Introduction

The Ethics of Aristotle is one half of a single treatise of which his Politics is the other half. Both deal with one and the same subject. This subject is what Aristotle calls in one place the “philosophy of human affairs;” but more frequently Political or Social Science. In the two works taken together we have their author’s whole theory of human conduct or practical activity, that is, of all human activity which is not directed merely to knowledge or truth. The two parts of this treatise are mutually complementary, but in a literary sense each is independent and self-contained. The proem to the Ethics is an introduction to the whole subject, not merely to the first part; the last chapter of the Ethics points forward to the Politics, and sketches for that part of the treatise the order of enquiry to be pursued (an order which in the actual treatise is not adhered to).

The Ethics of Aristotle is one half of a single treatise of which his Politics is the other half. Both deal with the same subject. This subject is what Aristotle calls in one place the "philosophy of human affairs." More often he calls it Political or Social Science. Taken together, the two works present their author's whole theory of human conduct, or practical activity. This means all human activity that is not directed merely toward knowledge or truth. The two parts of this treatise complement each other. But in a literary sense each is independent and self-contained. The proem to the Ethics introduces the whole subject, not merely the first part. The last chapter of the Ethics looks forward to the Politics and outlines for that part the order of enquiry to be pursued. In the actual treatise, that order is not followed.

The principle of distribution of the subject-matter between the two works is far from obvious, and has been much debated. Not much can be gathered from their titles, which in any case were not given to them by their author. Nor do these titles suggest any very compact unity in the works to which they are applied: the plural forms, which survive so oddly in English (Ethics, Politics), were intended to indicate the treatment within a single work of a group of connected questions. The unity of the first group arises from their centring round the topic of character, that of the second from their connection with the existence and life of the city or state. We have thus to regard the Ethics as dealing with one group of problems and the Politics with a second, both falling within the wide compass of Political Science. Each of these groups falls into sub-groups which roughly correspond to the several books in each work. The tendency to take up one by one the various problems which had suggested themselves in the wide field obscures both the unity of the subject-matter and its proper articulation. But it is to be remembered that what is offered us is avowedly rather an enquiry than an exposition of hard and fast doctrine.

How the subject matter is divided between the two works is far from obvious, and it has been much debated. Their titles tell us little, and in any case the author did not give them those titles. Nor do these titles suggest any very tight unity in the works they name. The plural forms, which survive so oddly in English (Ethics, Politics), were meant to show that a single work treats a group of connected questions. The first group is unified by centring on the topic of character. The second is unified by its connection with the existence and life of the city or state. So we should regard the Ethics as dealing with one group of problems and the Politics with a second, both falling within the wide scope of Political Science. Each of these groups divides into subgroups that roughly match the separate books in each work. The tendency to take up, one by one, the various problems that arose in this wide field obscures both the unity of the subject matter and its proper structure. But we should remember that what we are offered is openly an inquiry rather than a statement of hard and fast doctrine.

Nevertheless each work aims at a relative completeness, and it is important to observe the relation of each to the other. The distinction is not that the one treats of Moral and the other of Political Philosophy, nor again that the one deals with the moral activity of the individual and the other with that of the State, nor once more that the one gives us the theory of human conduct, while the other discusses its application in practice, though not all of these misinterpretations are equally erroneous. The clue to the right interpretation is given by Aristotle himself, where in the last chapter of the Ethics he is paving the way for the Politics. In the Ethics he has not confined himself to the abstract or isolated individual, but has always thought of him, or we might say, in his social and political context, with a given nature due to race and heredity and in certain surroundings. So viewing him he has studied the nature and formation of his character—all that he can make himself or be made by others to be. Especially he has investigated the various admirable forms of human character and the mode of their production. But all this, though it brings more clearly before us what goodness or virtue is, and how it is to be reached, remains mere theory or talk. By itself it does not enable us to become, or to help others to become, good. For this it is necessary to bring into play the great force of the Political Community or State, of which the main instrument is Law. Hence arises the demand for the necessary complement to the Ethics, i.e., a treatise devoted to the questions which centre round the enquiry; by what organisation of social or political forces, by what laws or institutions can we best secure the greatest amount of good character?

Nevertheless, each work aims at a relative completeness. It is important to notice how they relate to each other. The distinction is not that one treats Moral Philosophy and the other Political Philosophy. It is not that one deals with the moral activity of the individual and the other with that of the State. It is also not that one gives the theory of human conduct while the other discusses its practical application. Some of these misunderstandings are less wrong than others. Aristotle himself gives the clue to the right interpretation. In the last chapter of the Ethics he prepares the way for the Politics. In the Ethics he does not confine himself to an abstract, isolated individual. He always thinks of a person in a social and political context, with a nature shaped by race and heredity and by particular surroundings. Seen this way, he studies the nature and formation of character. He examines what a person can make of themselves and what others can make them become. He especially investigates the different admirable forms of human character and how they are produced. But all this, though it clarifies what goodness or virtue is and how to achieve it, remains mere theory. By itself it does not enable us to become good or to help others become good. To do that, we need the power of the Political Community, or State. Its main instrument is Law. Hence there is a demand for the necessary complement to the Ethics, that is, a treatise devoted to the questions that center on the inquiry. What organization of social or political forces, and what laws or institutions, can best secure the greatest amount of good character?

We must, however, remember that the production of good character is not the end of either individual or state action: that is the aim of the one and the other because good character is the indispensable condition and chief determinant of happiness, itself the goal of all human doing. The end of all action, individual or collective, is the greatest happiness of the greatest number. There is, Aristotle insists, no difference of kind between the good of one and the good of many or all. The sole difference is one of amount or scale. This does not mean simply that the State exists to secure in larger measure the objects of degree which the isolated individual attempts, but is too feeble, to secure without it. On the contrary, it rather insists that whatever goods society alone enables a man to secure have always had to the individual—whether he realised it or not—the value which, when so secured, he recognises them to possess. The best and happiest life for the individual is that which the State renders possible, and this it does mainly by revealing to him the value of new objects of desire and educating him to appreciate them. To Aristotle or to Plato the State is, above all, a large and powerful educative agency which gives the individual increased opportunities of self-development and greater capacities for the enjoyment of life.

However, we must remember that the production of good character is not the end of either individual or state action. Both aim at it because good character is the indispensable condition and chief determinant of happiness. Happiness itself is the goal of all human doing. The end of all action, individual or collective, is the greatest happiness of the greatest number. Aristotle insists that there is no difference of kind between the good of one and the good of many or all. The sole difference is one of amount or scale. This does not simply mean that the State exists to secure, in larger measure, the objects of degree that the isolated individual attempts to secure but is too feeble to secure without it. On the contrary, it insists rather that the goods which only society enables a man to secure have always had value to the individual, whether he realized it or not. They have always had the very value that he recognizes them to have once he secures them in this way. The best and happiest life for the individual is the one the State makes possible. The State does this mainly by revealing to him the value of new objects of desire and educating him to appreciate them. To Aristotle or to Plato, the State is above all a large and powerful educative agency. It gives the individual increased opportunities for self-development and greater capacities for enjoying life.

Looking forward, then, to the life of the State as that which aids support, and combines the efforts of the individual to obtain happiness, Aristotle draws no hard and fast distinction between the spheres of action of Man as individual and Man as citizen. Nor does the division of his discussion into the Ethics and the Politics rest upon any such distinction. The distinction implied is rather between two stages in the life of the civilised man—the stage of preparation for the full life of the adult citizen, and the stage of the actual exercise or enjoyment of citizenship. Hence the Ethics, where his attention is directed upon the formation of character, is largely and centrally a treatise on Moral Education. It discusses especially those admirable human qualities which fit a man for life in an organised civic community, which makes him “a good citizen,” and considers how they can be fostered or created and their opposites prevented.

Aristotle views the State as something that supports people and combines individuals' efforts so they can achieve happiness. He does not draw a strict line between what a person does as an individual and what he does as a citizen. Nor does his division of the discussion into the Ethics and the Politics rest on that distinction. The distinction implied is rather between two stages in the life of the civilized man. One stage is preparation for the full life of the adult citizen. The other is the actual exercise or enjoyment of citizenship. Therefore the Ethics, which focuses on forming character, is mainly a treatise on moral education. It focuses on the admirable human qualities that prepare someone for life in an organized civic community. These qualities make a person "a good citizen," and Aristotle considers how they can be encouraged or created and how their opposites can be prevented.

This is the kernel of the Ethics, and all the rest is subordinate to this main interest and purpose. Yet “the rest” is not irrelevant; the whole situation in which character grows and operates is concretely conceived. There is a basis of what we should call Psychology, sketched in firm outlines, the deeper presuppositions and the wider issues of human character and conduct are not ignored, and there is no little of what we should call Metaphysics. But neither the Psychology nor the Metaphysics is elaborated, and only so much is brought forward as appears necessary to put the main facts in their proper perspective and setting. It is this combination of width of outlook with close observation of the concrete facts of conduct which gives its abiding value to the work, and justifies the view of it as containing Aristotle’s Moral Philosophy. Nor is it important merely as summing up the moral judgments and speculations of an age now long past. It seizes and dwells upon those elements and features in human practice which are most essential and permanent, and it is small wonder that so much in it survives in our own ways of regarding conduct and speaking of it. Thus it still remains one of the classics of Moral Philosophy, nor is its value likely soon to be exhausted.

This is the kernel of the Ethics. Everything else serves this main interest and purpose. Yet "the rest" is not irrelevant. The book presents the concrete situation in which character grows and operates. It includes an outline of what we would call Psychology. Deeper assumptions and broader issues about human character and conduct are not ignored. It also contains a good deal of what we would call Metaphysics. But neither the Psychology nor the Metaphysics is developed in detail. Only what is needed to place the main facts in their proper perspective is included. This combination of broad outlook and close observation of concrete conduct gives the work lasting value. It justifies treating it as Aristotle’s Moral Philosophy. It is not only important as a summary of the moral judgments and speculations of a long-past age. It focuses on the elements of human practice that are most essential and lasting. It is no wonder that so much of it survives in our modern ways of thinking and talking about conduct. Thus it remains a classic of Moral Philosophy. Its value is unlikely to be exhausted soon.

As was pointed out above, the proem (Book I., cc. i-iii.) is a prelude to the treatment of the whole subject covered by the Ethics and the Politics together. It sets forth the purpose of the enquiry, describes the spirit in which it is to be undertaken and what ought to be the expectation of the reader, and lastly states the necessary conditions of studying it with profit. The aim of it is the acquisition and propagation of a certain kind of knowledge (science), but this knowledge and the thinking which brings it about are subsidiary to a practical end. The knowledge aimed at is of what is best for man and of the conditions of its realisation. Such knowledge is that which in its consumate form we find in great statesmen, enabling them to organise and administer their states and regulate by law the life of the citizens to their advantage and happiness, but it is the same kind of knowledge which on a smaller scale secures success in the management of the family or of private life.

As noted above, the proem (Book I, chapters i-iii) is a prelude. It introduces the whole subject treated in the Ethics and the Politics together. It sets out the purpose of the inquiry. It describes the spirit in which the study should be undertaken and what readers should expect. Finally, it states the conditions needed to benefit from studying it. Its aim is to acquire and spread a certain kind of knowledge (science). But this knowledge and the thinking that produces it serve a practical purpose. This knowledge concerns what is best for people and the conditions needed to achieve it. In its highest form, this knowledge appears in great statesmen. It enables them to organize and administer their states. They can regulate citizens' lives by law for their advantage and happiness. The same kind of knowledge, on a smaller scale, secures success in managing a household or private life.

It is characteristic of such knowledge that it should be deficient in “exactness,” in precision of statement, and closeness of logical concatenation. We must not look for a mathematics of conduct. The subject-matter of Human Conduct is not governed by necessary and uniform laws. But this does not mean that it is subject to no laws. There are general principles at work in it, and these can be formulated in “rules,” which rules can be systematised or unified. It is all-important to remember that practical or moral rules are only general and always admit of exceptions, and that they arise not from the mere complexity of the facts, but from the liability of the facts to a certain unpredictable variation. At their very best, practical rules state probabilities, not certainties; a relative constancy of connection is all that exists, but it is enough to serve as a guide in life. Aristotle here holds the balance between a misleading hope of reducing the subject-matter of conduct to a few simple rigorous abstract principles, with conclusions necessarily issuing from them, and the view that it is the field of operation of inscrutable forces acting without predictable regularity. He does not pretend to find in it absolute uniformities, or to deduce the details from his principles. Hence, too, he insists on the necessity of experience as the source or test of all that he has to say. Moral experience—the actual possession and exercise of good character—is necessary truly to understand moral principles and profitably to apply them. The mere intellectual apprehension of them is not possible, or if possible, profitless.

It is characteristic of such knowledge that it is deficient in “exactness,” in precision of statement, and in closeness of logical connection. We must not look for a mathematics of conduct. The subject matter of Human Conduct is not governed by necessary and uniform laws. But this does not mean that it is subject to no laws. There are general principles at work in it, and these can be formulated in “rules.” These rules can be systematized or unified. It is all-important to remember that practical or moral rules are only general and always admit of exceptions. These exceptions arise not from the mere complexity of the facts, but from the liability of the facts to a certain unpredictable variation. At their very best, practical rules state probabilities, not certainties. A relative constancy of connection is all that exists, but it is enough to serve as a guide in life. Here Aristotle holds the balance between two views. One is the misleading hope of reducing the subject matter of conduct to a few simple, rigorous, abstract principles, with conclusions necessarily following from them. The other is the view that conduct is the field of inscrutable forces acting without predictable regularity. He does not pretend to find absolute uniformities in it, or to deduce the details from his principles. Hence, too, he insists that experience is necessary as the source or test of all that he has to say. Moral experience, meaning the actual possession and exercise of good character, is necessary to truly understand moral principles and to apply them with profit. The mere intellectual grasp of them is not possible, or, if possible, is profitless.

The Ethics is addressed to students who are presumed both to have enough general education to appreciate these points, and also to have a solid foundation of good habits. More than that is not required for the profitable study of it.

The Ethics is written for students who are expected to have enough general education to understand these points. They should also have a solid foundation of good habits. Nothing more is required for productive study.

If the discussion of the nature and formation of character be regarded as the central topic of the Ethics, the contents of Book I., cc. iv.-xii. may be considered as still belonging to the introduction and setting, but these chapters contain matter of profound importance and have exercised an enormous influence upon subsequent thought. They lay down a principle which governs all Greek thought about human life, viz. that it is only intelligible when viewed as directed towards some end or good. This is the Greek way of expressing that all human life involves an ideal element—something which it is not yet and which under certain conditions it is to be. In that sense Greek Moral Philosophy is essentially idealistic. Further it is always assumed that all human practical activity is directed or “oriented” to a single end, and that that end is knowable or definable in advance of its realisation. To know it is not merely a matter of speculative interest, it is of the highest practical moment for only in the light of it can life be duly guided, and particularly only so can the state be properly organised and administered. This explains the stress laid throughout by Greek Moral Philosophy upon the necessity of knowledge as a condition of the best life. This knowledge is not, though it includes knowledge of the nature of man and his circumstances, it is knowledge of what is best—of man’s supreme end or good.

If the discussion of the nature and formation of character is regarded as the central topic of the Ethics, then the material in Book I, chapters iv–xii still belongs to the introduction. These chapters, however, contain deeply important ideas. They have had a huge influence on later thought. They state a principle that shaped all Greek thinking about human life. That principle is that life is intelligible only when seen as directed toward some end or good. This is the Greek way of saying that all human life contains an ideal element, something it is not yet but can become under certain conditions. In that sense, Greek moral philosophy is essentially idealistic. Moreover, it is always assumed that all human practical activity aims at a single end. It is also assumed that this end can be known or defined before it is achieved. Knowing it is not merely a matter of speculative interest. It is of the highest practical importance. Only by understanding it can life be properly guided. In particular, only then can the state be correctly organised and administered. This explains why Greek moral philosophy repeatedly stressed the necessity of knowledge as a condition of the best life. This knowledge is not merely knowledge of human nature and circumstances. It is knowledge of what is best, of man's supreme end or good.

But this end is not conceived as presented to him by a superior power nor even as something which ought to be. The presentation of the Moral Ideal as Duty is almost absent. From the outset it is identified with the object of desire, of what we not merely judge desirable but actually do desire, or that which would, if realised, satisfy human desire. In fact it is what we all, wise and simple, agree in naming “Happiness” (Welfare or Well-being)

But this end is not seen as given to a person by a higher power, nor even as something that ought to be. The idea of the Moral Ideal as Duty is almost absent. From the start it is identified with the object of desire. It is what we not only judge desirable but actually want, or what would, if achieved, satisfy human desire. In fact, it is what we all, both wise and simple, agree in calling “Happiness” (Welfare or Well-being).

In what then does happiness consist? Aristotle summarily sets aside the more or less popular identifications of it with abundance of physical pleasures, with political power and honour, with the mere possession of such superior gifts or attainments as normally entitle men to these, with wealth. None of these can constitute the end or good of man as such. On the other hand, he rejects his master Plato’s conception of a good which is the end of the whole universe, or at least dismisses it as irrelevant to his present enquiry. The good towards which all human desires and practical activities are directed must be one conformable to man’s special nature and circumstances and attainable by his efforts. There is in Aristotle’s theory of human conduct no trace of Plato’s “other worldliness”, he brings the moral ideal in Bacon’s phrase down to “right earth”—and so closer to the facts and problems of actual human living. Turning from criticism of others he states his own positive view of Happiness, and, though he avowedly states it merely in outline his account is pregnant with significance. Human Happiness lies in activity or energising, and that in a way peculiar to man with his given nature and his given circumstances, it is not theoretical, but practical: it is the activity not of reason but still of a being who possesses reason and applies it, and it presupposes in that being the development, and not merely the natural possession, of certain relevant powers and capacities. The last is the prime condition of successful living and therefore of satisfaction, but Aristotle does not ignore other conditions, such as length of life, wealth and good luck, the absence or diminution of which render happiness not impossible, but difficult of attainment.

In what then does happiness consist? Aristotle summarily sets aside the more or less popular views that identify it with an abundance of physical pleasures, with political power and honour, with the mere possession of the superior gifts or attainments that normally entitle men to these, or with wealth. None of these can be the end or good of man as such. On the other hand, he rejects his master Plato’s idea of a good that is the end of the whole universe, or at least dismisses it as irrelevant to his present inquiry. The good toward which all human desires and practical activities are directed must suit man’s special nature and circumstances, and must be attainable by his efforts. Aristotle’s theory of human conduct has no trace of Plato’s “other worldliness”. In Bacon’s phrase, he brings the moral ideal down to “right earth”, and so closer to the facts and problems of actual human living. Turning from criticism of others, he states his own positive view of Happiness. He openly states it only in outline, but his account is full of significance. Human Happiness lies in activity or energizing, and in a way peculiar to man, with his given nature and his given circumstances. It is not theoretical, but practical. It is the activity not of reason, but still of a being who possesses reason and applies it. It presupposes in that being the development, and not merely the natural possession, of certain relevant powers and capacities. This development is the prime condition of successful living, and therefore of satisfaction. But Aristotle does not ignore other conditions, such as length of life, wealth, and good luck. Their absence or reduction makes happiness not impossible, but difficult to attain.

It is interesting to compare this account of Happiness with Mill’s in Utilitarianism. Mill’s is much the less consistent: at times he distinguishes and at times he identifies, happiness, pleasure, contentment, and satisfaction. He wavers between belief in its general attainability and an absence of hopefulness. He mixes up in an arbitrary way such ingredients as “not expecting more from life than it is capable of bestowing,” “mental cultivation,” “improved laws,” etc., and in fact leaves the whole conception vague, blurred, and uncertain. Aristotle draws the outline with a firmer hand and presents a more definite ideal. He allows for the influence on happiness of conditions only partly, if at all, within the control of man, but he clearly makes the man positive determinant of man’s happiness he in himself, and more particularly in what he makes directly of his own nature, and so indirectly of his circumstances. “‘Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus” But once more this does not involve an artificial or abstract isolation of the individual moral agent from his relation to other persons or things from his context in society and nature, nor ignore the relative dependence of his life upon a favourable environment.

It is interesting to compare this account of Happiness with Mill’s in Utilitarianism. Mill’s is much the less consistent. At times he distinguishes happiness, pleasure, contentment, and satisfaction, and at times he identifies them. He wavers between belief that happiness is generally attainable and an absence of hopefulness. He mixes together, in an arbitrary way, such ingredients as “not expecting more from life than it is capable of bestowing,” “mental cultivation,” “improved laws,” etc. In fact he leaves the whole conception vague, blurred, and uncertain. Aristotle draws the outline with a firmer hand and presents a more definite ideal. He allows that happiness is influenced by conditions only partly, if at all, within man’s control. But he clearly makes man himself the positive determinant of man’s happiness, and more particularly what he makes directly of his own nature, and so indirectly of his circumstances. “‘Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus”. But once more, this does not involve an artificial or abstract isolation of the individual moral agent from his relation to other persons or things, from his context in society and nature. Nor does it ignore the relative dependence of his life on a favourable environment.

The main factor which determines success or failure in human life is the acquisition of certain powers, for Happiness is just the exercise or putting forth of these in actual living, everything else is secondary and subordinate. These powers arise from the due development of certain natural aptitudes which belong (in various degrees) to human nature as such and therefore to all normal human beings. In their developed form they are known as virtues (the Greek means simply “goodnesses,” “perfections,” “excellences,” or “fitnesses”), some of them are physical, but others are psychical, and among the latter some, and these distinctively or peculiarly human, are “rational,” i e, presuppose the possession and exercise of mind or intelligence. These last fall into two groups, which Aristotle distinguishes as Goodnesses of Intellect and Goodnesses of Character. They have in common that they all excite in us admiration and praise of their possessors, and that they are not natural endowments, but acquired characteristics But they differ in important ways. (1) the former are excellences or developed powers of the reason as such—of that in us which sees and formulates laws, rules, regularities systems, and is content in the vision of them, while the latter involve a submission or obedience to such rules of something in us which is in itself capricious and irregular, but capable of regulation, viz our instincts and feelings, (2) the former are acquired by study and instruction, the latter by discipline. The latter constitute “character,” each of them as a “moral virtue” (literally “a goodness of character”), and upon them primarily depends the realisation of happiness. This is the case at least for the great majority of men, and for all men their possession is an indispensable basis of the best, i e, the most desirable life. They form the chief or central subject-matter of the Ethics.

The main factor that determines success or failure in human life is acquiring certain powers. Happiness is the exercise of those powers in real life. Everything else is secondary. These powers come from properly developing natural aptitudes. These aptitudes belong, in various degrees, to human nature and to all normal people. When fully developed, we call them virtues. (The Greek word simply means "goodnesses," "perfections," "excellences," or "fitnesses".) Some virtues are physical. Others are psychological. Among the psychological virtues, some are distinctively human and are "rational." i e, they require the use of mind or intelligence. Aristotle divides these into two groups. He calls them Goodnesses of Intellect and Goodnesses of Character. They share some features. They all inspire admiration and praise for their bearers. They are not natural gifts. They are acquired traits. But they differ in important ways. (1) The first group are excellences of reason itself. They are developed powers of our rational faculty. This faculty sees and formulates laws, rules, and regular patterns. It takes satisfaction in understanding them. The second group involves submitting or obeying those rules. They regulate parts of us that are capricious and irregular. These parts can be regulated, namely our instincts and feelings. (2) The first are learned through study and instruction. The second are acquired through training and discipline. The second group makes up what we call "character." Each of these is a "moral virtue." (Literally, "a goodness of character".) Happiness depends mainly on them. This is true for the great majority of people. For everyone, having them is an indispensable foundation for the best, i e, most desirable life. They form the chief or central subject-matter of the Ethics.

Perhaps the truest way of conceiving Aristotle’s meaning here is to regard a moral virtue as a form of obedience to a maxim or rule of conduct accepted by the agent as valid for a class of recurrent situations in human life. Such obedience requires knowledge of the rule and acceptance of it as the rule of the agent’s own actions, but not necessarily knowledge of its ground or of its systematic connexion with other similarly known and similarly accepted rules (It may be remarked that the Greek word usually translated “reason,” means in almost all cases in the Ethics such a rule, and not the faculty which apprehends, formulates, considers them).

Perhaps the truest way to understand Aristotle here is to see a moral virtue as a kind of obedience to a maxim or rule of conduct. The agent accepts this rule as valid for a class of recurring situations in human life. This obedience requires knowing the rule and accepting it as the rule for the agent’s own actions. It does not require knowing the rule’s grounds or its systematic connection to other rules that are similarly known and accepted. (It may be noted that the Greek word usually translated "reason" almost always means such a rule in the Ethics. It does not mean the faculty that apprehends, formulates, or considers rules.)

The “moral virtues and vices” make up what we call character, and the important questions arise: (1) What is character? and (2) How is it formed? (for character in this sense is not a natural endowment; it is formed or produced). Aristotle deals with these questions in the reverse order. His answers are peculiar and distinctive—not that they are absolutely novel (for they are anticipated in Plato), but that by him they are for the first time distinctly and clearly formulated.

The "moral virtues and vices" form what we call character. This raises two important questions. First, what is character? Second, how is it formed? Character in this sense is not a natural gift. It is made or produced. Aristotle treats these questions in the opposite order. His answers are unusual and distinctive. They are not entirely new, since Plato anticipated them. But Aristotle is the first to state them clearly and precisely.

(1.) Character, good or bad, is produced by what Aristotle calls “habituation,” that is, it is the result of the repeated doing of acts which have a similar or common quality. Such repetition acting upon natural aptitudes or propensities gradually fixes them in one or other of two opposite directions, giving them a bias towards good or evil. Hence the several acts which determine goodness or badness of character must be done in a certain way, and thus the formation of good character requires discipline and direction from without. Not that the agent himself contributes nothing to the formation of his character, but that at first he needs guidance. The point is not so much that the process cannot be safely left to Nature, but that it cannot be entrusted to merely intellectual instruction. The process is one of assimilation, largely by imitation and under direction and control. The result is a growing understanding of what is done, a choice of it for its own sake, a fixity and steadiness of purpose. Right acts and feelings become, through habit, easier and more pleasant, and the doing of them a “second nature.” The agent acquires the power of doing them freely, willingly, more and more “of himself.”

(1.) Character, good or bad, is produced by what Aristotle calls “habituation.” That is, it is the result of repeatedly doing acts that have a similar or common quality. Such repetition, acting on natural aptitudes or tendencies, gradually fixes them in one or the other of two opposite directions. It gives them a bias toward good or evil. Hence the separate acts that determine whether a character is good or bad must be done in a certain way. And so the formation of good character requires discipline and direction from outside. This is not to say that the agent himself contributes nothing to forming his character. It is that at first he needs guidance. The point is not so much that the process cannot safely be left to Nature. It is rather that it cannot be entrusted to merely intellectual instruction. The process is one of assimilation, largely by imitation and under direction and control. The result is a growing understanding of what is done, a choice of it for its own sake, and a fixed and steady purpose. Through habit, right acts and feelings become easier and more pleasant, and doing them becomes a “second nature.” The agent gains the power to do them freely, willingly, more and more “of himself.”

But what are “right” acts? In the first place, they are those that conform to a rule—to the right rule, and ultimately to reason. The Greeks never waver from the conviction that in the end moral conduct is essentially reasonable conduct. But there is a more significant way of describing their “rightness,” and here for the first time Aristotle introduces his famous “Doctrine of the Mean.” Reasoning from the analogy of “right” physical acts, he pronounces that rightness always means adaptation or adjustment to the special requirements of a situation. To this adjustment he gives a quantitative interpretation. To do (or to feel) what is right in a given situation is to do or to feel just the amount required—neither more nor less: to do wrong is to do or to feel too much or too little—to fall short of or over-shoot, “a mean” determined by the situation. The repetition of acts which lie in the mean is the cause of the formation of each and every “goodness of character,” and for this “rules” can be given.

But what are “right” acts? In the first place, they are those that conform to a rule, to the right rule, and ultimately to reason. The Greeks never waver from the conviction that, in the end, moral conduct is essentially reasonable conduct. But there is a more significant way of describing their “rightness,” and here, for the first time, Aristotle introduces his famous “Doctrine of the Mean.” Reasoning from the analogy of “right” physical acts, he declares that rightness always means adaptation or adjustment to the special requirements of a situation. He gives this adjustment a quantitative interpretation. To do (or to feel) what is right in a given situation is to do or feel just the amount required, neither more nor less. To do wrong is to do or feel too much or too little. It is to fall short of, or overshoot, “a mean” determined by the situation. Repeating acts that lie in the mean is what forms each and every “goodness of character,” and for this “rules” can be given.

(2) What then is a “moral virtue,” the result of such a process duly directed? It is no mere mood of feeling, no mere liability to emotion, no mere natural aptitude or endowment, it is a permanent state of the agent’s self, or, as we might in modern phrase put it, of his will, it consists in a steady self-imposed obedience to a rule of action in certain situations which frequently recur in human life. The rule prescribes the control and regulation within limits of the agent’s natural impulses to act and feel thus and thus. The situations fall into groups which constitute the “fields” of the several “moral virtues”, for each there is a rule, conformity to which secures rightness in the individual acts. Thus the moral ideal appears as a code of rules, accepted by the agent, but as yet to him without rational justification and without system or unity. But the rules prescribe no mechanical uniformity: each within its limits permits variety, and the exactly right amount adopted to the requirements of the individual situation (and every actual situation is individual) must be determined by the intuition of the moment. There is no attempt to reduce the rich possibilities of right action to a single monotonous type. On the contrary, there are acknowledged to be many forms of moral virtue, and there is a long list of them, with their correlative vices enumerated.

(2) What then is a “moral virtue,” the result of such a process duly directed? It is no mere mood of feeling, no mere susceptibility to emotion, no mere natural aptitude or gift. It is a permanent state of the agent’s self, or, as we might put it in modern terms, of his will. It consists in a steady, self-imposed obedience to a rule of action in certain situations that often recur in human life. The rule prescribes that the agent’s natural impulses to act and feel in this way or that be controlled and regulated within limits. The situations fall into groups that make up the “fields” of the separate “moral virtues”. For each field there is a rule, and conforming to it secures rightness in the individual acts. Thus the moral ideal appears as a code of rules that the agent accepts. But as yet, to him, the code has no rational justification and no system or unity. But the rules prescribe no mechanical uniformity. Each permits variety within its limits. The exactly right amount, adopted to the requirements of the individual situation (and every actual situation is individual), must be determined by the intuition of the moment. There is no attempt to reduce the rich possibilities of right action to a single monotonous type. On the contrary, many forms of moral virtue are acknowledged, and a long list of them is given, with their correlative vices enumerated.

The Doctrine of the Mean here takes a form in which it has impressed subsequent thinkers, but which has less importance than is usually ascribed to it. In the “Table of the Virtues and Vices,” each of the virtues is flanked by two opposite vices, which are respectively the excess and defect of that which in due measure constitutes the virtue. Aristotle tries to show that this is the case in regard to every virtue named and recognised as such, but his treatment is often forced and the endeavour is not very successful. Except as a convenient principle of arrangement of the various forms of praiseworthy or blameworthy characters, generally acknowledged as such by Greek opinion, this form of the doctrine is of no great significance.

Here the Doctrine of the Mean takes the familiar form that influenced later thinkers. It is less important than people usually claim. In the "Table of the Virtues and Vices," each virtue stands between two opposite vices. Those vices are the excess and the deficiency of what properly makes the virtue. Aristotle tries to show this for every named and recognized virtue. His treatment often seems forced, and his effort is not very successful. This form of the doctrine is useful only as a convenient way to arrange character traits. Greek opinion generally accepted those traits as praiseworthy or blameworthy. Beyond that, it has little real significance.

Books III-V are occupied with a survey of the moral virtues and vices. These seem to have been undertaken in order to verify in detail the general account, but this aim is not kept steadily in view. Nor is there any well-considered principle of classification. What we find is a sort of portrait-gallery of the various types of moral excellence which the Greeks of the author’s age admired and strove to encourage. The discussion is full of acute, interesting and sometimes profound observations. Some of the types are those which are and will be admired at all times, but others are connected with peculiar features of Greek life which have now passed away. The most important is that of Justice or the Just Man, to which we may later return. But the discussion is preceded by an attempt to elucidate some difficult and obscure points in the general account of moral virtue and action (Book III, cc i-v). This section is concerned with the notion of Responsibility. The discussion designedly excludes what we may call the metaphysical issues of the problem, which here present themselves, it moves on the level of thought of the practical man, the statesman, and the legislator. Coercion and ignorance of relevant circumstances render acts involuntary and exempt their doer from responsibility, otherwise the act is voluntary and the agent responsible, choice or preference of what is done, and inner consent to the deed, are to be presumed. Neither passion nor ignorance of the right rule can extenuate responsibility. But there is a difference between acts done voluntarily and acts done of set choice or purpose. The latter imply Deliberation. Deliberation involves thinking, thinking out means to ends: in deliberate acts the whole nature of the agent consents to and enters into the act, and in a peculiar sense they are his, they are him in action, and the most significant evidence of what he is. Aristotle is unable wholly to avoid allusion to the metaphysical difficulties and what he does here say upon them is obscure and unsatisfactory. But he insists upon the importance in moral action of the agent’s inner consent, and on the reality of his individual responsibility. For his present purpose the metaphysical difficulties are irrelevant.

Books III-V are taken up with a survey of the moral virtues and vices. This survey seems to have been undertaken to verify the general account in detail, but this aim is not kept steadily in view. Nor is there any well-considered principle of classification. What we find is a sort of portrait gallery of the various types of moral excellence that the Greeks of the author’s age admired and strove to encourage. The discussion is full of sharp, interesting, and sometimes profound observations. Some of the types are admired now and will be admired at all times. Others are tied to peculiar features of Greek life that have now passed away. The most important is that of Justice, or the Just Man, to which we may return later. But the survey is preceded by an attempt to clear up some difficult and obscure points in the general account of moral virtue and action (Book III, cc i-v). This section is concerned with the notion of Responsibility. The discussion deliberately excludes what we may call the metaphysical issues of the problem, which arise here. It moves on the level of thought of the practical man, the statesman, and the legislator. Coercion and ignorance of relevant circumstances make acts involuntary and free their doer from responsibility. Otherwise the act is voluntary and the agent responsible. Choice or preference of what is done, and inner consent to the deed, are to be presumed. Neither passion nor ignorance of the right rule can lessen responsibility. But there is a difference between acts done voluntarily and acts done of set choice or purpose. The latter imply Deliberation. Deliberation involves thinking, the thinking out of means to ends. In deliberate acts the whole nature of the agent consents to and enters into the act. In a peculiar sense they are his. They are him in action, and they are the most significant evidence of what he is. Aristotle cannot wholly avoid alluding to the metaphysical difficulties, and what he does say about them here is obscure and unsatisfactory. But he insists on the importance in moral action of the agent’s inner consent, and on the reality of his individual responsibility. For his present purpose, the metaphysical difficulties are irrelevant.

The treatment of Justice in Book V has always been a source of great difficulty to students of the Ethics. Almost more than any other part of the work it has exercised influence upon mediaeval and modern thought upon the subject. The distinctions and divisions have become part of the stock-in-trade of would be philosophic jurists. And yet, oddly enough, most of these distinctions have been misunderstood and the whole purport of the discussion misconceived. Aristotle is here dealing with justice in a restricted sense viz as that special goodness of character which is required of every adult citizen and which can be produced by early discipline or habituation. It is the temper or habitual attitude demanded of the citizen for the due exercise of his functions as taking part in the administration of the civic community—as a member of the judicature and executive. The Greek citizen was only exceptionally, and at rare intervals if ever, a law-maker while at any moment he might be called upon to act as a judge (juryman or arbitrator) or as an administrator. For the work of a legislator far more than the moral virtue of justice or fairmindedness was necessary, these were requisite to the rarer and higher “intellectual virtue” of practical wisdom. Then here, too, the discussion moves on a low level, and the raising of fundamental problems is excluded. Hence “distributive justice” is concerned not with the large question of the distribution of political power and privileges among the constituent members or classes of the state but with the smaller questions of the distribution among those of casual gains and even with the division among private claimants of a common fund or inheritance, while “corrective justice” is concerned solely with the management of legal redress. The whole treatment is confused by the unhappy attempt to give a precise mathematical form to the principles of justice in the various fields distinguished. Still it remains an interesting first endeavour to give greater exactness to some of the leading conceptions of jurisprudence.

The treatment of Justice in Book V has always been a source of great difficulty to students of the Ethics. Almost more than any other part of the work, it has influenced medieval and modern thought on the subject. Its distinctions and divisions have become part of the stock-in-trade of would-be philosophic jurists. And yet, oddly enough, most of these distinctions have been misunderstood, and the whole purpose of the discussion misconceived. Aristotle is here dealing with justice in a restricted sense. He means the special goodness of character that is required of every adult citizen and that can be produced by early discipline or habituation. It is the temper or habitual attitude demanded of the citizen so that he can properly carry out his functions in the administration of the civic community, as a member of the judicature and executive. The Greek citizen was a lawmaker only exceptionally, and at rare intervals if ever. But at any moment he might be called on to act as a judge (juryman or arbitrator) or as an administrator. The work of a legislator required far more than the moral virtue of justice or fairmindedness. What it required belonged to the rarer and higher “intellectual virtue” of practical wisdom. So here, too, the discussion moves on a low level, and fundamental problems are not raised. Hence “distributive justice” is not concerned with the large question of how political power and privileges are distributed among the members or classes that make up the state. It is concerned with the smaller questions of distributing casual gains among them, and even with dividing a common fund or inheritance among private claimants. “Corrective justice” is concerned solely with the management of legal redress. The whole treatment is confused by the unfortunate attempt to give a precise mathematical form to the principles of justice in the various fields it distinguishes. Still, it remains an interesting first attempt to give greater exactness to some of the leading concepts of jurisprudence.

Book VI appears to have in view two aims: (1) to describe goodness of intellect and discover its highest form or forms; (2) to show how this is related to goodness of character, and so to conduct generally. As all thinking is either theoretical or practical, goodness of intellect has two supreme forms—Theoretical and Practical Wisdom. The first, which apprehends the eternal laws of the universe, has no direct relation to human conduct: the second is identical with that master science of human life of which the whole treatise, consisting of the Ethics and the Politics, is an exposition. It is this science which supplies the right rules of conduct Taking them as they emerge in and from practical experience, it formulates them more precisely and organises them into a system where they are all seen to converge upon happiness. The mode in which such knowledge manifests itself is in the power to show that such and such rules of action follow from the very nature of the end or good for man. It presupposes and starts from a clear conception of the end and the wish for it as conceived, and it proceeds by a deduction which is dehberation writ large. In the man of practical wisdom this process has reached its perfect result, and the code of right rules is apprehended as a system with a single principle and so as something wholly rational or reasonable He has not on each occasion to seek and find the right rule applicable to the situation, he produces it at once from within himself, and can at need justify it by exhibiting its rationale, i.e. , its connection with the end. This is the consummate form of reason applied to conduct, but there are minor forms of it, less independent or original, but nevertheless of great value, such as the power to think out the proper cause of policy in novel circumstances or the power to see the proper line of treatment to follow in a court of law.

Book VI seems to have two aims. (1) To describe goodness of intellect and find its highest form or forms. (2) To show how this relates to goodness of character and to conduct in general. As all thinking is either theoretical or practical, goodness of intellect has two supreme forms, Theoretical and Practical Wisdom. The first apprehends the eternal laws of the universe. It has no direct relation to human conduct. The second is the master science of human life. The whole treatise, the Ethics and the Politics, explains that science. This science supplies the right rules of conduct. It takes those rules as they emerge from practical experience. It then formulates them more precisely and organizes them into a system. In that system the rules are all seen to converge on happiness. This knowledge shows itself as the power to demonstrate that certain rules of action follow from the nature of the human good. It presupposes and begins with a clear idea of the end and the desire for that end as conceived. It proceeds by a deduction that is deliberation on a larger scale. In the person with Practical Wisdom the process is complete. The correct rules are understood as a single, unified system based on one principle. This makes them entirely rational. He does not have to search for the right rule each time. He produces it immediately from within and can, when needed, justify it by explaining its rationale, i.e. its connection to the end. This is the highest form of reason applied to conduct. There are lesser forms that are less independent or original, but still very valuable. Examples include the power to work out the proper political policy in new situations, or the ability to see the right course of action to follow in a court of law.

The form of the thinking which enters into conduct is that which terminates in the production of a rule which declares some means to the end of life. The process presupposes (a) a clear and just apprehension of the nature of that end—such as the Ethics itself endeavours to supply; (b) a correct perception of the conditions of action, (a) at least is impossible except to a man whose character has been duly formed by discipline; it arises only in a man who has acquired moral virtue. For such action and feeling as forms bad character, blinds the eye of the soul and corrupts the moral principle, and the place of practical wisdom is taken by that parody of itself which Aristotle calls “cleverness”—the “wisdom” of the unscrupulous man of the world. Thus true practical wisdom and true goodness of character are interdependent; neither is genuinely possible or “completely” present without the other. This is Aristotle’s contribution to the discussion of the question, so central in Greek Moral Philosophy, of the relation of the intellectual and the passionate factors in conduct.

The kind of thinking that guides conduct ends by producing a rule. That rule states some means to the end of life. The process presupposes (a) a clear and just understanding of the nature of that end, such as the Ethics itself tries to provide. (b) It also presupposes a correct perception of the conditions of action. (a) at least is impossible except to a man whose character has been duly formed by discipline. It arises only in a man who has acquired moral virtue. Actions and feelings that form a bad character blind the eye of the soul. They corrupt the moral principle. The place of practical wisdom is taken by a parody of it. Aristotle calls that parody “cleverness.” It is the “wisdom” of the unscrupulous man of the world. Thus true practical wisdom and real goodness of character depend on each other. Neither is genuinely possible or “completely” present without the other. This is Aristotle’s contribution to the discussion of the question, so central in Greek Moral Philosophy, about the relation of the intellectual and the passionate factors in conduct.

Aristotle is not an intuitionist, but he recognises the implication in conduct of a direct and immediate apprehension both of the end and of the character of his circumstances under which it is from moment to moment realised. The directness of such apprehension makes it analogous to sensation or sense-perception; but it is on his view in the end due to the existence or activity in man of that power in him which is the highest thing in his nature, and akin to or identical with the divine nature—mind, or intelligence. It is this which reveals to us what is best for us—the ideal of a happiness which is the object of our real wish and the goal of all our efforts. But beyond and above the practical ideal of what is best for man begins to show itself another and still higher ideal—that of a life not distinctively human or in a narrow sense practical, yet capable of being participated in by man even under the actual circumstances of this world. For a time, however, this further and higher ideal is ignored.

Aristotle is not an intuitionist. But he recognizes that conduct involves a direct and immediate apprehension of two things. One is the end. The other is the character of the agent’s circumstances, under which that end is realized from moment to moment. The directness of this apprehension makes it analogous to sensation or sense-perception. But in Aristotle’s view it is ultimately due to the existence or activity in man of a power that is the highest thing in his nature, akin to or identical with the divine nature. That power is mind, or intelligence. It is this that reveals to us what is best for us: the ideal of a happiness that is the object of our real wish and the goal of all our efforts. But beyond and above the practical ideal of what is best for man, another and still higher ideal begins to show itself. It is the ideal of a life that is not distinctively human, or practical in a narrow sense, yet one that man can share in even under the actual circumstances of this world. For a time, however, this further and higher ideal is ignored.

The next book (Book VII.), is concerned partly with moral conditions, in which the agent seems to rise above the level of moral virtue or fall below that of moral vice, but partly and more largely with conditions in which the agent occupies a middle position between the two. Aristotle’s attention is here directed chiefly towards the phenomena of “Incontinence,” weakness of will or imperfect self-control. This condition was to the Greeks a matter of only too frequent experience, but it appeared to them peculiarly difficult to understand. How can a man know what is good or best for him, and yet chronically fail to act upon his knowledge? Socrates was driven to the paradox of denying the possibility, but the facts are too strong for him. Knowledge of the right rule may be present, nay the rightfulness of its authority may be acknowledged, and yet time after time it may be disobeyed; the will may be good and yet overmastered by the force of desire, so that the act done is contrary to the agent’s will. Nevertheless the act may be the agent’s, and the will therefore divided against itself. Aristotle is aware of the seriousness and difficulty of the problem, but in spite of the vividness with which he pictures, and the acuteness with which he analyses, the situation in which such action occurs, it cannot be said that he solves the problem. It is time that he rises above the abstract view of it as a conflict between reason and passion, recognising that passion is involved in the knowledge which in conduct prevails or is overborne, and that the force which leads to the wrong act is not blind or ignorant passion, but always has some reason in it. But he tends to lapse back into the abstraction, and his final account is perplexed and obscure. He finds the source of the phenomenon in the nature of the desire for bodily pleasures, which is not irrational but has something rational in it. Such pleasures are not necessarily or inherently bad, as has sometimes been maintained; on the contrary, they are good, but only in certain amounts or under certain conditions, so that the will is often misled, hesitates, and is lost.

The next book (Book VII.) deals partly with moral states where the agent seems to rise above moral virtue or fall below moral vice. It deals mostly with cases where the agent stands between the two. Aristotle focuses chiefly on the phenomenon of "Incontinence," meaning weakness of will or imperfect self-control. This condition was a common experience for the Greeks, yet it seemed particularly hard for them to understand. How can a person know what is good or best for them and still repeatedly fail to act on that knowledge? Socrates responded with the paradox that such failure was impossible, but the facts contradict him. A person may know the right rule and accept its authority. Yet they may repeatedly disobey it. The will may be good but overcome by desire, so the action goes against the agent's will. Still, the action can be the agent's, and the will is therefore divided against itself. Aristotle recognizes the seriousness and difficulty of the problem. He describes it vividly and analyzes it sharply, but he does not fully solve it. He needs to move beyond the abstract view that pits reason against passion. He should recognize that passion is involved in the knowledge that governs or is overborne in conduct. The force that leads to the wrong act is not blind or ignorant passion. It always contains some reason. Even so, he often returns to the abstract view, and his final account becomes confused and obscure. He locates the source of the phenomenon in the nature of desire for bodily pleasures. That desire is not irrational. It contains something rational. Such pleasures are not necessarily or inherently bad, as some have claimed. On the contrary, they are good, but only in certain amounts or under certain conditions. For that reason the will is often misled, hesitates, and is lost.

Books VIII. and IX. (on Friendship) are almost an interruption of the argument. The subject-matter of them was a favourite topic of ancient writers, and the treatment is smoother and more orderly than elsewhere in the Ethics. The argument is clear, and may be left without comment to the readers. These books contain a necessary and attractive complement to the somewhat dry account of Greek morality in the preceding books, and there are in them profound reflections on what may be called the metaphysics of friendship or love.

Books VIII and IX (on Friendship) almost interrupt the main argument. The subject they treat was a favourite topic among ancient writers. The treatment is smoother and more orderly than in other parts of the Ethics. The argument is clear. Readers can follow it without further comment. These books offer a necessary and attractive complement. They balance the somewhat dry account of Greek morality in the earlier books. They also contain deep reflections on what we might call the metaphysics of friendship or of love.

At the beginning of Book X. we return to the topic of Pleasure, which is now regarded from a different point of view. In Book VII. the antagonists were those who over-emphasised the irrationality or badness of Pleasure: here it is rather those who so exaggerate its value as to confuse or identify it with the good or Happiness. But there is offered us in this section much more than criticism of the errors of others. Answers are given both to the psychological question, “What is Pleasure?” and to the ethical question, “What is its value?” Pleasure, we are told, is the natural concomitant and index of perfect activity, distinguishable but inseparable from it—“the activity of a subject at its best acting upon an object at its best.” It is therefore always and in itself a good, but its value rises and falls with that of the activity with which it is conjoined, and which it intensifies and perfects. Hence it follows that the highest and best pleasures are those which accompany the highest and best activity.

At the beginning of Book X we return to the topic of Pleasure, which is now regarded from a different point of view. In Book VII the opponents were those who overstressed the irrationality or badness of Pleasure. Here they are rather those who exaggerate its value so much that they confuse or identify it with the good, or Happiness. But this section offers us much more than criticism of the errors of others. It answers both the psychological question, “What is Pleasure?” and the ethical question, “What is its value?” Pleasure, we are told, is the natural accompaniment and sign of perfect activity. It can be distinguished from that activity but not separated from it. Perfect activity is “the activity of a subject at its best acting upon an object at its best.” Pleasure is therefore always, and in itself, a good. But its value rises and falls with the value of the activity it is joined to, which it intensifies and perfects. It follows that the highest and best pleasures are those that accompany the highest and best activity.

Pleasure is, therefore, a necessary element in the best life, but it is not the whole of it nor the principal ingredient. The value of a life depends upon the nature and worth of the activity which it involves; given the maximum of full free action, the maximum of pleasure necessary follows. But on what sort of life is such activity possible? This leads us back to the question, What is happiness? In what life can man find the fullest satisfaction for his desires? To this question Aristotle gives an answer which cannot but surprise us after what has preceded. True Happiness, great satisfaction, cannot be found by man in any form of “practical” life, no, not in the fullest and freest exercise possible of the “moral virtues,” not in the life of the citizen or of the great soldier or statesman. To seek it there is to court failure and disappointment. It is to be found in the life of the onlooker, the disinterested spectator; or, to put it more distinctly, “in the life of the philosopher, the life of scientific and philosophic contemplation.” The highest and most satisfying form of life possible to man is “the contemplative life”; it is only in a secondary sense and for those incapable of their life, that the practical or moral ideal is the best. It is time that such a life is not distinctively human, but it is the privilege of man to partake in it, and such participation, at however rare intervals and for however short a period, is the highest Happiness which human life can offer. All other activities have value only because and in so far as they render this life possible.

Pleasure is, therefore, a necessary element in the best life, but it is not the whole of it, nor its principal ingredient. The value of a life depends on the nature and worth of the activity it involves. Given the maximum of full, free action, the maximum of pleasure necessarily follows. But in what sort of life is such activity possible? This leads us back to the question, What is happiness? In what life can man find the fullest satisfaction for his desires? To this question Aristotle gives an answer that cannot fail to surprise us after what has come before. True Happiness, great satisfaction, cannot be found by man in any form of “practical” life. No, not in the fullest and freest possible exercise of the “moral virtues,” not in the life of the citizen, or of the great soldier or statesman. To seek it there is to invite failure and disappointment. It is to be found in the life of the onlooker, the disinterested spectator. Or, to put it more plainly, “in the life of the philosopher, the life of scientific and philosophic contemplation.” The highest and most satisfying form of life possible to man is “the contemplative life”. Only in a secondary sense, and for those incapable of living it, is the practical or moral ideal the best. It is true that such a life is not distinctively human. But it is man’s privilege to share in it. Such sharing, however rare the intervals and however short the period, is the highest Happiness that human life can offer. All other activities have value only because, and only so far as, they make this life possible.

But it must not be forgotten that Aristotle conceives of this life as one of intense activity or energising: it is just this which gives it its supremacy. In spite of the almost religious fervour with which he speaks of it (“the most orthodox of his disciples” paraphrases his meaning by describing its content as “the service and vision of God”), it is clear that he identified it with the life of the philosopher, as he understood it, a life of ceaseless intellectual activity in which at least at times all the distractions and disturbances inseparable from practical life seemed to disappear and become as nothing. This ideal was partly an inheritance from the more ardent idealism of his master Plato, but partly it was the expression of personal experience.

But it must not be forgotten that Aristotle conceives of this life as one of intense activity or energizing. It is just this that gives it its supremacy. He speaks of it with almost religious fervour (“the most orthodox of his disciples” paraphrases his meaning by describing its content as “the service and vision of God”). In spite of this, it is clear that he identified it with the life of the philosopher, as he understood that life. It was a life of ceaseless intellectual activity, in which, at least at times, all the distractions and disturbances inseparable from practical life seemed to disappear and become as nothing. This ideal was partly an inheritance from the more ardent idealism of his master Plato. But partly it was the expression of personal experience.

The nobility of this ideal cannot be questioned; the conception of the end of man or a life lived for truth—of a life blissfully absorbed in the vision of truth—is a lofty and inspiring one. But we cannot resist certain criticisms upon its presentation by Aristotle: (1) the relation of it to the lower ideal of practice is left somewhat obscure; (2) it is described in such a way as renders its realisation possible only to a gifted few, and under exceptional circumstances; (3) it seems in various ways, as regards its content, to be unnecessarily and unjustifiably limited. But it must be borne in mind that this is a first endeavour to determine its principle, and that similar failures have attended the attempts to describe the “religious” or the “spiritual” ideals of life, which have continually been suggested by the apparently inherent limitations of the “practical” or “moral” life, which is the subject of Moral Philosophy.

The nobility of this ideal is unquestionable. The idea of the end of man as a life lived for truth is lofty and inspiring. It pictures a life blissfully absorbed in the vision of truth. But we can raise some criticisms of Aristotle's presentation. (1) Its relation to the lower ideal of practice is left somewhat unclear. (2) Aristotle describes it in a way that makes its realization seem possible only for a gifted few and only under exceptional circumstances. (3) Its content seems unnecessarily and unjustifiably limited in several respects. We must bear in mind that this is a first attempt to identify its principle. Similar failures have accompanied attempts to describe the "religious" or the "spiritual" ideals of life. Those ideals were repeatedly suggested by the apparent limits of the "practical" or "moral" life, which is the subject of Moral Philosophy.

The Moral Ideal to those who have most deeply reflected on it leads to the thought of an Ideal beyond and above it, which alone gives it meaning, but which seems to escape from definite conception by man. The richness and variety of this Ideal ceaselessly invite, but as ceaselessly defy, our attempts to imprison it in a definite formula or portray it in detailed imagination. Yet the thought of it is and remains inexpungable from our minds.

The Moral Ideal, for those who have thought most deeply about it, leads to the idea of an Ideal beyond and above it. That higher Ideal alone gives the Moral Ideal its meaning. People seem unable to form a clear, definite conception of it. Its richness and variety constantly invite us. Yet they also constantly frustrate our attempts to lock it into a fixed formula or to portray it in detailed imagination. Still, the idea of it cannot be removed from our minds.

This conception of the best life is not forgotten in the Politics The end of life in the state is itself well-living and well-doing—a life which helps to produce the best life The great agency in the production of such life is the State operating through Law, which is Reason backed by Force. For its greatest efficiency there is required the development of a science of legislation. The main drift of what he says here is that the most desirable thing would be that the best reason of the community should be embodied in its laws. But so far as that is not possible, it still is true that anyone who would make himself and others better must become a miniature legislator—must study the general principles of law, morality, and education. The conception of πολιτικὴ with which he opened the Ethics would serve as a guide to a father educating his children as well as to the legislator legislating for the state. Finding in his predecessors no developed doctrine on this subject, Aristotle proposes himself to undertake the construction of it, and sketches in advance the programme of the Politics in the concluding sentence of the Ethics His ultimate object is to answer the questions, What is the best form of Polity, how should each be constituted, and what laws and customs should it adopt and employ? Not till this answer is given will “the philosophy of human affairs” be complete.

This conception of the best life is not forgotten in the Politics. The aim of life in the state is to live well and act well. This life also helps to produce the best life. The main agent in creating that life is the State. It acts through Law, which is Reason supported by Force. To make this most effective, a science of legislation must be developed. His main point is that, ideally, the community's best reason should be embodied in its laws. But when this is not possible, anyone who wants to improve themselves and others must become a small-scale legislator. They must study the general principles of law, morality, and education. The conception of πολιτικὴ with which he opened the Ethics would guide a father educating his children and also a legislator making laws for the state. Finding no developed doctrine on this subject in his predecessors, Aristotle offers to construct one himself. He sketches the programme of the Politics in the concluding sentence of the Ethics. His ultimate aim is to answer three questions: What is the best form of Polity? How should each type be constituted? What laws and customs should it adopt and use? Until he gives that answer, "the philosophy of human affairs" is not complete.

On looking back it will be seen that the discussion of the central topic of the nature and formation of character has expanded into a Philosophy of Human Conduct, merging at its beginning and end into metaphysics The result is a Moral Philosophy set against a background of Political Theory and general Philosophy. The most characteristic features of this Moral Philosophy are due to the fact of its essentially teleological view of human life and action: (1) Every human activity, but especially every human practical activity, is directed towards a simple End discoverable by reflection, and this End is conceived of as the object of universal human desire, as something to be enjoyed, not as something which ought to be done or enacted. Anstotle’s Moral Philosophy is not hedonistic but it is eudæmomstic, the end is the enjoyment of Happiness, not the fulfilment of Duty. (2) Every human practical activity derives its value from its efficiency as a means to that end, it is good or bad, right or wrong, as it conduces or fails to conduce to Happiness Thus his Moral Philosophy is essentially utilitarian or prudential Right action presupposes Thought or Thinking, partly on the development of a clearer and distincter conception of the end of desire, partly as the deduction from that of rules which state the normally effective conditions of its realisation. The thinking involved in right conduct is calculation—calculation of means to an end fixed by nature and foreknowable Action itself is at its best just the realisation of a scheme preconceived and thought out beforehand, commending itself by its inherent attractiveness or promise of enjoyment.

Looking back, you can see the discussion began with the nature and formation of character. It then expanded into a Philosophy of Human Conduct that links to metaphysics at both its start and its finish. The result is a Moral Philosophy set against the background of Political Theory and general Philosophy. Its most characteristic features come from its essentially teleological view of human life and action. (1) Every human activity, especially practical action, aims at a single simple end that reflection can reveal. This end is seen as the object of universal human desire. It is something to be enjoyed, not something that one ought to perform as a duty. Aristotle’s Moral Philosophy is not hedonistic. It is eudaimonistic. The end is the enjoyment of happiness, not the fulfillment of duty. (2) Every practical activity gets its value from how well it serves that end. An action is good or bad, right or wrong, depending on whether it helps bring about happiness. Thus his Moral Philosophy is essentially utilitarian or prudential. Right action presupposes thought. Thought is needed partly to form a clearer, more distinct idea of the desired end, and partly to deduce rules that state the normally effective conditions for achieving it. The thinking involved in right conduct is calculation. It is calculation about means to an end that nature fixes and that can be foreseen. Action at its best is the realization of a plan formed and thought out beforehand, a plan that recommends itself by its attractiveness or its promise of enjoyment.

This view has the great advantage of exhibiting morality as essentially reasonable, but the accompanying disadvantage of lowering it into a somewhat prosaic and unideal Prudentialism, nor is it saved from this by the tacking on to it, by a sort of after-thought, of the second and higher Ideal—an addition which ruins the coherence of the account without really transmuting its substance The source of our dissatisfaction with the whole theory lies deeper than in its tendency to identify the end with the maximum of enjoyment or satisfaction, or to regard the goodness or badness of acts and feelings as lying solely in their efficacy to produce such a result It arises from the application to morality of the distinction of means and end For this distinction, for all its plausibility and usefulness in ordinary thought and speech, cannot finally be maintained In morality—and this is vital to its character—everything is both means and end, and so neither in distinction or separation, and all thinking about it which presupposes the finality of this distinction wanders into misconception and error. The thinking which really matters in conduct is not a thinking which imaginatively forecasts ideals which promise to fulfil desire, or calculates means to their attainment—that is sometimes useful, sometimes harmful, and always subordinate, but thinking which reveals to the agent the situation in which he is to act, both, that is, the universal situation on which as man he always and everywhere stands, and the ever-varying and ever-novel situation in which he as this individual, here and now, finds himself. In such knowledge of given or historic fact lie the natural determinants of his conduct, in such knowledge alone lies the condition of his freedom and his good.

This view has one great advantage. It shows morality as essentially reasonable. But it has a serious drawback. It reduces morality to a somewhat prosaic and unideal prudentialism. Adding a second, higher Ideal as an afterthought does not save it. That addition ruins the account's coherence without really changing its substance. Our dissatisfaction runs deeper than those points. It is not simply that the theory identifies the end with the maximum of enjoyment or satisfaction. Nor is it merely that it judges acts and feelings only by their power to produce that result. It comes from applying the means-end distinction to morality. This distinction is plausible and useful in ordinary thought and speech. Still, it cannot finally be maintained. In morality everything is both means and end. This fact is vital to morality's character. So nothing exists purely as either a means or an end. Any thought that assumes a final separation of means and ends falls into misconception and error. The kind of thinking that matters in conduct is different. It is not the thought that imagines ideals promising to satisfy desire. Nor is it the calculation that finds means to attain those ideals. Those kinds of thought can sometimes be useful and sometimes harmful. They are always subordinate to the kind of thinking I mean. The thinking that matters reveals to the agent the situation in which he must act. It shows both the universal situation that binds him as a human being everywhere. It also shows the continually changing and new situation in which he finds himself. This refers to his particular situation as an individual, here and now. Knowledge of these given or historical facts contains the natural determinants of his conduct. Only such knowledge makes his freedom and his good possible.

But this does not mean that Moral Philosophy has not still much to learn from Aristotle’s Ethics. The work still remains one of the best introductions to a study of its important subject-matter, it spreads before us a view of the relevant facts, it reduces them to manageable compass and order, it raises some of the central problems, and makes acute and valuable suggestions towards their solution. Above all, it perpetually incites to renewed and independent reflection upon them.

But this does not mean that Moral Philosophy has nothing more to learn from Aristotle’s Ethics. The work still stands as one of the best introductions to its important subject. It lays out the relevant facts. It brings them into manageable scope and order. It raises key problems and offers sharp, useful suggestions toward their solution. Above all, it constantly prompts fresh and independent reflection on these issues.

J. A. SMITH

– J. A. Smith