The well-rounded life just described by Wilkes, however, has left out an important ingredient—pleasure. Since it is common for people to associate happiness with pleasure, Aristotle has a lot to say on this subject in NE, but space does not permit a full discussion here. It was clear to Aristotle that actions, in general, are measured “by the rule of pleasure and pain. . . . thence our whole inquiry must be about these” in order that we can come to feel pleasure and pain rightly and wrongly, according to our actions (2.3, 33). Pleasure benefits the good life: it reinforces good actions (which produce pleasure) (7.12); it intensifies good activity (10.5); and it completes the activity (10.4). Pleasure can, of course, have a deleterious effect, in that it can lure us into harmful activity, or, at the least, distract us from the higher of competing interests. Nevertheless, Aristotle says that people are talking nonsense when they claim that a good man is happy even though he be a victim on the rack (7.13, 188).
Aristotle muses: “But whether we choose life for the sake of pleasure or pleasure for the sake of life is a question we may dismiss for the present. For they seem to be bound up together . . .” (10.4, 257). However, he makes it very clear that our life’s purpose and happiness, the trouble and hardship we endure, can not just be for the sake of amusement and pleasure. Lear summarizes the role of pleasure for the eudaimon: “The task of ethical education, though, is not to get us to perform noble acts even though our desires pull us toward bad things, but rather to reorganize our desires so that we get pleasure from doing noble acts and pain from doing bad ones” (168).
We have been examining several elements in an attempt to understand the roles they play in Aristotle’s conception of eudaimonia: action, man’s ergon, virtue, the intellect, and pleasure. Let us now focus on the key passage in Book 10 and round out our discussion about contemplation. Aristotle could not state it any clearer that he means eudaimonia to be the activity of contemplation. The controversy seems to stem from one extra word, “perfect,” as if there could be happiness and perfect happiness as two separate kinds of lives.
Aristotle presents his reasons for this conclusion that this is the best kind of activity. Briefly, they are: reason is man’s best attribute; the best knowable things are the objects of reason; we can contemplate more continuously, compared to any other type of activity; it is the most pleasant of all activities and pleasure should be a component of happiness; it is the most self-sufficient of activities; it is loved for its own sake and not from any result ensuing from the activity; it is a leisurely activity and we do other things in order to have leisurely activity; and the gods’ only activity is contemplation and human activity most akin to this must be the nature of happiness (10.7, 263-65; 10.8, 267-68).
Wilkes points out the problems with placing philosophic wisdom as the highest of man’s capacities, which it is clear that this is Aristotle’s view. This is the sole occupation of the gods, and many rational men are incapable of engaging in highly abstract speculation: therefore, it is hard to understand why this is to be regarded as the sole defining element of man. Theoria may be promoted by other activities from practical wisdom, but contemplative activity can generate no feedback: it can make no contribution to the welfare of the man engaged in it. This, however, is a feature that Aristotle counts in its favor: “And this activity alone would seem to be loved for its own sake; for nothing arises from it apart from the contemplating, while from practical activities we gain more or less apart from the action” (10.7, 264). But this can not stand alone as proof for its superiority. Activities like amusements are also loved for their own sake. Contemplation could also get in the way of practical matters, as Aristotle notes about Anaxagoras and Thales, who were “ignorant of what is to their advantage” (1141b5-6). The argument that contemplation is superior because of the subject matter—that its objects are the best of knowable objects—seems to give us an unacceptable conclusion that “knowledge of higher objects = higher knowledge.” Wilkes questions the assumption that knowledge theoria gives should be superior to practical reason, even given Aristotle’s hierarchical cosmology (347-8).
Lear raises a serious question about the possibility of a coherent and harmonious life for man, if Aristotle is advocating that we give precedence to the intellectual virtues and thus withdraw from a life in which the practical, or ethical, virtues are given priority. If man by nature has this overriding desire to understand, to contemplate, this seems to be a desire that pulls him out of the ethical; but the ethical life is one that a eudaimon would lead. Lear points to Aristotle’s metaphysics to look for the solution to dissolve this seeming contradiction in Aristotle’s ethics. Once man has a deep understanding of his nature, he will realize that his human soul has no materiality to it, but that at its highest level it is active mind. So, in a sense, man comes to realize that he is “importantly unmanly,” and this opens up the possibility of a radically different kind of life from that of a mere mortal. He can now engage in divine activity. It might be thought that Aristotle did not present a way of life that blends man’s animal and divine sides of his character into a harmonious whole. But the life of ethical virtue, described at length and comprising the bulk of NE is intended to show a harmonious life. Lear expresses: “The problem for Aristotle’s man is not the impossibility of a harmonious life, but the possibility of a certain type of disharmonious life so valuable that it is worth leaving considerations of harmony behind. . . . Of course, the mass of mankind never has to confront this choice: either by material necessity or by lack of innate ability, most men are excluded from the life of contemplation” (311-13).
This leads us naturally to the question: What is the contemplative life? Kraut speculates that Aristotle must have thought that teaching and discussion are central components of a philosophical life, considering that he was a student in the Academy and the founder of the Lyceum (88). What are the subjects of this life of contemplation? According to Ross, the answer lies in other works by Aristotle, the Metaphysics and De Partibus Animalium”: it includes metaphysics, mathematics and the study of nature. Ross rejects the claim that it includes the contemplation of beauty and religion based on the facts that the Poetics does not support this, and that the tone in the Eudemian Ethics (EE) is decidedly more religious, “where [Aristotle] describes man’s chief end as being ‘to serve and contemplate God’” (Ross xxiii-xxiv). However, even though NE is a later work, the ideal end in the EE tends to support the notion that contemplation includes religious contemplation, especially since Aristotle is making a case that theoria is the most excellent activity because it makes us immortal “so far as we can make ourselves immortal” (10.8, 265).
Nevertheless, it seems that Aristotle is referring to a different sort of contemplation than what we would ordinarily associate with the vocation of philosophy. It is not an endeavor to analyze and solve various problems associated with that field. He muses: “. . . the pursuit of it is thought to offer pleasures marvelous for their purity and their enduringness, and it is to be expected that those who know will pass their time more pleasantly than those who inquire” (10.7, 264). Is this, then, contemplation and pleasure of truths discovered after long labors of deliberation? Or, rather, is this the contemplation of Truth in a realm for contemplative natures to somehow grasp, and bask in, just by virtue of contemplative activity—whatever that is—rather than by any scientific or philosophical methodology? In either case, it seems hardly plausible that this kind of ecstatic state could be sustained for long periods of time. Nor does it seem like a desirable sort of life for humans. Wilkes suggests that we keep in mind what Aristotle says elsewhere, e.g. in the Metaphysics, where there is no suggestion that inquiry is not essential to the science of philosophy (354).
Let’s consider what Aristotle might mean by contemplation. Suppose contemplation is the highest good and not desired for the sake of anything else. Doing philosophy usually means that one is constantly seeking “higher ends” in terms of elucidating and solving various “problems.” Surely obtaining the solution to a given philosophical problem would be considered better, or more excellent, than merely contemplating the problem. Perhaps Aristotle’s contemplation is closer to Plato’s Forms than Aristotle would want to admit. For example, in Plato’s Symposium, recall Diatoma’s ladder of ascent: if one could get to a state of contemplating Beauty, in and of itself, then surely that would be the most blissful kind of existence. It is hard to imagine that Aristotle thinks that the gods are trying to solve problems in their kind of contemplation: gods would already know the solutions. It seems that the only kind of contemplation that we could participate with the part of our nature that is god-like, then, is the kind of contemplation Plato illustrates. With the divine cards stacked in its favor, then, how can anyone profess to prefer practical wisdom and practical activities over such divine bliss? Moreover, according to Aristotle’s argument, there is no built-in limit to this divine pleasure: for as long as one can sustain contemplation, one can partake in divinity and take pleasure in the sublime. The happiness it brings is incommensurable with that from any other activity. It is too bad, therefore, that we cannot spend our whole time and being in blissful contemplation.
However, immediately following his defense of the notion that living life in contemplation is eudaimonia, he declares: “But such a life would be too high for man . . .” He recognizes the composite nature of human beings. Nevertheless, he reinforces his theory and admonishes man to not listen to the advice of others who tell him to think and do only human things. Instead, we are to “so far as we can, make ourselves immortal, and strain every nerve to live in accordance with the best thing in us . . .” He reiterates the ergon theme in declaring that the contemplative life corresponds to what is proper according to the fact that reason, more than anything else, is man (10.8, 265-66). Perhaps we could understand this passage better if we think about creative and artistic persons. Lear expresses: “The creative demands of a great artist, we moderns tend to believe, may lead him to ignore his responsibility to family, friends, or society. One can imagine a latter-day Aristotle arguing that the divine element in man is his creativity. The artist, like God, is a creator, so if one is able to choose between the artistic and the ethical life, one should choose the artistic” (316).
Aristotle does allow that “in a secondary degree the life in accordance with the other kind of virtue is happy ; for the activities in accordance with this befit our human estate. . . .” He again refers to our composite nature and declares that the moral virtues which are connected to man’s passions belong to our nature. Therefore, the life of politics can bring happiness corresponding to the activity of these moral virtues. He reiterates that the life of contemplation is superior, but, in so far as he is man, he will be living with other men and will need external goods and will choose to do virtuous acts. Kraut suggests that it is reasonable to interpret Aristotle as allowing happiness to emerge in degrees; i.e., that one can live well and be happy even though one could do better and even though one may lack “the best and most perfect” virtue (90). However, even allowing this liberal interpretation, Kraut would agree that Aristotle unmistakably advocates contemplation as the best life.
Amélie Rorty, on the other hand, attempts to interpret NE such that “. . . the contemplative and the comprehensive practical lives need not be competitors for the prizes of the best life.” The practical life can be a contemplative life and is enhanced by being contemplated. Aristotle praises men like Pericles, who are thought to possess practical wisdom by virtue of the fact that they have an intellectual understanding of what is good (1140b7-11). Theoria, according to Rorty, completes and perfects the practical life (377). Another factor in support of compatibility between practical and contemplative lives, is friendship. By placing the discussion of friendship in the middle of the discussion about pleasure, Rorty suggests, “Aristotle shows how virtuous friendship enables a person of practical wisdom to recognize that his life forms a unified, self-contained whole, itself an energeia” (378). We can observe our friends better than ourselves; we can see our own virtues reflected in our friends. By observing the unity in our friend’s life, and wishing them well for their own sakes, we come to understand what comprises their well-being. From this reflection, we are pleased with their very existence. Through our interaction with these other lives, we obtain pleasurable awareness of “our own lives as a unified existence, constituted by appropriately ordered activities” (390).
If supreme happiness is the life of contemplation, then one wonders why it is so only for a few men, since only a relatively small percent of men are suited for this kind of “occupation.” According to the ergon argument, Aristotle is defining the nature of man in terms of what makes him different from, and hierarchically superior to, the animals. However, as already noted in sentiments of other writers, excellent or virtuous reasoning is necessary in all sorts of human activities and occupations apart from that of the life of philosophy. Are those not to be considered as living well, who are virtuous in all other respects, and who become craftsmen, or who practice other professions besides politics, and who enjoy wealth, friendship, etc.? It seems odd that happiness would be exclusive only to a small portion of the populace. Perhaps this is why he deems the life of philosophy as the most eudaimon. Regarding those who do not chose the life of a philosopher, perhaps they must at a minimum, as Socrates enjoins, “know thyself,” and therefore must actively contemplate, to some degree, in order to be considered eudaimon. Otherwise, Socrates and many other philosophers would consider their lives not worth living. What if everyone was a philosopher? This would not be a balanced human society. A question like this supports the idea that NE is an ethical program only for the elite.
In any case, it is quite clear that Aristotle considers happiness to revolve around theoria. In a similar manner like Descartes, Aristotle has split the nature of man into two – part divine and part human. He does not solve the problem about how these two aspects fit together, just like Descartes could not explain how the soul interacts with the body. Although a life of theoria is the best of all possible lives, Aristotle acknowledges that by itself theoria is not a possible life for a man. Since a man is a compound (syntheton), one who moves around in time and space, he somehow has the ability to occasionally engage in activity that allows him to escape his mortal boundaries and to connect with the eternal. But, as Ackrill points out, you cannot give him a recipe for life by telling him to only engage in theoria: human life includes action, and the best action is produced through practical wisdom and moral virtue. If theoria and virtuous activity are both intrinsically valuable, as Aristotle states explicitly is the case (6.12, 155), then, how shall these forms of activity be combined to count as eudaimonia? Aristotle does not give us the recipe. Ackrill suggests that his failure to do so, in part, may be because of his notion of the “comparison of lives.” He considers the life of a statesman as an alternative to a philosopher’s life, although he clearly thinks that the latter is of higher value. Naturally, there will be more theoria practiced in the philosopher’s life. The statesman will engage in theoria more than in other professions, etc. However, even the philosopher must tend to other practical matters of life (32).
Even though Ackrill thinks that Aristotle is not obliged to give us a quantified recipe of ‘how much’ theoria to combine in this “inclusive” life, Ackrill posits there must be a deeper reason why Aristotle does not address this combination problem. For reasons similar to those argued by Nagel, Ackrill thinks that this problem does not have a solution that Aristotle could accept. It is impossible to provide any guidelines with the understanding that theoria is the incommensurably more valuable activity. The best Aristotle can do, giving absolute priority to theoria, is to tell us “to make ourselves immortal as far as we can.” But Aristotle must be careful, because he still has to retain the independent and intrinsic worth of non-intellectual virtuous activity: so he cannot mean that we should engage in moral virtuous activity only when we cannot engage in, or do things to promote, theoria. Otherwise, taken to the extreme, one might do “bad” activity so long as it promotes theoria (32).
Nor can Aristotle accept a compromise whereby he can treat theoria as more important than virtuous action, but not incomparably more important. As Ackrill expresses: “How can there be a trading relation between the divine and the merely human?” In the De Anima, Aristotle was not successful in fitting his account of separable reason, which does not take the form of the body, into his theory that the soul is the form of the body. Similarly, he is unable, in NE, to clarify how the nature of man is a compound of some part that is divine and much that is not divine. Therefore, at bottom, if the nature of man is unspecified, then the best life for man is incapable of a clear specification, even in principle. Aristotle is resting much his case for eudaimonia on man’s ergon and man’s nature. However, as long as man’s nature remains obscure and mysterious, no satisfactory account of this kind can be given. This is much like is the case with the enthusiastic religious believer, as Ackrill ponders: “How can the true believer justify taking any thought for the future or devoting any attention to the problems and pleasures of this mortal life? . . . are not such daily concerns of infinitely little importance? . . . the suspicion remains that a man who really believed in the supreme importance of some absolute could not continue to live in much the same way as others” (33).
Lear takes exception to those who claim that Aristotle’s philosophy is unfinished: that it is indecisive between the two ideals of the ethical and the contemplative lives. Many think that Book 10 is like some unfinished adjunct; some think it may have been tacked on by a witless editor. Lear speculates that these critics do not take serious Aristotle’s notion that man has a divine element in him. They are either unaware of, or ignore, two major aspects of Aristotle’s thought: his metaphysics and his theology. Lear states the nature of the problem in NE: “The problem is not that Aristotle has not worked out how one should live; it is that his metaphysical analysis of man as a composite of form and matter enables him to conceive man as radically divided. Man is a composite, and yet he is most truly the highest element in his form” (319).
If we ignore, or disbelieve, the notion that man has a dual nature and is part divine, then Wilkes proposal to mold Aristotle’s ethics is attractive: to modify its meaning so that eudaimonia would consist of a fully inclusive, well-rounded life, one that includes theoria, but not in the sense that our aim and purpose is solely toward a life of contemplation. This more well-rounded kind of life would be good for man and good for living on this earth. According to this view, Aristotle’s main error is in bifurcating man’s essence, or nature. On the other hand, for the spiritually minded, who do believe in a dual structure of the universe as well as of man’s nature, as Ackrill and Lear have pointed out, there can be no such compromise. In either case, we have come to see that it is very clear that Aristotle thinks that the life of philosophy is the happiest kind possible for humans and that this is what we should aim for. At the same time, in so far as we are human, the good life entails being good. It is refreshing to learn about recent and current research going on: philosophers, disillusioned with modern ethical theories, are re-visiting Aristotle’s ethics in an effort to justify a return to a virtue-based ethics.
