical Knowledge and Weakness of Will, p. 25. 4. Ibid., pp. 2324. 5. Ibid., p. 24. 6. Ibid. 7. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” trans. William David Ross, in The Complete Works of Aristotle, ed. Jonathan Barnes (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1984), 1145a151145a20. Cf. James Opie Urmson, Aristotle’s Ethics (Oxford: Blackwell, 1993), p. 89. 8. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1145a151145a20. 9. Ibid., 1145b121145b14. 10. William Francis Ross Hardie, “Aristotle on Moral Weakness,” Weakness of Will, ed. Geoffery Mortimore (London: Macmillan, 1971), p. 69. Also: Urmson, Aristotle’s Ethics, p. 50. 11. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1150b291150b30. Cf. D. S. Hutchinson, “Ethics,” The Cambridge Companion to Aristotle (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 215. 12. Hutchinson, “Ethics,” p. 215. 13. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1150b321150b35. 14. William David Ross, Aristotle (New York: Routledge, 1995), p. 231. 15. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1105a28 ff. 16. Ibid., 1146b181146b20. 17. Ibid., 1146b21146b5. 18. Ibid., 1148b131148b14.

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19. Ibid., 1149a241149a25. 20. Ibid., 1149a251149a26. 21. Ibid., 1149b201149b22. 22. Daniel Robinson, Aristotle’s Psychology (New York: Columbia University Press, 1989), p. 103. 23. Ibid. Cf. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1110b1 ff., 1152a151152a18. 24. Gertrude Elizabeth Margaret Anscombe, “Thought and Action in Aristotle,” New Essays on Plato and Aristotle, ed. Renford Bambrough (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1965), p. 148. 25. Ibid. 26. Urmson, Aristotle’s Ethics, p. 50. 27. Anscombe, “Thought and Action in Aristotle,” p. 148. 28. Urmson, Aristotle’s Ethics, p. 91. 29. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1145b211145b22. 30. Milo, Aristotle on Practical Knowledge and Weakness of Will, pp. 6265. 31. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1146a41146a7. 32. Hardie, “Aristotle on Moral Weakness,” p. 78. Cf. Urmson, Aristotle’s Ethics, p. 91. 33. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1099a311099b8, 1155a11155a26.’ 34. Ibid., 1099b1. 35. John Kekes, Moral Tradition and Individuality (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1989), p. 188. 36. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1147a11147a2. 37. Anscombe, “Thought and Action in Aristotle,” p. 154. Also: Milo, Aristotle on Practical Knowledge and Weakness of Will, p. 47. 38. Milo, Aristotle on Practical Knowledge and Weakness of Will, pp. 48, 50. 39. Anthony Kenny, “The Practical Syllogism and Incontinence,” Phronesis, 11 (1966), p. 182. Also: Alfred R. Mele, Irrationality: An Essay on ‘Akrasia’, SelfDeception, and Self-Control (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987), p. 9; Richard Robinson, Essays on Greek Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969), p. 142; and Gerasimos Santas, “Aristotle on Practical Inference, the Explanation of Action, and ‘Akrasia’,” Phronesis, 14 (1969), p. 177. 40. Peter Loptson, Theories of Human Nature (Orchard Park, N.Y.: Broadview, 1995), p. 30. 41. John M. Cooper, Reason and Human Good in Aristotle (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1986), p. 46. 42. Santas, “Aristotle on Practical Inference, the Explanation of Action, and ‘Akrasia’,” p. 163. 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid. 45. Milo, Aristotle on Practical Knowledge and Weakness of Will, pp. 53, 57. 46. Ibid., pp. 5354. 47. Ibid., p. 50. 48. Ibid., p. 50. 49. Kenny, “The Practical Syllogism and Incontinence,” p. 176n. 50. Urmson, Aristotle’s Ethics, p. 94.

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51. Ibid. Also: James J. Walsh, Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness (New York: Columbia University Press, 1960), p. 157. 52. Walsh, Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness, p. 157. 53. Milo, Aristotle on Practical Knowledge and Weakness of Will, p. 96. Cf. R. Robinson, Essays in Greek Philosophy, p. 142. 54. Hutchinson, “Ethics,” pp. 216217. 55. Milo, Aristotle on Practical Knowledge and Weakness of Will, pp. 8182. 56. Hardie, “Aristotle on Moral Weakness,” p. 81. 57. Ibid. 58. R. Robinson, Essays in Greek Philosophy, p. 141. 59. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1147a101147a18. 60. Kenny, “The Practical Syllogism and Incontinence,” p. 176n. 61. Richard Mervyn Hare, “Weakness of Will,” Encyclopedia of Ethics, ed. Lawrence C..Becker (New York: Garland, 1992), p. 1305. Also: R. Robinson, Essays in Greek Philosophy, p. 144. 62. Santas, “Aristotle on Practical Inference, the Explanation of Action, and ‘Akrasia’,” p. 180. 63. R. Robinson, Essays in Greek Philosophy, p. 144. 64. Ibid. Also: Santas, “Aristotle on Practical Inference, the Explanation of Action, and ‘Akrasia’,” pp. 178179. 65. R. Robinson, Essays in Greek Philosophy, p. 144. 66. Ibid., p. 146. 67. Walsh, Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness, p. 104. 68. Urmson, Aristotle’s Ethics, p. 94. 69. Walsh, Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness, p. 104. 70. Ibid. 71. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1095b11095b4, 1103a12, 1103b241103b25. 72. Terrance McConnell, “Is Aristotle’s Account of Incontinence Inconsistent?,” Canadian Journal of Philosophy, 4:4 (June 1975), pp. 643, 645. 73. Milo, Aristotle on Practical Knowledge and Weakness of Will, pp. 6265. 74. Urmson, Aristotle’s Ethics, p. 94. 75. D. Robinson, Aristotle’s Psychology, p. 109. 76. Urmson, Aristotle’s Ethics, p. 95. 77. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1146b24 ff. Also: R. Robinson, Essays in Greek Philosophy, p. 140. 78. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” 1146b301146b31. 79. Walsh, Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness, p. 33. 80. See: Santas, “Aristotle on Practical Inference, the Explanation of Action, and ‘Akrasia’,” p. 182n.

Chapter Four 1. Neal W. Gilbert, “The Concept of the Will in Early Latin Philosophy,” Journal of the History of Philosophy, 1 (1963), p. 32.

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2. Risto Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought: Augustine to Buridan (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994), p. 23. 3. Gillian R. Evans, Augustine on Evil (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1983), p. 104. 4. See: Gilbert, “The Concept of the Will in Early Latin Philosophy,” p. 25. 5. Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 23. 6. Thomas Williams, “Introduction,” in: Augustine, Aurelius, St. On Free Choice of the Will (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1993), p. xii. 7. Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 23. 8. Stephen J. Duffy, “Our Hearts of Darkness: Original Sin Revisited,” Theological Studies, 49 (1988), p. 601. 9. Ibid., p. 617. 10. Augustine, City of God, trans. Gerald G. Walsh, Demetrius B. Zema, Grace Monahan, and Daniel J. Honan (New York: Doubleday, 1958), p. 272. 11. Evans, Augustine on Evil, p. 97. Also: Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 25. 12. Augustine, City of God, p. 272. 13. Ibid., p. 278. 14. Augustine, On Free Choice of the Will, trans. Thomas Williams (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1993), p. 106. 15. Duffy, “Our Hearts of Darkness,” p. 600. 16. Evans, Augustine on Evil, p. 132. 17. Vernon J. Bourke, The Essential Augustine (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1974), p. 175. 18. Evans, Augustine on Evil, pp. 73, 134. 19. Ann A. Pang-White, “Augustine, ‘Akrasia,’ and Manichaeism,” American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly, 77:2 (Spring 2003), p. 158. 20. Margaret Falls-Corbitt, “Plato and Augustine on Doing Wrong Knowingly,” Human and Divine Agency: Anglican, Catholic, and Lutheran Perspectives, ed. F. Michael McLain and W. Mark Richardson (Lanham, M.D.: University Press of America, 1999), p. 261. 21. Gilbert, “The Concept of the Will in Early Latin Philosophy,” p. 18. 22. Ibid. 23. Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 22. 24. Ibid., p. 41. 25. Evans, Augustine on Evil, p. 104. 26. Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 41. 27. Ibid., p. 42. 28. Evans, Augustine on Evil, p. 29. 29. Augustine, City of God, p. 251. Cf. Falls-Corbitt, “Plato and Augustine on Doing Wrong Knowingly,” p. 262. 30. Augustine, City of God, p. 251. 31. Ibid., p. 254. 32. Ibid., p. 271. 33. Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 29. 34. Ibid., p. 29. 35. Ibid.

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36. Ibid., p. 31. 37. Augustine, Confessions, trans. Francis Joseph Sheed (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1993), p. 142. 38. Pang-White, “Augustine, ‘Akrasia,’ and Manichaeism,” p. 168. 39. Ibid. 40. Augustine, Confessions, p. 27. 41. Ibid., p. 26. 42. Ibid., p. 27. 43. D. S. Hutchison, “Ethics,” The Cambridge Companion to Aristotle (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 215. 44. Ibid. 45. Falls-Corbitt, “Plato and Augustine on Doing Wrong Knowingly,” p. 257. 46. Terrence M. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” Apeiron, 29 (1996), p. 200. 47. Ibid., pp. 207, 226. 48. Pang-White, “Augustine, ‘Akrasia,’ and Manichaeism,” p. 158. 49. Ibid., p. 169. 50. Falls-Corbitt, “Plato and Augustine on Doing Wrong Knowingly,” p. 253. 51. Ibid. 52. Ibid. 53. Justin Gosling, Weakness of the Will (New York: Routledge, 1990), p. 21. 54. Evans, Augustine on Evil, p. 52. 55. Ibid., p. 53. 56. Falls-Corbitt, “Plato and Augustine on Doing Wrong Knowingly,” pp. 260261. 57. See, for example: Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” trans. William David Ross, in The Complete Works of Aristotle, ed. Jonathan Barnes (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1984), 1146a41146a7. 58. Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 42. 59. Augustine, City of God, p. 47. 60. Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 26. 61. Pang-White, “Augustine, ‘Akrasia,’ and Manichaeism,” p. 156.

Chapter Five 1. Justin Gosling, Weakness of the Will (New York: Routledge, 1990), p. 70. 2. Risto Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought: Augustine to Buridan (Leidan: E. J. Brill, 1994), p. 23. 3. Eleanor Stump, “Aquinas’ Account of Freedom: Intellect and Will,” Monist, 80: 4 (October 1997), p. 576. 4. Douglas J. Den Uyl. The Virtue of Prudence. (New York: Peter Lang, 1991), p. 92. 5. St. Thomas Aquinas, Truth, trans. Robert W. Schmidt (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1994), Vol. III, Question 22, Article 4. Cf. Norman Kretzmann, “Warring Against the Law of My Mind: Aquinas on Romans 7,” Philosophy and the Christian Faith, ed. Thomas V. Morris (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988), p. 174.

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6. Stump, “Aquinas’ Account of Freedom,” p. 579. 7. Ibid. 8. Kretzmann, “Warring Against the Law of My mind,” p. 174. 9. Aquinas, Truth, Vol. III, Question 22, Article 10. 10. Stump, “Aquinas’ Account of Freedom,” p. 576. 11. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae (Cambridge, England: Blackfriars, 1972), IaIIae, Vol. 25, Question 74, Article 1. 12. Stump, “Aquinas’ Account of Freedom,” p. 576. 13. Ralph McInerny, Ethica Thomistica (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1997), p. 29. 14. Alasdair MacIntyre, Whose Justice? Which Rationality? (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988), p. 191. 15. David Gallagher, “Thomas Aquinas on Will as Rational Appetite,” Journal of the History of Philosophy, 29: 4 (October 1991), p. 576. 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid., p. 563. 18. Ibid., p. 576. 19. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IaIIae, Vol. 25, Question 75, Article 3. 20. Gallagher, “Thomas Aquinas on Will as Rational Appetite,” p. 506. 21. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IaIIae, Vol. 17, Question 13, Article 1. 22. Ibid. 23. Gavin T. Colvert, “Aquinas on Raising Cain: Vice, Incontinence, and Responsibility,” American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly, 71 (1997 Annual Supplement), p. 208. 24. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IaIIae, Vol. 17, Question 6, Article 3. 25. Gosling, Weakness of the Will, p. 74. 26. McInerny, Ethica Thomistica, p. 64. 27. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IaIIae, Vol. 17, Question 6, Article 7. 28. Geddes MacGregor, Dictionary of Religion and Philosophy (New York: Paragon House, 1989), p. 135. 29. Colvert, “Aquinas on Raising Cain,” p. 205. 30. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IaIIae, Vol. 17, Question 10, Article 3. 31. Gosling, Weakness of the Will, p. 79. 32. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IaIIae, Vol. 17, Question 6, Article 7. Cf. Colvert, “Aquinas on Raising Cain,” p. 213. 33. Gosling, Weakness of the Will, p. 79. 34. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IaIIae, Vol. 17, Question 6, Article 7. 35. Ibid., IaIIae, Vol. 17, Question 15, Article 1. 36. Judith A. Barad, “Aquinas’ Assent/Consent Distinction and the Problem of ‘Akrasia’,” The New Scholasticism, 62 (1988), p. 103. 37. Ibid., p. 110. 38. Ibid., p. 107. 39. Ibid. 40. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IaIIae, Vol. 25, Question 74, Article 7. 41. Thomas D. Stegman, “Saint Thomas Aquinas and the Problem of ‘Akrasia’,” The Modern Schoolman, 66 (January 1989), p. 121.

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42. Alfred R. Mele, “Socratic Akratic Action,” Philosophical Papers, 25: 3 (1996), p. 149. 43. McInerny, Ethica Thomistica, p. 72. 44. Jaime Castiello, “The Psychology of Habit in St. Thomas Aquinas,” The Modern Schoolman, 14 (November 1936), p. 9. 45. Ibid. 46. MacIntyre, Whose Justice? Which Rationality?, p. 189. 47. McInerny, Ethica Thomistica, p. 101. 48. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IaIIae, Vol. 25, Question 74, Article 3. 49. Kretzman, “Warring Against the Law of My Mind,” p. 185. 50. Ibid., pp. 185186. 51. Aquinas, Truth, Vol. III, Question 25, Article 2. 52. Ibid. 53. Ibid., Vol. III, Question 25, Article 7. 54. Kretzmann, “Warring Against the Law of My Mind,” p. 175. Cf. Gosling, Weakness of the Will, p. 72; Bonnie Kent, Virtues of the Will: The Transformation of Ethics in the Late Thirteenth Century (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1995), p. 173; Stump, “Aquinas’ Account of Freedom,” p. 579. 55. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” trans. William David Ross, in The Complete Works of Aristotle, ed. Jonathan Barnes (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1984), 1147a11147a2. 56. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IaIIae, Vol. 25, Question 76, Article 1. 57. Ibid., IaIIae, Vol. 25, Question 77, Article 1. 58. Ibid. 59. Gosling, Weakness of the Will, p. 73. 60. Stump, “Aquinas’ Account of Freedom,” pp. 577578. 61. Ibid., p. 580. 62. Alan Donagan, “Thomas Aquinas on Human Action,” The Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy, ed. Norman Kretzmann, Anthony Kenny, and Jan Pinborg (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1982), p. 651. 63. Aquinas, Truth, Vol. III, Question 22, Article 15. 64. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IaIIae, Vol. 17, Question 6, Article 4. Cf. Kent, Virtues of the Will, p. 159. 65. Kent, Virtues of the Will, pp. 158159. 66. James J. Walsh, Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness (New York: Columbia University Press, 1960), p. 157. 67. Margaret Falls-Corbitt, “Plato and Augustine on Doing Wrong Knowingly,” Human and Divine Agency: Anglican, Catholic, and Lutheran Perspectives, ed. F. Michael McLain and W. Mark Richardson (Lanham, M.D.: University Press of America, 1999), p. 261. 68. Kent, Virtues of the Will, p. 153. 69. Daniel Robinson, Aristotle’s Psychology (New York: Columbia University Press, 1989), p. 103. 70. James Opie Urmson, Aristotle’s Ethics (Oxford: Blackwell, 1993), p. 50. 71. See: Kent, Virtues of the Will, p. 160; Richard Reilly, “Weakness of the Will: The Thomistic Advance,” Proceedings of the Catholic Philosophical Association, 48

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(1974 Supplementary Volume), p. 203; Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 120. 72. Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 120. 73. Kent, Virtues of the Will, p. 160. Also: Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 122. 74. Kent, Virtues of the Will, pp. 160161. 75. Reilly, “Weakness of Will,” p. 201. 76. Ibid. 77. Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 124. 78. Stump, “Aquinas’ Account of Freedom,” p. 582. 79. Barad, “Aquinas’ Assent/Consent Distinction and the Problem of ‘Akrasia’,” p. 100.

Chapter Six 1. Alfred R. Mele, “Socratic Akratic Action,” Philosophical Papers, 25: 3 (1996), p. 149. 2. Sergio Tenenbaum, “The Judgment of a Weak Will,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 59: 4 (December 1999). 3. Terrence M. Penner, “Plato and Davidson: Parts of the Soul and Weakness of Will,” Canadian Journal of Philosophy, Supplementary Volume 16 (1990), p. 46. 4. Terrence M. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” Apeiron, 29 (1996), p. 200. 5. Penner, “Plato and Davidson,” p. 46. 6. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” p. 201. 7. Ibid., p. 207. 8. Penner, “Plato and Davidson,” p. 47. 9. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” p. 199. 10. Penner, “Plato and Davidson,” p. 47. Also: Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” p. 199. 11. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” p. 201. 12. Penner, “Plato and Davidson,” p. 47. 13. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” p. 201. 14. Ibid., p. 207. 15. Ibid., p. 200. 16. Terrence M. Penner, “Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge: ‘Protagoras’ 351B–357E,” Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie, 79 (1997), p. 127. 17. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” p. 209. 18. Penner, “Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge,” p. 123. 19. Ibid., p. 125. 20. Penner, “Plato and Davidson,” p. 69. 21. Penner, “Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge,” p. 135.

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22. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief,” p. 226. 23. Penner, “Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge,” p. 136. 24. See, for example: Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief,” pp. 213217. 25. See, for example: St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IaIIae, Vol. 17, Question 13, Article 1. 26. Aquinas, Truth, Vol. III, Question 22, Article 10. 27. Olli Koistinen, “Weakness of the Will in Spinoza’s Theory of Human Motivation,” NASS Monograph #4 (North American Spinoza Society, 1996). 28. Ibid., pp. 1819. Cf. William Charlton, Weakness of Will: A Philosophical Introduction (New York: Blackwell, 1988), pp. 2324; Justin Gosling, Weakness of the Will (New York: Routledge, 1990), p. 14; and James J. Walsh, Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness (New York: Columbia University Press, 1960), p. 24. 29. Koistinen, “Weakness of the Will in Spinoza’s Theory of Human Motivation,” p. 19. 30. See: Nomy Arpaly, “On Acting Rationally Against One’s Best Judgment,” Ethics, 110 (April 2000), p. 491n6. 31. See: Koistinen, “Weakness of the Will in Spinoza’s Theory,” p. 8n. 32. See: Penner, “Plato and Davidson,” p. 68. 33. Donald Davidson, Essays on Actions and Events (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), p. 23. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid., p. 39. Cf. Christopher Charles Whiston Taylor, “Plato, Hare, and Davidson on Akrasia,” Mind, 89 (1980), p. 499. 36. Paul Hurley, “How Weakness of the Will Is Possible,” Mind, 101 (1992), p. 85. 37. Risto Saarinen, “John Buridan and Donald Davidson on ‘Akrasia’,” Synthese, 96 (1993), p. 143. 38. Ibid. 39. Hurley, “How Weakness of the Will Is Possible,” p. 85. 40. Penner, “Plato and Davidson,” p. 65. 41. Ibid. 42. Ibid., p. 66. 43. Davidson, Essays on Actions and Events, p. 42. 44. Tenenbaum, “The Judgment of a Weak Will,” p. 880. 45. Davidson, Essays on Actions and Events, p. 42. 46. Tenenbaum, “The Judgment of a Weak Will,” p. 906. 47. Ibid. 48. Ibid., p. 903. 49. Ibid. 50. Ibid., p. 901. 51. Ibid., p. 900. 52. Ibid., p. 894. 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid. 55. Ibid., p. 895. 56. Ezio Vailati, “Leibniz on Locke on Weakness of Will,” Journal of the History of Philosophy, 28: 2 (1990).

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57. Ibid., p. 220. 58. Ibid. 59. Ibid. 60. Nomy Arpaly and Timothy Schroeder, “Praise, Blame, and the Whole Self,” Philosophical Studies, 93 (1999), p. 162. 61. H. Paul Grice and Judith Baker, “Davidson on Weakness of the Will,” Essays on Davidson: Actions and Events, ed. Bruce Vermazen and Merrill B. Hintikka (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), p. 28. 62. Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics,” trans. William David Ross, in The Complete Works of Aristotle, ed. Jonathan Barnes (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1984), 1145a151145a20. 63. Ibid., 1146a251146a31. 64. For the literary source of this example, see: Sophocles, “Philoctetes,” Sophocles, 1, ed. David R. Slavitt and Palmer Bovie (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998). 65. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 1146a20. 66. Ibid., 1151b16. 67. See Arpaly, “On Acting Rationally against One’s Best Judgment,” pp. 491492.

Chapter Seven 1. Alfred R. Mele, “Socratic Akratic Action,” Philosophical papers, 25: 3 (1996), p. 149. 2. Ibid. 3. Ibid. 4. Terrence M. Penner, “Plato and Davidson: Parts of the Soul and Weakness of Will,” Canadian Journal of Philosophy, Supplementary Volume 16 (1990), p. 47. Also: Terrence M. Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” Apeiron, 29 (1996), p. 199. 5. See: Risto Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought: From Augustine to Buridan (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994), p. 23. 6. See: Gillian R. Evans, Augustine on Evil (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1983), p. 97. Also: Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 25. 7. Augustine, Aurelius, St. City of God, trans. Gerald G. Walsh, Demetrius B. Zema, Grace Monahan, and Daniel J. Honan (New York: Doubleday, 1958), p. 272. 8. Saarinen, Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought, p. 29. 9. Ibid. 10. Ibid., p. 31. 11. See: Sergio Tenenbaum, “The Judgment of a Weak Will,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 59: 4 (1999), p. 885. 12. Alfred R. Mele, “Akratics and Addicts,” American Philosophical Quarterly, 39: 2 (April 2002), p. 163. 13. See: Tenenbaum, “The Judgment of a Weak Will,” p. 877. 14. Penner, “Plato and Davidson,” p. 46. Also: Penner, “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” p. 200.

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15. William Charlton, Weakness of Will: A Philosophical Introduction (New York: Blackwell, 1988), p. 134. 16. Mele, “Akratics and Addicts,” p. 159. 17. Margaret Falls-Corbitt, “Plato and Augustine on Doing Wrong Knowingly,” Human and Divine Agency: Anglican, Catholic, and Lutheran Perspectives, ed. F. Michael McLain and W. Mark Richardson (Lanham, M.D.: University Press of America, 1999), p. 253. 18. John F. Crosby, “How Is It Possible Knowingly to Do Wrong?” American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly, 74 (2000 Annual Supplement), p. 325. 19. Augustine, Confessions, trans. Francis Joseph Sheed (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1993), p. 26. 20. Ibid., p. 27. 21. Crosby, “How Is It Possible Knowingly to Do Wrong?” p. 330. 22. Ibid., p. 325. 23. Ibid., p. 329. 24. Ezio Vailati, “Leibniz on Locke on Weakness of Will,” Journal of the History of Philosophy, 28: 2 (1990), p. 218.

Chapter Nine 1. Alfred R. Mele, “Akratics and Addicts,” American Philosophical Quarterly, 39 (April 2002), p. 159. 2. Sergio Tenenbaum, “The Judgment of a Weak Will,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 59: 4 (December 1999), p. 903.

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———. “Crito.” Translated by Hugh Tredennick. In The Collected Dialogues of Plato. Edited by Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961, pp. 2739. ———. “Gorgias.” Translated by William Dudley Woodhead. In The Collected Dialogues of Plato. Edited by Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961, pp. 229307. ———. “Meno.” Translated by William Keith Chambers Guthrie. In The Collected Dialogues of Plato. Edited by Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961, pp. 353384. ———. “Phaedo.” Translated by Hugh Tredennick. In The Collected Dialogues of Plato. Edited by Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961, pp. 4098. ———. “Phaedrus.” Translated by Reginald Hackforth. In The Collected Dialogues of Plato. Edited by Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961, pp. 475525. ———. “Protagoras.” Translated by William Keith Chambers Guthrie. In The Collected Dialogues of Plato. Edited by Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961, pp. 308352. ———. Republic. Translated by Robin Waterfield. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993. ———. “Timaeus.” Translated by Benjamin Jowett. In The Collected Dialogues of Plato. Edited by Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961, pp. 11511211. Reilly, Richard. “Weakness of Will: The Thomistic Advance,” Proceedings of the American Catholic Philosophical Association, 48 (1974 Supplementary Volume), pp. 198207. Robinson, Daniel. Aristotle’s Psychology. New York: Columbia University Press, 1989. Robinson, Richard. Essays in Greek Philosophy. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969. Rorty, Amelie. “Plato and Aristotle on Belief, Habit, and Akrasia,” American Philosophical Quarterly, 7:1 (January 1970), pp. 5061. Ross, William David. Aristotle. New York: Routledge, 1995. Saarinen, Risto. “John Buridan and Donald Davidson on Akrasia,” Synthese, 96 (1993), pp. 133154. ———. Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought: From Augustine to Buridan. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994. Santas, Gerasimos. “Aristotle on Practical Inference, the Explanation of Action, and Akrasia,” Phronesis, 14 (1969), pp. 162189. ———. “Plato’s Protagoras and Explanations of Weakness,” The Philosophical Review, 75 (1966), pp. 333. Sophocles. “Philoctetes.” In Sophocles, 1. Edited by David R. Slavitt and Palmer Bovie. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998. ———. Sophocles, 1. Edited by David R. Slavih and Palmer Bovie. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998.

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Stegman, Thomas, D. “Saint Thomas Aquinas and the Problem of Akrasia,” The Modern Schoolman, 66 (January 1989), pp. 117128. Stump, Eleonore. “Aquinas’ Account of Freedom: Intellect and Will,” The Monist, 80:4 (October 1997), pp. 576597. Taylor, Christopher Charles Whiston. “Plato, Hare, and Davidson on Akrasia,” Mind, 89 (1980), pp. 499518. Tenenbaum, Sergio. “The Judgment of a Weak Will,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 59:4 (December 1999), pp. 875911. Urmson, James Opie. Aristotle’s Ethics. Oxford: Blackwell, 1993. Vailati, Ezio. “Leibniz on Locke on Weakness of Will,” Journal of the History of Philosophy, 28:2 (1990), pp. 213228. Vermazen, Bruce, and Merrill B. Hintikka, editors. Essays on Davidson: Actions and Events. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986. Vlastos, Gregory. Socrates: Ironist and Moral Philosopher. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1991. Walsh, James, J. Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness. New York: Columbia University Press, 1960. Williams, Thomas. “Introduction.” In Augustine, On Free Choice of the Will. Indianapolis: Hackett, 1993, pp. xixix.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Daniel P. Thero teaches philosophy courses in the Department of Cognitive Science at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute and at Adirondack Community College. He has also taught at Siena College, The College of Saint Rose, and the University at Albany. Thero received his Master of Arts and Ph.D. degrees in philosophy from the University at Albany, State University of New York. He also holds a Master of Science degree in philosophy from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute and Bachelor degrees in philosophy and biology from Siena College.

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INDEX “Acting Rationally Against One’s Best Judgment, On” (Arpaly), 142–143 action(s), vii, 3–7, 9–10, 12–13, 15– 24, 27–29, 31, 33–36, 38–49, 52, 54–64, 67–69, 71–80, 83–90, 92– 121, 125–133, 135–136, 138, 140–143 Adam and Eve, 55 addiction, 7, 107–108, 114–115, 119–121 adultery, 3, 37, 44, 59, 74, 76, 79, 111, 118, 128 aesthetic response, 26 aggression, 74 akrasia, 1–2, 5–16, 18, 20–24, 26– 27, 29–49, 51, 54, 56–70, 72–81, 83–116, 118–123, 125–130, 134– 139, 141–142; conditions for a., 118; criteria for a., 16, 119, 121; diachronic belief a., 7, 84–85, 94–96, 101, 103, 126; diachronic knowledge a., 84; inverse a., 84, 98–100, 102, 118; a. with qualification, 122; strict a., 1, 5, 7, 9–13, 15–16, 24, 31, 45–48, 51, 57–67, 69, 77–80, 83, 85, 88– 89, 102–114, 125–127; synchronic belief a., 84–85, 94, 101–103, 109–110; synchronic knowledge a., 84–85, 102, 109– 110; theoretical a., 97; unqualified a., 36; weak a., 1, 5, 7, 9–10, 16, 18, 20, 22, 29, 45, 47, 57–58, 60–62, 73, 80–81, 83, 88–89, 101–106, 109–110, 112, 114, 125–126 akratic, 6–7, 16–17, 30–31, 33–38, 41–44, 47–49, 54, 57, 60, 62–63, 67–68, 71, 73–80, 83, 90, 92–96, 98, 100–101, 103–104, 108, 110– 111, 115–123, 126–130, 131– 133, 140–141, 143; a. action(s),

6, 16, 31, 36, 38, 41, 42, 48–49, 57, 60, 62, 67–68, 73–80, 83, 90, 93–94, 100–101, 104, 110–111, 118, 126–130, 131–133, 140– 141, 143; a. agent(s), 62, 96, 103; a. person(s), 17, 31, 33–34, 37– 38, 41–43, 47, 76–79, 95–96, 101; a. moment, 41, 44, 54, 60, 63; a. syllogism, 42, 67, 76–77, 79–80 “Akratics and Addicts” (Mele), 143– 144 alcohol, 35, 117, 123 ambiguity, 5 analogy, 18–19, 23, 40, 53, 92, 121 analysis, vii, 38, 45, 47, 51–52, 55, 57–58, 66, 80, 111, 113, 122 ancestors, 107 anger, 16, 27, 29, 32, 35–36, 71, 74, 85–86, 89–90, 120, 122 animals, 25, 32, 48, 68, 75, 91 Anscombe, Gertrude Elizabeth Margaret, 36–37; article: “Thought and Action in Aristotle,” 135 Apology (Plato) (Tredennick, trans.), 133 appearance(s), 16–17, 68, 86, 91 appetite(s), 6, 28–29, 32–33, 36–38, 41, 43–44, 47–48, 54, 62–65, 68– 76, 79, 121–122 a priori, 129 Aquinas, Thomas, St., vii, 2, 5, 7, 31, 66–80, 89–90, 114, 125, 128; works: Summa Theologiae, 139– 140, 142; Truth, 138–140, 142 “Aquinas’ Account of Freedom: Intellect and Will” (Stump), 138– 141 “Aquinas’ Assent/Consent Distinction and the Problem of Akrasia” (Barad), 139, 141 “Aquinas on Raising Cain: Vice,

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Incontinence, and Responsibility” (Colvert), 139 argument(s), vii, 13–14, 16, 25, 34, 39, 45, 51, 98, 101 Aristotle, vii, ix, 2, 5–7, 10–12, 20, 25, 30–40, 42–49, 51–52, 54–56, 60–61, 64–68, 73, 75, 77–80, 90, 98, 100, 107, 112, 114, 116–117, 121–123, 125, 130; works: Complete Works of Aristotle, The, 131, 134, 138, 140, 143; Nicomachean Ethics, ix, 2, 31, 37–38, 100, 130; Prior Analytics, 40 Aristotle (Ross), 134 “Aristotle on Moral Weakness” (Hardie), 134–136 “Aristotle on Practical Inference, the Explanation of Action, and Akrasia” (Santas), 135–136 Aristotle on Practical Knowledge and Weakness of Will (Milo), 134– 136 Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness (Walsh), 131–134, 136, 140, 142 Aristotle’s Ethics (Urmson), 134– 136, 140 Aristotle’s Psychology (Robinson), 135–136, 140 Arpaly, Nomy, 98, 100, 142–143; articles: “Acting Rationally Against One’s Best Judgment, On,” 142–143; “Praise, Blame, and the Whole Self” (co-authored with Schroeder), 143 asceticism, 13 assent, 14, 68, 72–73, 89, 139, 141 assessment(s), 12, 17, 20, 23, 25, 29, 45, 54, 59, 107, 118 attention, 10, 22, 26, 48, 76, 85, 87, 90, 104, 117–118, 121 attraction, 90 Augustine, Aurelius, St., vii, 2, 5–7, 49, 51–69, 77–80, 105–107, 109– 112, 125, 137–138, 140, 143– 144; works: City of God, 137–

138, 143; Confessions, 56, 138, 144; Free Choice of the Will, On, 137 “Augustine, Akrasia, and Manichaeism” (Pang-White), 147 Augustine on Evil (Evans), 137–138, 143 automaton, 121 aversion, 20 awareness, 18, 44, 59, 110 badness, 33 Baker, Judith, 98, 143; article: “Davidson on Weakness of the Will,” 143 Bambrough, Renford, 135; edited volume: New Essays on Plato and Aristotle, 135 Barad, Judith A., 72, 80, 139, 141; article: “Aquinas’ Assent/Consent Distinction and the Problem of Akrasia,” 139, 141 Barnes, Jonathan, 131, 134, 138, 140, 143; edited volumes: Cambridge Companion to Aristotle, The, 134, 138; Complete Works of Aristotle, The, 131, 134, 138, 140, 143 beauty, 26, 28, 62 Becker, Lawrence C., 136; edited volume: Encyclopedia of Ethics, 136 behavior, 2, 59, 122, 127 behaviorism, 113 belief(s), 1, 6–7, 9–10, 13–14, 20–27, 29, 31–32, 34, 36–38, 43, 45–48, 57, 61, 64, 73, 76, 83–110, 116, 120, 125–127, 132–134, 138, 141–143; b. structure, 88, 101; b. system(s), 6, 25, 86–90; conditional b., 94; propositional b., 24, 27; unconditional b., 94– 95, 101 beverages, 35 bonum, 111 boulesis, 32, 36–37, 43, 67, 122

Index Bourke, Vernon J., 53, 137; edited volume: The Essential Augustine, 137 broccoli, 40–41 brutishness, 32 Cairns, Huntington, 131, 133; coedited volume: Collected Dialogues of Plato, The, 131, 133 calculation(s), 19, 32, 36–37, 71 Cambridge Companion to Aristotle, The (Barnes, ed.), 134, 138 Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy, The (Kretzmann, Kenny, and Pinborg, eds.), 140 capacities, 11, 17, 32, 54, 64, 73, 106, 113 caprice, 112 carnal, 53, 57 Castiello, Jaime, 140; article: “Psychology of Habit in St. Thomas Aquinas, The,” 140 category(ies), 69–70, 72, 108, 121 cause and effect, 52 celibate, 123 character(s), 2–3, 5–6, 11, 31–35, 37, 46–48, 60, 73, 83, 98, 100, 103, 113, 116–117, 120, 122, 126, 129–130 chariot metaphor, 28, 47 Charlton, William, 18, 110, 132, 142, 144; book: Weakness of Will: A Philosophical Introduction, 142, 144 childhood, 17, 49 choice(s), 7, 22, 36–37, 52, 56–57, 65, 67, 69–71, 75, 77–79, 98, 105–106, 108–109, 111, 121, 125, 137 cholera, 55 Christian(s), 51, 54, 65–66, 128, 138 Christianity, 128 cigarette(s), 118, 120 circumstances, 34, 70, 87–88, 108, 116, 118 City of God (Augustine) (Walsh, Zema, Monahan, and Honan,

155

trans.), 137–138, 143 cognition(s), 70–71, 79, 96–98, 101– 102; direct c., 96–97, 101–102; oblique c., 96, 98, 101–102 cognitive, 11, 20, 48, 52, 54, 57, 68, 76, 151; c. power(s), 52, 57, 68, 76 cognitivism, 19, 26, 45, 48 Collected Dialogues of Plato, The (Hamilton and Cairnes, eds.), 131, 133 Colvert, Gavin T., 139; article: “Aquinas on Raising Cain: Vice, Incontinence, and Responsibility,” 139 competitiveness, 27 Complete Works of Aristotle, The (Aristotle) (Barnes, ed.), 131, 134, 138, 140, 143 complexity, 2, 24 compulsion(s), 59, 78, 88, 107–109, 114, 119–121, 129 concept(s), 6–7, 9, 11, 25, 27, 37, 44, 48, 51, 54, 56, 65–67, 78, 89, 95, 104, 106, 110, 114, 125, 127, 136–137 conception(s), 7, 14, 21, 26, 30, 36, 38, 45, 54, 67–70, 72, 77, 104– 106, 109, 116, 131–134, 136, 140, 142 “Concept of the Will in Early Latin Philosophy, The” (Gilbert), 136– 137 concupiscence, 65, 71, 74–75, 111 Confessions (Augustine) (Sheed, trans.), 56, 138, 144 consent, 68, 72–73, 139, 141 consequence(s), 1, 4, 12, 15, 18, 36 consequentialists, 4 continence, 32 contingency, 70 conventional wisdom, 13–14 conviction(s), 19–22, 24, 47 Cooper, John M., 26, 133, 135; books and articles: “Plato’s Theory of Human Motivation,” 133; Reason and Human Good in Aristotle,

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135 corruption, 53–54, 64, 74, 105–106; c. of sensuality, 74; c. of the will, 106 cosmogony, 51 cosmology, 51 cost-benefit, 20 craving, 32, 35, 121 crimes, 65 criteri(a)(on), 1, 9–10, 13, 16, 57, 59– 60, 63–64, 88, 100–103, 105– 106, 109–110, 112–113, 116– 119, 121 Crito (Plato) (Tredennick, trans.), 133 Crosby, John F., 111, 144; article: “How is it Possible Knowingly to Do Wrong?,” 144 culpability, 49 custom, 56 data, 22 Davidson, Donald, 7, 83–84, 92–96, 101–106, 125–126, 141–143; book: Essays on Actions and Events, 142 “Davidson on Weakness of the Will” (Grice and Baker), 143 death, 55, 71, 121 deception, 9, 96, 135 decision(s), 3–4, 39, 65, 71, 99–100, 118 deficiencies, 27 deliberation, 32, 36–37 delusion, 60 denial, 12, 47–48, 77, 79, 85 Den Uyl, Douglas J., 138; book: Virtue of Prudence, The, 138 deontologists, 4 deprivation, 11, 69 desert, 35 desire(s), 2, 4, 6–7, 13–14, 16, 26–29, 32–33, 35–37, 41, 43–44, 48–49, 54, 56–58, 61, 64–65, 67–68, 70– 71, 73, 77–80, 89, 92, 95–96, 106, 108–109, 111–112, 116– 118, 121, 125–126, 129

Dictionary of Religion and Philosophy (MacGregor), 139 diet(ing), 35–36, 87–88, 94 disappointment, 99 discipline(d), 7, 73 disease, 33, 37, 49, 55 disgraceful(ness), 36, 100 Donagan, Alan, 140; article: “Thomas Aquinas on Human Action,” 140 doubt, 25, 39, 41, 91, 97, 114, doxa, 43, 47 drinking, 7, 18, 35, 45, 49, 60–61, 87–88, 94, 115, 118, 122–123 drug(s), 107, 119–121 drunkenness, 42 duck-rabbit, 87 Duffy, Stephen J., 137; article: “Our Hearts of Darkness: Original Sin Revisited,” 137 duty, 4, 64, 98 eat(ing), 7, 18, 35–36, 40–41, 45, 49, 58, 60–61, 69, 76, 90, 115, 122– 123 edifice, 53 education, 7 efficient cause, 55 eligens, 78 eliminative physicalism, 113 emergent property, 67 emotion(s), 16, 32–33, 60, 74–76 empirical, 12, 22, 29–30, 43–44, 46, 49, 58, 66, 110, 114, 119, 129; e. evidence, 22, 43–44, 46, 110; e. proof, 114; e. question(s), 119, 129 Encyclopedia of Ethics (Becker, ed.), 136 enjoy(ment), 35, 58, 69, 111 environment, 17, 68, 87, 99, 101 envy, 32, 89 epilepsy, 33 episteme, 43 epistemological, 12, 20, 86–87; e. hedonism, 12; e. strength, 20, 86– 87

Index epithumia, 32, 35–37, 41–42, 44, 47– 48, 67, 122 Essays on Actions and Events (Davidson), 142 Essays on Davidson: Actions and Events (Vermazen and Hintikka, eds.), 143 Essays in Greek Philosophy (Robinson, R.), 133, 136 Essential Augustine, The (Bourke, ed.), 137 esteem, 27 Ethica Thomistica (McInerny), 139– 140 “Ethics” (Hutchinson), 134, 136, 138 eudaimonia, 10 eudaimonism, 12, 14–15, 45 Evans, Gillian R., 55, 63, 137–138, 143; book: Augustine on Evil, 137–138, 143 evidence, 22, 41, 43–44, 46, 58–60, 66, 72, 91–92, 94, 101–102, 110, 112–114, 120, 127 evil(s), 6, 11–13, 23–24, 27–28, 51– 59, 62, 64–66, 68, 71, 76–80, 98– 100, 105–107, 110–111, 137– 138, 143; e. will(s), 51, 53–56, 65, 106 evolution, 2, 20, 31 excellence, 32, 98 ex electione, 78 experience(s), vii, 1–2, 19, 29–30, 32, 34–35, 44, 49, 55–58, 61, 65–66, 69, 74, 83, 98–99, 103, 106–108, 110, 113, 115, 117, 127–128 Fall, the (Biblical), 51, 106 Falls-Corbitt, Margaret, 61, 137–138, 140, 144; article: “Plato and Augustine on Doing Wrong Knowingly,” 137–138, 140, 144 false belief(s), 21–22, 25, 45, 47, 61, 85–86, 88–91, 101, 120 falsehood(s), 21 fantasy, 74 fear(s), vii, 16, 19–20, 32, 71, 91–92, 107

157

feeling(s), 6, 25, 85, 89–90, 92, 98– 99, 102, 106, 113, 116, 118, 127– 128 flesh, 65 flirt(ation), 2, 117, 119 folly, 98 fomes, 74 food(s), 25, 36, 40–41, 69–70, 74, 76, 90, 122 forces of nature, 55 Form(s) (Platonic), 26–30, 45–46, 62–63, 65–66; F. of the Good, 27, 62–63, 65 Free Choice of the Will, On (Augustine) (Williams, trans.), 137 freedom, 52, 67, 70, 75, 80, 105, 138–141 free will, 52, 70 friend(s), 88, 103, 130 friendliness, 99, 118 friendship, 90, 130 galaxies, 24 Gallagher, David, 139; article: “Thomas Aquinas on Will as Rational Appetite,” 139 genes, 74 Genesis, 51 geometry, 42 gestalt(s), 22–23, 86–87, 90, 101 Gilbert, Neal W., 136–137; article: “Concept of the Will in Early Latin Philosophy, The,” 136–137 gluttony, 27 goal(s), 36, 55, 78, 127 God, 52–54, 63, 112, 137–138, 143 good(s), 3–4, 10–13, 15, 18, 21, 23, 27–28, 32–33, 35, 37–38, 40–41, 44, 46, 48, 52–54, 56, 59, 61–66, 68–69, 72–73, 75–80, 87–88, 91, 94–98, 100, 104–107, 110–112, 114, 117, 119, 122, 125, 128– 129, 131–135; external g., 10–11; g., the, 3–4, 12–13, 15, 23, 27– 28, 46, 62, 64, 68, 95, 104–107, 110–111; greatest g., 4; highest

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g., 104, 112 good life(ves), 10, 18, 21, 38, 44, 131–134 goodness, 12–13, 68, 77, 106 Gorgias (Plato) (Woodhead, trans.), 13–14, 131 Gosling, Justin, 12, 17–19, 29, 67, 76, 131–134, 138–140, 142; book: Weakness of the Will, 131– 134, 138–140, 142 grace, 53–54, 62, 64, 66 greed, 89 Greek thought, 54 Greeks, 1, 98, 127 Grice, H. Paul, 98, 143; article: “Davidson on Weakness of the Will” (co-authored with Baker), 143 Grube, George Maximilian Anthony, 18, 132; book: Plato’s Thought, 132 Guilt(y), 3, 35, 53, 105

133, 136, 139, 140, 142, 144 holiness, 52 Honan, Daniel J., 137, 143; co-edited volume: City of God (Augustine), 137–138, 143 honor(s), 35, 52, 122 “How is it Possible Knowingly to Do Wrong?” (Crosby), 144 “How Weakness of the Will is Possible” (Hurley), 142 Human and Divine Agency: Anglican, Catholic, and Lutheran Perspectives (McLain and Richardson, eds.), 137, 140, 144 human nature, 53, 74, 135 hunger, 32, 69, 70 Hurley, Paul, 94, 142; article: “How Weakness of the Will is Possible,” 142 Hutchinson, D. S., 33, 41, 134, 136, 146; book chapter: “Ethics,” 134, 136, 138

habit(s), 7, 49, 53, 68, 70, 73, 114– 121, 134, 140 habitual action(s), 7, 115–121 habituation, 7, 29, 34, 37–38, 44, 48– 49, 64, 73–74, 114, 117, 122– 123, 128–129 Hamilton, Edith, 131, 133; co-edited volume: Collected Dialogues of Plato, The, 131, 133 happiness, 3–4, 10, 14 Hardie, William Francis Ross, 134– 136; article: “Aristotle on Moral Weakness,” 134–136 Hare, Richard Mervyn, 136, 142; article: “Weakness of Will,” 136 harmony, 6, 27, 57 hate, 32, 89 health(y), 24, 32, 35, 63, 72, 88, 123 hedonism, 12–16, 19, 23, 25, 27, 45 hierarchy of loves, 52–53, 57 Hintikka, Merrill B., 143; co-edited volume: Essays on Davidson: Actions and Events, 143 history, vii–viii, 1–2, 55, 123, 125,

ice cream, 88, 94 ideal(s), 4, 53, 60, 74 ideas, ix, 2, 5, 31, 55, 64–65, 67, 92, 100–102 ignorance, 15–16, 24, 27, 33, 54–55, 91, 107 illness, 11 illusion(s), 17–18, 21, 23, 25, 45, 61, 63, 91–92 image(s), 69, 102, 128 imagination, 69, 74–76, 96, 102, 128–130 immorality, 28 imperfection, 106 impiety, 65 impulse(s), 19–20, 25, 36, 74, 88, 129 inborn tendencies, 73 inclination(s), 26, 105 incontinence, vii, 5, 93, 98, 135–136, 139 injustice, 59 inner struggle, 80, 125 insight(s), ix, 6, 22, 31, 46, 78, 83,

Index 98, 103, 125 instability, 21, 86–88 instinct, 25, 88 insult, 32, 86 intellect(s), 54, 64, 67–72, 75–77, 79–80, 89–92, 138 intellectualism, 54, 65 intelligibility, 69 intentionality, 120–121 interlocutor(s), 14 internal good(s), 10–11 introspection, 49, 56, 58, 112–113, 127 introversion, 49 intuition, 97, 104 irascibility, 75 irrational(ity), 32, 62, 95, 100–101, 104, 106–107, 135 Irrationality: An Essay on Akrasia, Self-deception, and Self-control (Mele), 135 Irwin, Terrance, 12–13, 131–132; book: Plato’s Ethics, 131–132 “Is Aristotle’s Account of Incontinence Inconsistent?” (McConnell), 136 jealousy, 89 “John Buridan and Donald Davidson on Akrasia” (Saarinen), 142 joy, 89 judge(d)(s), 9–10, 12, 17, 24, 30, 55, 57–58, 60–61, 85–87, 93–94, 96, 99, 113, 118, 125, 129 judgment(s), 3–4, 6–7, 9–10, 12, 16– 17, 19, 22, 28–29, 43–44, 47, 54, 57, 59–65, 67, 70, 72–73, 75–79, 83, 85–86, 88–89, 92–110, 114, 116–118, 125–126, 141–144; allout j., 105–106; best j., 6–7, 9, 57, 59–61, 63, 75–76, 78–79, 83, 85, 88, 95, 98–101, 103–104, 107–110, 117, 125–126, 142– 143; better j., 16–17, 54; conditional j., 93–94; considered j., 3–4, 9–10, 57, 60, 64, 72, 100– 101, 107, 116; reflective j., 96;

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unconditional j., 92–94, 96–97, 105 “Judgment of a Weak Will, The” (Tenenbaum), 83, 141–144 justice, 11, 139–140, 147 Kekes, John, 27, 131–135; books: Moral Tradition and Individuality, 131, 135; Moral Wisdom and Good Lives, 131– 134 Kenny, Anthony, 42, 135–136, 140; article: “Practical Syllogism and Incontinence, The,” 135–136; coedited volume: Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy, The, 140 Kent, Bonnie, 140–141; book: Virtues of the Will: The Transformation of Ethics in the Late Thirteenth Century, 140– 141 knowledge, 6, 10–11, 15–16, 18, 20– 27, 29, 31, 34, 37, 41–48, 54–55, 58, 61–64, 66, 71–72, 75, 84–90, 93, 96, 102, 109–110, 132–136, 141–142 “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action” (Penner), 132–133, 138, 141–143 Koistinen, Olli, 91, 97, 142; article: “Weakness of the Will in Spinoza’s Theory of Human Motivation,” 142 Kretzmann, Norman, 74–75, 138– 140; co-edited volume: Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy, The, 140; article: “Warring Against the Law of My Mind: Aquinas on Romans 7,” 138–140 lascivious, 74 laziness, 25 learning, 17 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, 97–98, 142, 144

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“Leibniz on Locke on Weakness of Will” (Vailati), 142, 144 Lemmon, Edward John, 11, 131; article: “Moral Dilemmas,” 131 licentious, 36, 56 lie(d)(s), 9–10, 98, 100, 115 liquor, 117–118 literature, vii–viii, 1–2 Locke, John, 142, 144 logic(al), 39–41, 48, 56, 93 long division, 19 Loptson, Peter, 39, 135; book: Theories of Human Nature, 135 Love(d)(s), 3, 26, 29, 32, 52–53, 57– 58, 64, 69, 89–90 lust, 3, 27, 37, 59, 71–72, 74, 111 MacGregor, Geddes, 139; book: Dictionary of Religion and Philosophy, 139 MacIntyre, Alasdair, 69, 73, 139– 140; book: Whose Justice? Which Rationality?, 139, 140 madness, 42, 49 magnitude(s), 17–19, 21, 24–25, 45, 61 malice, 58 marriage, 3, 9 Martians, 127 mathematician, 97 McConnell, Terrance, 44, 136; article: “Is Aristotle’s Account of Incontinence Inconsistent?,” 136 McInerny, Ralph, 68, 73, 139–140; book: Ethica Thomistica, 139– 140 McLain, F. Michael, 137, 140, 144; co-edited volume: Human and Divine Agency: Anglican, Catholic, and Lutheran Perspectives, 137, 140, 144 measurement(s), 18–19, 113 measuring skill, 19, 23–24, 29 media, 2 medication(s), 108, 129 medieval, 67, 137–138, 140–141, 143

Mele, Alfred R., 9, 22, 110, 127, 131–133, 135, 140–141, 143– 144; books and articles: “Akratics and Addicts,” 143– 144; Irrationality: An Essay on Akrasia, Self-deception, and Selfcontrol, 135; “Socratic Akratic Action,” 131–133, 140–141, 143 memory, 6, 52, 97, 113 Meno (Plato) (Guthrie, trans.), 131, 133 mental(ly), 2, 5–6, 10, 20, 37, 39, 52, 58, 61, 63, 67–70, 73–74, 76–77, 90, 92, 95–103, 105–108, 110, 112–114, 127; m. events, 73–74, 77, 90, 101; m. faculty(ies), 5–6, 106–107; m. power, 52, 67, 105; m. processes, 95; m. state(s), 108, 113, 127; m. subsystem(s), 92, 95–96, 98–99, 101–102 metaphor, 27–28, 47 metaphysical, 6, 26, 30, 125; m. concept, 6; m. doctrine, 26, 30; m. entities, 125 metaphysics of wills, 52 method(s), 13, 56 methodology, 56 milkshake(s), 87–89, 94 Milo, Ronald Dmetri, 40, 42, 134– 136; book: Aristotle on Practical Knowledge and Weakness of Will, 134–136 mind(s), 11, 17, 20, 22–23, 28, 43, 45, 52, 55–56, 61, 63, 65, 67, 69, 71–73, 75, 86, 89–92, 95–99, 101–102, 113, 128, 138–140, 142 misperception, 45 moment of action, 1, 12, 17, 24, 38, 47, 54, 58–61, 63–64, 77–80, 84– 85, 88, 93, 101–106, 108–114, 120, 126 Monahan, Grace, 137, 143; co-edited volume: City of God (Augustine), 137–138, 143 money, 107 moon, 17–18, 23

Index moral, vii–ix, 1–6, 9–10, 12, 15–16, 18–19, 21–30, 32–35, 37–38, 44– 48, 52–57, 60–65, 67, 72–76, 80, 84–87, 89–90, 98, 105–109, 112, 115, 117, 125, 127–136, 140, 142; m. beliefs, 1, 21, 23–27, 45, 61, 76, 86; m. concepts, 25, 27; m. conflict, 56, 80, 106; m. development, 44; m. growth, 48; m. imagination, 128–130; m. improvement, 15, 128–129; m. knowledge, 6, 21, 23–25, 61–63, 84–87, 89–90; m. law, 112; m. order, 4; m. precepts, 129; m. principle(s), 9, 57, 73, 75; m. situation(s), 23–24, 61, 64, 87; m. states, 98; m. strength, 1, 6, 32– 33, 45, 112, 127; m. theory(ies), 2, 19, 54; m. vision, 52; m. weakness, vii–ix, 1–5, 47, 55, 65, 115, 131–136, 140, 142; m. wisdom, 10, 15–16, 18, 21–24, 27–30, 38, 46, 48, 65, 131–134 “Moral Dilemmas” (Lemmon), 131 morality, vii, 3–5, 10, 21, 23, 25, 27, 44, 54, 84, 86, 98 Moral Tradition and Individuality (Kekes), 131, 135 Moral Wisdom and Good Lives (Kekes), 131–134 Morris, Thomas V., 138; edited volume: Philosophy and the Christian Faith, 138 Mortimore, Geoffrey, 134; edited volume: Weakness of Will, 134 motivation(s), vii, 12–13, 15–16, 18– 19, 22, 26–27, 30–32, 37, 42–43, 47–49, 54, 58, 61–62, 64–65, 67, 92–93, 100, 107, 111, 113, 122, 133, 142 motivational processes, 26 motives, 27, 58, 111–112, 127 narcotics, 107, 120–121 NASS [North American Spinoza Society] Monograph #4 (Barbone, ed.), 142

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natural disasters, 55 natural evil, 55–56 nature, 16, 28, 34, 51, 53, 55–56, 62, 74, 104, 120, 135 necessary condition(s), 3, 12, 15, 21, 24, 44, 48, 62, 64, 70, 72, 77, 85, 97, 103, 105, 116, 126, 129 necessity, 40, 47; logical n., 40; psychological n., 40 negligence, 74 Neoplatonists, 66 Neoptolemus, 98, 100 nervous system(s), 20, 74, 119 New Essays on Plato and Aristotle (Bambrough, ed.), 135 Nicomachean Ethics (Aristotle) (Ross, trans.), ix, 2, 31, 37–38, 100, 130 nicotine, 120 normative claim(s), 12, 25 nutrients, 32 nutritional value, 35 obese, 123 objective(s), 4, 9, 14–15, 17, 51, 57, 73, 83, 127–128 observation(s), 46, 48–49, 99, 103, 122 Odysseus, 98 Olympus, Mt., 24 opinion(s), 14, 29, 31, 41, 46–48, 63, 77 optimism, 27 orexis, 32 organism, 121 original sin, 74, 106, 137 “Our Hearts of Darkness: Original Sin Revisited” (Duffy), 137 overeat(ing), 115–116, 122–123 overindulgence, 74 pain(s), 12, 17–18, 35–36, 55, 61 Pang-White, Ann A., 53, 62, 137– 138 passion(s), 16, 18, 28, 32–33, 36, 42– 45, 48–49, 59, 65, 71–72, 75, 98, 122

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peace, 11, 26 pears, 56–60, 62, 66, 110–112 Penner, Terrence M., 6–7, 14, 20–25, 62, 83–96, 104–105, 109, 120, 125–126, 132–133, 138, 141– 143; articles: “Knowledge vs. True Belief in the Socratic Psychology of Action,” 132–133, 138, 141–143; “Plato and Davidson: Parts of the Soul and Weakness of Will,” 141–143; “Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge: Protagoras 351B – 357E,” 132–133, 141–142 perception(s), 17, 21, 25, 32, 43, 45, 47, 74 perceptual field, 42 perfection, 107 personalities, 29 perspective(s), 9, 11–12, 14, 17, 20, 23–24, 57, 61, 72, 83, 85–87, 89, 96–97, 100–101, 103–104, 116, 127 persuade(d)(s), 64, 98 persuasion, 70 Phaedo (Plato) (Tredennick, trans.), 13–14, 133 Phaedrus (Plato) (Hackforth, trans.), 6, 10, 26–28, 31, 47, 62–63, 125, 131, 134 Philoctetes, 98, 100 Philoctetes (Sophocles), 98, 143 philosopher(s), vii–viii, 2, 5, 10–11, 14, 20, 24, 26, 30–31, 46, 51, 66, 83, 117, 125–126, 128, 131, 133– 134 philosophical training, 26, 46, 48, 65 philosophy, vii–viii, 51–52, 125, 127–128, 133, 135–144 Philosophy and the Christian Faith (Morris, ed.), 138 phronesis, 37, 46, 49, 64, 135 physiology, 108 Pinborg, Jan, 140; co-edited volume: Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy, The, 140 pity, 32

planets, 24 Plato, vii, 2, 5–6, 10, 12, 14, 29, 31, 66, 125, 131–135, 137–138, 140– 144; dialogues: Apology, 133; Crito, 133; Gorgias, 13–14, 131; Meno, 131, 133; Phaedo, 13–14, 133; Phaedrus, 6, 10, 26– 28, 31, 47, 62–63, 125, 131, 134; Protagoras, 5, 7, 10, 12–19, 23, 26–27, 31, 45, 61, 84–85, 125, 131–133, 141; Republic, 6, 10, 14, 26–28, 31, 62, 125, 133–134; Timaeus, 133 “Plato and Aristotle on Belief, Habit, and Akrasia” (Rorty), 134 “Plato and Augustine on Doing Wrong Knowingly” (FallsCorbitt), 137–138, 140, 144 “Plato and Davidson: Parts of the Soul and Weakness of Will” (Penner), 141–143 “Plato, Hare, and Davidson on Akrasia” (Taylor), 142 Plato’s Ethics (Irwin), 131–132 “Plato’s Theory of Human Motivation” (Cooper), 133 Plato’s Thought (Grube), 132 pleasure(s), 3–4, 6, 12–25, 27, 30, 34–36, 45, 47, 52, 58–61, 64–65, 69, 76, 79–80, 87–88, 100, 111– 112, 122–123, 125 point of view, 22 potentiality, 42 power, 5–6, 18, 21, 23, 28–30, 52, 54, 57, 65, 67–68, 70–72, 75–76, 86, 90–91, 105–106, 125–126 practical, 6–7, 31, 37–44, 46–49, 58, 64–65, 67, 70, 75, 78, 80, 97, 103, 109–110, 112, 125, 134– 136; p. inference, 40, 135–136; p. knowledge, 37, 134–136; p. reason(ing), 31, 38–40; p. syllogism(s), 6–7, 31, 37–45, 47– 48, 67, 75, 78, 80, 125, 135–136; p. wisdom, 37–38, 43–44, 46–49, 64–65 “Practical Syllogism and

Index Incontinence, The” (Kenny), 135–136 “Praise, Blame, and the Whole Self” (Arpaly and Schroeder), 143 prejudiced, 99 premise(s), 25, 39–44, 48, 51, 67, 75, 77–80, 94, 100; major p., 39–40, 75, 79; minor p., 39–40, 42, 75, 77, 79–80; particular p., 41–44; universal p., 41–44 pressure, 63, 87–88 pride, 111 prima facie, 11, 71, 93–95, 122 principle(s), 4, 9, 25, 33, 37–38, 41– 42, 44, 57, 64, 73, 75, 78–79, 83, 91, 93, 100 Prior Analytics (Aristotle), 40 problem of evil, 55 propensities, 123 proposition(s), 14, 21–25, 27, 39–40, 51–52, 65, 72–73, 76, 85, 89, 97, 102 Protagoras (Plato) (Guthrie, trans.), 5, 7, 10, 12–19, 23, 26–27, 31, 45, 61, 84–85, 125, 131–133, 141 psyche, 32, 49, 52, 67, 92 psyche, 25–26, 47 psychiatry, 129–130 psychological, 11–16, 19, 22–23, 25, 27, 40, 45, 119; p. hedonism, 12– 16, 19, 23, 25, 27, 45; p. research, 119 psychology, 16, 54, 56, 129–130, 132–133, 135–136, 138, 140– 141, 143 “Psychology of Habit in St. Thomas Aquinas, The” (Castiello), 140 Pythagoras, 42 ratio, 69 rational, 6, 26–28, 32–33, 36–37, 40, 46, 48, 53–54, 60, 62, 65, 68–71, 75–76, 79, 100–101, 103, 106, 139; r. appetite, 68–69, 71, 76, 79, 139; r. cognition, 70, 79; r. faculties, 37, 75; r. part of the soul, 27–28, 53

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reality, 26, 66, 101 reason, 28–29, 32, 36–38, 45, 52–55, 62, 64, 69–73, 75, 77–78, 85, 93– 97, 135 Reason and Human Good in Aristotle (Cooper), 135 reasoning, vii, 14, 26, 31, 37–40, 44, 54, 62, 64, 75, 88, 90, 97, 101, 106, 121; r. process(es), 38, 88, 97 rebellion, 59, 112 reflection, 107 reflex, 118 regret(s), 3, 9–10, 20, 33, 35, 47, 57, 59, 83–85, 87, 99–101, 103–104, 116–118 Reilly, Richard, 140–141; article: “Weakness of Will: The Thomistic Advance,” 140 relative magnitude(s), 18, 21, 24–25, 45 relativism, 94 religion, 128, 139 religious tradition(s), 4, 127–129 remorse, 33, 44, 56, 83 Republic (Plato) (Waterfield, trans.), 6, 10, 14, 26–28, 31, 62, 125, 133–134 responsibility, 75, 108–109, 125, 139 Richardson, W. Mark, 137, 140, 144; co-edited volume: Human and Divine Agency: Anglican, Catholic, and Lutheran Perspectives, 137, 140, 144 righteousness, 53 rights, 4 risk(s), 20, 91 robbery, 108 Robinson, Daniel, 36, 135–136, 140; book: Aristotle’s Psychology, 135–136, 140 Robinson, Richard, 133, 135–136; book: Essays in Greek Philosophy, 133, 136 Rorty, Amelie, 134; article: “Plato and Aristotle on Belief, Habit, and Akrasia,” 134

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Ross, William David, 131, 134, 138, 140, 143; book: Aristotle, 134; work trans.: Nicomachean Ethics (Aristotle), ix, 2, 31, 37–38, 100, 130 rulers, 27, 63 Saarinen, Risto, 94, 137–138, 141– 143; books and articles: “John Buridan and Donald Davidson on Akrasia,” 142; Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought: From Augustine to Buridan, 137–138, 141, 143 safety, 91 “Saint Thomas Aquinas and the Problem of Akrasia” (Stegman), 139 salvation, 4, 65 Santas, Gerasimos, 13–15, 40, 132, 135–136; articles: “Aristotle on Practical Inference, the Explanation of Action, and Akrasia,” 135–136 scenario, 3, 10, 34, 44, 60, 99–101, 118–119 Schmidt, Robert W., 138; book trans.: Truth (Aquinas), 138–140, 142 Schroeder, Timothy, 98, 143; article: “Praise, Blame, and the Whole Self” (co-authored with Arpaly), 143 science(s), 18, 25, 58, 113 scriptures, 4 security, 11 self-control, 96, 129, 135 self-deception, 96, 135 self-indulgence, 32–33 selfish, 74, 98 sensation, 55 sensuality, 71, 74 sex, 7, 18, 25, 35–36, 45, 49, 59–61, 74, 90, 115, 122 shame, 32 Sheed, Francis Joseph, 138, 144; volume trans.: Confessions

(Augustine), 56, 138, 144 sin(s), 54, 62, 74, 137 sinner, 55 skill(s), 19, 23–24, 29, 44 smoker, 120 smoking, 120 social sciences, 25 society, 1, 4, 7, 103, 127–128, 142 Socrates, vii, 2, 5–7, 9–21, 23–32, 38, 43, 45–48, 51, 54–56, 61–66, 68, 84–86, 91, 107, 111, 125–126, 131–134, 141–142; early S., 5–6, 10–21, 23–31, 38, 45–48, 61–62, 65, 91, 126; historical S., 6, 13; later S., 6, 10, 26–32, 45–48, 62– 65, 125 Socrates: Ironist and Moral Philosopher (Vlastos), 131, 133– 134 “Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge: Protagoras 351B – 357E” (Penner), 132–133, 141– 142 “Socratic Akratic Action” (Mele), 131–133, 140–141, 143 soft drinks, 35 Sophocles, 98, 143; play: Philoctetes, 98, 143 Sophocles, 1 (Sophocles) (Slavitt and Bovie, eds.), 143 soul(s), 6, 24–28, 30, 33, 46–47, 52– 53, 56, 58, 60, 62–64, 67, 76, 111, 141, 143 Spinoza, Benedict (Baruch), 91, 98, 142 spontaneity, 112 stealing, 58–59, 111–112 Stegman, Thomas D., 139; article: “Saint Thomas Aquinas and the Problem of Akrasia,” 139 stimuli, 68 stomach, 32 stress, 88, 116 struggle, 56, 61, 79–80, 93, 101–102, 105–107, 111, 125 Stump, Eleanor, 67, 77, 138–141; article: “Aquinas’ Account of

Index Freedom: Intellect and Will,” 138–141 subsystem(s), 92, 95–96, 98–99, 101–102 suffering, 55 sufficient condition(s), 19, 72 Summa Theologiae (Aquinas), 139– 140, 142 sun, 17–18, 23 sweets, 36 syllogism(s), 6–7, 31, 37–45, 47–48, 67, 75–80, 125, 135–136; akratic s., 42, 67, 76–77, 79–80; assertoric s., 39–41; demonstrative s., 41; good s., 75– 77, 79; practical s., 6–7, 31, 37– 45, 47–48, 67, 75, 78, 80, 125, 135–136 sympathy, 99 talk therapy, 130 taxonomy, 60 Taylor, Christopher Charles Whiston, 142; article: “Plato, Hare, and Davidson on Akrasia,” 142 technique(s), 23 temperance, 7 temporal, 18–22, 85–87, 93, 101, 105; t. context, 20–22, 85–87, 93, 101, 105; t. distances, 18–19; t. succession, 20 temptation(s), 3, 35–36, 43, 49, 53, 56, 88, 96, 123, 128 Tenenbaum, Sergio, 83, 96–97, 101, 125, 129, 141–144; article: “The Judgment of a Weak Will,” 83, 141–144 terminology, 4–5, 7, 126 theft, 56, 58–60, 62, 110–112 theists, 55 theologian, 66 theology, 51, 65–66, 74 theorem, 42, 97 theory(ies), vii, 2–7, 14, 19, 31, 39– 40, 44, 46, 51, 54, 56, 58, 80, 83– 84, 86–89, 91–94, 96–97, 100– 101, 104, 107, 110, 114, 125

165

Theories of Human Nature (Loptson), 135 therapist, 130 thinking, 2, 11, 39, 42, 98, 126, 129 thirst, 27, 32 “Thomas Aquinas on Human Action” (Donagan), 140 “Thomas Aquinas on Will as Rational Appetite” (Gallagher), 139 thought(s), 11, 17, 19, 29, 31, 33–34, 36, 39, 51–52, 54, 60–62, 66, 71, 74, 95, 98, 113, 128, 132, 135, 137–138, 141, 143 “Thought and Action in Aristotle” (Anscombe), 135 thumos, 32, 67, 122 Timaeus (Plato) (Jowett, trans.), 133 tiredness, 25 trauma, 37, 120 Trojan War, 98 true belief(s), 20–22, 29, 34, 46, 61, 64, 84–88, 90, 92, 132–133, 138, 141–143 trust, 9, 128 Truth (Aquinas), 138-140, 142 universal(s), 31, 40–44, 47 universe, 29 upbringing, 99–100 urge(s), 35, 107–108, 119, 121–123, 129 Urmson, James Opie, 37, 43, 46–47, 134–136, 140; book: Aristotle’s Ethics, 134–136, 140 utilitarians, 3–4 Vailati, Ezio, 97–98, 112, 142, 144; article: “Leibniz on Locke on Weakness of Will,” 142, 144 value(s), 9, 12, 17, 35, 39, 57, 67, 73, 79, 83, 91, 116 Vermazen, Bruce, 143; co-edited volume: Essays on Davidson: Actions and Events, 143 vice, 6, 32–35, 38, 46, 59–60, 65, 70, 73, 111–112, 116–117, 125, 127,

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139 villainy, 65 virtue(s), 3, 6, 11, 15, 24–25, 29, 32– 33, 45, 112, 117, 127, 138, 140– 141; v. theories, 3 Virtue of Prudence, The (Den Uyl), 138 Virtues of the Will: The Transformation of Ethics in the Late Thirteenth Century (Kent), 140–141 Vlastos, Gregory, 131, 133–134; book: Socrates: Ironist and Moral Philosopher, 131, 133– 134 volition, 52, 56, 67, 105–108 volitional faculty, 6–7, 66, 106, 109, 125 voluntarism, 54, 65, 70, 80 voluntary, 13, 36–37, 49, 68, 71–72, 77–78, 108–109, 114, 125–126 Walsh, Gerald G., 137, 143; coedited volume: City of God (Augustine), 137–138, 143 Walsh, James J., 12, 17, 29, 41, 77, 131–134, 136, 140, 142; book: Aristotle’s Conception of Moral Weakness, 131–134, 136, 140, 142 want(s), 32, 37, 46, 71, 93–94 “Warring Against the Law of My Mind: Aquinas on Romans 7” (Kretzmann), 138–140 water(s), 35, 91, 120 weakness of will, vii, 5, 47, 134–136, 141–144 “Weakness of Will” (Hare), 136 Weakness of Will (Mortimore, ed.), 134 Weakness of the Will (Gosling), 131– 134, 138–140, 142 Weakness of the Will in Medieval Thought: From Augustine to Buridan (Saarinen), 137–138, 141, 143

Weakness of Will: A Philosophical Introduction (Charlton), 142, 144 “Weakness of the Will in Spinoza’s Theory of Human Motivation” (Koistinen), 142 “Weakness of Will: The Thomistic Advance” (Reilly), 140 wealth, 24, 35, 122 whim, 112 Whose Justice? Which Rationality? (MacIntyre), 139, 140 wickedness, 58, 80, 111 Williams, Thomas, 52, 137; volume trans.: Free Choice of the Will, On (Augustine), 137 willing, 32, 56, 62, 67, 69, 72, 106, 109 willpower, 1 wine, 74 wish(es), 17, 32, 35, 48, 56, 106–107 wishing, 32 world view, 52, 63, 65 wrongdoing, 53, 56, 62, 105, 111 Xenophon, 12 yearning, 32 Zema, Demetrius B., 137, 143; coedited volume: City of God (Augustine), 137–138, 143

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