The Human Good and The Function Argument

The Human Good and the Function Argument
The principal idea with which Aristotle begins is that there are differences of opinion
about what is best for human beings, and that to profit from ethical inquiry we must
resolve this disagreement. He insists that ethics is not a theoretical discipline: we are
asking what the good for human beings is not simply because we want to have
knowledge, but because we will be better able to achieve our good if we develop a fuller
understanding of what it is to flourish. In raising this question—what is the good?—
Aristotle is not looking for a list of items that are good. He assumes that such a list can be
compiled rather easily; most would agree, for example, that it is good to have friends, to
experience pleasure, to be healthy, to be honored, and to have such virtues as courage at
least to some degree. The difficult and controversial question arises when we ask whether
certain of these goods are more desirable than others. Aristotle’s search for the good is a
search for the highest good, and he assumes that the highest good, whatever it turns out to
be, has three characteristics: it is desirable for itself, it is not desirable for the sake of
some other good, and all other goods are desirable for its sake.
Aristotle thinks everyone will agree that the terms “eudaimonia” (“happiness”) and “eu
zên” (“living well”) designate such an end. The Greek term “eudaimon” is composed of
two parts: “eu” means “well” and “daimon” means “divinity” or “spirit”. To
be eudaimon is therefore to be living in a way that is well-favored by a god. But Aristotle
never calls attention to this etymology in his ethical writings, and it seems to have little
influence on his thinking. He regards “eudaimon” as a mere substitute for eu zên (“living
well”). These terms play an evaluative role, and are not simply descriptions of someone’s
state of mind.
No one tries to live well for the sake of some further goal; rather, being eudaimon is the
highest end, and all subordinate goals—health, wealth, and other such resources—are
sought because they promote well-being, not because they are what well-being consists
in. But unless we can determine which good or goods happiness consists in, it is of little
use to acknowledge that it is the highest end. To resolve this issue, Aristotle asks what
the ergon (“function”, “task”, “work”) of a human being is, and argues that it consists in
activity of the rational part of the soul in accordance with virtue (1097b22–1098a20). One
important component of this argument is expressed in terms of distinctions he makes in
his psychological and biological works. The soul is analyzed into a connected series of
capacities: the nutritive soul is responsible for growth and reproduction, the locomotive
soul for motion, the perceptive soul for perception, and so on. The biological fact
Aristotle makes use of is that human beings are the only species that has not only these
lower capacities but a rational soul as well. The good of a human being must have
something to do with being human; and what sets humanity off from other species, giving
us the potential to live a better life, is our capacity to guide ourselves by using reason. If
we use reason well, we live well as human beings; or, to be more precise, using reason
well over the course of a full life is what happiness consists in. Doing anything well
requires virtue or excellence, and therefore living well consists in activities caused by the
rational soul in accordance with virtue or excellence.
Aristotle’s conclusion about the nature of happiness is in a sense uniquely his own. No
other writer or thinker had said precisely what he says about what it is to live well. But at
the same time his view is not too distant from a common idea. As he himself points out,
one traditional conception of happiness identifies it with virtue (1098b30–1). Aristotle’s
theory should be construed as a refinement of this position. He says, not that happiness is
virtue, but that it is virtuous activity. Living well consists in doing something, not just
being in a certain state or condition. It consists in those lifelong activities that actualize
the virtues of the rational part of the soul.
At the same time, Aristotle makes it clear that in order to be happy one must possess
others goods as well—such goods as friends, wealth, and power. And one’s happiness is
endangered if one is severely lacking in certain advantages—if, for example, one is
extremely ugly, or has lost children or good friends through death (1099a31–b6). But why
so? If one’s ultimate end should simply be virtuous activity, then why should it make any
difference to one’s happiness whether one has or lacks these other types of good?
Aristotle’s reply is that one’s virtuous activity will be to some extent diminished or
defective, if one lacks an adequate supply of other goods (1153b17–19). Someone who is
friendless, childless, powerless, weak, and ugly will simply not be able to find many
opportunities for virtuous activity over a long period of time, and what little he can
accomplish will not be of great merit. To some extent, then, living well requires good
fortune; happenstance can rob even the most excellent human beings of happiness.
Nonetheless, Aristotle insists, the highest good, virtuous activity, is not something that
comes to us by chance. Although we must be fortunate enough to have parents and fellow
citizens who help us become virtuous, we ourselves share much of the responsibility for
acquiring and exercising the virtues.
Traditional Virtues and the Skeptic

A common complaint about Aristotle’s attempt to defend his conception of happiness is
that his argument is too general to show that it is in one’s interest to possess any of the
particular virtues as they are traditionally conceived. Suppose we grant, at least for the
sake of argument, that doing anything well, including living well, consists in exercising
certain skills; and let us call these skills, whatever they turn out to be, virtues. Even so,
that point does not by itself allow us to infer that such qualities as temperance, justice,
courage, as they are normally understood, are virtues. They should be counted as virtues
only if it can be shown that actualizing precisely these skills is what happiness consists in.
What Aristotle owes us, then, is an account of these traditional qualities that explains why
they must play a central role in any well-lived life.
But perhaps Aristotle disagrees, and refuses to accept this argumentative burden. In one
of several important methodological remarks he makes near the beginning of
the Nicomachean Ethics, he says that in order to profit from the sort of study he is
undertaking, one must already have been brought up in good habits (1095b4–6). The
audience he is addressing, in other words, consists of people who are already just,
courageous, and generous; or, at any rate, they are well on their way to possessing these
virtues. Why such a restricted audience? Why does he not address those who have serious
doubts about the value of these traditional qualities, and who therefore have not yet
decided to cultivate and embrace them?

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The Human Good and the Function Argument

Traditional Virtues and the Skeptic

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