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This chapter focuses on the Aristotelian virtues of ‘magnificence’ and ‘magnanimity,’ rejecting the popular view that here Aristotle reveals a conception of the virtues as seemly qualities of members of a grand, influential elite. Against this, it is argued first that some virtues are restricted to specific groups because only members of those groups will have the relevant occasion to develop and exercise those virtues; and there is nothing elitist about the thought that unusual social prominence can be such an occasion. Second, it is argued that it is exactly this thought that underlies Aristotle’s account of magnificence and magnanimity, which require distinctive forms of practical reasoning that are made salient only by demands peculiar to positions of social prominence. Lastly, the idea that some virtues are distinctive just in virtue of belonging to an elite class individuates virtues without reference to differences in practical reasoning between them. Such an idea, it is argued, is inimical to the very structure of an Aristotelian virtue theory.

The Weimar Origins of Rhetorical Inquiry shows how we can re-read German intellectual culture between 1918 and 1933 when we have a rich sense of a tradition of thought that scholars of the Weimar Republic have passed over almost in silence—namely, rhetoric. This sixth chapter of Weimar Origins takes up the case of Aby Warburg. Warburg has been an absolutely foundational figure in the history and theory of art as well as Renaissance Studies, but this chapter begins with his consideration of restitutio eloquentiae as the title of his great unfinished masterwork, which has come to be known as the Bilderatlas Mnemosyne (“the Mnemosyne Image Atlas”). The chapter establishes intellectual contexts and ideas around Warburg’s Luther essay of 1919 and his discourse on the Pueblo Indians of 1923, in order to make sense of manuscript sources that shed further light on the senses in which the image atlas was a “restitution of eloquence.” Among other things, Warburg indicated in those notes that an account of Magnanimitas (magnanimity) was embedded in this “restitution.” By offering a detailed reconstruction of the Warburgian inquiry sequence, the chapter makes it possible to read this gambit as implying a new rhetorical theory of freedom.

If Machiavelli is the founder of modern politics, Descartes is the founder of modern philosophy even though the nature of his modernity is often misunderstood. This chapter examines Descartes’s Discourse on Method as a model of exemplary history or moral autobiography. At the core of the Descartes’s exploration is not simply the standard philosophical question “What can I know?” but the moral question “What should I do with my life?” The chapter examines Descartes’s travels, his discovery of his rules of method, and his elaboration of a “provisional morality.” The chapter examines Descartes’s presentation of his search for a vocation culminating with his vision of a new kind of humanitarianism summed up in his plan to make us “masters and possessors of nature.” This ethic of generosité is intended to extend the benefits of health and worldly well-being on the basis of his new philosophy.

This chapter begins by explaining the magnanimity of a victor—or the lack thereof—in its treatment of the defeated side after a war. By defining a generic Magnanimity Game (MG), it suggests a general explanation of not only when a victor will or will not be magnanimous in the aftermath of a war but also when the defeated player will or will not be cooperative. More specifically, the chapter attempts to explain why events unfold the way they do after wars, based on the strategic choices the players face. The theory of moves assumes that these choices engender new choices which the players can anticipate and asks what the players will do, looking ahead. Independent of the time and place of wars, it is shown that the answer depends on the nonmyopic equilibria in the specific MG games they play.

This chapter focuses on the incomplete information that players may have about each other’s preferences, which may induce them to try to seek out additional information, misperceive an opponent’s interests, or try to deceive an adversary. It also considers the circumstances when the possession of information may backfire, creating a “paradox of omniscience.” The discussions cover information revelation in Hamlet; incomplete information in the Magnanimity Game (MG); misperception in the Iran hostage crisis; deception in the Cuban missile crisis; and the paradox of omniscience.

The Stoic treatment of magnanimity was formulated independently from Aristotle’s, though there are points of resemblance, considered at the end of this chapter. In early Stoic thought, magnanimity is presented as a subdivision of the cardinal virtue of courage, and is marked by an ability to rise above external circumstances, especially adversity. Stoic thinking on magnanimity is analysed here in terms of their theory of value, psychology, and worldview. The main later Stoic treatment of magnanimity comes in Cicero’s On Duties, a highly influential work in medieval and early modern Europe. Magnanimity here appears as one of the four cardinal virtues, defined both in terms of the ability to rise above misfortune and the readiness to undertake great actions on behalf of others; the relationship between magnanimity and honour also emerges as a new theme in Cicero’s treatment.

Magnanimity, especially as discussed by Aristotle, might seem to be one of the pagan virtues that would have been difficult to assimilate into a Christian ethical scheme. In fact, from the Fathers onwards, Christians welcomed magnanimitas into their classifications of the virtues, basing their understanding of it, up until the thirteenth century, on Stoic sources. When they came, from the mid-1200s onwards, to read Aristotle’s discussion of magnanimity in his Ethics, the theologians—Aquinas above all—managed ingeniously to combine Aristotle’s description with the version of magnanimity that was already at home in Christian thought. In the fourteenth century, Giraut Ott and John Buridan, in different ways, came closer to Aristotle’s discussion, without suggesting that magnanimity should be suspect as a virtue for Christians. The one medieval writer who does seem to have had a strong sense of magnanimity as an attractive, but distinctively pagan virtue, cultivated by the damned rather than those destined for heaven, was Dante.

The chapter contains an exposition of Descartes’s ethics, the keystone of which is the concept of générosité. This incorporates both a cognitive state (the knowledge that nothing belongs to us but the use of our free will, and that nothing but the good or bad use of our free will is worthy of praise or blame) and a disposition of will, a determination always to act in accordance with our judgement of what is best. The concept is discussed in relation both to Aristotle’s conception of magnanimity and to the Stoic ethics of Epictetus, but also in relation to the use of the term in literary texts of the time, the plays of Pierre Corneille, and the stories of Jean-Pierre Camus.

This chapter chronicles the approaches to magnanimity taken by three key Enlightenment theorists, David Hume, Adam Smith, and John Witherspoon. United in their concern to defend the modern relevance of magnanimity, these thinkers differed in how they approached two central questions: the standard by which magnanimity is measured, and the need to ensure that goodness and greatness coincide. Hume’s relative understanding of greatness of mind created problems which Smith sought to redress by introducing the concept of ‘absolute perfection’ as the touchstone for judgements about magnanimity and moral judgements more broadly. Against the apparent tension between magnanimity and Christian values, John Witherspoon set out to recover the virtue on specifically Christian terms. Taking Smith’s solution one step further, he identified the standard of absolute perfection with God, with merit conceived as conformity with God’s will and the desire for worldly honour displaced by a desire for worthiness of God’s esteem.

This chapter explores Kant’s discussion of the sublime in the Critique of the Power of Judgment (1790), in which the aesthetic subject becomes aware of a certain kind of greatness of mind. Kant’s scheme emphasizes respect for the moral capacities of the self as part of humanity, as well as admiration for greatness in the natural world. More broadly, his views show how ideas about greatness—if not magnanimity in the narrower sense—flow into philosophical approaches that lie beyond virtue ethics, moral thought, and human exceptionalism. The chapter argues that a comparative relation between self and sublime phenomena is central to understanding greatness of mind. Drawing out this comparative relation supports a deeper understanding of how both self-regarding and other-regarding attitudes feature within sublime experience, and just how this greatness might express itself within an aesthetic context.

This chapter brings Nietzsche into dialogue with the tradition of thinking about the virtue of magnanimity. In a few places in his work, Nietzsche uses the German Großmuth (magnanimity) to pick out a specific character trait. But the more important connection to this tradition of thought lies in his notion of human greatness (particularly greatness of ‘soul’, as he puts it in Beyond Good and Evil). The chapter works through, and comments on, what Nietzsche regards as some of the central marks of this greatness. It then turns to two further reflections: first, it looks at Nietzsche’s relation to Aristotle on this issue, and how similar the Aristotelian megalopsychos is to the Nietzschean great individual. Second, the chapter considers the tension that Nietzsche—unlike most figures in this tradition—apparently sees between greatness and moral goodness and how exactly this tension should be understood.

This chapter offers a composite portrait of the concept of magnanimity in nineteenth-century America, focusing on Ralph Waldo Emerson, Margaret Fuller, and Henry David Thoreau. A composite portrait, as a method in the history of philosophy, is designed to bring out characteristic features of a group’s philosophizing in order to illuminate features that may still resonate in today’s philosophy. Compared to more standard methods in the historiography of philosophy, the construction of a composite portrait de-privileges the views of individual authors. These American philosophers saw the virtue of magnanimity as a remedy for a number of modern ills. They suggest that the best sort of magnanimity is acquired by adopting the correct relation to the natural world, including new forms of inquiry, or by adopting a life of voluntary poverty. Magnanimous individuals are critics of capitalism and offer themselves as exemplars of a better, experimental life.

This chapter uses Adam Smith’s obituary of David Hume, “Letter to Strahan,” published jointly with Hume’s brief autobiography, to explore the rewards and purpose of doing philosophy in a commercial society. Smith thinks that philosophers can enjoy the rewards of friendship in this life and immortality after death if they are benefactors to humanity. For Smith, friendship among equals is the most valuable goal. The argument proceeds by way of an analysis of how Hume and Smith understand magnanimity and vanity in light of the evidence surrounding Smith’s description of Hume’s deathbed scene reading of Lucian’s Dialogues of the Dead.

This chapter introduces the language of virtue and illustrates its importance for vocation through a paradigmatic example. Beginning with Aristotle’s account (including the relationship of virtue to “happiness” and the good life), the chapter traces the historical sojourn of the virtues, understood as “the habits we need to live well.” Vocation is related to habit, insofar as living into one’s callings depends on one’s ability to cultivate habits of mind, body, and spirit that particular vocations require. The chapter explores the archetypical virtue of magnanimity (“greatness of soul”), adding conversations with Thomas Aquinas and with Julia Annas to reflect on aspiration, modeling, mentoring, and community. It also considers the bad habits (vices) of pusillanimity and acedia, which can threaten the life of virtue and, concurrently, our capacities for vocational discernment. It concludes with a discussion of the importance of friendship and hope for both virtue and vocation.

This chapter expounds on Aristotle’s optimistic theory. Despite opposing views, the “magnanimous” person, for Aristotle, is the philosopher. That person comes to devalue humanity and devotes her life and efforts to the divine. This devotion, which seems to go against the natural tendency of organisms, is nevertheless consistent with Aristotle’s natural teleology, on which nature exhibits a clear hierarchy of species, each teleologically oriented toward the good both of itself and of superior beings. On Aristotle’s view, the world functions optimally and is perfectly good as is. Thus, his view presents an alternative to pessimism. However, it also avoids a core feature characteristic of biblical and Spinozist optimism as characterized by Schopenhauer, of the optimistic features of Schopenhauer’s theory revealed by Nietzsche, and of Nietzsche’s optimism as analyzed by Camus. For Aristotle’s view devalues humanity by comparison to superior entities and resists overvaluing humanity or oneself.

This chapter examines Maimonides’s optimistic theory and its roots in Aristotle’s philosophy and the Hebrew Bible. Maimonides’s solution to the problem of evil rests on the devaluation of human beings by comparison to higher beings, such as the heavenly bodies and separate intellects. In establishing his devaluation of humanity for this purpose, Maimonides relies both on Jewish sources and on Aristotle. Various biblical (and Talmudic) texts venerate viewing oneself, and indeed humankind, as lowly. Maimonides harmonizes these sources with his own ideal of the righteous person and prophet—a philosopher who, like Aristotle’s magnanimous person, devalues humanity and herself and devotes her life and efforts to the divine. Based on these views, Maimonides is able to sustain an optimistic worldview which, far from implying the impeccability of human beings, is in fact grounded in the devaluation of humanity.

The chapter addresses the question of the relationship between self-knowledge and virtue. It extracts an account of self-knowledge from Aristotle’s remarks about magnanimity and truthfulness in the Nicomachean Ethics, and explains how magnanimity in the form of self-knowledge acts as an ‘adornment of virtue’ by reinforcing our inclination to choose virtuous acts for their own sakes. Self-knowledge, it turns out, is confined to the virtuous: only the virtuous person knows her own decision for action, while the akratic becomes temporarily ignorant of her decision, in failing to attend to it and its affirming function. The vicious person, meanwhile, does not perceive or know the true quality of her actions or motives, being in error about their value. This chapter defends an account of Aristotelian self-knowledge as necessarily encompassing practical nous rather than simply theoretical nous.

As Aquinas notes, ‘hope’ names a natural passion shared with other animals; it moves us toward some future possible, but arduous, good. The related theological virtue builds on this, strengthening us for the human journey through time, reaching with magnanimity toward what is our highest good. Hope opposes despair, as well as sloth, which sap our strength, and also presumption, which underestimates our need for help. Theological hope lies between its companion theological virtues of faith and love, but is also closely related to the moral virtues of fortitude and humility. Via hope we learn to lean on the Divine assistance, claiming the truths of faith, not only abstractly but concretely and personally. By love, we learn that ‘my hope’ is shared, and in its light hope’s political implications are made manifest.