The cleverly, if slightly misleadingly, entitled Before Virtue is an elegantly simple book that impressively sets out its argument, pursues it transparently, chapter by chapter, provides a succinct and compelling proposal, and concludes by summarising briefly but comprehensively. The argument is this. Virtue ethics is not a coherent philosophical field; it is not the true heir of Aristotelian ethics; to address the foundational questions of ethics a genuine return to Aristotelian ethics is necessary, granted a Thomist twist.
The book takes as widely assumed that virtue has taken its seat alongside deontology and consequentialism at the top table of contemporary ethical approaches. It then tells a story of how Elizabeth Anscombe's 1958 essay, ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’ not only opened the way for the resurgence of virtue, but set conditions that had to be met if that resurgence was to be valid. Sanford's argument is that since that essay there has indeed been a resurgence of virtue, but that Anscombe's conditions have not been met; thus the movement is neither cohesive, comprehensive nor coherent.
Sanford has a gift for both delineating and characterising. There is a straightforward distinction between classical virtue ethics – Platonic, Aristotelian, Stoic – and contemporary virtue ethics. Then there's the subtler distinction between those for whom virtue ethics is part of a larger project that rejects the criteria by which modern philosophy evaluates moral theories in favour of premodern criteria, and conventional scholars, ‘whose success in mainstreaming concern for the virtues has come at the cost of accommodating their theories to the presuppositions and criteria definitive of the modern moral project’ (p. 111).
The key criterion Anscombe set for the revival of virtue ethics was the articulation of an adequate philosophical psychology. Sanford helpfully lists the questions that constitute this quest: ‘What is human nature? What is the purpose of human life? And by what means can we judge progress made toward achieving the goal of human life?’ (p. 141). Sanford laments that to address such questions is today regarded, not just in philosophy, but in academic culture generally, as being ‘in bad taste’ (p. 207). He also notes how Alastair MacIntyre, whom he greatly admires, has (along with Anscombe and Peter Geach) been ostracised not only by modern moral philosophers in general, but particularly, ironically, and painfully by mainstream virtue ethicists, who are so concerned to make their approaches suit the concerns of modern moral philosophy (for example, to guide action) that they find his fundamental re-envisioning of the tasks of ethics an embarrassment.
For Sanford, there's only one way to address Anscombe's questions, and that is to return to Aristotle. At this point the book changes gear, from lapidary survey to nuanced exposition and shrewd argument. He carefully outlines what ‘Aristotelian’ designates. It means refusing to call one sphere of action the ‘moral’; prioritising contemplative wisdom; making friendship central, which yields the importance of justice, which is friendship without intimacy; and insisting that the human is the communal; among other commitments. From this point on the book is simply an outstanding introduction to Aristotelian ethics, which Sanford regards as having ‘a much vaster, deeper and richer set of concerns’ than modern moral philosophy (p. 181), and thus, to Sanford's amusement, doesn't constitute a virtue ethics. Once Sanford gives himself permission to leave aside matters for which has little appetite, and genuinely explore Aristotelian ethics, he finds his stride: the final chapter, on natural law and contractarian theories, is a delight, and makes one wish it were the subject of the whole book.
One of Sanford's great strengths is the way he carefully identifies which subjects he's not going to pursue, and why. It gives the book a commendable coherence – one that contrasts with the sprawling field of virtue ethics. But are there subjects one cannot ignore? When much of ethics today is, rightly, being transformed by perspectives of gender, race, class and other groups hitherto ‘othered’, can one still say deontology, consequentialism and virtue sit unchallenged at the top table? Can one still write a book where these insurgent perspectives are wholly absent?
Meanwhile (and I declare an interest), if one is going to conclude that Aquinas plus Aristotle is the way not backward but forward, can one write about virtue ethics while entirely excluding the huge contribution of theological ethics? A book that sharply points out ironies has to wrestle with this irony: why not address those scholars that do exactly as the author asks?
