Aristotle is, at the bottom of his heart, convinced of the total superiority of the theoretical over the practical. (In fact, to him, the theoretical is elevated above any other sphere of life, even that of the moral.)
Practical wisdom must content itself with having for its object just things judged in relation to man, whereas theoretical wisdom is fortunate enough to have for its object things as they exist "in themselves"--in other words, that "immutable, incorruptible truth" with which philosophers of all ages have fallen in love. This is where the absolutely safe and the truly eternal is to be found.
It goes without saying that we can hardly grant Aristotle so much credit for a perfectly well-balanced human personality as far as his views on these things are concerned.
On the other hand, it would be quite wrong to see him as a typical representative of indolent meditation, staring fixedly at his own navel. In fact, history shows him in quite a different light. Aristotle was a diligent plodder, busying himself with a thousand different things. "As busy as a bee, collecting his empirical fragments of knowledge", says one historian,[1] "characterized by briskness and vivacity", says another.[2] Nevertheless, the clear testimony from his own pen, with its open profession of his personal views, shows him as a very great admirer of passive contemplation. According to his solemn ethical credo, contemplative life possesses just those wonderful characteristics which he regards as conducive to the highest degree of human happiness: it is not dependent on anything outside itself!
The context is that he has, from the outset, described happiness as the absolute good. That is--to Aristotle as to Plato--the perfect self-sufficiency (autarkeia). And we should remember the definition of the perfectly self-sufficient, as given in the Eudem. Ethics: the one who is "capable of living alone", the supreme attribute of the truly divine, which caused Aristotle to call out in admiration, "God cannot have need of friends, nor will he have any." But presumably most blessed of all (that comes out clearly in his Nicomachean Ethics): God has no need of action--nor of production:
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. (1178 b, 20)
We have previously expressed our wonder at the reputation Plato was destined to enjoy among men for his "eminently spiritual leadership". But this prestige of Platonism as an authority even in matters of religion and theology is not half as curious as the fact that leading personalities of the Christian Church for centuries turned to Aristotle, not only to see what he had to say about man and nature, but also what precious information he could give about God! But one thing should be as clear as crystal: hardly ever have two Gods had less in common than the God of Christ and the God of Aristotle.
According to Aristotle, man will have the happiness of resembling God in the same measure as he, too, is independent enough to give himself up to similar contemplation. Only the philosopher can have any hope of approaching a realization of this ideal. The wise man is the only relatively happy man. All others are constantly in need. "The just man needs people towards whom he shall act justly." (1177a, 30) "The liberal man will need money for the doing of his liberal deeds." (1178 a, 25) "The brave man needs some adversaries against whom he may manifest his bravery."
But what about the speculative man? Oh blissful creature--he can simply give himself up to his speculations right in his splendid isolation.
Admittedly, the philosopher, too, has some absolute necessities of material life. To be quite sincere, although he may do splendidly all alone, he might do still better perhaps in the pleasant company of a few fellow workers who have given themselves up to the same exercises of philosophical speculation. But one thing remains sure: of all men he is certainly the most self-sufficient one.
Above all, the exterior goods demanded by thought are, indeed, very few--as compared to those required by practical activities of all kinds!
Of course this consistent emphasis on the superiority of calm contemplation over any kind of productive work, especially manual labour, must be considered in a definite historical perspective. Let us not forget that the highest culture of all antiquity, that of Greece, was still based upon slavery as an almost self-evident social feature. In view of this fact, we may well ask ourselves the question: Would that boundless admiration and esteem for inactive rumination be imaginable--in Aristotle as well as his contemporaries--if cultural patterns in this particular respect had been, for instance, more comparable to those of the Western World at the present moment? To our deeper evaluation of peculiar attitudes--in individuals as well as in entire ages--such points may be of momentous importance. The abolition of slavery, and the tacit agreement to consider all slavery as a shameful phenomenon incompatible with the true dignity of real culture, certainly means an enormous step from morbid compartmentalization to sound spiritual integration, considered on the social plane. And it is our culture as a whole which has made this step. If an individual belonging to ancient culture is judged without taking the environmental factors of his peculiar world into account, the judgment will of course be correspondingly falsified. In fact, Aristotle's attitude towards physical activity on one hand and passive philosophical contemplation on the other may reveal a lot more about Aristotle's times and his native society than about Aristotle himself.
And the same may hold good for the curious excursions his philosophical musings occasionally take into the realms of theology. For instance, by way of manifest proof of his thesis that all real happiness consists in pure contemplation, he refers us just to the example of the august inhabitants of Olympus. The gods, he argues, are universally assumed to be perfectly happy. But how could anyone imagine them as abandoning themselves to any lower activity than that of pure thought? Would anybody think of the gods as performing "acts of justice"?
Will not the gods seem absurd if they make contracts and return deposits, and so on? (Eth. Nic., 11 b, 10)
Some might perhaps even have the curious idea of a god giving himself up to such exercise as "acts of bravery". As though we could ever reasonably imagine a god actually exposed to danger, and consequently obliged to valiantly confront such danger! Or a god stooping down to acts of liberality? Ridiculous. Towards whom should he be liberal? On whom should gods spend their money, if any such thing exists at all in the heavenly abodes? Likewise, no god could be supposed to exercise acts of temperance. That would almost be a downright shameful insinuation. Of course the gods have no bad appetites. So what could be the use of temperance? We all agree, nonetheless, that the gods do exist. So what actions do they perform? The actions performed by men in general are, indeed, too base and trivial to be worthy of the gods. Only one thing can be imagined sufficiently worthy: contemplation.
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