When someone describes a person as "virtuous," what image comes to mind? For many of us, the word evokes a kind of quiet moral propriety — someone who follows the rules, avoids temptation, stays on the straight and narrow. In its most diminished sense, "virtue" historically referred to female chastity.

But this isn’t what the ancient Greeks meant at all. And the gap between their concept and ours traces back to a single Roman philosopher’s translation choice over two thousand years ago.

What the Greeks Actually Meant

The Greek word arete (ἀρετή) is usually translated as "virtue," but its primary meaning is excellence — the full realization of a thing’s potential or function.

The arete of a knife is its sharpness. The arete of a racehorse is its speed. The arete of an eye is clear vision. And the arete of a human soul? That’s what Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle spent their careers investigating.

The crucial point is that arete was fundamentally a functional concept, not a moral one. It asked: Is this thing doing what it’s meant to do? Is it reaching its highest capability? Applied to humans, the question becomes: Are you becoming what you’re capable of being?

This is a much more dynamic and demanding concept than passive rule-following. It’s about active striving toward excellence, not merely avoiding wrongdoing.

The Translation That Changed Everything

When Roman philosophers encountered Greek philosophy, they needed Latin words for Greek concepts. The philosopher and statesman Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 BCE) was instrumental in creating Latin philosophical vocabulary, coining dozens of terms we still use today.

For arete, Cicero and his contemporaries chose virtus.

Here’s the problem: virtus comes from vir, the Latin word for "man" (in the masculine sense). It’s the same root that gives us "virile" and "virility." In Roman usage, virtus meant manliness, martial courage, the qualities of a soldier-citizen.

Ironically, this makes virtus the equivalent of a specific Greek virtue — andreia (ἀνδρεία), or courage — which comes from the Greek word for man (aner). Both terms encode masculinity at their root.

So Cicero essentially translated the general category ("excellence of any kind") with a specific instance ("manly courage"). It would be like translating "fruit" as "apple."

The Road Not Taken

Did Cicero have better options? He did.

The Latin word excellentia — from excellere (to rise above, to surpass) — would have captured arete far more accurately. Its root image is spatial: rising to one’s peak, towering above the ordinary. And it carries no gendered baggage.

Cicero knew this word and used it in his philosophical writings. In De Officiis, he writes of "animi excellentia magnitudoque" — "excellence and greatness of soul." The term existed; it just wasn’t selected as the standard translation.

We inherited "virtue" instead of "excellence." And over centuries, the word underwent a strange transformation. The masculine-martial connotations faded entirely, and "virtue" became something almost opposite to its etymology — soft, passive, and associated with restraint rather than striving.

The virility drained out of virtue.

Why This Matters for Psychology Today

This isn’t merely an academic curiosity. The words we use shape how we think about character development.

If "virtue" means following rules and avoiding temptation, then character development becomes a project of restraint — holding yourself back from bad behavior. This is essentially a negative program: don’t lie, don’t cheat, don’t give in to impulse.

But if we recover the original sense of arete as excellence, character development becomes a project of actualization — actively developing your capabilities toward their highest expression. This is a positive program: Become sharper, stronger, wiser, more fully yourself.

The difference is profound. One approach asks, "What should I avoid?" The other asks, "What am I capable of becoming?"

Philosophy Essential Reads

Consider how this shift might transform therapeutic goals. Rather than focusing solely on symptom reduction or behavioral compliance, we might ask: What would it mean for this person to fully actualize their potential? What does excellence look like for them specifically?

Functional Excellence in Practice

The Greek concept of arete was always tied to function. The excellence of a knife depends on what knives are for. The excellence of a person depends on what humans are for — or, more individually, what this particular human is for.

This connects to what psychologists call eudaimonia — another Greek term, often translated as "happiness" but more accurately meaning "flourishing" or "living well." Aristotle argued that eudaimonia comes from exercising our distinctively human capacities with excellence.

Modern research on well-being supports this ancient insight. Studies consistently show that a sense of purpose, the development of personal strengths, and engagement in meaningful challenges contribute more to lasting life satisfaction than passive pleasure or mere absence of distress.

The Greeks knew this. Cicero’s translation obscured it. Perhaps it’s time we reclaimed what was lost.

Reclaiming Excellence

The next time you hear the word "virtue," try mentally substituting "excellence." Notice how it changes the feel of the concept — from something restrictive to something aspirational, from holding back to pressing forward.

And when you think about your own character development, ask not just "What vices should I avoid?" but "What excellences am I cultivating? What would it mean to fully actualize my potential?"

Two thousand years ago, a Roman philosopher made a translation choice that shaped how the Western world thinks about character. The original meaning is still there, waiting to be recovered.

Excellence, not mere virtue, is the goal.

References

Aristotle. (4th c. BCE). Nicomachean Ethics. (T. Irwin, Trans., 2nd ed.). Hackett Publishing, 1999.

Cicero, M. T. (44 BCE). De Officiis [On Duties]. (W. Miller, Trans.). Loeb Classical Library, Harvard University Press, 1913.

Plato. (c. 375 BCE). Republic. (G.M.A. Grube, Trans., rev. C.D.C. Reeve). Hackett Publishing, 1992.