Harald Thorsrud

Aristotle’s Dichotomous Anthropology:What is Most Humanin the Nicomachean Ethics?

Abstract: Many commentators have noted how the conflict in Aristotle’s ac-count of human nature in the Nicomachean Ethics is passed on, via the functionargument of I 7, to his view(s) of happiness (eudaimonia). But the general con-sensus has been that Aristotle must have a single, unified view of eudaimonia,which in turn presupposes a single, unified account of human nature. Accord-ingly a great deal of exegetical energy has been spent resolving the apparentconflict in the Nicomachean Ethics. Although others have maintained that thereis a real and irresolvable conflict here, I believe a stronger case can be made.In addition to making this case, I argue that given Aristotle’s view of rational-ity, he was right to be so conflicted: our capacity for theoretical reasoning isnot easily accommodated in a life governed by practical reasoning and vice-versa.

What’s more, it may in fact be the case that we are driven by our nature toincompatible ends. If so, there will be no single best life for us to live. With thispossibility in mind, we can see that saddling Aristotle with a fundamental in-consistency in his ethics is not necessarily disappointing or uncharitable. For ifwe are such complex creatures, the inconsistency is in us; and Aristotle shouldbe commended for saving the phenomena.

Keywords: Aristotle, human nature, eudaimonia, rationality

DOI 10.1515/apeiron-2015-0002

Many commentators have noted how the conflict in Aristotle’s account of hu-man nature in the Nicomachean Ethics is passed on, via the function argumentof I 7, to his view(s) of happiness (eudaimonia). Nagel, for example, writes, “Itis because he is not sure who we are that Aristotle finds it difficult to say un-equivocally in what our eudaimonia consists …” (1972/1980, 8). And accordingto Wilkes, “The indecision in Aristotle’s ethics arises directly from the bilateral

Harald Thorsrud: Agnes Scott College – Philosophy, 141 E. College Ave., Decatur, Georgia30030, United States, E-Mail: hthorsrud@agnesscott.edu

apeiron 2015; aop

nature of Aristotle’s man, and cannot be evaded” (1978, 566).1 Aristotle certainlyseems to be committed to two distinct views of what is most human. One viewemphasizes our embodied, political nature and the executive authority of prac-tical wisdom (phronêsis), which governs and directs everything else for the sakeof achieving eudaimonia. The other view emphasizes our capacity to share inthe activity of the gods and celebrates the teleological authority of theoreticalwisdom (sophia), which has as its aim the contemplation of the highest andfinest objects.

The general consensus has been that Aristotle must have a single, unifiedview of eudaimonia, which in turn presupposes a single, unified account of hu-man nature. Accordingly a great deal of exegetical energy has been spent resol-ving the apparent conflict in the Nicomachean Ethics. Although others havemaintained that there is a real and irresolvable conflict here, I believe a strongercase can be made. In addition to making this case, I will argue that Aristotlewas right to be so conflicted. Given his view of rationality, our capacity for the-oretical reasoning is not easily accommodated in a life governed by practicalreasoning and vice-versa. What’s more, it may in fact be the case that we aredriven by our nature to incompatible ends. If so, there will be no single best lifefor us to live. With this possibility in mind, we can see that saddling Aristotlewith a fundamental inconsistency in his ethics is not necessarily disappointingor uncharitable. For if we are such complex creatures, the inconsistency is inus; and Aristotle should be commended for saving the phenomena.

I

In his discussion of friendship, Aristotle contrasts two ways in which one mightbe called a lover of self. In the first, one grasps for as much wealth, honor, andbodily pleasure as he can get, regardless of whether he has earned it or de-serves it. He identifies with his appetitive and irrational elements, and his self-love is blameworthy since it brings out the worst in him and not who he truly

1 Among the many noteworthy papers and books are: Ackrill (1974/1980), Broadie (1991),Charles and Scott (1999), Eriksen (1976), Hardie (1965), Irwin (1991), Lear (2004), Nagel (1972/1980), Keyt (1978), Kraut (1989), Lawrence (1993), Reeve (2012), Roche (1988), Whiting (1986).Cooper (1975/1986) and Wilkes (1978) are the most decisive and unapologetic advocates of theview that the conflict is real and irresolvable. But see also Cooper’s (1987/1999) revised positiondefending the coherence of the two accounts. Lear (2004, 1–7) provides an excellent overviewof this highly controversial and well-worn topic, as well as a powerful defense of the unity ofAristotle’s view of happiness.

2 Harald Thorsrud

is, or could be (NE IX 8, 1168b16–23). In the second, positive sense, one strivesalways to obtain what is noble or honorable by acting in accordance with thevirtues. Aristotle remarks that

such a man would seem more than the other [grasping one] a lover of self; at all eventshe assigns to himself the things that are noblest and best, and gratifies the most author-itative element in himself and in all things obeys this; and just as a city or any othersystematic whole is most properly identified with the most authoritative element in it, sois a man; and therefore the man who loves this and gratifies it is most of all a lover ofself. Besides a man is said to have or not to have self-control according as his reasonhas or has not the control, on the assumption that this is the man himself and the thingsmen have done on a rational principle are thought most properly their own acts andvoluntary acts. That this is the man himself, then, or is so more than anything else, isplain and also that the good man loves most this part of him.2 (NE IX 8, 1168b28–1169a3)

In a sense, of course, both the virtuous and immoderate are lovers of self. Butthe former is more truly a lover of self because he loves what he most truly is,the most authoritative part, his rationality.3 But why does Aristotle think therational element is most authoritative? And in what sense are we to identifyourselves with it?4

Aristotle is clearly not denying that the other parts and functions are essen-tial to who and what we are, as if we might still be human without some sort ofdigestive system. This is why he qualifies the identity claim: reason is the manhimself, or is so more than anything else. But more importantly, as Aristotlesays, we correctly identify any systematic whole with the most authoritative ele-ment. For example, we identify types of political communities in terms of theirconstitutions and ruling bodies (Pol. III 6, 1278b8–13). These are the featuresthat differentiate one community from another. The same thinking applies tobiological organs and organisms (Mete. 390a10–13, cf. Meta. VII 10, 1035b25, PAI 1, 640b35–641a5). In one sense a frog is just the sum total of all its parts andfunctions, but more importantly it is the overall economy and arrangement ofthose parts. A functioning frog is more truly a frog than a frog puppet. Further-more, we are unable to fully understand any of the parts in isolation from, orwithout reference to, this overall economy. What unifies the soul, thereby mak-

2 Translations of the Nicomachean Ethics are from Ross, revised by Ackrill and Urmson, Oxford1998.3 Aristotle affirms the notion that the rational part is what each person really is, or is most ofall: …το διανοητικόν, ὅπερ ἕκαστος εἶναι δοκεῖ, IX 4, 1166a14–17; δόξειε δ’ ἂν τὸ νοοῦν ἕκαστοςεἶναι ἢ μάλιστα, IX 4, 1166a22–23. I discuss both passages further in section IV.4 As will be apparent, I agree with Whiting’s (1986) assessment that Cooper’s (1975/1986) em-phasis on personal identity is key to understanding Aristotle’s views of eudaimonia – but see n.18 below on how I differ from Cooper in developing this insight.

Aristotle’s Dichotomous Anthropology 3

ing intelligible all of its elements, is the most authoritative feature (De An. I 5,410b10–15). Thus we should not speak of reason as the most authoritative partinsofar as that suggests a tiny pilot operating the machinery from somewherebehind one’s eyes. Rather we should think of reason as the most authoritativefunction since it unifies and makes intelligible all of the other elements of thesoul. (For convenience I will continue to speak of the rational part; however thisshould be understood in terms of the relevant function or activity.)

The point is that we naturally, and correctly, think of ourselves in executiveterms. For example, insofar as we think that being self-controlled is the same asacting in accordance with reason, it is plausible to identify one’s self with one’srationality. When I resist a desire on the grounds that it would be harmful toindulge, I think of the desire as mine, but I think of the resistor as me. I assertmyself in cutting off the desire. Similarly, we tend to think that a person mostclearly reveals himself through actions that result from rational deliberation. Bycontrast, the autonomic functioning of the digestive system, and more generallyall things that happen to us, play no significant role in the study of ethics be-cause they reveal nothing about character. Only the rational part is able to com-mand and forbid, prescribe and proscribe (see Protr. 59–62, Johnson tr., 41.15–42.4). So ultimately, reason is the most authoritative part, or function, becauseit alone is able to direct the whole person with a view to what is good (cp. Rep.441e, 442c).5

What is striking about the identification of our true self with our rationality,or intellectual element, in Book IX however is that Aristotle nowhere mentionshis earlier division (in Book VI) of the intellectual element into the practical andthe theoretical. In IX he clearly means that the practical intellect is the mostauthoritative part and that this is what we most truly are and what the goodman identifies with. While this discussion does not forbid us from including thetheoretical intellect in our concept of what we are, the authority of rationality isexplicitly executive, and thus derives from the practical intellect. But, to antici-pate, it is equally clear that in Book X Aristotle exhorts us to identify with ourtheoretical intellect, claiming now that this is the most authoritative part, ournatural ruler and guide, and what we most truly are (NE X 7, 1178a2–3, a5–7,see Cooper 1975/1986, 174–75). Before examining the details of his position inBook X, however, it is necessary to briefly review the distinction between thepractical and theoretical intellects and their associated virtues.

5 Aristotle also adopts Plato’s view that virtue is a kind of health or internal harmony of thesoul: “the good man is of one mind with himself, and desires the same things with every partof his soul” (NE IX 4, 1166a13–14; I 13, 1102b29).

4 Harald Thorsrud

II

In Book VI Aristotle divides the rational part of the soul in terms of the kinds ofthings we can think about: the principles of some things are invariable, and theprinciples of others are variable (1139a6–8). Aristotle calls the part which at-tends to the former, the scientific (to epistêmonikon), and to the latter, the delib-erative (to logistikon). (But again, he clearly does not mean these are two dis-tinct intellects. They are rather two distinct rational capacities of the same soul– see De An. III 10, 433a14–17.) We deliberate about some things but not aboutothers. When our judgment can affect the future course of events it makes senseto deliberate about what should be done – for example, whether to run fromdanger or face it, whether to study philosophy or seek political office, etc. Wemust consider all of the relevant circumstances if we are to deliberate well andarrive at the appropriate mean between excess and deficiency. It might becourageous for me and cowardly for someone else to run from the very samedanger. And, given my circumstances, becoming a politician might be a morevirtuous choice than becoming a philosopher. Successful deliberation discernsthe relevant mean state, thereby revealing a kind of practical truth: the rightthing for such and such a person to do in these circumstances.

Since the purpose of the practical intellect is right action, its virtue is notsimply a matter of grasping practical truth; it must do so in agreement withright desire. Intellect by itself never moves anything. In order to do so it mustbe accompanied by desire. So in order for practical intellect to accomplish itsproper work, the good reasoning must be accompanied by appropriate desire.Otherwise, one might grasp the relevant truth and fail to act on it. In that case,the exercise of practical intellect will have failed. Thus the primary virtue of thispart, phronêsis, can only be acquired in tandem with virtues of character. Inlearning how to act well, we must simultaneously develop the intellectual virtueof grasping practical truth, i.e. what is to be done, along with the ethical dispo-sition to desire and pursue what the practical intellect affirms.

Since we also think about things whose principles are invariable, Aristotleclaims there must be a distinct intellectual faculty: “for where objects differ inkind the part of the soul answering to each of the two is different in kind” (NEVI 1, 1139a9–11). For example, we suppose that seeing is distinct from hearingsince we cannot perceive sounds through the eyes, or sights through the ears(Tht. 185a, cp. MM I 34).

Since nothing we can ever do affects the invariable regularities of physics,numbers, logical relations, and the gods, theoretical intellect is not concernedwith practical action or deliberation. Its function is simply to grasp the truthabout these things and it succeeds by means of its primary virtue, sophia. Un-

Aristotle’s Dichotomous Anthropology 5

like phronêsis, there is no affective counterpart necessary for the acquisitionand operation of sophia: how one feels about astronomical, mathematical, orphysical principles as he contemplates them, or whether he feels anything,makes no difference to the contemplation. Aristotle does insist that the exerciseof sophia provides the greatest pleasures, marvelous for their purity and perma-nence (X 7, 1177a23–28). But whether such pleasure is, or merely supervenesupon, the unimpeded activity of theoretical rationality, one need not be habitu-ated to experience this pleasure to become a sophos. To become a phronimos,by contrast, one must learn to feel the appropriate way towards the objects ofdeliberation. Indeed it is often a struggle for us to find morally good actionpleasurable.

It should be clear from this brief review that it is possible to acquire thevirtue of the theoretical intellect without that of the practical (or at least theentirety of practical virtue) and vice-versa. In keeping with the analogy betweenintellectual and sensible objects: just as visible things are exclusively accessibleto the eyes and audible things to the ears, variable objects are exclusively ac-cessible to practical intellect and invariable objects to theoretical intellect. Andthe practical truths grasped by phronêsis are independent of the theoreticaltruths grasped by sophia, at least in an epistemic sense: one need not have anyknowledge of mathematics or the motions of the heavenly bodies in order tograsp what courage demands in this particular instance, or vice-versa. Aristotleeven offers the examples of Anaxagoras and Thales as men who achieved so-phia but not phronêsis (NE VI 7, 1141b3–8). Their knowledge was remarkable,admirable, difficult and even divine, but quite distinct from knowledge of whatis good for human beings. On the other hand, Pericles had practical wisdom –he was able to see what is good for himself and for human beings in general(NE VI 5, 1140b8), though he is nowhere credited with sophia. In any case, Aris-totle embraces the commonsense point that, either through lack of interest, abil-ity, or opportunity, many able administrators fail to develop their theoreticalskills, just as many brilliant theorists fail to develop their prudential reasoning.6

On this point, Aristotle and Plato (at least in the Republic) are fundamen-tally opposed. For Plato, theoretical wisdom, contemplation of the forms, espe-cially the form of the good, is precisely what makes the philosopher most able

6 When Aristotle affirms the unity of the virtues, as opposed to the possibility of having one ormore of the so-called natural virtues (i.e. innate dispositions) without having them all, he onlyinsists on the unity of phronêsis and the moral virtues. He says nothing about the inter-entail-ment of sophia with the other virtues, intellectual or moral (NE VI 13, 1144b30–1145a6, see alsoX 8, where the connection between phronêsis and moral virtue is grounded in our compound,embodied nature). See Hardie (1979, 36).

6 Harald Thorsrud

to rule himself and others. Having intellectually grasped the paradigms, he isuniquely suited to assess the shadowy images that pass for reality within thepolitical community. For Aristotle, however, the objects studied by the theoreti-cal sciences are not paradigms in this way, and those who develop their theore-tical intellects are not thereby gaining any advantages with respect to practicalrationality.7

Aristotle does insist that theoretical and practical wisdom are both choice-worthy, since they are good states of the two intellectual elements of the soul(NE VI 12, 1144a1–3). So it seems that we should all strive to develop and act inaccordance with both virtues. But he also insists that theoretical and practicalwisdom are not equally valuable and choiceworthy. The theoretical sciences arethe best because their objects are superior to the variable, changing matters ofpractical life. And the highest and most authoritative of all objects is the divinesubstance, immovable and separately existing (Meta XI 7, 1064a35–b1). Conse-quently, the executive function of phronêsis must be limited in some sense withrespect to sophia. For,

…it would be thought strange if practical wisdom, being inferior to philosophic wisdom,is to be put in authority over it, as seems to be implied by the fact that the art whichproduces anything rules and issues commands about that thing (NE VI 12, 1143b33–35).

But phronêsis will have to have some control over the exercise of the theoreticalintellect. Unlike the gods whose contemplation is a continuous expression oftheir divine nature, human beings must make a choice to reflect on the truth ofinvariable matters if they are to contemplate at all. While we might, on occa-sion, merely find ourselves contemplating as we find ourselves daydreaming orfalling off a park bench, the development and regular exercise of sophia presup-poses that we can reliably meet our basic needs and that we are sufficientlydisciplined and committed to the goal. When we intentionally contemplate, wemust consider the proper time, and place, and weigh a variety of competingdemands. But these are variable matters; one might opt to contemplate for alonger or shorter period of time, or not at all. Sophia will have nothing to tell usabout such matters – indeed it contemplates none of the things that make menhappy (NE VI 12). In this sense, phronêsis controls sophia, and politics is indeedthe architectonic science of the human good (NE I 2).

7 As Silverman (2010) shows, Aristotle’s objection to the ideal Form of the good, namely thatknowledge of this form would not help a weaver, carpenter, physician, general or presumablyeven a politician (1097a8–10), seems to guarantee that the good sought in contemplation willhave no practical benefit for the contemplator. For opposed views see Roochnik (2009), andClark (1975).

Aristotle’s Dichotomous Anthropology 7

Aristotle elaborates the relation with the following analogies:

[phronêsis] is not supreme over philosophic wisdom, i.e. over the superior part of us, anymore than the art of medicine is over health; for it does not use it but provides for itscoming into being; it issues orders, then, for its sake, but not to it. Further, to maintainits supremacy would be like saying that the art of politics rules the gods because itissues orders about all the affairs of state (NE VI 13, 1145a6–11).

The physician has authority over health in a practical, executive sense – heknows how to produce it in the patient. This is a familiar use of the term‘authority’. We typically think, for example, that a guardian has authority overhis children because he knows what is good for them. Even when such author-ity is not rooted in knowledge or lacks benevolence, it involves issuing com-mands and being obeyed. In another, less familiar sense, we may say thathealth has teleological authority over the physician because medical science ex-ists for the sake of health and not vice-versa. The telos does not issue com-mands in any straightforward sense. However, since the means are chosen andarranged with a view to bringing about the end, we may say the end subordi-nates its means. The physician’s orders in no way alter the facts about the de-sired goal of health – that much is given – but the physician must look to thesefacts in order to successfully diagnose and prescribe. The nature of the end,health, directs the physician, and in this sense has authority over him.

The same distinctions don’t apply as seamlessly in the second analogy, ac-cording to which politicians do not have practical authority over the gods.Clearly politicians don’t produce gods in the way that physicians producehealth. What politicians and political science do produce, however, are the con-ditions for a virtuous state and virtuous citizenry (NE I 2, 1094a27–b7). But inorder to do this well, the politician must accept the teleological authority of thegods. His legislation will be good insofar as it enables the citizens (as many aspossible) to actualize their potential to live like the gods, by engaging in con-templation. So in a sense, the expert statesman does produce gods – his exper-tise creates the conditions in which human beings can become as godlike aspossible.8

8 The author of the Magna Moralia offers yet another analogy to illustrate this relation. Sophiais compared to the master and phronêsis to his steward who arranges domestic matters so thatthe master can engage in more noble, leisurely activities: “so likewise phronêsis is a steward tosophia, providing leisure for it to perform its own function, and restraining and moderating thepassions” [which might otherwise distract] (MM 1.34, 1198b9–20, see Greenwood 1891/2001,80–81).

8 Harald Thorsrud

The main point to be derived from these analogies is that the ultimate pur-pose of phronêsis is to bring about sophia, the exercise of which is valuablestrictly for its own sake and not for the sake of anything else. This is not to denythat virtuous action is worthwhile for its own sake, but rather to add that it isalso worthwhile for the sake of its higher end of theôria, the exercise of philoso-phical wisdom.

The relation of medical science to health seems to be purely instrumental –we value medical science insofar as it provides knowledge about health andultimately insofar as it is productive of health. Similarly, we might say the rela-tion of politics to contemplation is purely instrumental – we properly value leg-islation only insofar as it produces the conditions that enable us to contemplate.However, as many commentators have argued, a purely instrumental relationbetween practical and theoretical wisdom is extremely implausible, both onphilosophical and textual grounds.9 Aristotle spends the majority of the Nicoma-chean Ethics developing his account of the moral virtues and their relation topractical wisdom, suggesting that these are constituents of eudaimonia. The no-tion that they are only choiceworthy insofar as they produce sophia and bringabout the conditions for its exercise flatly contradicts Aristotle’s frequent insis-tence on the intrinsic value and nobility of morally virtuous action. And on phi-losophical grounds, it is unclear why one needs the moral virtues to contem-plate well. Finally, if they are only required to secure the life of contemplation,they should be rejected whenever such a life is more effectively secured by im-moral means.

III

Whatever the proper relation between theoretical and practical wisdom turnsout to be, in Book X Aristotle notoriously advances the notion that contempla-tion is the sole constituent of happiness, in its highest sense.

If happiness is activity in accordance with virtue, it is reasonable that it should be inaccordance with the highest virtue; and this will be that of the best thing in us. Whetherit be reason or something else that is this element which is thought to be our naturalruler and guide and to take thought of things noble and divine, whether it be itself alsodivine or only the most divine element in us, the activity of this in accordance with itsproper virtue will be perfect happiness. That this activity is contemplative we have al-ready said. (NE X 7, 1177a12–18)

9 Kraut (1989) is a notable exception.

Aristotle’s Dichotomous Anthropology 9

Aristotle has not already said this. But it is clear that when he says reason(nous) is the best thing in us, he means the theoretical part (to epistêmonikon) –which holds consistently for his use of the term ‘reason’ in the remainder of X7–8.10 The sense in which the theoretical intellect is our natural ruler and guide,is the same sense in which we may say that god has teleological authority – i.e.not by issuing practical commands but rather by providing an ultimate purposefor the subordinate functions and activities (cf. EE 1249b9–25).

It is absurd to suppose that the gods have any need of courage, justice,moderation or the practical wisdom of phronêsis. There is no conceivable dan-ger a god could face that requires courage, nothing they owe to mortals or othergods that requires fair dealing, no bad appetites to overcome. Aristotle’s gods,like the theoretical intellect, have no administrative responsibilities, and indeedno administrative abilities. The only activity left for the gods is contemplation.

Happiness extends, then, just as far as contemplation does, and those to whom contem-plation more fully belongs are more truly happy, not as a mere concomitant but in virtueof the contemplation; for this is in itself precious. Happiness, therefore, must be someform of contemplation. (NE X 8, 1178b20–32).

But our actual existence as political animals with endless physical and psycho-logical needs prevents us from enjoying the divine perspective for long. This iswhy Aristotle says that we will not live such a life, to whatever extent we do,insofar as we are human, but rather insofar as we have a share of the divine(NE X 7, 1177a27–28).

It is surprising to find here at the end of an extended inquiry into the hu-man good, human virtue, and human happiness (NE I 13, 1102a14–16), that thehappiest life is not attainable for us insofar as we are … human. It seems thefocus of the investigation has now shifted from the best human life, to the bestpossible life (White 1990). Even so, it must still be a question of the best possi-ble life that a human being can live, otherwise Aristotle will have inexplicablyabandoned his commitment to the view that by studying his Ethics we are seek-ing something that can actually be achieved by human beings (NE I 6,1096b32–35), and that the purpose of such study is not merely to acquire knowl-edge, but to become good (NE X 9, 1179b2–4). The study of the best possiblelife, after all, is the subject of theology, not ethics.

Given that the best possible life is lived in accordance with divine nature,we should expect that it cannot be lived in accordance with mere human nat-

10 For example, comparing political action with contemplation, Aristotle remarks that the ac-tivity of reason (ἡ τοῦ νοῦ ἐνέργεια), which is contemplative, is superior in worth (NE X 7,1177b19–20).

10 Harald Thorsrud

ure. What is surprising, if not downright paradoxical, is the notion that we canlive such a life to any extent at all. If we do, it will be in accordance with ourshare of the divine, under the guidance of the teleological authority of theoreti-cal rationality. Now even though the life of theoretical contemplation is divinein comparison to any other sort of life we might live, it is nonetheless a humanlife when lived by a human being. So, Aristotle must be implicitly relying ontwo distinct senses of humanity in this passage: we will not live the best possi-ble life insofar as we are merely human, but insofar as we have a share in thedivine, i.e. insofar as we are divinely human.11

Aristotle has apparently introduced a new conception of what is most hu-man in Book X (though it is implicit in his discussion of the relation betweenpractical and intellectual virtue in VI 13) in order to underwrite his conclusionthat the life of theoretical contemplation is the highest form of human happi-ness. It would be strange, he says, if we were to choose not our own life, butthe life of something else since what is appropriate or fitting for the nature ofeach is best and most pleasant for each (NE X 7, 1178a5–6). When we choosethe life of theoretical contemplation then, we are not choosing the life of thegods (which is not a genuine option anyway), but rather the life made possibleby virtue of our divine humanity. And when we make such a choice, we affirmthe view that each person is his theoretical intellect, since it is the authoritativeand better part; paradoxical as it may seem, we will affirm that what is most

11 Kraut (1979) also argues that Aristotle uses ‘human’ in two different ways in the Ethics. Buton his view, Aristotle introduces a narrow use of the term in Book X that excludes theoreticalactivity as a human pursuit. I am claiming, to the contrary, that the narrow sense introduced inBook X excludes practical rationality from what is most human. Kraut contrasts his narrowsense with a broad use in Book I that encompasses both theoretical and practical rational activ-ity. I am calling this broad view the merely human since it affirms our identity with practicalrationality as what is most human and emphasizes its executive authority. On Kraut’s distinc-tion, contemplation is a human good in the broad, but not the narrow, sense of human. Andthis is why, he claims, Aristotle says that we will not live the best life insofar as we are human(in the narrow sense). However, it is not clear what, if anything, Aristotle accomplishes byintroducing this narrow sense in Book X. If his considered view is that contemplation is a hu-man good, and indeed the highest human good, we should not expect him to use the wordhuman in such a way as to undermine, or at least complicate, that point.

With regard to the broad use, Kraut points out that the subdivision of human virtues intopractical and intellectual in I 13 leads eventually to the discussion of sophia in Book VI. So, heplausibly infers that Aristotle recognizes contemplation as a human good as early as Book I.On his view it is in accordance with this broad version of human nature that we may live thecontemplative life. But, as Aristotle insists, it is really only due to our share of the divine thatwe are able to lead such a life. As we have seen, the exercise of practical intellectual andethical virtues is sometimes even an impediment.

Aristotle’s Dichotomous Anthropology 11

human (malista anthrôpos) is our share of the divine, our theoretical intellect(NE X 7, 1178a2–7).

By contrast, recall that Aristotle had urged us earlier in Book IX to identifywith our practical rationality, claiming that this is most authoritative, and mosthuman (NE IX 8, 1168b34–35, 1169a2). But of course Aristotle does not simplyabandon the Book IX view of practical rationality as what is most human whenhe gets to Book X. Instead, he demotes it, arguing that although we are mosttruly our theoretical intellect, we are also, in a secondary sense our practicalintellect as well. This is why the merely human life of moral virtue (and thepractical intellectual virtues that this life requires) is happy only to a secondarydegree (NE X 8, 1178a9), and why we should not limit ourselves to think merelyhuman thoughts in accordance with our practical intellect.

The inferiority of our mere humanity rests squarely on the fact that it ex-presses our composite nature and the virtues that that nature requires (X 8,1178a10, a14, a21, cf. An. II 1, 412a15–20). These are connected to the emotionsand appetites, since again, we must have the appropriate feelings and desiresabout what we are doing to do it well. And some of these virtues arise from thebody (1178a15, cf. NE III 10). Although we are not told what ‘arising from thebody’ means here, the intended contrast is clearly with the non-composite gods,and the theoretical intellect, the virtues of which are not similarly dependent onbodies, since they are separate (kechôrismenê, 1178a22).12

IV

If this ranking were Aristotle’s official position, however, his remarks in BookIX (and elsewhere) would be very misleading. He betrays not the slightest mis-giving about the lives of those who identify with their practical rationality, as ifthey were somehow compelled by their unfortunate circumstances to settle for asecond-best sort of life. On the contrary, Aristotle is clear that friendship, forexample, is an essential component of the good life, not a necessary evil foistedon us by our composite nature.13 The foundation of friendship is self-love,

12 It is worth noting, in support of Caston’s (1999) view that the relevant sense of separate hereis taxonomical, that Aristotle draws a clear line between the nested hierarchies of cognitivecapacities (e. g. sensory, nutritive), which require a body, and the contemplative, which doesnot (An. II 3, 414b20–415a14).13 We must acknowledge, however, that some of the activities required by practical rationalityare impositions that inhibit our leisure. For example, Aristotle thinks we must on occasion fight

12 Harald Thorsrud

which, at least in Book IX, requires that we identify with our practical rational-ity.

When we further consider Aristotle’s remarks on friendship, the claim thatthe highest happiness for humanity consists exclusively in contemplation be-comes inescapably paradoxical. Aristotle opens the discussion with the claimthat “without friends no one would choose to live, though he had all othergoods” (NE VIII 1, 1155a5–6). By ‘no one’ he obviously means no human beingsince the gods have no need of friends. This is why no one would wish thegreatest good, that of being a god, for his friend – for having become a god, hewould then cease to be a friend. So,

if we were right in saying that friend wishes good to friend for his sake, his friend mustremain the sort of being he is, whatever that may be; therefore it is for him only so longas he remains a man that he will wish the greatest goods. (NE VIII 7, 1159a9–11)

The reason we would not wish our friends to become gods is that we cannotconsistently wish good things strictly for the sake of a friend (i.e. not for anyadditional benefits we might gain) and wish for that person to become a differ-ent sort of being. For implicit in the first wish is that the one for whom we wishgood things is the same as the one who will receive and enjoy those goodthings.

The same reasoning applies when we consider whether it would make senseto wish this greatest good for oneself.

…he [the good man] wishes himself to live and be preserved, and especially the elementby virtue of which he thinks. For existence is good to the virtuous man, and each manwishes himself what is good, while no one chooses to possess the whole world if he hasfirst to become someone else…he wishes for this only on condition of being whatever heis; and the element that thinks would seem to be the individual man, or to be so morethan any other element in him. (NE IX 4, 1166a17–23)

Imagine someone actually considering this choice: gain the world and cease tobe who and what I now am, or forgo these benefits and remain what I am. Aris-totle confidently asserts that no one would opt for the former. The point is notmerely that we remain the same sort of being but that we be able to appreciateand enjoy the good things we have worked for.

As Aristotle continues, it becomes immediately clear that practical rational-ity and moral character feature prominently, as they do in the other key pas-sages of Book IX discussed above.

wars and engage in other troublesome administrations of the public good. No one in his rightmind welcomes such necessities.

Aristotle’s Dichotomous Anthropology 13

…such a man wishes to live with himself; for he does so with pleasure, since the mem-ories of his past acts are delightful and his hopes for the future are good, and thereforepleasant. His mind is well stored too with subjects of contemplation [of worthy actions]…(NE IX 4, 1166a23–27)

Wicked men, by contrast, can’t stand their own company, for their minds arestocked with things they wish to forget. So they seek distraction from them-selves in the company of others.

But given the teleological authority of theoretical intellect in VI 13 and X 7–8, perhaps we are to identify ourselves with practical rationality so that we cancreate the conditions necessary for us to identify ourselves with theoretical ra-tionality and thereby immortalize ourselves as far as possible. Although Aristo-tle never offers the slightest hint that this is his view in Book IX, and althoughthere are good reasons to think it isn’t, it is certainly possible. But even so, thepicture of ethical progress that it presupposes is unacceptable on Aristotle’sown terms.

Let us suppose that we initially characterize ourselves in terms of practicalrationality. In that case, our practical, political and moral concerns will all beexpressions of what we truly are, or at least initially take ourselves to be.Whether I know it or not the effort I expend to develop my moral and practicalintellectual virtues is ultimately for the sake of developing sophia and construct-ing a life of contemplation, even if it is also intrinsically valuable by virtue ofsome relation (resemblance, analogy, etc.) to theôria (see Lear 2004).

Suppose I figure this out and succeed in immortalizing myself as far as pos-sible. I now identify with the theoretical intellect and see the practical intellectand its associated moral dispositions as adjuncts, but no longer members of the‘inner circle’ of what I most truly am. Assuming this more or less correctly de-scribes the transformation from merely human happiness to divinely humanhappiness, the question is, from the perspective of theoretical rationality, wouldI still value friendship as an essential part of a happy life?

I believe the answer is no.14 To the extent that we succeed in becoming likegod, we grow indifferent to the particular things close at hand, including ourassociates. The wonderfully pure and enduring pleasure of contemplation, infact, would drive away our interest in all other pursuits (X 5, 1175b2–14, see

14 Stewart ascribes the apparent tension between Books IX and X to a difference in ‘point ofview’: “In IX the good man is viewed as konônos biou, in X as homoiôtheis tô theiô” (1892/1973,442). Stewart also maintains that Aristotle’s distinction between the highest and second-bestforms of happiness in Book X is similarly a distinction between points of view on the same life– the first expresses happiness from the ideal perspective and the second expresses happinessas it might actually be attained by real human beings. But this simply does not solve the pro-blem of which perspective, if either, best captures what we human beings essentially are.

14 Harald Thorsrud

Alex. Aphr. In Aristotelis metaphysica comm. 1.17, 9–20). In these sections ofBook X, Aristotle is encouraging us to transcend our mere humanity in order torealize our divine humanity and achieve the greatest possible self-sufficiency.15

Even when the sophos is by himself he is able to contemplate, and the wiser heis the more continuously he can do so (NE X 7, 1177a32–34). This makes sense ifwe think of contemplation as a purely internal reflection on the truth of invari-able, eternal first principles. Such reflection is an essentially private business.So, again insofar as we identify with our theoretical intellect, we realize that theappropriate good for us is only attainable through our own efforts, and is onlyenjoyed alone. We simply cannot share the good of contemplation in the waywe share a good meal or a good conversation even if it can serve as part of amodel life for others to emulate.

Aristotle does express the reservation that the sophos can perhaps contem-plate better with companions, though he is still the most self-sufficient (NE X 7,1177a34–b1). Here he may be recalling his earlier claims about friendship, orwhat seems to be a very different understanding of self-sufficiency offered inBook I: “by self-sufficient we do not mean that which is sufficient for a man byhimself, for one who lives a solitary life…since man is born for citizenship” (NEI 7, 1097b8–11). But on the assumption that the object of contemplation is thetruth of invariable, eternal first principles, it is hard to see how it would bebetter with companions, or what man’s political nature has to do directly withthis activity. One might be more likely to put down distracting amusements andtake up the hard work of contemplation with the encouragement and support oflike-minded companions. But the actual activity can be no better or worse forhaving others to contemplate with. Similarly, the gods’ contemplation is utterlyindifferent to the presence or absence of co-gods enjoying the same uninter-rupted bliss. Insofar as the contemplative life is like the life of the gods then itseems that it will also be self-sufficient in a similar way.

So to the extent that one succeeds in immortalizing himself, he will havetranscended his merely human need for friends. He will still of course needstewards to secure his leisure, but this is a far cry from what Aristotle saysabout the necessity of friendship for a good life.

15 According to a fragment from the lost treatise On the Good (fr. 27, Rose), Aristotle says thatit is necessary to remember one is human not only when he enjoys good fortune, but when he[rationally] demonstrates something (i.e. the sort of truth that theoretical intellect contemplates– see Meta. VII 15, 1039b30–1040a2, APo 71b16–25). So unlike the enthusiastic exhortation toimmortalize ourselves as far as possible in NE X, here we find, perhaps, some reservation aboutthe transcendent appeal of the theoretical intellect.

Aristotle’s Dichotomous Anthropology 15

Surely it is strange to make the supremely happy man a solitary; for no one wouldchoose the whole world on condition of being alone, since man is a political creatureand one whose nature is to live with others. Therefore even the happy man lives withothers; for he has the things that are by nature good. And plainly it is better to spendhis days with friends and good men than with strangers or any chance person. There-fore, the happy man needs friends. (NE IX 9, 1169b16–22)

As with the previous scenario, Aristotle confidently asserts that no one wouldmake this choice. Having all the goods in the world would be nearly worthlessif one had to enjoy them alone, without friends, or if one had to become some-one or something else in the bargain. So here we feel the pull of our merehumanity and our political nature against the aspirations of fulfilling our divinenature by maximizing contemplation. It is not insofar as we have a share of thedivine that friendship is a necessary part of the good life – again, the gods haveno need of friends – it is in virtue of our mere humanity, our practical intellectand moral dispositions.

Furthermore, if the contemplative life takes the prize because what is mosthuman is the theoretical intellect, then we should have to appeal to it in explain-ing our secondary (merely) human characteristics, such as our need for friend-ship, practical wisdom, and moral virtue. Lear offers such an account in arguingthat the goodness of practical wisdom must be understood with reference to the-oretical wisdom. On her view, the exercise of phronêsis is neither merely instru-mental to, nor a constituent of, the highest form of happiness, contemplation;rather, it is choiceworthy as an approximation or imitation of contemplation.“Practical wisdom embodies only to a degree an ideal of rational activity per-fectly achieved by theoretical wisdom. In this way, excellent theoretical truthful-ness sets the standard for the excellent practical truthfulness of morally virtuousaction” (Lear 2004, 4). If this view were correct, it would explain why it stillmakes sense to pursue friendship and to exercise the moral and practical intel-lectual virtues even in the most god-like life of contemplation.

But practical rationality fails to approximate theoretical rationality in somecrucial respects. The exercise of practical wisdom requires the proper affectivestates, is non-demonstrative, issues judgments concerning particulars, anddeals with what is contingent. Furthermore, the exercise of practical rationalityis personal in a way that theoretical rationality is not. Contemplation involvesno reference to the particular agent – it does not matter who is contemplatingthe eternal truths of mathematics, for example, at least with respect to the con-tent of what is thought. But the exercise of practical rationality must take ac-count of the deliberating agent. In general, phronesis approximates sophia onlyby considering some of its intellectual aspects, and by ignoring the idiosyncra-sies of the deliberating agent and his circumstances, which is to say that phron-esis itself, in its entirety, fails to approximate sophia.

16 Harald Thorsrud

Even though the gods provide the ultimate telos for all of nature, includingour merely human nature, our share of the divine does not fully explain ourneed for friendship and practical wisdom. The full explanation of why these aregood for us, and not in some absolute sense, must refer to facts about humanphysiology and psychology. For if we were to somehow remove the theoreticalintellect from human nature, practical wisdom and friendship would still begood for us, since we could still be political animals in some sense of ‘political’.Whether or not our political nature requires that we have a share in the divine(cf. Pol. VII 3), it is not made intelligible by reference to our theoretical intellect.And similarly, our share in the divine nature does not require being politicalanimals, as we see in the case of the a-political gods. In fact, embodiment is thegreatest impediment to the exercise of our divine nature.

Therefore, our share of the divine cannot serve as the primary, or focalsense of humanity since we can account for our political nature without refer-ence to it (even if the gods do provide the ultimate telos). It seems that we areno more or less political, as a species, by virtue of our share of the divine. Butneither can our merely human nature serve as the focal sense. The fact that weare able to rationally and intelligently structure our lives does not account forthe fact that we are able to engage in the divine activity of contemplation.16

V

To summarize: Aristotle is conflicted about the nature and function of humanbeings. In Book IX he asserts that what is most human is our (undifferentiated)rationality under the guidance of the executive authority of the practical intel-lect, and in Book X that it is exclusively the theoretical intellect, and its teleolo-gical authority. And so, in keeping with the function argument, he is conflictedabout human happiness. If we take his advice in Book IX and identify with ourpractical intellect, our happiness will be constituted by the exercise of a collec-tion of rational activities. The cost of doing so is to demote contemplation to aposition commensurate with the exercise of practical rationality. And if we fol-low the advice in Book X and identify with our theoretical intellect, our happi-ness will be constituted exclusively by one rational activity, contemplation. The

16 I do not mean to suggest that these brief objections to Lear are adequate on their own toundermine her position. In fact, my primary purpose is not to argue against the many proposedresolutions of the conflict in the text of the Nicomachean Ethics but rather to defend the notionthat the most natural and unstrained reading of the relevant texts show the conflict to be irre-solvable on Aristotle’s own terms.

Aristotle’s Dichotomous Anthropology 17

cost here is alienation from our embodied, political life and an unacceptablyparadoxical view of ethical progress.17 Having identified with the theoretical in-tellect, the political life will be an impediment to our higher end, or a necessaryevil, and friendship will no longer be essential to our flourishing.

As it stands, there appears to be no compromise between these two lives.We cannot simultaneously aim to perfect that function (or those functions) thatare most distinctive of our species, and aim to live in accordance with what isbest in our nature. We cannot simultaneously strive to be the best of the ani-mals and the equal of the gods. The practical and theoretical intellects are dis-tinct both with respect to their objects and their virtues – to the extent that weidentify with one we do not identify with the other. They cannot both be what ismost human. But if they are both essential to our humanity, we are necessarilyconflicted: there can be no single account of the best life for such creatures.18

One of the virtues of the interpretation I have defended is that it does notseek to explain away what has been apparent to readers of the NicomacheanEthics at least since Eustratios in the 12th century. The simplest explanation forthis well-attested appearance of inconsistency in Aristotle’s account of eudaimo-nia is that it is, in fact, inconsistent. Another point in its favor is that Aristotleseems well aware that his position could be taken in these two distinct ways. AsPakaluk (2005, 9–10) observes, we find this ambiguity as early as Book I: “Allthese things [sc. goodness, usefulness, pleasure] belong to the best sorts of ac-tivities, and these, or the best one of them, we claim, is happiness” (I 8,1099a29–31). And we find it as late as Book X: “Regardless, then, of whether theactivities of a mature and blessedly happy human being are of one sort or areseveral in kind, the pleasures that bring these to completion would properly besaid to be ‘human pleasures’” (X 5, 1176a26–28, see also I 7, 1098a16–18 and VII

17 Aristotle describes the theoretical life in the Politics as that of a foreigner or alien, separatedfrom his political community (ὁ ξενικὸς καὶ τῆς πολιτικῆς κοινωνίας ἀπολελυμένος, Pol. VII 2,1324a16–17).18 Cooper argues that Aristotle is committed to two distinct types of human soul: the firstanimates the human body and requires the political and social virtues to flourish, the secondrequires only the divine activity of contemplation to flourish. However, this depends on aninterpretation of De Anima III 5 according to which “the highest intellectual powers are split offfrom the others and made, in some obscure way, to constitute a soul all on their own” (176).Cooper maintains that this second soul is also human, but this need not be the case. Caston(1999) convincingly shows that the relevant texts in De Anima support the view that the secondtype of soul, the agent intellect, is identical to God, and that the agent intellect is separableonly in a taxonomic sense, not in the sense of being separable, or detachable, from an indivi-dual human. So while I agree with Cooper (1975/1986) that there is a fundamental normativeconflict within Aristotle’s account of human nature, I do not think this requires two distincttypes of human soul.

18 Harald Thorsrud

13, 1153b9–14). Aristotle’s concluding remarks about the status and purpose ofethical theory also indicate uncertainty. “Such arguments then carry some de-gree of conviction; but it is by the practical experience of life and conduct thatthe truth is really tested, since it is there that the final decision lies. We musttherefore examine the conclusions we have advanced by bringing them to thetest of the facts of life” (1179a18–21).

Now even if Aristotle was aware of the inconsistency in his text, it doesn’tfollow that it represents his final, considered view. However, if his reflectionson human nature are accurate (an admittedly big ‘if’), then the fault in the textas we have it, if there is any fault, lies in our nature and not in his account. Wewould not then have to conclude that he was guilty of shoddy philosophizing,or that his text had been poorly edited. Furthermore, since Aristotle seems tohave thought (in the function argument of I 7) that there must be a single, co-herent account of human flourishing, derivable from what is most distinctive ofour nature, our most characteristic activity, we have an obvious explanation forhis indecision.19 He will not have been able to endorse either of the two incom-patible accounts of what is most human and the consequent views of humanflourishing as his final position while convinced that there can be only one.

It is at least conceptually possible that our nature compels us towards in-compatible ends. Nevertheless, one might object that the dichotomouos anthro-pology that we discover in the text of the Ethics is uncharitable since it is com-pletely at odds with some of Aristotle’s fundamental commitments. Inparticular, it seems to threaten the unity of the human essence: for any speciesthat has a single essence cannot have two (or more) ultimate ends. And anyspecies that lacks a single essence is ultimately unintelligible. If Aristotle’s in-vestigations had led him to this dichotomous anthropology, he should have re-jected it outright since it threatens to undermine the very project of ethical in-quiry.20

That this is not so may be seen by considering those organisms that Aristo-tle describes in his biological works as ‘dualizers’, i.e. those that manage “to be

19 For a different explanation of Aristotle’s apparent indecisiveness, see Pakaluk (2005, 326–29).20 The view that there is a fundamental normative conflict arising from our complex humannature indicates, as I have argued above that Aristotle uses the term ‘human’ homonymously.However, this is only the case when applied to the same individual. Socrates is both merelyand divinely human. This is consistent with his view in Categories 5 (3b37–38) that human is asingle species, allowing for no human to be more or less human than any other. It is also con-sistent with Ward’s (2008) position that Aristotle does not use the term ‘human’ homonymouslywhen it is predicated of different individuals.

Aristotle’s Dichotomous Anthropology 19

in some respects on both sides of whatever fence is under consideration”.21 Thefact, recently verified by research in evolutionary and developmental biology,22

that the sea anemone is in some respects essentially both plant and animal (PA681b1) would suggest that its characteristic function, as well as its ultimate endis dual, at least in an inclusively disjunctive sense. Aristotle does not pursuethis line of thought. But he is explicit about allowing such anomalous cases tostand rather than revising his taxonomy to eliminate the boundary crossings.23

Crucially, this does not render the creatures completely unintelligible, even if itlimits the degree of intelligibility secured by an unambiguous taxonomical posi-tion.

Even more strikingly, Aristotle applies the notion of dualizing to the humantendency to live both solitary and gregarious lives (HA 1.1, 488a1–7, 584b26 ff.).While these behaviors are not essential properties of human nature, they do,like all well-established tendencies stem from underlying essential features.Aristotle offers his extensive observations of nature in HA and elsewhere as thefirst step towards understanding why things are the way they are (HA 1.6,491a5–10, APo. II 1, 89b29–31). Although it is beyond the scope of this paper, ifwe go in search of these causes, it is at least possible that the ultimate explana-tion for why human beings ‘dualize’ between solitary and gregarious lives is adeeper sense in which we dualize: being both political animals and divine. Ifso, we may express a single, though boundary-crossing essence, which compelsus towards incompatible ends. But this would not necessarily render us comple-tely unintelligible. It would still be true to say that the life of contemplation is aflourishing human life, just as it would still be true to say that the mixed lifeinvolving the exercise of all the virtues is a flourishing human life. We wouldbe at a loss as to why nature had endowed us with these incompatible ends,but we could also appeal to Aristotle’s own advice in not seeking greater preci-sion than the subject allows.

Acknowledgements: I benefitted from a great deal of productive discussion ofearlier versions of this paper at La Universidad de los Andes, New Mexico StateUniversity, and Agnes Scott College. I’m also grateful to Tim O’Keefe for hiscomments and encouragement.

21 Peck chooses ‘dualize’ to capture the distinctiveness of Aristotle’s term epamphoterizein(1965, lxxiii).22 Schwaiger, M., et. al (2014), Moran, Y., et. al. (2014).23 Lloyd 1999, 49–54.

20 Harald Thorsrud

Bibliography

Ackrill, J. L. 1974/1980. “Aristotle on Eudaimonia,” in Essays on Aristotle’s Ethics, A. Rorty,ed., Berkeley: University of California Press, 15–34 (originally published in Proceedingsof the British Academy 60, 339–59).

Broadie, S. 1991. Ethics with Aristotle. Oxford: Oxford University Press.Caston, V. 1999. “Aristotle’s Two Intellects: A Modest Proposal.” Phronesis 44.3, 199–227.Charles, D. and D. Scott, 1999. “Aristotle on Well-Being and Intellectual Contemplation,” Pro-

ceedings of the Aristotelian Society, supp. vol. 73, 205–42.Clark, S. 1975. Aristotle’s Man: Speculations upon Aristotelian Anthropology. Oxford: Oxford

University Press.Cooper, J. 1975/1986. Reason and Human Good in Aristotle. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing

(originally published by Harvard University Press).Cooper, J. 1987/1999. “Contemplation and Happiness: A Reconsideration.” In Reason and

Emotion, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 212-36 (originally published in Synthese72, 187–216.

Eriksen, T. 1976. Bios Theoretikos: Notes on Aristotle’s Ethica Nicomachea X, 6–8. Oslo: Uni-versitetsforlaget.

Greenwood, L. 1891/2001. Aristotle: Nicomachean Ethics Book Six (commentary). New York:Arno Press (reprint).

Hardie, W. 1965. “The final good in Aristotle’s Ethics,” Philosophy 40.154, 277–95Hardie, W. 1979. “Aristotle on the best life for man,” Philosophy 54.207, 35–50.Irwin, T.H. 1991. “The Structure of Aristotelian Happiness.” Ethics 101, 382–91.Keyt, D. 1978. “Intellectualism in Aristotle.” Paideia 7, 138–57.Kraut, R. 1979. “The Peculiar Function of Human Beings,” Canadian Journal of Philosophy 9.3,

467–78.Kraut, R. 1989. Aristotle on the Human Good. Princeton: Princeton University Press.Lawrence, G. 1993. “Aristotle and the Ideal Life,” Philosophical Review 102.1, 1–34.Lear, G. 2004. Happy Lives and the Highest Good. Princeton: Princeton University Press.Lloyd, G. E. R., 1999. Science, Folklore, and Ideology: Studies in the Life Sciences in Ancient

Greece. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company.Moran, Y., Fredman, D., Praher, D., Xi, L.M., Meng Wee, Z., Rentzsch, F., Zamore, P. Technau,

U., and Seitz, H. (2014). “Cnidarian microRNAs frequently regulate their targets by clea-vage.” Genome Research DOI: 10.1101/gr.162503.113

Nagel, T. 1972/1980. “Aristotle on Eudaimonia,” in Essays on Aristotle’s Ethics, A. Rorty, ed.,Berkeley: University of California Press, 7–14 (originally published in Phronesis 17, 252–59).

Pakaluk, M. 2005. Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.Peck, A. L. 1965. Aristotle. Historia Animalium, vol. 1. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University

Press.Reeve, C. D. C. 2012. Action, Contemplation, and Happiness. Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univer-

sity Press.Ross, D. (tr.) 1925/1998. Aristotle, The Nicomachean Ethics, (revised by Ackrill and Urmson).

Oxford: Oxford University Press.Roochnik, D. 2009. “What is Theoria? Nicomachean Ethics 10.7–8,” Classical Philology 104.1,

69–82.

Aristotle’s Dichotomous Anthropology 21

Schwaiger, M., Schönauer, A., Rendeiro, A. F., Pribitzer,C., Schauer, A., Gilles, A. F., Schinko,J.B., Renfer, E., Fredman, D., and Technau, U. (2014). “Evolutionary conservation of theeumetazoan gene regulatory landscape,” Genome Research DOI: 10.1101/gr.162529.113

Silverman, A. 2010. “Contemplating Divine Mind,” in Ancient models of mind: studies in hu-man and divine rationality, A. Nightingale, ed. New York: Cambridge University Press.

Stewart, J. 1892/1973. Notes on the Nicomachean Ethics. New York: Arno Press (reprint).Ward, J. 2008. “Is ‘Human’ a Homonym for Aristotle?” Apeiron 41.3, 75–98.White, S. 1990. “Is Aristotelian Happiness a Good Life or the Best Life?” Oxford Studies in

Ancient Philosophy 8, 103–43.Whiting, J. 1986. “Human Nature and Intellectualism in Aristotle,” Archiv für Geschichte der

Philosophie 68, 70–95.Wilkes, K. 1978. “The Good Man and the Good for Man in Aristotle’s Ethics,” Mind 87.348,

553–71.

22 Harald Thorsrud