Nicomachean Ethics X.8

In the penultimate chapter of the ultimate book, Aristotle considers the claim of the vita activa that I was defending in the commentary on X.7.

But 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. Just and brave acts, and other virtuous acts, we do in relation to each other, observing our respective duties with regard to contracts and services and all manner of actions and with regard to passions; and all of these seem to be typically human. Some of them seem even to arise from the body, and virtue of character to be in many ways bound up with the passions. Practical wisdom, too, is linked to virtue of character, and this to practical wisdom, since the principles of practical wisdom are in accordance with the moral virtues and rightness in morals is in accordance with practical wisdom. Being connected with the passions also, the moral virtues must belong to our composite nature; and the virtues of our composite nature are human; so, therefore, are the life and the happiness which correspond to these.

This active life is a human life, then; and, therefore, a life so oriented is humane. It is a fit life for a human being. 

The excellence of the reason is a thing apart; we must be content to say this much about it, for to describe it precisely is a task greater than our purpose requires.

That's another I.3 point: even here, at the last, we are seeking precision in the proper scope for the task at hand. What has been said about reason, though, is that it is either divine or at least the most divine part of us; as such, when he says that "the excellence of reason is a thing apart," he means apart from that human/humane life of activity. Reason, he believes, is at once the most divine and the most characteristically human part -- animals don't have reason, he thought, nor plants, though we have things in common with both animals and plants. Gods, presumably, do have reason: this is the sense in which it is the most divine part of us, and yet also a characteristically human part among mortal beings. 

[The exercise of reason] would seem, however, also to need external equipment but little, or less than moral virtue does. Grant that both need the necessaries, and do so equally, even if the statesman's work is the more concerned with the body and things of that sort; for there will be little difference there; but in what they need for the exercise of their activities there will be much difference. The liberal man will need money for the doing of his liberal deeds, and the just man too will need it for the returning of services (for wishes are hard to discern, and even people who are not just pretend to wish to act justly); and the brave man will need power if he is to accomplish any of the acts that correspond to his virtue, and the temperate man will need opportunity; for how else is either he or any of the others to be recognized? It is debated, too, whether the will or the deed is more essential to virtue, which is assumed to involve both; it is surely clear that its perfection involves both; but for deeds many things are needed, and more, the greater and nobler the deeds are.

Aristotle has talked very little about "the will," which later philosophers tend to elevate to a central position. Kant, for example, opens his Groundwork to the Metaphysics of Morals with the claim that the only thing 'in the world or out of it' that can be called good without reservation is a good will. He notes in the preface to that work that he considers the topic of the will to be novel in his day, though it wasn't really; Christian thinkers had said quite a bit about it, so much so that Meister Eckhart was able to field a successful defense against the charge of heresy by pointing out that heresy was a matter of the will, and he had not willed to be a heretic. Still, it's a noteworthy omission: we talked about desire and decision, but not 'the will' in the modern sense of the term. 

It seems odd to suggest that there is a debate about whether the will or the deed is more essential to virtue, since 'a good will' in Kant's sense produces nothing of value if it does not also produce good deeds. Yet that too is a product of the Christian evolution of the discussion: we learned from Jerusalem to care much more about what was hidden in a man's heart than about what was open in his actions. We see here Aristotle demonstrating that he was aware of the distinction, and that perfection would have a good will tied to the good deed; but without the good deed, what use was the will?

But the man who is contemplating the truth needs no such thing, at least with a view to the exercise of his activity; indeed they are, one may say, even hindrances, at all events to his contemplation; but in so far as he is a man and lives with a number of people, he chooses to do virtuous acts; he will therefore need such aids to living a human life.

One thinks of a monastery, in which a rule of silence can limit the number of these merely human virtues one has to act out for the preservation of the community. The order of the day prescribes events necessary to human life, such as eating and sleep, so that as much of life as possible can be spent in contemplation. Many have valued such a life, which is why monasteries continue to exist even as churches empty out. 

But that perfect happiness is a contemplative activity will appear from the following consideration as well. We assume the gods to be above all other beings blessed and happy; but what sort of actions must we assign to them? Acts of justice? Will not the gods seem absurd if they make contracts and return deposits, and so on? Acts of a brave man, then, confronting dangers and running risks because it is noble to do so? Or liberal acts? To whom will they give? It will be strange if they are really to have money or anything of the kind. And what would their temperate acts be? Is not such praise tasteless, since they have no bad appetites? If we were to run through them all, the circumstances of action would be found trivial and unworthy of gods. Still, every one supposes that they live and therefore that they are active; we cannot suppose them to sleep like Endymion. Now if you take away from a living being action, and still more production, what is left but contemplation? Therefore the activity of God, which surpasses all others in blessedness, must be contemplative; and of human activities, therefore, that which is most akin to this must be most of the nature of happiness.

In fact the Greek gods are unusual in that they aren't capable of courage, being genuine immortals: they not only do not but cannot die, and thus they suffer no fear of death in battle (though they could be chained, curiously: it was a practice to make statues of gods in chains if you wished to bind them in some way). They don't owe debts, and thus can't be either just or liberal in repayment. 

Yet the Norse gods could die, and thus could show real courage: Tyr gave up his hand in an act of real sacrifice to bind Fenrir, and thereby put off the end of the world. And of course in Christianity, Jesus was faced with a real test of courage in facing his crucifixion. 

This argument then looks like it might be particular to the Greek culture for its effect. What defines the mercy of God in Christian society is his sacrifice and suffering, rather than his lack of need for courage or generosity. A God that had never engaged in anything but contemplation (of his own magnificence, presumably: "thought thinking itself" is the usual Aristotelian model for God) would be less impressive than one who came down from Heaven and suffered alongside of us.

This is indicated, too, by the fact that the other animals have no share in happiness, being completely deprived of such activity. For while the whole life of the gods is blessed, and that of men too in so far as some likeness of such activity belongs to them, none of the other animals is happy, since they in no way share in contemplation. Happiness extends, then, just so far as contemplation does, and those to whom contemplation more fully belongs are more truly happy, not as a mere concomitant but in virtue of the contemplation; for this is in itself precious. Happiness, therefore, must be some form of contemplation.

This is wrong, of course, as anyone who has had an old dog will know. A young dog seems happy, prancing about in pride and strength; but the old dog, settled in by the fire, enjoys a fine life of contemplation and is often actually happier than his nervous younger cousins. 

Bears, too, seem to contemplate the beauty of nature. They are, of course, very intelligent animals. 

But, being a man, one will also need external prosperity; for our nature is not self-sufficient for the purpose of contemplation, but our body also must be healthy and must have food and other attention.

Elsewhere Aristotle explains human anatomy as similarly directed to perfection of our reason: the large intestine exists so that we don't have to eat constantly, giving us time and leisure for contemplation; we stand erect so that our eyes might more easily be pointed at the heavens, to contemplate the movement of the stars.  

Still, we must not think that the man who is to be happy will need many things or great things, merely because he cannot be supremely happy without external goods; for self-sufficiency and action do not involve excess, and we can do noble acts without ruling earth and sea; for even with moderate advantages one can act virtuously (this is manifest enough; for private persons are thought to do worthy acts no less than despots-indeed even more); and it is enough that we should have so much as that; for the life of the man who is active in accordance with virtue will be happy. Solon, too, was perhaps sketching well the happy man when he described him as moderately furnished with externals but as having done (as Solon thought) the noblest acts, and lived temperately; for one can with but moderate possessions do what one ought. Anaxagoras also seems to have supposed the happy man not to be rich nor a despot, when he said that he would not be surprised if the happy man were to seem to most people a strange person; for they judge by externals, since these are all they perceive. The opinions of the wise seem, then, to harmonize with our arguments.

Unusually so, since Aristotle most often quotes the wise in order to refute them. Speaking of contemplating the heavens, by the way, Anaxagoras had several noteworthy ideas about the stars in the sky -- including that the sun might be just another one. 

But while even such things carry some conviction, the truth in practical matters is discerned from the facts of life; for these are the decisive factor. We must therefore survey what we have already said, bringing it to the test of the facts of life, and if it harmonizes with the facts we must accept it, but if it clashes with them we must suppose it to be mere theory. Now he who exercises his reason and cultivates it seems to be both in the best state of mind and most dear to the gods. For if the gods have any care for human affairs, as they are thought to have, it would be reasonable both that they should delight in that which was best and most akin to them (i.e. reason) and that they should reward those who love and honour this most, as caring for the things that are dear to them and acting both rightly and nobly. And that all these attributes belong most of all to the philosopher is manifest. He, therefore, is the dearest to the gods. And he who is that will presumably be also the happiest; so that in this way too the philosopher will more than any other be happy.

You can see why philosophers like this book. I do note, however, that Aristotle's most famous student decided on "a more challenging career."