In my previous essay, I examined Rudolf Eucken’s conception of activism as a life-process through which the self becomes actualised by sustained effort, rising above passivity and deliberately shaping a meaningful life. Here, I turn to Aristotle’s ethical framework, focusing on phronesis (practical wisdom), to examine what it means to act well for justice, what such action demands, and how its practitioners may come to perceive their task clearly.

Introduction

We often first encounter justice as an imbalance that troubles us before we name it. We feel dissatisfaction when goods are distributed disproportionately, when some receive more than is due and others less. We feel it in the anger that rises when someone is harmed and no one intervenes. We feel frustration when harm has already occurred, yet nothing is done to restore what was lost. We also experience it as reluctance when the law speaks too generally, and something within us resists its application to the specific case.

Yet we hesitate because the facts remain incomplete, the distinctions between bystander, victim, and perpetrator blur, or the wider context remains obscure. It is difficult to discern precisely what a situation demands – what truly matters, and how one should respond proportionately, carefully, and justly. Even amid uncertainty, we never stand entirely outside the situation; whether acting or remaining silent, we are always already implicated. From this position, errors can take opposing forms. One may act prematurely, invoking justice without sufficient regard to context, allowing moral conviction to outpace perception and unintentionally deepening the harm intended to be prevented. Alternatively, one may remain silent out of fear of error, yet be troubled by the sense that something ought to have been done, that inaction might leave the injustice unaddressed. In both cases, failure arises not simply from contemplation or action themselves, but from insufficient discernment: a lack of capacity to perceive precisely what justice demands in each particular case.

Acting justly cannot be distilled into step-by-step instructions. It is not merely a matter of applying rules or having correct convictions, but of recognising clearly, amid the concrete pressures of the particular situation, what is at stake and what must be done. Such judgement calls for a kind of perception: responsive to context, attuned to particulars, and able to act in a way that serves justice. It is this capacity that this essay seeks to explore.

Think with Aristotle

Experience reveals that, in the absence of certainty, our moral judgements become easily compromised by partial knowledge, conflicting motives, or the impulse to defend what we already favour. Aware of our limited discernment, we turn to external sources of guidance – custom, revelation, philosophical reasoning – not to escape responsibility but to better understand how to bear it.

Not every form of guidance, however, proves adequate to this task. Some offer fixed principles or abstract ideals, yet these often falter when confronted by particular circumstances. The challenge lies in perceiving and acting rightly within the world as it truly is – a world in which choices carry real weight, and rules alone cannot determine correct action. This difficulty requires an ethical framework firmly rooted in experience, one that acknowledges that moral clarity is never given in advance yet does not surrender the possibility of right action.

This path brings us to Aristotle. Where other traditions begin with universal rules or inner commands, Aristotle begins from the concrete reality of human action, asking what it means to live well among others in particular situations. His ethics does not seek to eliminate uncertainty, but rather prepares us to act rightly within it. His account of phronesis, or practical wisdom, offers an approach to moral judgement that neither simplifies nor avoids the difficulties inherent in responding to what is contingent, variable, and particular in human affairs.

Reading Aristotle today involves a certain risk. His ethical vision presupposes a world structured by rigid hierarchies, placing men above women, masters above slaves, and citizens above labourers. These hierarchies are not incidental but fundamental structural features of his ethical outlook. Yet, what Aristotle says about moral attention, situated judgement, and cultivated discernment still resonates precisely because it cannot be reduced solely to these structures. His work challenges habitual ways of thinking and exposes assumptions we seldom question. What matters is not complete agreement, but whether Aristotle’s approach sharpens our understanding of moral life.

Justice in Aristotle’s ethics

Aristotle opens the Nicomachean Ethics with a fundamental claim:

“Every craft and every discipline, and likewise action and decision, seems to seek some good – that is why some people were right to describe the good as what everything seeks.” (NE I.1, 1094a, trans. Irwin).

This reflects Aristotle’s conviction that human life is fundamentally oriented toward ends. Some ends are pursued for the sake of other ends, while some are final in themselves. The highest good, which organises and fulfils all subordinate aims, is called eudaimonia: the flourishing of a being across an entire life.

But in what exactly does eudaimonia consist? To answer this, Aristotle appeals to the concept of function (ergon), arguing that a thing’s good lies in the excellent fulfilment of its characteristic activity. Just as the good of a flute-player lies in fulfilling their function excellently, so the human good lies in the excellent exercise of what is distinctively human. For Aristotle, this distinctive activity is the activity of the soul conducted in accordance with reason. Rationality defines our function, and virtue is the excellence of that function in action. Hence, the human good consists in rational activity carried out in accordance with virtue and sustained over the course of a complete life.

Because we live among others, however, the exercise of rational activity is never purely private. Our actions occur in relation to others, shaped by mutual claims and the demands of coexistence. Justice, among all virtues, uniquely highlights this relational aspect. While other virtues may be expressed in solitude, justice always unfolds in the space between persons:

“Justice… is perfect virtue, though with a qualification, namely that it is displayed towards others. This is why justice is often thought to be the chief of the virtues… In justice is all virtue found in sum.” (NE V.1, 1129b, trans. Rackham)

It is called ‘perfect virtue’ because it brings the other virtues into their outward relation to others. A just person is one whose character is virtuous in general, and whose actions are lawfully and fairly ordered toward others.

In Book V, Aristotle distinguishes between several forms of justice. Justice in the broad sense refers to living lawfully and virtuously in relation to others. Within this broad sense, he identifies particular justice, which concerns specific dealings between individuals: the allocation of goods by merit or proportion (distributive justice) and the restoration of balance when harm or unfair advantage occurs (corrective justice). These forms of particular justice are governed by written law, which Aristotle refers to as legal justice. Yet a difficulty arises here: law speaks in general terms and thus cannot accommodate every particular circumstance. This limitation leads Aristotle to introduce equity, a necessary correction when the rigid application of law threatens to produce injustice.

Equity arises from the fact that law, however well made, cannot anticipate every detail and complexity of moral life. Its aim is to preserve justice when strict application of the rule would undermine the very purpose the law was meant to serve.

“While the equitable is just, and is superior to one sort of justice, it is not superior to absolute justice, but only to the error due to its absolute statement… it is a rectification of law where law is defective because of its generality.” (NE V.10, 1137b, trans. Rackham)

But how is such rectification possible? It cannot be derived from the rule itself. It depends on someone who can grasp the law’s purpose, recognise when a case exceeds its intended scope, deliberate well on what ought to be done, and act so as to restore the law’s intended aim. Aristotle places that task at the centre of equity, and calls on phronesis to guide it. It is this faculty – of perceiving clearly and acting rightly amid the unpredictable – that makes full moral responsibility possible. In what follows, I turn to Aristotle’s account of phronesis, to examine how it functions within the demands of human action and the pursuit of justice.

What phronesis is

Aristotle divides the soul into three parts, each distinguished by its distinctive function. The first is the nutritive part, responsible for growth, nutrition, and reproduction. It is shared by all living things and has no role in moral life. The second is the appetitive part, comprising desires, emotions, and impulses. Moral virtues, such as courage and temperance, are excellences that shape this appetitive part, training it to desire what is noble. The third is the rational part, unique to human beings, which enables thought, judgement, and deliberation. Intellectual virtues perfect this rational part, guiding it toward truth and right action.

Within the rational part of the soul, Aristotle distinguishes between two modes of reasoning. Theoretical reason is concerned with what is eternal and unchanging, as found in mathematics or metaphysics. Its highest virtue is sophia (theoretical wisdom), which seeks knowledge for its own sake. The other is practical reason, concerning matters that are variable and contingent – matters dependent upon human action, which could always be otherwise. Its virtue is phronesis (practical wisdom), which enables sound deliberation regarding what ought to be done in particular circumstances.

Previously, we saw that the human good consists in the continuous exercise of reason in accordance with virtue, sustained throughout a lifetime. Since human life is lived in particular situations, where the right course must be discerned, we require a form of reasoning responsive to contingency and moral complexity. This is the task of phronesis.

Aristotle defines phronesis as:

“a state grasping the truth, involving reason, and concerned with action about human goods.” (NE VI.5, 1140b, trans. Irwin)

• First, Aristotle describes phronesis as a state because it is not a single act but a stable disposition formed gradually through experience and habituated attention.
• Second, phronesis does not seek theoretical truth, as contemplation or scientific knowledge do; rather, it seeks practical truth, grounded in action and responsive to particular and variable circumstances.
• Third, phronesis engages reason as the capacity for sound deliberation about what is worth pursuing. This is reason attuned to circumstance, discerning what ought to be done in a particular situation.
• Fourth, phronesis is concerned with action, though not in the productive sense. Its end is not a result outside the act, as in craft or skill, but the activity itself: living and acting well in the shifting terrain of human life, where every action carries moral weight.
• Finally, phronesis is not ethically neutral. It does not serve any aim whatsoever, but orients action toward human goods. It grasps what is worth pursuing, and that grasp depends on a character already formed toward the good. For this reason, phronesis cannot function without moral virtue, and simultaneously it enables the virtues to function properly: “we cannot be fully good without phronesis, or phronesis without virtue of character” (NE VI.12, 1144b, trans. Irwin).

As we have seen, phronesis and justice form two essential junctions in Aristotle’s ethics: phronesis enables one to judge rightly what ought to be done; justice ensures that this judgement is ordered toward what is due to others in the shared world.

Exercising phronesis: three conditions

To act well, one must integrate desire, reason, and a character shaped by virtue. Desire provides the aim of action, reason guides deliberation about how to achieve that aim in particular circumstances, and character ensures that what appears good is worth pursuing. Moral perception arises from character: the ability to discern what truly matters in a situation depends on the kind of person one has become. What follows examines how the phronimos – the practically wise person – unifies these conditions into the capacity for just action.

Perceiving what matters in a particular case

As discussed, legal justice operates through universal rules applied evenly across cases, but it may fail in particular circumstances, unable to accommodate the specific configuration of relationships, persons, and context in which action occurs. Aristotle calls these specific elements particulars.

The phronimos does not act according to general rules, such as “always support victims,” “wait for proof,” or “silence means siding with the oppressor,” but rather through careful attention to each particular case. They must grasp not only what justice generally entails, but precisely what it demands here, in this specific situation, under these pressures, among these individuals:

“It must also acquire knowledge of particulars, since it is concerned with action and action is about particulars.” (NE VI.7, 1141b, p 152, trans. Irwin)

This trained attentiveness enables the agent to perceive clearly what has happened, who is involved, and one’s own position within the scene. It may also require sensitivity to power dynamics, history, and unspoken tensions. This includes emotional responsiveness; to feel anger at cruelty or indignation at injustice is not weakness but a sign of moral perception.

What distinguishes the phronimos is not that they notice more, but that they discern clearly which aspects of the case hold moral significance and which can be set aside. They ask what kind of good is at risk, what harm is likely, whether the harm is structural or personal, what the risks of speaking or the consequences of silence are, and how the present moment is shaped by past events and future possibilities. These are not merely facts to assemble; they are ethical realities perceived clearly by someone whose character is sufficiently formed to care about the good. But even this attentiveness is not sufficient; we must still ask: toward what end is this perception directed?

Desiring the good ends

Phronesis operates within the contingent realm: the world of change, uncertainty, and particular circumstance. Acting rightly in such cases depends not only upon perception and reason, but also upon being the kind of person who desires the good ends. In this regard, Aristotle differentiates phronesis from cleverness:

“There is indeed a capacity that people call ‘cleverness,’ and this is of such a character as to be capable of doing what is conducive to the target posited and so of hitting it. If, then, the target is a noble one, the cleverness is praiseworthy; but if base, it is mere cunning.” (NE VI.12, 1144a, p 132, trans. Bartlett & Collins).

Cleverness, in other words, deals only with means. It knows how to achieve its goals but remains indifferent as to whether those goals are genuinely worthwhile. Phronesis, by contrast, concerns itself with the quality and worthiness of the ends pursued. It asks not merely how to act, but whether the action aims at what is genuinely good.

We do not grasp the good by defining it in advance or by pursuing it as a fixed and predetermined goal. As Aristotle writes, “the supreme good only appears good to the good man” (1144a, p 159, Rackham), precisely because their character has been shaped to recognise what merits pursuit – what is noble, shameful, or genuinely worthwhile in a given circumstance. With this recognition, desire emerges. The capacity to desire rightly is not natural; it must be cultivated through moral virtue, so that one comes to desire what is noble. Phronesis then engages these rightly-formed desires, deliberating about how they may best be realised through action.

In matters of justice, desiring rightly already means being oriented toward the good of others, caring about fairness, proportion, and the restoration of balance. Such desire reflects a formed responsiveness to justice as a good worth pursuing for its own sake. Phronesis refines this desire, measures its proportionality, and guides it into action that remains faithful to the requirements of justice.

Deliberating well about what should be done

A course of action may appear noble in theory, but if it requires capacities the agent does not possess, or incurs costs that compromise justice elsewhere, it cannot be the right action in this particular situation. Deliberation addresses what lies within our power and what can realistically be done; thus phronesis, as the virtue guiding this deliberation, must remain attuned to what may reasonably be pursued given actual constraints. Such constraints may include limitations of time, material conditions, institutional structures, emotional readiness, and the positions occupied by others. The range of available actions may also be defined by the agent’s own capacities, relationships, obligations, and their situated role within a particular context.

The phronimos, however, must consider not merely what is possible, but also what is fitting. To act fittingly is to align ethical commitments proportionately with the particular case. This requires practical foresight: the capacity to anticipate likely consequences, recognise moral tensions, weigh hidden costs, and discern how these constraints shape or guide the range of appropriate responses. For example, the phronimos recognises that justice may be at stake, speech may have consequences not merely for oneself but also for those already under pressure, and silence might allow wrongdoing to become normalised. They would also deliberate over questions such as: How might I express care for what is being lost without claiming full knowledge? How can I draw attention to uncertainty rather than asserting guilt? How can I support those affected without instrumentalising their situation? And how do I maintain openness to future truth rather than closing it prematurely with certainty or silence?

Phronesis, however, does not imply indefinite suspension of judgement; it remains oriented toward action. As Aristotle writes:

“Further, one person may deliberate a long time before reaching the right thing to do, while another reaches it quickly. Nor, then, is the first condition enough for good deliberation; good deliberation is correctness that accords with what is beneficial, about the right thing, in the right way, and at the right time.” (NE VI.9, 1142b, trans. Irwin).

To deliberate wisely is not to await complete clarity, but to recognise precisely when the moment for action has arrived. If further evidence emerges, if the cost of inaction surpasses the risk of error, or if silence grows dangerous, a phronimos may judge that action is now fitting. But if they speak clearly before the situation allows meaning to emerge, their voice risks dismissal, misunderstanding, or even instrumentalisation. Such consequences harm the good they aimed to serve.

Phronesis thus integrates moral perception, desire, and deliberation into action. Perception enables attunement to what is morally salient in particular situations. Desire orients the agent toward what is worthy of pursuit. Deliberation allows one to reason about possible responses and completes the movement by committing to a course of action for the sake of the good. These are interdependent elements of a single orientation – one that makes it possible to act wisely and justly in conditions where clarity is rarely given in advance.

The cultivation of phronesis

We do not acquire phronesis merely by learning propositions. As Aristotle writes:

“whereas young people become accomplished in geometry and mathematics, and wise within these limits, prudent young people do not seem to be found. The reason is that prudence is concerned with particulars as well as universals, and particulars become known from experience, but a young person lacks experience, since some length of time is needed to produce it.” (NE VI.8, 1142a, trans. Irwin)

This reveals that phronesis (or “prudence” in many translations) structurally depends on lived experience, introducing a significant limitation in Aristotle’s ethics: phronesis remains unavailable to those who have not yet accumulated sufficient experiential knowledge of particulars. The key claim – that particulars become known from experience – rests on Aristotle’s assumption that moral perception cannot simply be taught but must emerge through habituation, repeated exposure, and active moral engagement. Aristotle further states:

“And so we must attend to the undemonstrated remarks and beliefs of experienced and older people or of prudent people, no less than to demonstrations. For these people see correctly because experience has given them their eye.” (NE VI.11, 1143b, trans. Irwin)

This is one of Aristotle’s most direct statements valuing the judgement of the experienced not for their age alone, but for the perceptual clarity that experience affords. Aristotle does not claim that older or experienced people are always right. Rather, he argues that we ought to attend carefully to what they say, because they, having lived extensively and witnessed many human situations unfold, develop clear moral perception. In other words, Aristotle cautions us not to dismiss the undemonstrated judgements of experienced people, as these are often distilled from sound perception, habituated care, and finely attuned moral insight. However, not everyone who grows older acquires this perceptual capacity. A poorly lived life – inattentive, unexamined, or morally untrained – will not yield phronesis, no matter how long it lasts.

Moreover, developing phronesis presupposes virtue of character, acquired by habituation, by repeatedly performing actions that shape the soul until the agent no longer needs to deliberate explicitly about what is right, but directly sees it. Developing phronesis, then, requires a polis in which law, education, and custom are oriented toward the good life, embedding conditions of moral formation into the shared structure of communal existence. One learns to deliberate by observing and imitating the phronimos, individuals already shaped by sound judgement. One needs to be raised and live in a community that actively practices virtue. Thus, on Aristotle’s account, while phronesis is ultimately a personal capacity, its cultivation is not a private achievement but the outcome of a well-ordered life in a well-ordered society, where moral character formation is embedded in practice, example, and law.

Conclusion

Since phronesis is essential to justice, the conditions for its cultivation cannot be overlooked. Aristotle envisioned a world in which moral formation is supported by ethical education, habituation, and the guidance of a reasonably just political order. In many contemporary societies, particularly those characterised by structural injustice, moral distortion, or political repression, these conditions are no longer in place. People often encounter moral complexity without sufficient support for discernment, in cultures where quick opinion displaces deliberation and speech oriented towards justice is easily dismissed.

Still, phronesis is not closed off; it remains a standard and a source of orientation. In recent decades, phronesis has received renewed attention in ethics, political theory, psychology, and professional practice. Neo-Aristotelian virtue ethics has been central to this revival; however, interest has also expanded into democratic theory, where phronesis is used to rethink political judgement, and in psychology, where it is studied as a form of moral perception and practical sensitivity. In fields such as education and medical ethics, researchers have examined how phronesis can be studied, taught, or actively cultivated. No longer confined to classical commentary, phronesis has become a point of convergence for those dissatisfied with abstract moral theory, procedural rationality, and technocratic approaches.

These contemporary explorations indicate clearly that phronesis is not merely of historical interest but addresses urgent and enduring moral concerns today. The widespread turn toward phronesis reflects a recognition that good practical judgement cannot be separated from moral character nor isolated from particular circumstances. This is precisely what our enquiry has traced in relation to justice.

To conclude, Aristotle does not present phronesis as a neutral or technical skill, but as an intellectual virtue grounded in experience and dependent on character formation. It is not simply a means to just action but partly constitutive of justice itself, enabling agents to discern clearly what is rightly owed in situations where general rules are inadequate. Phronesis grounds justice through the integration of moral perception, rightly formed desire, and careful deliberation about particular cases. It is the virtue that enables justice to be fully realised in human practice. To study phronesis is to ask: What kind of person clearly sees what is worth pursuing? What kind of moral formation enables perception to mature into right action? What conditions enable someone to act justly amid moral ambiguity? Even if one has not yet attained wisdom, such questions orient thought towards moral seriousness. They remind us that justice does not reside in generalities but must be perceived and realised within particular circumstances. They guard against reducing moral life to rules, slogans, or cost-benefit calculation. They provide a language to recognise what is missing and to articulate what moral maturity demands.

 

 

Note

This essay draws on three English translations of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, each chosen for its particular strengths. For the discussion of justice and equity, I refer primarily to the translation by H. Rackham (edited by Tom Griffith), which preserves the legal-philosophical resonance of equity more directly than versions that render it as decency. For the treatment of phronesis, I draw from Terence Irwin’s translation, whose attention to the structure of Aristotle’s argument offers helpful precision in that part of the text. For general references throughout the text, I rely on Robert Bartlett and Susan Collins’s translation.

References

• Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by Terence Irwin. 3rd ed. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 2019.
• Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by H. Rackham. Edited by Tom Griffith. Ware: Wordsworth Editions, 1996.
• Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by Robert C. Bartlett and Susan D. Collins. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2011.