Chapter 2: Prudence
2
Prudence
(ST II-II, qq. 47–56)
Decisions, decisions, decisions—life is full of decisions. Most of these decisions are small and virtually inconsequential: What should I wear to work today? Shall I have water or lemonade with lunch? Shall I go grocery shopping today or tomorrow? Other decisions are quite important for me and for the people who could be impacted by my actions: Should I change jobs? Is it time to retire? Should I tell my friend that I think that she is about to make a big mistake?
These latter decisions can be very important indeed. And, even though it might not be immediately evident, even those smaller decisions may have some more significant import depending on the particular circumstances of the day: Maybe, on most days, it doesn’t matter at all what I wear to work. But what if today I have a job appraisal or a special presentation to be made? For most people, the decision between water or lemonade at lunch is just a matter of taste, but what if I am a diabetic or in need of losing weight? The decision to go shopping today or tomorrow can be quite indifferent. On the other hand, the very thought of going out grocery shopping today might be little more than a subtle avoidance of something else that I should be doing or a failure of proper time management that could potentially impact others—those, for example, who either expected me to pick up the ingredients for tonight’s dinner or those who had a right to expect that I would have spent the whole day preparing my part of our joint presentation for tomorrow.
None of these decisions exists in a vacuum. I come to them as a person who has a history of making decisions—some well-made, others not so much. I come to each decision as a person who has made many, many decisions in the past. And these decisions don’t simply exist outside myself. They don’t just result in actions that have reality outside of me as a decision-maker. In fact, in a real way, each external act exists within me before there is any external movement. My actions can have lasting impact on me long after it has passed from my active memory or the recollection of others.
We probably don’t often think of it in this way, but the fact is that we make ourselves to be through the choices we make. We aren’t formed into adult human beings simply by what happens to us, what we are given, or what is done to us. We are also the agents of our own becoming. If, by choice, I do good deeds—if I perform acts of kindness, generosity, service—I make myself to be a certain kind of person. If, on the other hand, I do the opposite—perform selfish, unkind, or petty deeds—I make myself to be a very different kind of person, perhaps someone who, on reflection, I don’t much approve of. Each day, with each choice of consequence, I am making myself to be, for good or ill. I am making myself to be the person who will one day stand before the God who created me and has loved me through it all. And because our decisions are matters of such personal consequence to ourselves, we want to make sure that we make those choices well.
Every decision of consequence impacts me, and many of these decisions also have direct or indirect impact on others. The choices I make can have consequences well beyond my own little personal world. My actions and my chosen omissions effect the people around me, for good and for ill. And so, in deciding, I must not only decide with a narrow, selfish or self-centered reference to myself. I must also be able to decide in a way that will be good for those with whom I am in relationship and even for the broader community. In fact, it is unjust to be concerned only for myself or to act only for my own narrow good. It is unjust and unloving.
Perhaps the interconnectedness of our personal actions is clearer today with our more contemporary globalized consciousness. We know, for example, that our individual choices about the use of energy and water, the disposal of our waste, and the preference for locally grown produce can impact the environment. Our choice of the cheapest possible products purchased from big chain stores can lend support to unjust labor practices in those places where those cheap products are produced. But the basic message of the social import of our individual decisions is not exclusively a discovery of the last decade. The classic 1946 Christmas movie It’s A Wonderful Life, for example, focuses on a character who is offered a vision of what the life of those around him would have been like without him and his seemingly inconsequential choices. It is the same scheme as Charles Dickens’s nineteenth-century classic A Christmas Carol, in which Ebenezer Scrooge is taken on a journey through the impact of his choices.
Prudence is the virtue that enables us to maneuver through the countless decisions that constitute our daily lives—decisions that must be made well, not just in reference to our own lives but with reference as well to the lives and well-being of others and of the common good. It is prudence that guides us through the changing and sometimes complex circumstances of each situation and thus of each choice. If we have the virtue of prudence, we will be able to make these choices well, and they can usually be made without inner struggle or plodding reflection, but rather “with ease, smoothness and promptitude.” If we have the virtue of prudence, our decisions just seem to come together and “work” for our good and the good of others.
What the Virtue of Prudence Is
The word “prudence” may not have a very positive resonance or connotation to the modern ear. “Being prudent” can seem related to “being prudish”—that is, to being excessively concerned for modesty or propriety—or prudence may be too easily or exclusively associated with being cautious (even over-cautious) suggesting that the prudent person is always one who errs on the side of delay or hesitation in action. Or, finally, we might think of a prudent decision as one in which a person is willing to lay aside principles or values for the sake of strategic and pragmatic gains. (“Well, yes, that is a worthy goal, but we need to be prudent about this.”) In fact, the virtue of prudence sometimes urges immediate action rather than delay. And prudence is precisely the virtue that aids us in the assessing, balancing, and prioritizing, both of our values and our principles in light of practical considerations in a particular situation.
For Aquinas, prudence is the abiding inclination to decide well. Like all the virtues, it inclines us to the good with “ease, smoothness, and promptitude”—that is, when we possess it, the right choice comes more easily, with less inner turmoil and struggle, and more quickly. In Aquinas’s schema, prudence is, properly speaking, an intellectual virtue. It serves our knowing. But its focus is practical. It is knowledge for the sake of and directed to good action. And so prudence could also be called practical wisdom, or wisdom in practice.
Prudence functions at a number of levels. It is the ability to size up a situation and to discover what’s really at stake. It helps to identify the good to be sought in a situation in which there may be many possible goods—not in an abstract or theoretical way, but concretely in these particular circumstances. Prudence doesn’t ponder which of several goods like family, success at work, camaraderie, or personal satisfaction are, abstractly considered, the higher value. Rather, it helps to identify which good is more urgent or important in this particular situation in which I am pondering, for example, whether it would be best for me to work late tonight on an important project with my coworkers or to go home to my family to spend some quality time with them. All of the goods mentioned above may be at play in that one decision, and it is prudence that enables us to sort it out—again, not theoretically but practically for this situation at hand.
Prudence ponders the ends to be sought, but it is especially concerned with the means to attain a worthy end. In fact, there can be many ways to get things done, some that would be more efficient, others that would be either more expensive or economical, and still others that might be shady in a moral sense. Prudence helps us to identify and choose the right means to attain the good in concrete situations. And it is in this regard that prudence is concerned with those principles and rules which might guide us to act rightly in the situation which we are currently facing. Prudence helps to determine which rules apply and how they apply (or don’t). It is prudence, for example, that recognizes that being in a library requires silence; but, in this situation, people need to be informed of some emergency or that a fellow student won’t mind if I quietly ask a brief question about our common research project.
To be morally good persons, we must not only decide rightly; we must also live well. Prudence is the possession of the morally mature. Prudent people are able to see more broadly what goals they should pursue at any given period in their lives. They know how to prioritize the various ends that they hope to attain and how to take the necessary steps to attain those life goals. They also know when a goal has become unattainable or when changing circumstances or new horizons make clear that previous plans are no longer the best. A prudent person is one who knows how to act appropriately in different circumstances with a variety of people. In fact, when guiding principles or rules are unknown or the complexity is great, we can turn reliably to the person of prudence to lead us to the right choice in this situation.
Since the virtue of prudence aims at attaining the good by the right means, it presupposes that the person is seeking the good. Only those who want to do the right thing and who desire to be good can be prudent. As we will see, Aquinas speaks of counterfeit forms of prudence which are really just a kind of shrewdness in getting what we selfishly want. In fact, it is a kind of selfishness that prevents real prudence from doing its work.
Prudence in Relation to Other Virtues
All other virtues must be guided by prudence. While it is, for example, the virtue of temperance that properly orders our desires, resisting the force of unruly or disordered appetites, it is prudence that enables us to determine what must be done or avoided in an actual situation in order to act in a temperate way. Let’s say that I am trying to eat more healthily, and thus temperately resist unhealthy foods and portions. It is prudence that tells me I had better fill up on something healthy before going to the birthday gathering, eat the salad and soup deliberately before the main course arrives, or not to go to the grocery store on an empty stomach. In the same way, it is courage that inclines me to leap into a river to save a person who appears to be drowning, while it is prudence that ponders my actual ability to swim, the strength of the water’s current, and the reality that I have a family at home that depends on me. All the virtues must be prudent, and only the prudent person can be truly just, courageous, and temperate. All of the moral virtues aim at good actions (whether just, courageous, or temperate), and every good action must be prudent. In sum, then, prudence seeks the good in every action; it makes one’s actions good, and makes the person performing that action good.
At the same time, prudence depends on the other virtues. If we do not possess the other virtues, we cannot be fully prudent. If I cannot properly order my desires (temperance), I will not be able to see what is truly good, nor will I be able to choose and perform the right means to attain an authentic good. If I lack sufficient respect for other persons and what is legitimately theirs (justice), I will not be able to size up a situation accurately to see what is at stake and what must be done. And if I am not able to reasonably moderate my fear in the face of perceived danger or threat (courage), I will not be able to accurately assess all of the possible means of attaining a worthy end. Alternatively, excessive fear might exaggerate the actual threat and so cloud my judgment of the worthiness of the good that is at stake in this situation, or the fear might weaken my resolve to actually move forward with what needs to be done.
The Necessary Elements of Prudence
Aquinas identifies eight essential aspects or integral components of prudence. Without these, prudence cannot be complete. In fact, he doesn’t offer a lengthy discussion of them, and so it’s not surprising that different theologians have interpreted their meaning in slightly different ways. But our purpose here is not the perfect understanding of Aquinas’s thought, but rather the broader insights they can offer us. Frankly, the identification of these eight components can seem to bear the scholastic mark of comprehensive dividing and subdividing, but their usefulness nonetheless remains clear to any understanding of what it means to be truly prudent.
In our day, it is all too easy to neglect much serious thought at all about what constitutes good decision-making. We can tend to make decisions based on a “gut reaction,” on an intuition, or loosely on “what seems best.” We could profitably think of these eight elements as the components of any good decision, though Aquinas is speaking of them as elements of the virtue of prudence itself—as what constitutes our abiding inclination to decide well in every situation. In this sense, they are not so much “steps” in making a decision or a kind of “checklist,” as much as they are what must consistently come together within ourselves in order to decide and act well. Further, to think of eight distinct components might tempt us to think of decision-making as a necessarily long and ponderous affair—and there are situations in which it might unavoidably be so because of the serious weight of the decision or its complexity—but recall that a virtue lends “ease, smoothness and promptitude” to action. To develop the virtue of prudence means precisely to have brought these components together in an effective and efficient manner so that decisions can be made without undue delay.
Before we examine these elements individually, it might be helpful to ponder an example of the complexity of coming to a prudent decision. We can then begin to see some of these components in action even before we identify them explicitly. Let’s take a case where an important decision must be made about initiating a medical treatment on behalf of an unconscious loved one. The Catholic moral tradition and church teaching offer the distinction between ordinary and extraordinary treatments to help us work through such questions. Basically, this involves a prudent proportioning of the benefits and the burdens that a proposed treatment might offer to a particular patient. We must try to recall if our loved one ever spoke about her wishes if such a medical situation should arise, or at least about the values that she held. Clearly, we must understand the situation itself and its impact on our loved one and those in relation to her. We must ask ourselves if there exist some principles or rules to guide us—at least, for example, the prohibition of anything that would constitute euthanasia. We must seek counsel both to understand the diagnosis and prognosis, as well as about relevant principles and courses of action. Perhaps there are people who have our respect and who could offer perspective and counsel because they have faced similar situations. We must ponder possible options and their likely outcomes in light of the people involved. We must try to foresee, as best we can, what might go wrong. We must proceed with a certain measure of caution to see if our choices can and must adapt to unexpected developments. All of this is based on the necessary presupposition that we truly want to make the best decision possible for our loved one, based on her wishes, unencumbered by any self-interest on our part.
Not all decisions are as critical or as complex as those that can arise about life and death medical treatments. Yet our little example begins to reveal the many elements which make up the virtue of prudence that must guide us through good decision-making, most especially where there are no clear-cut or black-and-white answers. Aquinas tried to make the functioning of prudence clearer by identifying eight such components.
A first component of the virtue of prudence is what Aquinas calls memory or remembering (memoria). Good decision-making is not just a matter of knowing and applying principles. It also involves the ability to draw accurately from practical experience and lessons learned in the past. Have I ever been confronted in the past by a situation like the present one? Are other situations similar to this one known to me? What can be learned from them? What normally happens in similar circumstances?
The truth is that sometimes we face decisions about which we lack any experience that could now be helpful. At the same time, there are many people who never seem to reflect on the experiences that they, in fact, have had in similar circumstances. Others never seem able to draw lessons from what they have experienced. Every experience is different, and rarely does history repeat itself in all significant details, but we can draw important knowledge from our previous encounters with similar situations. Perhaps this conflict or argument with this particular person is not the first. What went well or not so well in previous encounters? I have had to confront a coworker or a subordinate at work in the past. What worked well and what didn’t? What did I miss the last time that I encountered a problem like this? It would be imprudent to treat similar situations as if they were completely alike; nonetheless, the past can sometimes yield practical wisdom to guide decisions in the present.
It must be said that an accurate remembering of past experience is not as easy as it might first appear. We know that our memories can become very cloudy in a short time. Studies suggest that many of the details that witnesses in court sincerely believe to be correct may not be. Our memories can be shaped or obscured by emotion or unconscious self-interest. We can recall situations in a subtly self-justifying manner. To remember accurately and without self-deception is no small accomplishment, and it requires a person who is balanced, mature, and self-critical.
A second element of prudence is an ability to grasp principles or rules that may apply or guide decision-making in this case (intellectus). Are there reliable and relevant principles, and how are they to be applied in this specific situation?
We live, of course, in a culture that often does not accept the idea that there are general principles that can be applied to individual people independent of their personal choice to accept those principles or rules. Subjectivism, in a popular sense, is the belief that each individual person (“subject”) is the source of their own right and wrong. And so, in our society, it can seem to make perfect sense to say “I personally don’t believe in sex outside of marriage, and so it would be wrong for me. But who I am to say that my judgment applies to others? If they sincerely believe that sex outside of marriage is acceptable for them—and they aren’t hurting anyone else—then it would be morally acceptable for them.” Traditional Catholic morality and the church’s moral teaching, on the other hand, is based on the presupposition of an objective right and wrong, independent of any individual’s feelings or opinions about them. And so it is possible to say, “It’s not my place to judge you for having sex outside of marriage; but I can say that, whatever you personally think about it, such sex is objectively wrong.”
Whether or not we accept such objective moral judgments and the principles and rules that flow from them, virtually everyone would surely agree that there are some fundamental human values on which we can agree (e.g., justice, fairness, honesty), and even common principles that are drawn from practical experience about what works for good and what doesn’t. Intellectus is that component of prudence that identifies principles and ponders how they might reliably be applied to a current situation.
A third aspect of prudence is a readiness to seek counsel—a desire and an openness to learn from others (docilitas). Situations can be very complex. We can easily run across decisions about which we have no knowledge or experience. Other people—perhaps older, wiser, more experienced, or more educated in this matter—might offer valuable insight for what is going on in this situation, what is at stake, and how best to respond. We must be “docile”—receptive and teachable.
The virtue of prudence, then, cannot grow in a person who is close-minded, stubborn, or too proud or too lazy to ask for advice. It also presupposes that we really want to know what is right and how we might come to know it. In traditional moral theology, we speak of vincible and invincible ignorance—that is, a lack of important knowledge in decision-making that could be overcome or not. The point here is that we can be responsible for our failure to gain the knowledge necessary to make a sound decision. This points to the related traditional distinction between culpable and nonculpable ignorance—a lack of important knowledge for which we are blameworthy or not.
Fourthly, prudence requires a kind of shrewdness or acquired skill to size up a situation quickly and arrive at a sense of what a good response would require (solertia). A shrewd person is able to pick up on clues and subtleties in a situation—to “sniff out” what is really going on. It is therefore a kind of practiced intuition. This nimbleness of mind is not opposed to, but rather balances, the more reflective identification of principles and the considered acceptance of counsel. It is especially important when unforeseen circumstances arise. Prudence, drawing together all of these elements, ensures that decisions are neither ponderous and sluggish nor overly hasty.
Solertia is particularly important in unexpected or sudden situations that demand an immediate response. Some decisions may be slowly—even leisurely—pondered; others cannot. Fire personnel, law enforcement officers, and soldiers must often make quick decisions in dangerous circumstances, and it is this particular component of prudence that is essential here. But situations requiring solertia need not be so dramatic. Parents of young and active children, for example, must also often decide and act quickly.
A fifth component involves the ability to think through and compare alternatives, to make comparisons between possible options and their relative merits (ratio). What are our options here? Which of them are likely to be the most effective, the most costly, the quickest to arrive at a solution, the one that will serve the most urgent values in this situation, etc.? The point here is particularly the ability to think or reason through what must be considered for a good decision. We must be able to actually bring together and think through lessons from past experience, counsel offered, available principles, and the rest.
Foresight is a sixth element of prudence (providentia). This is the ability to foresee or project likely outcomes and consequences, as well as possible contingencies and variables in any option seriously under consideration. How likely is it that the action under consideration can actually accomplish the goal in the manner that we hope and currently expect? What might arise in trying to carry out each option? How might each option impact other persons directly or indirectly?
A seventh element is a kind of internal review of the distinctive circumstances and possibilities of the current situation in light of the other components (circumspectio). It involves bringing together in an overall review what has been under consideration in light of the situation as it is. Different circumstances in different cases—even when there are many similarities—may yet require a different response. Let’s say, for example, that I am about to make known some sensitive information to a group. But when I walk into the room, I see a person whom I had not expected. His or her presence may move me to quickly reconsider the urgency of giving the information, the amount I might share, or if it is possible or preferable to delay until another time. Absent that one person, it might have been judged differently.
Finally, prudence requires caution in moving forward. Aquinas is not suggesting undue delay in actions that must be taken, but the fact is that not everything can be foreseen or planned in any decision. Prudence demands that one proceed with continued attention and readiness to adapt as needed and as possible. If I am going to say something true but critical to someone who needs to hear it, I may be cautious about how I choose to say it and continue to attend to the cues I am getting in order to adapt how I am speaking the truth in this situation.
Again, these eight elements are not a checklist for decision-making, but rather integral parts of prudence itself. For our purposes, it is less important to identify and understand each of them than it is to see the kind and breadth of components that make up the virtue of prudence. It is precisely our ability to draw on each of these components in one decision after another, choice after choice, that develops the virtue of prudence and thereby makes the process of decision-making easier and smoother. Later in this chapter, we will look at what constitutes prudence’s contrary—the vice of imprudence—but here we can already begin to see where prudence might break down and imprudent decisions can find their source.
As we have said, for Aquinas, strictly speaking, prudence is an intellectual virtue that guides moral actions. It is perhaps no surprise, then, that his account of prudence is very cognitive. The elements that we have examined focus on using the knowledge that we already possess, on acquiring more knowledge, and applying that knowledge to concrete situations. And in our day, in which it seems that many personal decisions are based on simple intuitions and feelings, he may offer a useful counterbalance in that regard. Still, from a more contemporary perspective, we can see that emotions can also play a broader and more positive role. Today, for example, we can speak of an “emotional intelligence” by which we can identify and manage our own emotions, harnessing them to make good decisions and to act firmly when appropriate. In the same way, we are able to identify and empathize with the emotions of others, allowing us to more accurately and fully size up a situation and ponder an appropriate response that is in keeping with the legitimate emotional satisfaction of those involved. This is not contrary to what Aquinas himself has taught, but the possible positive role of emotions may be clearer today than in his time.
Types of Prudence
We might usually and appropriately think of prudence as the virtue that aids us in our personal decision-making, guiding our decisions about our own personal lives. But Aquinas notes that we are all in relationship with others, and some of these relationships demand more specific forms of prudence. This is especially true for those who hold leadership in communities and must make decisions that concern the common good in a more direct way. And so, in addition to personal prudence, which is concerned with decisions about our own lives, he identifies domestic prudence (decisions within the family context), governing prudence (which concerns leadership of political communities), political prudence (which is necessary for citizens) and military prudence (in the conduct of war).
Aquinas does not address these types or species of prudence at any length, but it may be useful to ponder the insight that he is offering us. Certainly, spouses (and especially parents) must make important decisions which impact not only themselves, but others within the family, as well as the health of the family unit itself. Such decisions can be very complex and involve the juggling of multiple responsibilities within and outside the family, attending to all the members of the family as needed, managing with available resources, finding quality time together, etc. Domestic prudence looks to the good of all in the family in the midst of multiple factors and things that are good.
Ruling or Governing Prudence
As we have seen, prudence must also be just. Personal prudence cannot be inattentive to the impact of our decisions on others and even on the community. As inherently social and relational beings, we must all have concern for and contribute to the common good of the communities to which we belong. But attention to the common good—without neglect of individual persons and smaller constitutive groups—is a special concern of leaders and a special focus of the prudence that they need. Aquinas calls this “ruling” or “governing” prudence.
Our personal decisions can be very complex, with many variables to be considered. Add more people to the picture, and it only gets more complex. At the political level, whether it is a small town or a nation, leaders must make decisions that take into account multiple groups and their needs and rights in the midst of a variety of complex economic, cultural, environmental, and even global factors (to name just a few). Decision-making of this type requires a great prudence that can rise above purely personal concerns or the concerns of the leader’s own group or interests. All of the elements of the virtue of prudence identified above must come into play in an inner harmony.
But leadership is not just political in the sense of those who govern political communities. Religious communities, parishes, and every other institution have their leaders who must make critical decisions. Thinking of leadership at a scale much smaller than nations or cities, Saint Benedict, in his famous monastic rule, says that an abbot must possess the virtue which he calls “discretion, the mother of virtues” (Rule of Saint Benedict, chapter 64). Benedict says that the abbot, as the leader and teacher of the monastic community, must know how to arrange things so that the strong remain challenged while the weak are not pushed beyond their ability. The abbot, he says, must be “discerning and moderate,” and he must “show foresight and consideration in his orders.” He must know how to prudently rub the rust (faults) off the vessel (the monk) without breaking it. Following his teaching on the qualities that the abbot should possess (Rule of Saint Benedict 2), Benedict moves immediately to the importance of seeking the counsel of all, including the youngest. Quoting the Old Testament book of Sirach (32:24), he concludes, “Do everything with counsel and you will not be sorry afterward.”
In our day, leadership tends to be more collaborative and shared governance. Aquinas’s teaching on prudence is no less valid, though perhaps it must be considered in a broader context. For him, prudence is a virtue, which means it resides in an individual. In that sense, leaders must be prudent in collaboration with other prudent leaders. The structures for communication and shared decision-making must facilitate the influence of prudent decision-making for the good of all.
Political Prudence
Aquinas wrote in a time of monarchies. He considered the prudence of the rulers and the largely docile prudence of their subjects. We, on the other hand, live in a time of democracies and of models of shared governance at the institutional level. Even in contemporary religious communities which may still have a “superior” and in dioceses with their bishops, governance is more collaborative. But, especially in political institutions, this development makes the prudence of citizens even more essential. It is no longer simply a matter of prudent obedience, but rather the prudence of individual citizens in shaping the future of their cities, states, and nations, especially through participation in the political process.
Think especially of the real prudence necessary in responsible voting. Issues in a pluralistic and complex world are very difficult to follow, but many people tend to get their news from television, and they form their political opinions based on slogans and very one-sided blogs. But voting responsibly in a complex world requires all of the factors that Aquinas identifies as the elements of prudence. This includes the willingness to make the effort to be informed, to take counsel beyond my own group, and to consider the real complexity of issues and the values at stake. In a particular way, the prudence of citizens requires a consideration, not only of my good and the good of my group, but of the common good. A political candidate, party, or platform might benefit me and my concerns, but the prudence of a good citizen in a globalized world must consider one’s own good and the right political choice in a much, much bigger context.
Military Prudence
One wonders in a world of nuclear arms and terrorism if it is prudent to wage war at all. Time and time again, we have seen that violence begets violence, and the seeds of the next war are planted in the one that just seemed to have ended. Surely it is the prudent thing to seek peaceful resolutions to international problems. Sadly, our political leaders do not always seem to demonstrate the governing prudence to keep us out of war where possible and/or where war cannot really be won (or its cost is too high). But at the same time, innocent people must be defended and the good of peoples and societies must be preserved. The common good must be defended. The Catholic tradition has been a “just war” tradition, though recent decades have seen an increasing openness and even embrace of pacifism. But it must be recalled that the criteria for a just war were developed, in the first instance, not in order to justify going to war, but rather to restrain war in its origin and in its conduct. In fact, this presumption in favor of peace is implied by Aquinas’s phrasing of the first article on war in the ST: “Whether it is always sinful to wage war?” (ST q. 40, art. 1).
When war must be waged, its direction requires a considerable “military” prudence. Recall that, for Aquinas, the virtue of prudence aims at the good, not simply at the most effective and efficient. Prudence is not simply about efficient strategies to attain any desired end. For its part, military prudence is not simply about how to defeat an enemy effectively and efficiently. A general could be a brilliant strategist in conducting war but lack the virtue of military prudence by which he or she would consider the moral ramifications of planned strategies. As a virtue, military prudence must seek not only efficiency and effectiveness (which obviously are not irrelevant), but also the true good of the impacted parties, including the innocent, as well as the consequences of different courses of action which might be effective but more costly to human life and society—which can be an especially difficult thing in time of war and violence.
Virtues Related to Prudence
All of the cardinal virtues of prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance are “hinge” virtues, which means that all of the other moral virtues are related in some way to these four. In his discussion of each of the cardinal virtues, then, in addition to specific types of a particular virtue, Aquinas also identifies other related (or auxiliary) virtues. His teaching on the virtues related to prudence is the briefest, and he clearly sees these virtues very much at the service of prudence. Specifically, Aquinas identifies the virtues related to prudence by their Greek names as eubulia, synesis, and gnome (which have proven difficult to translate into equivalent English terms).
Eubulia is the virtue that inclines us to seek sound information and good counsel. Not everyone is inclined to do so—for a variety of possible reasons, such as a tendency to make overly hasty judgments or forms of self-deception that subtly move a person to avoid discovering information or counsel that might direct them away from the right course of action. Eubulia is clearly necessary for a prudent decision, and yet it is possible for one to seek out good advice and still not prudently put it into action. Some people do regularly seek counsel, but remain too cautious or timid to act when necessary. Eubulia, then, is a habitual disposition that serves prudence; but it is not yet prudence, since one does not necessarily and habitually incorporate the information and counsel one has sought.
Synesis is the abiding inclination to make good practical judgments about the information that we receive and about options under consideration. Not everyone who seeks good advice can, in the end, sort out good counsel from bad or sound information from faulty. Synesis too, then, is a virtue that is auxiliary to prudence, but it is not yet prudence.
The virtue of gnome is perhaps the most interesting in that it shows Aquinas’s recognition of the real complexity of situations and the impossibility of rules and laws covering every possible situation. Gnome is the virtue by which one makes a good decision when common principles or rules do not seem to apply. Extraordinary situations call for a distinct kind of virtue, a more discriminating kind of judgment than the virtue of synesis. Gnome is the virtue for recognizing and applying yet higher principles in extraordinary cases. While, for example, justice demands that we return to people what legitimately belongs to them, gnome would enable us to see that we must not do so if we have reason to believe that the person intends to do serious harm to the innocent with the return of his or her property. This is clearly a more discriminating unfolding of prudence.
In this sense, gnome, in its relation to prudence functions is like the virtue of epikeia in its relation to the virtue of justice (II-II, q.120). Epikeia enables us to make a sound judgment that retains sincere respect for law while recognizing that a particular rule or norm was not meant to apply to every particular situation—that is, if those who made the law were present, they would agree that the law was not meant to apply to this particular situation. For Aquinas, both gnome in relation to prudence and epikeia in relation to justice exist within a fundamental presupposition of the importance and validity of laws and rules, even as they recognize that the complexity of actual situations cannot be fully encompassed by those laws and rules. And it is precisely the central virtue of prudence and its auxiliary virtues which allow those who sincerely seek the good to maneuver through such complexity.
The Vice of Imprudence
As we have seen, every virtue has its contrary, and the obvious contrary of prudence is imprudence. This vice is defined especially by the absence of those things that characterize the virtue of prudence. Imprudent people have an abiding tendency to make hasty, poorly considered decisions, without having sought proper counsel. Or, on the other hand, they fail to act rightly in a timely manner because their deliberation goes on and on. They might be overly cautious and slow to act when the best possible realization of the good demands more prompt action. These, then, are the two modes of imprudence: either in the form of negligence or irresoluteness.
Imprudence can manifest itself in the form of rushing to decision and action. The imprudent person fails to take the time and effort to ascertain what is really going on in a particular situation, who and what is involved and what is at stake, what principles might help to guide a decision, and/or what persons or other resources could offer information or counsel. The imprudent decisions which result, therefore, will flow necessarily from superficial or even purely subjective judgments or values.
On the other hand, imprudence can also consist of a failure to make a decision or to move forward with a decision already made. As we have seen, Aquinas sees many essential elements to the virtue of prudence and therefore, by extension, to good decision-making. But it would be wrong to think that Aquinas is suggesting that decisions and action should be delayed as long as possible. In fact, some situations demand quick responses. Sometimes, hesitation is the correct response in order to re-evaluate or gather new information. But the unwillingness to make a decision that must be made, the endless review of information and the gathering of yet more data, continuing to go back and forth with possible options already duly considered, and being irresolute in carrying out what has been judged to be a good decision, is a manifestation of imprudence. Again, as we have seen, virtues enable us to act “with ease, smoothness, and promptitude.” Some decisions are, in fact, complex and difficult even for the person of prudence; however, refusing to make a decision that must be made or failing to carry it out is not prudence, but overcaution and imprudence.
Just as, for Aquinas, every virtue is necessarily prudent, so too every vice and sin has an essential element of imprudence. The intemperate person acts without prudence in regard to the objects of his or her disordered desires. Such people may too readily place themselves in situations and circumstances in which they should know that their desire will overpower their right judgment. The unjust person shows imprudence in dealing with what legitimately is owed to another. He or she might set out to defraud or cheat—or it may be the case that the failure which leads to injustice is the imprudence of inadequate consideration of the whole situation. The cowardly or foolhardy person is imprudent in regard to an obstacle that must be confronted in order to attain a good. This is perhaps clearest in the person who imprudently rushes into danger without adequately weighing the risks in light of the good to be obtained or by failing to take available time to think through other possible options or safer courses of action.
Imperfect or Counterfeit Forms of Prudence
Imprudence involves the absence of one or more of the essential elements of prudence. Still, there can be a kind of imperfect prudence in which one or more of the elements is not fully present or fully utilized. The formation of a moral virtue takes time and practice, and one can fail to be fully prudent without being truly imprudent. In such cases, there is a defect in or an absence of some element of prudence. This is similar to Aquinas’s teaching about the imperfect virtue of continence. It is not yet the ability to act chastely with ease, smoothness, and promptitude; but the fact that the continent person can habitually refrain from unchaste actions—even though with some inner struggle—is a step in the right direction.
There is a kind of imperfect prudence that aims at something which is not bad, but is not directed to what is ultimately good for authentic human fulfillment. For example, there can be a kind of imperfect prudence involved in running a business effectively. As long as one is not motivated principally or solely by selfish ends or unjust in attaining them, such effective practical decision-making is not bad. At one level, it is good and can reap benefits for the person, employees, stockholders, and others. It is not imprudence, nor is it merely a counterfeit of prudence. But since it is not directed to the true and whole good of the person, it can only be called a kind of imperfect prudence.
Aquinas speaks too of false or counterfeit forms of prudence—the ability to pursue goals efficiently and effectively, which may look like prudence at work, but is not. As we have said, one of the most essential characteristics of any and all virtue is that it aims at the good. Any ability, aptitude, or abiding tendency that is not aimed at the good cannot be a virtue. On a larger scale, if a person’s life as a whole, is aimed at merely selfish or worldly ends, that person cannot truly be prudent, even if he or she appears to be.
In essence, false or counterfeit prudence has the appearance of prudence, but it involves seeking a bad end (or using inappropriate means to attain even a good end). A person might be effective at raising money for a charitable organization—but, done for the sake of a selfish end, such as merely to win human praise or vainglory, it is really a counterfeit of prudence. In the same way, someone who uses shady means in effectively raising money for a charity—such as dubious forms of investments—is exercising a counterfeit form of prudence, even though his or her overall intention might be good and sincere. Prudence seeks the good by good means. In this latter example, imprudence is linked to injustice.
In addressing false prudence, Aquinas mentions in particular what he calls “craftiness.” This is the planning by deceitful or cunning ways to get something done. When this planning takes shape in action, Aquinas calls it “guile” or “fraud.” We might also call it “cheating.” Someone working as a fundraiser for a reputable not-for-profit organization might be highly effective in his or her work. This may seem like a kind of prudence, in serving a good in which this fundraiser sincerely believes—or at least a kind of imperfect prudence if the person is really “just making a living” in a form of effective promotion or sales. But this same person would be crafty in thinking of shifty or dishonest ways to attain the authentic good that the not-for-profit serves. And, acting on such plans through means like less-than-honest presentations of the institution’s resources or activities, he or she would be acting with guile, committing fraud, or cheating potential donors in attaining even a worthy goal.
Covetousness at the Root of Imprudence
At the end of his discussion of false forms of prudence, Aquinas offers a brief but truly insightful discussion about what he calls “covetousness” at its root. Josef Pieper draws out this insight in his classic work The Four Cardinal Virtues.
Covetousness, strictly speaking, is a vice contrary to justice and specifically to its allied virtue of liberality or generosity (II-II, q. 118). It involves an immoderate love of and striving after material possessions in the hopes of assuring a person of his or her status or importance. It is inherently selfish and unconcerned for the good of others; while justice, by its nature, is aimed at the good of others and of the community. Considering Aquinas’s teaching that covetousness is the root of false forms of prudence, Pieper proposes that Aquinas is really suggesting a broader sense of covetousness. There is, Pieper notes, a kind of more generalized selfishness or striving after security and self-assurance that undermines truly good decision-making and the virtue of prudence itself.
All virtue, including prudence, must aim at the good, ultimately the good of our authentic fulfillment as human beings—our own and that of others. Selfish focus on ourselves can only get in the way of decisions to attain the good. Such selfishness could easily undermine our ability to size up a situation accurately if we suspect our own purposes or narrow good seem threatened. We might become blind to authentic principles or rules that might guide us to the right. We might fail to seek out or take to heart sound advice. Covetousness, conceived in this broader sense as a kind of excessive self-focus or self-serving, would undermine the functioning and formation of the virtue of prudence.
Perhaps this is even clearer and more potentially harmful when we speak of the other specific types of prudence, whether “domestic,” “ruling,” or “political” prudence. These other types of prudence, even more than its personal form, must take into account the common good of a community together with the good of its individual members. Any form of selfishness—whether covetousness in its strict form or as a more general self-serving—would obstruct such prudence. The decisions of spouses and parents legitimately take into account their own individual good, but such considerations cannot be overriding in relation to the good of others in the family or the family unit. A selfish concern to pursue one’s own personal career goals could easily obstruct or distort decisions about the future of the family.
Prudent decisions cannot be made by political leaders who are primarily motivated by pleasing donors or insuring re-election for themselves. Public officials who do not take into account the good of all of those impacted by decisions cannot make prudent decisions. On the other hand, citizens cannot vote with the prudence appropriate to them if they can only see their own good and the good of their own families and regions.
In pastoral leadership, difficult decisions must sometimes be made: staff members must be challenged or even let go for the good of the community. But if a pastoral leader hates conflict so much that he or she cannot accept the responsibility of challenging others in a prudent way, the community cannot be well-served. In a similar way, the good of a community and its future may require, for example, fundraising to renovate a space, hire new staff, or purchase new items. But again, if the pastoral leader cannot rise above his or her reluctance to face the conflict that renovations can bring or aversion to asking for donations even for a worthy cause, then truly prudent decisions for the good of the community can easily be thwarted.
True prudence must be free of self-serving, for one’s own sake and for the sake of those impacted by one’s choices. This is no small challenge, since self-focus is part of the sinful human condition. At a human level, it requires a willingness to be self-critical about one’s own motives and basic life motivations. It also demands an openness to the criticism and appraisals of others around us. Friends in particular can help us to see ourselves as we are with greater accuracy, even while friendship itself calls us out of selfishness into concern for another. Collaborative decision-making is an important tool in decisions for a family or community. But beyond these human helps, there is the ongoing work of conversion, grounded in the growth of a selfless love. Prudence, like all of the virtues, can only find its real fulfillment when shaped, guided, and empowered by love for God and love like God’s, manifest in the selfless loving of Jesus.