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-                               ARISTOTLE
-
-
-
-
-This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
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-http://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United
-States, you’ll have to check the laws of the country where you are
-located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: Aristotle
-Author: A. E. Taylor
-Release Date: January 16, 2015 [EBook #48002]
-Language: English
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARISTOTLE ***
-
-
-
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 48002 ***
 
 Produced by Al Haines.
 
@@ -3357,384 +3332,4 @@ M.A.
                 LONDON AND EDINBURGH: T. C. & E. C. JACK
                      NEW YORK: DODGE PUBLISHING CO.
 
-
-
-
-
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-*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARISTOTLE ***
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+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 48002 ***
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-                               ARISTOTLE
-
-
-
-
-This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at
-http://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United
-States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are
-located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: Aristotle
-Author: A. E. Taylor
-Release Date: January 16, 2015 [EBook #48002]
-Language: English
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARISTOTLE ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Al Haines.
-
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration: Aristotle]
-
-
-
-
-                              *ARISTOTLE*
-
-
-                 BY A. E. TAYLOR, M.A., D.LITT., F.B.A.
-
-
-
-                       LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
-                   67 LONG ACRE, W.C., AND EDINBURGH
-                     NEW YORK: DODGE PUBLISHING CO.
-
-
-
-
-                               *CONTENTS*
-
-CHAP.
-
-I. LIFE AND WORKS
-
-II. THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES: SCIENTIFIC METHOD
-
-III. FIRST PHILOSOPHY
-
-IV. PHYSICS
-
-V. PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY
-
-BIBLIOGRAPHY
-
-
-
-
-                              *ARISTOTLE*
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER I*
-
-                            *LIFE AND WORKS*
-
-
-It has not commonly been the lot of philosophers, as it is of great
-poets, that their names should become household words. We should hardly
-call an Englishman well read if he had not heard the name of Sophocles
-or Moli�re.  An educated man is expected to know at least who these
-great writers were, and to understand an allusion to the _Antigone_ or
-_Le Misanthrope_. But we call a man well read if his mind is stored with
-the verse of poets and the prose of historians, even though he were
-ignorant of the name of Descartes or Kant.  Yet there are a few
-philosophers whose influence on thought and language has been so
-extensive that no one who reads can be ignorant of their names, and that
-every man who speaks the language of educated Europeans is constantly
-using their vocabulary. Among this few Aristotle holds not the lowest
-place.  We have all heard of him, as we have all heard of Homer.  He has
-left his impress so firmly on theology that many of the formulae of the
-Churches are unintelligible without acquaintance with his conception of
-the universe.  If we are interested in the growth of modern science we
-shall readily discover for ourselves that some knowledge of
-Aristotelianism is necessary for the understanding of Bacon and Galileo
-and the other great anti-Aristotelians who created the "modern
-scientific" view of Nature.  If we turn to the imaginative literature of
-the modern languages, Dante is a sealed book, and many a passage of
-Chaucer and Shakespeare and Milton is half unmeaning to us unless we are
-at home in the outlines of Aristotle's philosophy.  And if we turn to
-ordinary language, we find that many of the familiar turns of modern
-speech cannot be fully understood without a knowledge of the doctrines
-they were first forged to express.  An Englishman who speaks of the
-"golden mean" or of "liberal education," or contrasts the "matter" of a
-work of literature with its "form," or the "essential" features of a
-situation or a scheme of policy with its "accidents," or "theory" with
-"practice," is using words which derive their significance from the part
-they play in the vocabulary of Aristotle.  The unambitious object of
-this little book is, then, to help the English reader to a better
-understanding of such familiar language and a fuller comprehension of
-much that he will find in Dante and Shakespeare and Bacon.
-
-*Life of Aristotle.*--The main facts of Aristotle's life may be briefly
-told.  He was born in 385-4 B.C. at Stagirus, a little city of the
-Chalcidic peninsula, still called, almost by its ancient name, Chalcis,
-and died at the age of sixty-two at Chalcis in Euboea.  Thus he is a
-contemporary of Demosthenes, his manhood witnessed the struggle which
-ended in the establishment of the Macedonian monarchy as the dominant
-power in Hellas, and his later years the campaigns in which his pupil
-Alexander the Great overthrew the Persian Empire and carried Greek
-civilisation to the banks of the Jumna.  In studying the constitutional
-theories of Aristotle, it is necessary to bear these facts in mind.
-They help to explain certain limitations of outlook which might
-otherwise appear strange in so great a man.  It throws a great deal of
-light on the philosopher's intense conviction of the natural inferiority
-of the "barbarian" intellect and character to remember that he grew up
-in an outlying region where the "barbarian" was seen to disadvantage in
-the ordinary course of life.  Hence the distinction between Greek and
-"barbarian" came to mean for him much what the "colour-line" does to an
-American brought up in a Southern State.  So, again, when we are struck
-by his "provincialism," his apparent satisfaction with the ideal of a
-small self-contained city-state with a decently oligarchical government,
-a good system of public education, and no "social problems," but devoid
-alike of great traditions and far-reaching ambitions, we must remember
-that the philosopher himself belonged to just such a tiny community
-without a past and without a future. The Chalcidic cities had been first
-founded, as the name of the peninsula implies, as colonies from the town
-of Chalcis in Euboea; Corinth had also been prominent in establishing
-settlements in the same region.  At the height of Athenian Imperial
-prosperity in the age of Pericles the district had fallen politically
-under Athenian control, but had been detached again from Athens, in the
-last years of the Archidamian war, by the genius of the great Spartan
-soldier and diplomat Brasidas. Early in the fourth century the Chalcidic
-cities had attempted to form themselves into an independent federation,
-but the movement had been put down by Sparta, and the cities had fallen
-under the control of the rising Macedonian monarchy, when Aristotle was
-a baby.  A generation later, a double intrigue of the cities with Philip
-of Macedon and Athens failed of its effect, and the peninsula was
-finally incorporated with the Macedonian kingdom.  It is also important
-to note that the philosopher belonged by birth to a guild, the
-Asclepiadae, in which the medical profession was hereditary.  His father
-Nicomachus was court physician to Amyntas II., the king for whose
-benefit the Spartans had put down the Chalcidic league. This early
-connection with medicine and with the Macedonian court explains largely
-both the predominantly biological cast of Aristotle's philosophical
-thought and the intense dislike of "princes" and courts to which he more
-than once gives expression.  At the age of eighteen, in 367-6, Aristotle
-was sent to Athens for "higher" education in philosophy and science, and
-entered the famous Platonic Academy, where he remained as a member of
-the scientific group gathered round the master for twenty years, until
-Plato's death in 347-6.  For the three years immediately following
-Aristotle was in Asia Minor with his friend and fellow-student Hermeias,
-who had become by force of sheer capacity monarch of the city of
-Atarneus in the Troad, and was maintaining himself with much energy
-against the Persian king.  Pythias, the niece of Hermeias, became the
-philosopher's wife, and it seems that the marriage was happy.
-Examination of Aristotle's contributions to marine biology has shown
-that his knowledge of the subject is specially good for the Aeolic coast
-and the shores of the adjacent islands.  This throws light on his
-occupations during his residence with Hermeias, and suggests that Plato
-had discerned the bent of his distinguished pupil's mind, and that his
-special share in the researches of the Academy had, like that of
-Speusippus, Plato's nephew and successor in the headship of the school,
-been largely of a biological kind.  We also know that, presumably
-shortly after Plato's death, Aristotle had been one of the group of
-disciples who edited their teacher's unpublished lectures. In 343
-Hermeias was assassinated at the instigation of Persia; Aristotle
-honoured his memory by a hymn setting forth the godlikeness of virtue as
-illustrated by the life of his friend. Aristotle now removed to the
-Macedonian court, where he received the position of tutor to the Crown
-Prince, afterwards Alexander the Great, at this time (343 B.C.) a boy of
-thirteen. The association of the great philosopher and the great king as
-tutor and pupil has naturally struck the imagination of later ages; even
-in Plutarch's _Life of Alexander_ we meet already with the full-blown
-legend of the influence of Aristotle's philosophical speculations on
-Alexander.  It is, however, improbable that Aristotle's influence
-counted for much in forming the character of Alexander.  Aristotle's
-dislike of monarchies and their accessories is written large on many a
-page of his _Ethics_ and _Politics_; the small self-contained city-state
-with no political ambitions for which he reserves his admiration would
-have seemed a mere relic of antiquity to Philip and Alexander.  The only
-piece of contemporary evidence as to the relations between the master
-and the pupil is a sentence in a letter to the young Alexander from the
-Athenian publicist Isocrates who maliciously congratulates the prince on
-his preference for "rhetoric," the art of efficient public speech, and
-his indifference to "logic-choppers."  How little sympathy Aristotle can
-have had with his pupil's ambitions is shown by the fact that though his
-political theories must have been worked out during the very years in
-which Alexander was revolutionising Hellenism by the foundation of his
-world-empire, they contain no allusion to so momentous a change in the
-social order.  For all that Aristotle tells us, Alexander might never
-have existed, and the small city-state might have been the last word of
-Hellenic political development.  Hence it is probable that the selection
-of Aristotle, who had not yet appeared before the world as an
-independent thinker, to take part in the education of the Crown Prince
-was due less to personal reputation than to the connection of his family
-with the court, taken together with his own position as a pupil of
-Plato, whose intervention in the public affairs of Sicily had caused the
-Academy to be regarded as the special home of scientific interest in
-politics and jurisprudence.  It may be true that Alexander found time in
-the midst of his conquests to supply his old tutor with zoological
-specimens; it is as certain as such a thing can be that the ideals and
-characters of the two men were too different to allow of any intimate
-influence of either on the other.
-
-When Alexander was suddenly called to the Macedonian throne by the
-murder of his father in 336 B.C., Aristotle's services were no longer
-needed; he returned to Athens and gave himself to purely scientific
-work.  Just at this juncture the presidency of the Academy was vacant by
-the death of Speusippus, Aristotle's old associate in biological
-research. Possibly Aristotle thought himself injured when the school
-passed him over and elected Xenocrates of Chalcedon as its new
-president.  At any rate, though he appears never to have wholly severed
-his connection with the Academy, in 335 he opened a rival institution in
-the Lyceum, or gymnasium attached to the temple of Apollo Lyceus, to
-which he was followed by some of the most distinguished members of the
-Academy.  From the fact that his instruction was given in the
-_peripatos_ or covered portico of the gymnasium the school has derived
-its name of Peripatetic.  For the next twelve years he was occupied in
-the organisation of the school as an abode for the prosecution of
-speculation and research in every department of inquiry, and in the
-composition of numerous courses of lectures on scientific and
-philosophical questions.  The chief difference in general character
-between the new school and the Academy is that while the scientific
-interests of the Platonists centred in mathematics, the main
-contributions of the Lyceum to science lay in the departments of biology
-and history.
-
-Towards the end of Alexander's life his attention was unfavourably
-directed on his old teacher.  A relative of Aristotle named Callisthenes
-had attended Alexander in his campaigns as historiographer, and had
-provoked disfavour by his censure of the King's attempts to invest his
-semi-constitutional position towards his Hellenic subjects with the pomp
-of an Oriental despotism.  The historian's independence proved fatal.
-He was accused of instigating an assassination plot among Alexander's
-pages, and hanged, or, as some said, thrown into a prison where he died
-before trial.  Alexander is reported to have held Aristotle responsible
-for his relative's treason, and to have meditated revenge.  If this is
-so, he was fortunately diverted from the commission of a crime by
-preoccupation with the invasion of India.
-
-On the death of Alexander in 323 a brief but vigorous anti-Macedonian
-agitation broke out at Athens.  Aristotle, from his Macedonian
-connections, naturally fell a victim, in spite of his want of sympathy
-with the ideals of Philip and Alexander. Like Socrates, he was indicted
-on the capital charge of "impiety," the pretext being that his poem on
-the death of Hermeias, written twenty years before, was a virtual
-deification of his friend.  This was, however, only a pretext; the real
-offence was political, and lay in his connection with the Macedonian
-leader Antipater.  As condemnation was certain, the philosopher
-anticipated it by withdrawing with his disciples to Chalcis, the mother
-city of his native Stagirus.  Here he died in the following year, at the
-age of sixty-two or sixty-three.
-
-The features of Aristotle, familiar to us from busts and intaglios, are
-handsome, but indicate refinement and acuteness rather than originality,
-an impression in keeping with what we should expect from a study of his
-writings.  The anecdotes related of him reveal a kindly, affectionate
-character, and show little trace of the self-importance which appears in
-his work. His will, which has been preserved, exhibits the same traits
-in its references to his happy family life and its solicitous care for
-the future of his children and servants.  He was twice married, first to
-Pythias, and secondly to a certain Herpyllis, by whom he left a son
-Nicomachus and a daughter.  The "goodness" of Herpyllis to her husband
-is specially mentioned in the clauses of the will which make provision
-for her, while the warmth of the writer's feelings for Pythias is shown
-by the direction that her remains are to be placed in the same tomb with
-his own. The list of servants remembered and the bequests enumerated
-show the philosopher to have been in easier circumstances than Plato.
-
-*The Works of Aristotle*.--The so-called works of Aristotle present us
-with a curious problem.  When we turn from Plato to his pupil we seem to
-have passed into a different atmosphere.  The _Discourses of Socrates_
-exhibit a prose style which is perhaps the most marvellous of all
-literary achievements.  Nowhere else do we meet with quite the same
-combination of eloquence, imaginative splendour, incisive logic, and
-irresistible wit and humour.  The manner of Aristotle is dry and formal.
-His language bristles with technicalities, makes little appeal to the
-emotions, disdains graces of style, and frequently defies the simplest
-rules of composition.  Our surprise is all the greater that we find
-later writers of antiquity, such as Cicero, commending Aristotle for his
-copious and golden eloquence, a characteristic which is conspicuously
-wanting in the Aristotelian writings we possess.  The explanation of the
-puzzle is, however, simple.  Plato and Aristotle were at once what we
-should call professors and men of letters; both wrote works for general
-circulation, and both delivered courses of lectures to special students.
-But while Plato's lectures have perished, his books have come down to
-us.  Aristotle's books have almost wholly been lost, but we possess many
-of his lectures. The "works" of Aristotle praised by Cicero for their
-eloquence were philosophical dialogues, and formed the model for
-Cicero's own compositions in this kind.  None of them have survived,
-though some passages have been preserved in quotations by later writers.
-That the "works" are actually the MSS. of a lecturer posthumously edited
-by his pupils seems clear from external as well as from internal
-evidence.  In one instance we have the advantage of a double recension.
-Aristotle's _Ethics_ or _Discourses on Conduct_ have come down to us in
-two forms--the so-called _Nicomachean Ethics_, a redaction by the
-philosopher's son, Nicomachus, preserving all the characteristics of an
-oral course of lectures; and a freer and more readable recast by a
-pupil, the mathematician Eudemus, known as the _Eudemian Ethics_.  In
-recent years we have also recovered from the sands of Egypt what appears
-to be our one specimen of a "work" of Aristotle, intended to be read by
-the public at large, the essay on the Constitution of Athens.  The style
-of this essay is easy, flowing, and popular, and shows that Aristotle
-could write well and gracefully when he thought fit.
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER II*
-
-        *THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES: SCIENTIFIC METHOD*
-
-
-Philosophy, as understood by Aristotle, may be said to be the organised
-whole of disinterested knowledge, that is, knowledge which we seek for
-the satisfaction which it carries with itself, and not as a mere means
-to utilitarian ends.  The impulse which receives this satisfaction is
-curiosity or wonder, which Aristotle regards as innate in man, though it
-does not get full play until civilisation has advanced far enough to
-make secure provision for the immediate material needs of life.  Human
-curiosity was naturally directed first to the outstanding "marvellous
-works" of the physical world, the planets, the periodicity of their
-movements, the return of the seasons, winds, thunder and lightning, and
-the like.  Hence the earliest Greek speculation was concerned with
-problems of astronomy and meteorology.  Then, as reflection developed,
-men speculated about geometrical figure, and number, the possibility of
-having assured knowledge at all, the character of the common principles
-assumed in all branches of study or of the special principles assumed in
-some one branch, and thus philosophy has finally become the
-disinterested study of every department of Being or Reality.  Since
-Aristotle, like Hegel, thought that his own doctrine was, in essentials,
-the last word of speculation, the complete expression of the principles
-by which his predecessors had been unconsciously guided, he believes
-himself in a position to make a final classification of the branches of
-science, showing how they are related and how they are discriminated
-from one another.  This classification we have now to consider.
-
-*Classification of the Sciences*.--To begin with, we have to
-discriminate Philosophy from two rivals with which it might be
-confounded on a superficial view, Dialectic and Sophistry. Dialectic is
-the art of reasoning accurately from given premisses, true or false.
-This art has its proper uses, and of one of these we shall have to
-speak.  But in itself it is indifferent to the truth of its premisses.
-You may reason dialectically from premisses which you believe to be
-false, for the express purpose of showing the absurd conclusions to
-which they lead.  Or you may reason from premisses which you assume
-tentatively to see what conclusions you are committed to if you adopt
-them.  In either case your object is not directly to secure truth, but
-only to secure consistency.  Science or Philosophy aims directly at
-_truth_, and hence requires to start with true and certain premisses.
-Thus the distinction between Science and Dialectic is that Science
-reasons from true premisses, Dialectic only from "probable" or
-"plausible" premisses.  Sophistry differs from Science in virtue of its
-moral character.  It is the profession of making a living by the abuse
-of reasoning, the trick of employing logical skill for the apparent
-demonstration of scientific or ethical falsehoods.  "The sophist is one
-who earns a living from an apparent but unreal wisdom."  (The emphasis
-thus falls on the notion of making an "unreal wisdom" into a _trade_.
-The sophist's real concern is to get his fee.)  Science or Philosophy is
-thus the disinterested employment of the understanding in the discovery
-of truth.
-
-We may now distinguish the different branches of science as defined.
-The first and most important division to be made is that between
-Speculative or Theoretical Science and Practical Science.  The broad
-distinction is that which we should now draw between the Sciences and
-the Arts (_i.e._ the industrial and technical, not the "fine" arts).
-Speculative or Theoretical Philosophy differs from Practical Philosophy
-in its purpose, and, in consequence, in its subject-matter, and its
-formal logical character.  The purpose of the former is the
-disinterested contemplation of truths which are what they are
-independently of our own volition; its end is to _know_ and only to
-_know_. The object of "practical" Science is to know, but not only to
-know but also to turn our knowledge to account in devising ways of
-successful interference with the course of events.  (The real importance
-of the distinction comes out in Aristotle's treatment of the problems of
-moral and social science.  Since we require knowledge of the moral and
-social nature of men not merely to satisfy an intellectual interest, but
-as a basis for a sound system of education and government, Politics, the
-theory of government, and Ethics, the theory of goodness of conduct,
-which for Aristotle is only a subordinate branch of Politics, belong to
-Practical, not to Theoretical Philosophy, a view which is attended by
-important consequences.)
-
-It follows that there is a corresponding difference in the objects
-investigated by the two branches of Philosophy.  Speculative or
-Theoretical Philosophy is concerned with "that which cannot possibly be
-other than it is," truths and relations independent of human volition
-for their subsistence, and calling simply for _recognition_ on our part.
-Practical Philosophy has to do with relations which human volition can
-modify, "things which may be other than they are," the contingent.
-(Thus _e.g._ not only politics, but medicine and economics will belong
-to Practical Science.)
-
-Hence again arises a logical difference between the conclusions of
-Theoretical and those of Practical Philosophy.  Those of the former are
-universal truths deducible with logical necessity from self-evident[#]
-principles.  Those of the latter, because they relate to what "can be
-otherwise," are never rigidly universal; they are _general_ rules which
-hold good "in the majority of cases," but are liable to occasional
-exceptions owing to the contingent character of the facts with which
-they deal.  It is a proof of a philosopher's lack of grounding in logic
-that he looks to the results of a practical science (_e.g._ to the
-detailed precepts of medicine or ethics) for a higher degree of
-certainty and validity than the nature of the subject-matter allows.
-Thus for Aristotle the distinction between the necessary and the
-contingent is real and not merely apparent, and "probability is the
-guide" in studies which have to do with the direction of life.
-
-
-[#] Self-evident, that is, in a purely logical sense. When you apprehend
-the principles in question, you _see_ at once that they are true, and do
-not require to have them _proved_. It is not meant that any and every
-man _does_, in point of fact, always apprehend the principles, or that
-they can be apprehended without preliminary mental discipline.
-
-
-We proceed to the question how many subdivisions there are within
-"theoretical" Philosophy itself.  Plato had held that there are none.
-All the sciences are deductions from a single set of ultimate principles
-which it is the business of that supreme science to which Plato had
-given the name of Dialectic to establish.  This is not Aristotle's view.
-According to him, "theoretical" Philosophy falls into a number of
-distinct though not co-ordinate branches, each with its own special
-subjects of investigation and its own special axiomatic principles.  Of
-these branches there are three, First Philosophy, Mathematics, and
-Physics.  First Philosophy--afterwards to be known to the Middle Ages as
-Metaphysics[#]--treats, to use Aristotle's own expression, of "Being
-_qu�_ Being."  This means that it is concerned with the universal
-characteristics which belong to the system of knowable reality as such,
-and the principles of its organisation in their full universality. First
-Philosophy alone investigates the character of those causative factors
-in the system which are without body or shape and exempt from all
-mutability.  Since in Aristotle's system God is the supreme Cause of
-this kind, First Philosophy culminates in the knowledge of God, and is
-hence frequently called Theology.  It thus includes an element which
-would to-day be assigned to the theory of knowledge, as well as one
-which we should ascribe to metaphysics, since it deals at once with the
-ultimate postulates of knowledge and the ultimate causes of the order of
-real existence.
-
-
-[#] The origin of this name seems to be that Aristotle's lectures on
-First Philosophy came to be studied as a continuation of his course on
-Physics. Hence the lectures got the name _Metaphysica_ because they came
-_after_ (_meta_) those on Physics. Finally the name was transferred (as
-in the case of _Ethics_) from the lectures to the subject of which they
-treat.
-
-
-Mathematics is of narrower scope.  What it studies is no longer "real
-being as such," but only real being in so far as it exhibits number and
-geometrical form.  Since Aristotle holds the view that number and figure
-only exist as determinations of objects given in perception (though by a
-convenient fiction the mathematician treats of them in abstraction from
-the perceived objects which they qualify), he marks the difference
-between Mathematics and First Philosophy by saying that "whereas the
-objects of First Philosophy are separate from matter and devoid of
-motion, those of Mathematics, though incapable of motion, have no
-separable existence but are inherent in matter."  Physics is concerned
-with the study of objects which are both material and capable of motion.
-Thus the principle of the distinction is the presence or absence of
-initial restrictions of the range of the different branches of Science.
-First Philosophy has the widest range, since its contemplation covers
-the whole ground of the real and knowable; Physics the narrowest,
-because it is confined to a "universe of discourse" restricted by the
-double qualification that its members are all material and capable of
-displacement.  Mathematics holds an intermediate position, since in it,
-one of these qualifications is removed, but the other still remains, for
-the geometer's figures are boundaries and limits of sensible bodies, and
-the arithmetician's numbers properties of collections of concrete
-objects.  It follows also that the initial axioms or postulates of
-Mathematics form a less simple system than those of First Philosophy,
-and those of Physics than those of Mathematics.  Mathematics requires as
-initial assumptions not only those which hold good for _all_ thought,
-but certain other special axioms which are only valid and significant
-for the realm of figure and number; Physics requires yet further axioms
-which are only applicable to "what is in motion."  This is why, though
-the three disciplines are treated as distinct, they are not strictly
-co-ordinate, and "First Philosophy," though "first," is only _prima
-inter pares_.
-
-We thus get the following diagrammatic scheme of the classification of
-sciences:--
-
-                          Science
-                             |
-                 +-----------+------------+
-                 |                        |
-            Theoretical               Practical
-                 |
-             +---+---------+-----------+
-             |             |           |
-    First Philosophy     Mathe-     Physics
-           or            matics
-        Theology
-
-
-Practical Philosophy is not subjected by Aristotle to any similar
-subdivision.  Later students were accustomed to recognise a threefold
-division into Ethics (the theory of individual conduct), Economics (the
-theory of the management of the household), Politics (the theory of the
-management of the State).  Aristotle himself does not make these
-distinctions. His general name for the theory of conduct is Politics,
-the doctrine of individual conduct being for him inseparable from that
-of the right ordering of society.  Though he composed a separate course
-of lectures on individual conduct (the _Ethics_), he takes care to open
-the course by stating that the science of which it treats is Politics,
-and offers an apology for dealing with the education of individual
-character apart from the more general doctrine of the organisation of
-society.  No special recognition is given in Aristotle's own
-classification to the Philosophy of Art.  Modern students of Aristotle
-have tried to fill in the omission by adding artistic creation to
-contemplation and practice as a third fundamental form of mental
-activity, and thus making a threefold division of Philosophy into
-Theoretical, Practical, and Productive.  The object of this is to find a
-place in the classification for Aristotle's famous _Poetics_ and his
-work on Rhetoric, the art of effective speech and writing.  But the
-admission of the third division of Science has no warrant in the text of
-Aristotle, nor are the _Rhetoric_ and _Poetics_, properly speaking, a
-contribution to Philosophy.  They are intended as collections of
-practical rules for the composition of a pamphlet or a tragedy, not as a
-critical examination of the canons of literary taste.  This was
-correctly seen by the dramatic theorists of the seventeenth century.
-They exaggerated the value of Aristotle's directions and entirely
-misunderstood the meaning of some of them, but they were right in their
-view that the _Poetics_ was meant to be a collection of rules by obeying
-which the craftsman might make sure of turning out a successful play.
-So far as Aristotle has a Philosophy of Fine Art at all, it forms part
-of his more general theory of education and must be looked for in the
-general discussion of the aims of education contained in his _Politics_.
-
-*The Methods of Science*.--No place has been assigned in the scheme to
-what we call logic and Aristotle called _Analytics_, the theory of
-scientific method, or of proof and the estimation of evidence.  The
-reason is that since the fundamental character of proof is the same in
-all science, Aristotle looks upon logic as a study of the methods common
-to all science.  At a later date it became a hotly debated question
-whether logic should be regarded in this way as a study of the methods
-instrumental to proof in all sciences, or as itself a special
-constituent division of philosophy.  The Aristotelian view was concisely
-indicated by the name which became attached to the collection of
-Aristotle's logical works.  They were called the _Organon_, that is, the
-"instrument," or the body of rules of method employed by Science.  The
-thought implied is thus that logic furnishes the _tools_ with which
-every science has to work in establishing its results.  Our space will
-only permit of a brief statement as to the points in which the
-Aristotelian formal logic appears to be really original, and the main
-peculiarities of Aristotle's theory of knowledge.
-
-(a) *Formal Logic*.--In compass the Aristotelian logic corresponds
-roughly with the contents of modern elementary treatises on the same
-subject, with the omission of the sections which deal with the so-called
-Conditional Syllogism.  The inclusion of arguments of this type in
-medi�val and modern expositions of formal logic is principally due to
-the Stoics, who preferred to throw their reasoning into these forms and
-subjected them to minute scrutiny.  In his treatment of the doctrine of
-Terms, Aristotle avoids the mistake of treating the isolated name as
-though it had significance apart from the enunciations in which it
-occurs.  He is quite clear on the all-important point that the unit of
-thought is the proposition in which something is affirmed or denied, the
-one thought-form which can be properly called "true" or "false."  Such
-an assertion he analyses into two factors, that about which something is
-affirmed or denied (the Subject), and that which is affirmed or denied
-of it (the Predicate). Consequently his doctrine of the classification
-of Terms is based on a classification of Predicates, or of Propositions
-according to the special kind of connection between the Subject and
-Predicate which they affirm or deny.  Two such classifications, which
-cannot be made to fit into one another, meet us in Aristotle's logical
-writings, the scheme of the ten "Categories," and that which was
-afterwards known in the Middle Ages as the list of "Predicaments" or
-"Heads of Predicates," or again as the "Five Words."  The list of
-"Categories" reveals itself as an attempt to answer the question in how
-many different senses the words "is a" or "are" are employed when we
-assert that "_x_ is _y_" or "_x_ is a _y_" or "_x_s are _y_s."  Such a
-statement may tell us (1) what _x_ is, as if I say "_x_ is a lion"; the
-predicate is then said to fall under the category of Substance; (2) what
-_x_ is like, as when I say "_x_ is white, or _x_ is wise,"--the category
-of Quality; (3) how much or how many _x_ is, as when I say "_x_ is tall"
-or "_x_ is five feet long,"--the category of Quantity; (4) how _x_ is
-related to something else, as when I say "_x_ is to the right of _y_,"
-"_x_ is the father of _y_,"--the category of Relation.  These are the
-four chief "categories" discussed by Aristotle.  The remainder are (5)
-Place, (6) Time, (7) and (8) Condition or State, as when I say "_x_ is
-sitting down" or "_x_ has his armour on,"--(the only distinction between
-the two cases seems to be that (7) denotes a more permanent state of _x_
-than (8)); (9) Action or Activity, as when I say "_x_ is cutting," or
-generally "_x_ is doing something to _y_"; (10) Passivity, as when I say
-"_x_ is being cut," or more generally, "so-and-so is being done to _x_."
-No attempt is made to show that this list of "figures of predication" is
-complete, or to point out any principle which has been followed in its
-construction.  It also happens that much the same enumeration is
-incidentally made in one or two passages of Plato.  Hence it is not
-unlikely that the list was taken over by Aristotle as one which would be
-familiar to pupils who had read their Plato, and therefore convenient
-for practical purposes.  The fivefold classification does depend on a
-principle pointed out by Aristotle which guarantees its completeness,
-and is therefore likely to have been thought out by him for himself, and
-to be the genuine Aristotelian scheme.  Consider an ordinary universal
-affirmative proposition of the form "all _x_s are _y_s."  Now if this
-statement is true it may also be true that "all _y_s are _x_s," or it
-may not.  On the first supposition we have two possible cases, (1) the
-predicate may state precisely what the subject defined _is_; then _y_ is
-the Definition of _x_, as when I say that "men are mortal animals,
-capable of discourse."  Here it is also true to say that "mortal animals
-capable of discourse are men," and Aristotle regards the predicate
-"mortal animal capable of discourse" as expressing the inmost nature of
-man.  (2) The predicate may not express the inmost nature of the
-subject, and yet may belong only to the class denoted by the subject and
-to every member of that class.  The predicate is then called a Proprium
-or property, an exclusive attribute of the class in question.  Thus it
-was held that "all men are capable of laughter" and "all beings capable
-of laughter are men," but that the capacity for laughter is no part of
-the inmost nature or "real essence" of humanity.  It is therefore
-reckoned as a Proprium.
-
-Again in the case where it is true that "all _x_s are _y_s," but not
-true that all "_y_s are _x_s," _y_ may be part of the definition of _x_
-or it may not.  If it is part of the definition of _x_ it will be either
-(3) a genus or wider class of which _x_ forms a subdivision, as when I
-say, "All men are animals," or (4) a difference, that is, one of the
-distinctive marks by which the _x_s are distinguished from other
-sub-classes or species of the same genus, as when I say, "All men are
-capable of discourse."  Or finally (5) _y_ may be no part of the
-definition of _x_, but a characteristic which belongs both to the _x_s
-and some things other than _x_s.  The predicate is then called an
-Accident.  We have now exhausted all the possible cases, and may say
-that the predicate of a universal affirmative proposition is always
-either a definition, a proprium, a genus, a difference, or an accident.
-This classification reached the Middle Ages not in the precise form in
-which it is given by Aristotle, but with modifications mainly due to the
-Neo-Platonic philosopher Porphyry. In its modified form it is regarded
-as a classification of terms generally.  Definition disappears from the
-list, as the definition is regarded as a complex made up of the genus,
-or next highest class to which the class to be defined belongs, and the
-differences which mark off this particular species or sub-class.  The
-species itself which figures as the subject-term in a definition is
-added, and thus the "Five Words" of medi�val logic are enumerated as
-genus, species, difference, proprium, accident.
-
-The one point of philosophical interest about this doctrine appears
-alike in the scheme of the "Categories" in the presence of a category of
-"substance," and in the list of "Predicaments" in the sharp distinction
-drawn between "definition" and "proprium."  From a logical point of view
-it does not appear why _any_ proprium, _any_ character belonging to all
-the members of a class and to them alone, should not be taken as
-defining the class.  Why should it be assumed that there is only _one_
-predicate, viz. _man_, which precisely answers the question, "What is
-Socrates?"  Why should it not be equally correct to answer, "a Greek,"
-or "a philosopher"?  The explanation is that Aristotle takes it for
-granted that not all the distinctions we can make between "kinds" of
-things are arbitrary and subjective.  Nature herself has made certain
-hard and fast divisions between kinds which it is the business of our
-thought to recognise and follow.  Thus according to Aristotle there is a
-real gulf, a genuine difference in kind, between the horse and the ass,
-and this is illustrated by the fact that the mule, the offspring of a
-horse and an ass, is not capable of reproduction. It is thus a sort of
-imperfect being, a kind of "monster" existing _contra naturam_.  Such
-differences as we find when we compare _e.g._ Egyptians with Greeks do
-not amount to a difference in "kind."  To say that Socrates is a man
-tells me what Socrates is, because the statement places Socrates in the
-real kind to which he actually belongs; to say that he is wise, or old,
-or a philosopher merely tells me some of his attributes. It follows from
-this belief in "real" or "natural" kinds that the problem of definition
-acquires an enormous importance for science.  We, who are accustomed to
-regard the whole business of classification as a matter of making a
-grouping of our materials such as is most pertinent to the special
-question we have in hand, tend to look upon any predicate which belongs
-universally and exclusively to the members of a group, as a sufficient
-basis for a possible definition of the group.  Hence we are prone to
-take the "nominalist" view of definition, _i.e._ to look upon a
-definition as no more than a declaration of the sense which we intend
-henceforward to put on a word or other symbol.  And consequently we
-readily admit that there may be as many definitions of a class as it has
-different propria. But in a philosophy like that of Aristotle, in which
-it is held that a true classification must not only be formally
-satisfactory, but must also conform to the actual lines of cleavage
-which Nature has established between kind and kind, the task of
-classificatory science becomes much more difficult.  Science is called
-on to supply not merely a definition but _the_ definition of the classes
-it considers, _the_ definition which faithfully reflects the "lines of
-cleavage" in Nature.  This is why the Aristotelian view is that a true
-definition should always be _per genus et differentias_.  It should
-"place" a given class by mentioning the wider class next above it in the
-objective hierarchy, and then enumerating the most deep-seated
-distinctions by which Nature herself marks off this class from others
-belonging to the same wider class.  Modern evolutionary thought may
-possibly bring us back to this Aristotelian standpoint.  Modern
-evolutionary science differs from Aristotelianism on one point of the
-first importance.  It regards the difference between kinds, not as a
-primary fact of Nature, but as produced by a long process of
-accumulation of slight differences.  But a world in which the process
-has progressed far enough will exhibit much the same character as the
-Nature of Aristotle. As the intermediate links between "species" drop
-out because they are less thoroughly adapted to maintain themselves than
-the extremes between which they form links, the world produced
-approximates more and more to a system of species between which there
-are unbridgeable chasms; evolution tends more and more to the final
-establishment of "real kinds," marked by the fact that there is no
-permanent possibility of cross-breeding between them.  This makes it
-once more possible to distinguish between a "nominal" definition and a
-"real" definition.  From an evolutionary point of view, a "real"
-definition would be one which specifies not merely enough characters to
-mark off the group defined from others, but selects also for the purpose
-those characters which indicate the line of historical development by
-which the group has successively separated itself from other groups
-descended from the same ancestors.  We shall learn yet more of the
-significance of this conception of a "real kind" as we go on to make
-acquaintance with the outlines of First Philosophy.  Over the rest of
-the formal logic of Aristotle we must be content to pass more rapidly.
-In connection with the doctrine of Propositions, Aristotle lays down the
-familiar distinction between the four types of proposition according to
-their quantity (as universal or particular) and quality (as affirmative
-or negative), and treats of their contrary and contradictory opposition
-in a way which still forms the basis of the handling of the subject in
-elementary works on formal logic.  He also considers at great length a
-subject nowadays commonly excluded from the elementary books, the modal
-distinction between the Problematic proposition (_x_ may be _y_), the
-Assertory (_x_ is _y_), and the Necessary (_x_ must be _y_), and the way
-in which all these forms may be contradicted.  For him, modality is a
-formal distinction like quantity or quality, because he believes that
-contingency and necessity are not merely relative to the state of our
-knowledge, but represent real and objective features of the order of
-Nature.
-
-In connection with the doctrine of Inference, it is worth while to give
-his definition of Syllogism or Inference (literally "computation") in
-his own words.  "Syllogism is a discourse wherein certain things (viz.
-the premisses) being admitted, something else, different from what has
-been admitted, follows of necessity because the admissions are what they
-are."  The last clause shows that Aristotle is aware that the
-all-important thing in an inference is not that the conclusion should be
-novel but that it should be proved.  We may have known the conclusion as
-a fact before; what the inference does for us is to connect it with the
-rest of our knowledge, and thus to show _why_ it is true.  He also
-formulates the axiom upon which syllogistic inference rests, that "if A
-is predicated universally of B and B of C, A is necessarily predicated
-universally of C."  Stated in the language of class-inclusion, and
-adapted to include the case where B is denied of C this becomes the
-formula, "whatever is asserted universally, whether positively or
-negatively, of a class B is asserted in like manner of any class C which
-is wholly contained in B," the axiom _de omni et nullo_ of medi�val
-logic.  The syllogism of the "first figure," to which this principle
-immediately applies, is accordingly regarded by Aristotle as the natural
-and perfect form of inference.  Syllogisms of the second and third
-figures can only be shown to fall under the dictum by a process of
-"reduction" or transformation into corresponding arguments in the first
-"figure," and are therefore called "imperfect" or "incomplete," because
-they do not exhibit the conclusive force of the reasoning with equal
-clearness, and also because no universal affirmative conclusion can be
-proved in them, and the aim of science is always to establish such
-affirmatives.  The list of "moods" of the three figures, and the
-doctrine of the methods by which each mood of the imperfect figures can
-be replaced by an equivalent mood of the first is worked out
-substantially as in our current text-books.  The so-called "fourth"
-figure is not recognised, its moods being regarded merely as unnatural
-and distorted statements of those of the first figure.
-
-*Induction*.--Of the use of "induction" in Aristotle's philosophy we
-shall speak under the head of "Theory of Knowledge."  Formally it is
-called "the way of proceeding from particular facts to universals," and
-Aristotle insists that the conclusion is only proved if _all_ the
-particulars have been examined.  Thus he gives as an example the
-following argument, "_x_, _y_, _z_ are long-lived species of animals;
-_x_, _y_, _z_ are the only species which have no gall; _ergo_ all
-animals which have no gall are long-lived."  This is the "induction by
-simple enumeration" denounced by Francis Bacon on the ground that it may
-always be discredited by the production of a single "contrary instance,"
-_e.g._ a single instance of an animal which has no gall and yet is not
-long-lived.  Aristotle is quite aware that his "induction" does not
-establish its conclusion unless all the cases have been included in the
-examination.  In fact, as his own example shows, an induction which
-gives certainty does not start with "particular facts" at all.  It is a
-method of arguing that what has been proved true of each sub-class of a
-wider class will be true of the wider class as a whole. The premisses
-are strictly universal throughout.  In general, Aristotle does not
-regard "induction" as _proof_ at all. Historically "induction" is held
-by Aristotle to have been first made prominent in philosophy by
-Socrates, who constantly employed the method in his attempts to
-establish universal results in moral science.  Thus he gives, as a
-characteristic argument for the famous Socratic doctrine that knowledge
-is the one thing needful, the "induction," "he who understands the
-theory of navigation is the best navigator, he who understands the
-theory of chariot-driving the best driver; from these examples we see
-that universally he who understands the theory of a thing is the best
-practitioner," where it is evident that _all_ the relevant cases have
-_not_ been examined, and consequently that the reasoning does not amount
-to proof. Mill's so-called reasoning from particulars to particulars
-finds a place in Aristotle's theory under the name of "arguing from an
-example."  He gives as an illustration, "A war between Athens and Thebes
-will be a bad thing, for we see that the war between Thebes and Phocis
-was so."  He is careful to point out that the whole force of the
-argument depends on the _implied_ assumption of a universal proposition
-which covers both cases, such as "wars between _neighbours_ are bad
-things." Hence he calls such appeals to example "rhetorical" reasoning,
-because the politician is accustomed to leave his hearers to supply the
-relevant universal consideration for themselves.
-
-*Theory of Knowledge*.--Here, as everywhere in Aristotle's philosophy,
-we are confronted by an initial and insuperable difficulty.  Aristotle
-is always anxious to insist on the difference between his own doctrines
-and those of Plato, and his bias in this direction regularly leads him
-to speak as though he held a thorough-going naturalistic and empirical
-theory with no "transcendental moonshine" about it.  Yet his final
-conclusions on all points of importance are hardly distinguishable from
-those of Plato except by the fact that, as they are so much at variance
-with the naturalistic side of his philosophy, they have the appearance
-of being sudden lapses into an alogical mysticism.  We shall find the
-presence of this "fault" more pronouncedly in his metaphysics,
-psychology, and ethics than in his theory of knowledge, but it is not
-absent from any part of his philosophy.  He is everywhere a Platonist
-_malgr� lui_, and it is just the Platonic element in his thought to
-which it owes its hold over men's minds.
-
-Plato's doctrine on the subject may be stated with enough accuracy for
-our purpose as follows.  There is a radical distinction between
-sense-perception and scientific knowledge. A scientific truth is exact
-and definite, it is also true once and for all, and never becomes truer
-or falser with the lapse of time.  This is the character of the
-propositions of the science which Plato regarded as the type of what
-true science ought to be, pure mathematics.  It is very different with
-the judgments which we try to base on our sense-perceptions of the
-visible and tangible world.  The colours, tastes, shapes of sensible
-things seem different to different percipients, and moreover they are
-constantly changing in incalculable ways.  We can never be certain that
-two lines which seem to our senses to be equal are really so; it may be
-that the inequality is merely too slight to be perceptible to our
-senses.  No figure which we can draw and see actually has the exact
-properties ascribed by the mathematician to a circle or a square.  Hence
-Plato concludes that if the word science be taken in its fullest sense,
-there can be no science about the world which our senses reveal.  We can
-have only an approximate knowledge, a knowledge which is after all, at
-best, probable opinion.  The objects of which the mathematician has
-certain, exact, and final knowledge cannot be anything which the senses
-reveal. They are objects of _thought_, and the function of visible
-models and diagrams in mathematics is not to present _examples_ of them
-to us, but only to show us imperfect _approximations_ to them and so to
-"remind" the soul of objects and relations between them which she has
-never cognised with the bodily senses.  Thus mathematical straightness
-is never actually beheld, but when we see lines of less and more
-approximate straightness we are "put in mind" of that absolute
-straightness to which sense-perception only approximates.  So in the
-moral sciences, the various "virtues" are not presented in their
-perfection by the course of daily life.  We do not meet with men who are
-perfectly brave or just, but the experience that one man is braver or
-juster than another "calls into our mind" the thought of the absolute
-standard of courage or justice implied in the conviction that one man
-comes nearer to it than another, and it is these absolute standards
-which are the real objects of our attention when we try to define the
-terms by which we describe the moral life.  This is the
-"epistemological" side of the famous doctrine of the "Ideas."  The main
-points are two, (1) that strict science deals throughout with objects
-and relations between objects which are of a purely intellectual or
-conceptual order, no sense-data entering into their constitution; (2)
-since the objects of science are of this character, it follows that the
-"Idea" or "concept" or "universal" is not arrived at by any process of
-"abstracting" from our experience of sensible things the features common
-to them all.  As the particular fact never actually exhibits the
-"universal" except approximately, the "universal" cannot be simply
-disentangled from particulars by abstraction.  As Plato puts it, it is
-"apart from" particulars, or, as we might reword his thought, the pure
-concepts of science represent "upper limits" to which the comparative
-series which we can form out of sensible data continually approximate
-but do not reach them.
-
-In his theory of knowledge Aristotle begins by brushing aside the
-Platonic view.  Science requires no such "Ideas," transcending
-sense-experience, as Plato had spoken of; they are, in fact, no more
-than "poetic metaphors."  What is required for science is not that there
-should be a "one over and above the many" (that is, such pure concepts,
-unrealised in the world of actual perception, as Plato had spoken of),
-but only that it should be possible to predicate one term universally of
-many others.  This, by itself, means that the "universal" is looked on
-as a mere residue of the characteristics found in each member of a
-group, got by abstraction, _i.e._ by leaving out of view the
-characteristics which are peculiar to some of the group and retaining
-only those which are common to all.  If Aristotle had held consistently
-to this point of view, his theory of knowledge would have been a purely
-empirical one.  He would have had to say that, since all the objects of
-knowledge are particular facts given in sense-perception, the universal
-laws of science are a mere convenient way of describing the observed
-uniformities in the behaviour of sensible things.  But, since it is
-obvious that in pure mathematics we are not concerned with the actual
-relations between sensible data or the actual ways in which they behave,
-but with so-called "pure cases" or ideals to which the perceived world
-only approximately conforms, he would also have had to say that the
-propositions of mathematics are not strictly true.  In modern times
-consistent empiricists have said this, but it is not a position possible
-to one who had passed twenty years in association with the
-mathematicians of the Academy, and Aristotle's theory only begins in
-naturalism to end in Platonism.  We may condense its most striking
-positions into the following statement.  By science we mean _proved_
-knowledge.  And proved knowledge is always "mediated"; it is the
-knowledge of _conclusions_ from premisses.  A truth that is
-scientifically known does not stand alone.  The "proof" is simply the
-pointing out of the connection between the truth we call the conclusion,
-and other truths which we call the premisses of our demonstration.
-Science points out the _reason why_ of things, and this is what is meant
-by the Aristotelian principle that to have science is to know things
-through their _causes_ or _reasons why_.  In an ordered digest of
-scientific truths, the proper arrangement is to begin with the simplest
-and most widely extended principles and to reason down, through
-successive inferences, to the most complex propositions, the _reason
-why_ of which can only be exhibited by long chains of deductions.  This
-is the order of logical dependence, and is described by Aristotle as
-reasoning _from_ what is "more knowable in its own nature,"[#] the
-simple, to what is usually "more familiar to _us_," because less removed
-from the infinite wealth of sense-perception, the complex.  In
-_discovery_ we have usually to reverse the process and argue from "the
-familiar to us," highly complex facts, to "the more knowable in its own
-nature," the simpler principles implied in the facts.
-
-
-[#] This simple expression acquires a mysterious appearance in medi�val
-philosophy from the standing mistranslation _notiora natur�_, "better
-known to nature."
-
-
-It follows that Aristotle, after all, admits the disparateness of
-sense-perception and scientific knowledge.  Sense-perception of itself
-never gives us scientific truth, because it can only assure us that a
-fact is so; it cannot _explain_ the fact by showing its connection with
-the rest of the system of facts, "it does not give the _reason_ for the
-fact."  Knowledge of perception is always "immediate," and for that very
-reason is never scientific. If we stood on the moon and saw the earth,
-interposing between us and the sun, we should still not have scientific
-knowledge about the eclipse, because "we should still have to ask for
-the _reason why_."  (In fact, we should not know the reason _why_
-without a theory of light including the proposition that light-waves are
-propagated in straight lines and several others.) Similarly Aristotle
-insists that Induction does not yield scientific truth.  "He who makes
-an induction points out something, but does not demonstrate anything."
-
-For instance, if we know that _each_ species of animal which is without
-a gall is long-lived, we may make the induction that _all_ animals
-without a gall are long-lived, but in doing so we have got no nearer to
-seeing _why_ or _how_ the absence of a gall makes for longevity.  The
-question which we may raise in science may all be reduced to four heads,
-(1) Does this thing exist? (2) Does this event occur? (3) If the thing
-exists, precisely what is it? and (4) If the event occurs, _why_ does it
-occur? and science has not completed its task unless it can advance from
-the solution of the first two questions to that of the latter two.
-Science is no mere catalogue of things and events, it consists of
-inquiries into the "real essences" and characteristics of things and the
-laws of connection between events.
-
-Looking at scientific reasoning, then, from the point of view of its
-formal character, we may say that all science consists in the search for
-"middle terms" of syllogisms, by which to connect the truth which
-appears as a conclusion with the less complex truths which appear as the
-premisses from which it is drawn.  When we ask, "does such a thing
-exist?" or "does such an event happen?" we are asking, "is there a
-middle term which can connect the thing or event in question with the
-rest of known reality?"  Since it is a rule of the syllogism that the
-middle term must be taken universally, at least once in the premisses,
-the search for middle terms may also be described as the search for
-universals, and we may speak of science as knowledge of the universal
-interconnections between facts and events.
-
-A science, then, may be analysed into three constituents. These are: (1)
-a determinate class of objects which form the subject-matter of its
-inquiries.  In an orderly exhibition of the contents of the science,
-these appear, as in Euclid, as the initial data about which the science
-reasons; (2) a number of principles, postulates, and axioms, from which
-our demonstrations must start.  Some of these will be principles
-employed in all scientific reasoning.  Others will be specific to the
-subject-matter with which a particular science is concerned; (3) certain
-characteristics of the objects under study which can be shown by means
-of our axioms and postulates to follow from our initial definitions, the
-_accidentia per se_ of the objects defined.  It is these last which are
-expressed by the conclusions of scientific demonstration.  We are said
-to know scientifically that B is true of A when we show that this
-follows, in virtue of the principles of some science, from the initial
-definition of A.  Thus if we convinced ourselves that the sum of the
-angles of a plane triangle is equal to two right angles by measurement,
-we could not be said to have scientific knowledge of the proposition.
-But if we show that the same proposition follows from the definition of
-a plane triangle by repeated applications of admitted axioms or
-postulates of geometry, our knowledge is genuinely scientific.  We now
-know that it is so, and we see _why_ it is so; we see the connection of
-this truth with the simple initial truths of geometry.
-
-This leads us to the consideration of the most characteristic point of
-Aristotle's whole theory.  Science is demonstrated knowledge, that is,
-it is the knowledge that certain truths follow from still simpler
-truths.  Hence the simplest of all the truths of any science cannot
-themselves be capable of being known by inference.  You cannot infer
-that the axioms of geometry are true because its conclusions are true,
-since the truth of the conclusions is itself a consequence of the truth
-of the axioms.  Nor yet must you ask for demonstration of the axioms as
-consequences of still simpler premisses, because if all truths can be
-proved, they ought to be proved, and you would therefore require an
-infinity of successive demonstrations to prove anything whatever.  But
-under such conditions all knowledge of demonstrated truth would be
-impossible.  The first principles of any science must therefore be
-indemonstrable. They must be known, as facts of sense-perception are
-known, immediately and not mediately.  How then do we come by our
-knowledge of them?  Aristotle's answer to this question appears at first
-sight curiously contradictory.  He seems to say that these simplest
-truths are apprehended intuitively, or on inspection, as self-evident by
-Intelligence or Mind.  On the other hand, he also says that they are
-known _to us_ as a result of induction from sense-experience.  Thus he
-_seems_ to be either a Platonist or an empiricist, according as you
-choose to remember one set of his utterances or another, and this
-apparent inconsistency has led to his authority being claimed in their
-favour by thinkers of the most widely different types.  But more careful
-study will show that the seeming confusion is due to the fact that he
-tries to combine in one statement his answers to two quite different
-questions, (1) how we come to reflect on the axioms, (2) what evidence
-there is for their truth.  To the first question he replies, "by
-induction from experience," and so far he might seem to be a precursor
-of John Stuart Mill.  Successive repetitions of the same
-sense-perceptions give rise to a single experience, and it is by
-reflection on experience that we become aware of the most ultimate
-simple and universal principles.  We might illustrate his point by
-considering how the thought that two and two are four may be brought
-before a child's mind.  We might first take two apples, and two other
-apples and set the child to count them.  By repeating the process with
-different apples we may teach the child to dissociate the result of the
-counting from the particular apples employed, and to advance to the
-thought, "any two apples and any two other apples make four apples."
-Then we might substitute pears or cherries for the apples, so as to
-suggest the thought, "two fruits and two fruits make four fruits."  And
-by similar methods we should in the end evoke the thought, "any two
-objects whatever and any other two objects whatever make four objects."
-This exactly illustrates Aristotle's conception of the function of
-induction, or comparison of instances, in fixing attention on a
-universal principle of which one had not been conscious before the
-comparison was made.
-
-Now comes in the point where Aristotle differs wholly from all
-empiricists, later and earlier.  Mill regards the instances produced in
-the induction as having a double function; they not merely fix the
-attention on the principle, they also are the evidence of its truth.
-This gives rise to the greatest difficulty in his whole logical theory.
-Induction by imperfect enumeration is pronounced to be (as it clearly
-is) fallacious, yet the principle of the uniformity of Nature which Mill
-regards as the ultimate premiss of all science, is itself supposed to be
-proved by this radically fallacious method.  Aristotle avoids a similar
-inconsistency by holding that the sole function of the induction is to
-fix our attention on a principle which it does not prove. He holds that
-ultimate principles neither permit of nor require proof.  When the
-induction has done its work in calling attention to the principle, you
-have to see for yourself that the principle is true.  You see that it is
-true by immediate inspection just as in sense-perception you have to see
-that the colour before your eyes is red or blue.  This is why Aristotle
-holds that the knowledge of the principles of science is not itself
-science (demonstrated knowledge), but what he calls intelligence, and we
-may call intellectual intuition.  Thus his doctrine is sharply
-distinguished not only from empiricism (the doctrine that universal
-principles are proved by particular facts), but also from all theories
-of the Hegelian type which regard the principles and the facts as
-somehow reciprocally proving each other, and from the doctrine of some
-eminent modern logicians who hold that "self-evidence" is not required
-in the ultimate principles of science, as we are only concerned in logic
-with the question what consequences follow from our initial assumptions,
-and not with the truth or falsehood of the assumptions themselves.
-
-The result is that Aristotle does little more than repeat the Platonic
-view of the nature of science.  Science consists of deductions from
-universal principles which sensible experience "suggests," but into
-which, as they are apprehended by a purely intellectual inspection, no
-sense-data enter as constituents. The apparent rejection of
-"transcendental moonshine" has, after all, led to nothing.  The only
-difference between Plato and his scholar lies in the clearness of
-intellectual vision which Plato shows when he expressly maintains in
-plain words that the universals of exact science are not "in" our
-sense-perceptions and therefore to be extracted from them by a process
-of abstraction, but are "apart from" or "over" them, and form an ideal
-system of interconnected concepts which the experiences of sense merely
-"imitate" or make approximation to.
-
-One more point remains to be considered to complete our outline of the
-Aristotelian theory of knowledge.  The sciences have "principles" which
-are discerned to be true by immediate inspection.  But what if one man
-professes to see the self-evident truth of such an alleged principle,
-while another is doubtful of its truth, or even denies it?  There can be
-no question of silencing the objector by a demonstration, since no
-genuine simple principle admits of demonstration.  All that can be done,
-_e.g._ if a man doubts whether things equal to the same thing are equal
-to one another, or whether the law of contradiction is true, is to
-examine the consequences of a denial of the axiom and to show that they
-include some which are false, or which your antagonist at least
-considers false.  In this way, by showing the falsity of consequences
-which follow from the denial of a given "principle," you indirectly
-establish its truth.  Now reasoning of this kind differs from "science"
-precisely in the point that you take as your major premiss, not what you
-regard as true, but the opposite thesis of your antagonist, which you
-regard as false.  Your object is not to prove a true conclusion but to
-show your opponent that _his_ premisses lead to false conclusions.  This
-is "dialectical" reasoning in Aristotle's sense of the word, _i.e._
-reasoning not from your own but from some one else's premisses.  Hence
-the chief philosophical importance which Aristotle ascribes to
-"dialectic" is that it provides a method of defending the undemonstrable
-axioms against objections.  Dialectic of this kind became highly
-important in the medi�val Aristotelianism of the schoolmen, with whom it
-became a regular method, as may be seen _e.g._ in the _Summa_ of St.
-Thomas, to begin their consideration of a doctrine by a preliminary
-rehearsal of all the arguments they could find or devise against the
-conclusion they meant to adopt. Thus the first division of any article
-in the _Summa Theologi�_ of Thomas is regularly constituted by arguments
-based on the premisses of actual or possible antagonists, and is
-strictly dialectical.  (To be quite accurate Aristotle should, of
-course, have observed that this dialectical method of defending a
-principle becomes useless in the case of a logical axiom which is
-presupposed by all deduction.  For this reason Aristotle falls into
-fallacy when he tries to defend the law of contradiction by dialectic.
-It is true that if the law be denied, then any and every predicate may
-be indifferently ascribed to any subject. But until the law of
-contradiction has been admitted, you have no right to regard it as
-absurd to ascribe all predicates indiscriminately to all subjects.
-Thus, it is only assumed laws which are _not_ ultimate laws of logic
-that admit of dialectical justification.  If a truth is so ultimate that
-it has either to be recognised by direct inspection or not at all, there
-can be no arguing at all with one who cannot or will not see it.)
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER III*
-
-                           *FIRST PHILOSOPHY*
-
-
-First Philosophy is defined by Aristotle as a "science which considers
-What Is simply in its character of Being, and the properties which it
-has as such."  That there is, or ought to be, such a science is urged on
-the ground that every "special" science deals only with some restricted
-department of what is, and thus considers its subject-matter not
-universally in its character of being, or being real, but as determined
-by some more special condition.  Thus, First Philosophy, the science
-which attempts to discover the most ultimate reasons of, or grounds for,
-the character of things in general cannot be identified with any of the
-"departmental" sciences.  The same consideration explains why it is
-"First Philosophy" which has to disentangle the "principles" of the
-various sciences, and defend them by dialectic against those who impugn
-them.  It is no part of the duty of a geometer or a physicist to deal
-with objections to such universal principles of reasoning as the law of
-contradiction.  They may safely assume such principles; if they are
-attacked, it is not by specifically geometrical or physical
-considerations that they can be defended.  Even the "principles of the
-special sciences" have not to be examined and defended by the special
-sciences.  They are the starting-points of the sciences which employ
-them; these sciences are therefore justified in requiring that they
-shall be admitted as a condition of geometrical, or physical, or
-biological demonstrations.  If they are called in question, the defence
-of them is the business of logic.
-
-First Philosophy, then, is the study of "What Is simply as such," the
-universal principles of structure without which there could be no
-ordered system of knowable objects.  But the word "is" has more than one
-sense.  There are as many modes of being as there are types of
-predication.  "Substances," men, horses, and the like, have their own
-specific mode of being--they are things; qualities, such as green or
-sweet, have a different mode of being--they are not things, but
-"affections" or "attributes" of things.  Actions, again, such as
-building, killing, are neither things nor yet "affections" of things;
-their mode of being is that they are processes which produce or destroy
-things.  First Philosophy is concerned with the general character of all
-these modes of being, but it is specially concerned with that mode of
-being which belongs to _substances_.  For this is the most primary of
-all modes of being.  We had to introduce a reference to it in our
-attempt to say what the mode of being of qualities and actions is, and
-it would have been the same had our illustrations been drawn from any
-other "categories."  Hence the central and special problem of First
-Philosophy is to analyse the notion of substance and to show the causes
-of the existence of substances.
-
-Next, we have to note that the word "substance" itself has two senses.
-When we spoke of substance as one of the categories we were using it in
-a secondary sense.  We meant by substances "horse," "man," and the rest
-of the "real kinds" which we find in Nature, and try to reproduce in a
-scientific classification.  In this sense of the word "substances" are a
-special class of _predicates_, as when we affirm of Plato that he is a
-man, or of Bucephalus that he is a horse.  But in the primary sense a
-substance means an absolutely individual thing, "_this_ man," or "_this_
-horse."  We may therefore define primary substances from the logician's
-point of view by saying that they can be only subjects of predication,
-never predicates. Or again, it is peculiar to substances, that while
-remaining numerically one a substance admits of incompatible
-determinations, as Socrates, remaining one and the same Socrates, is
-successively young and old.  This is not true of "qualities," "actions,"
-and the rest.  The same colour cannot be first white and then black; the
-same act cannot be first bad and then good.  Thus we may say that
-individual substances are the fixed and permanent factors in the world
-of mutability, the invariants of existence.  Processes go on in them,
-they run the gamut of changes from birth to decay, processes take place
-_among_ them, they act on and are acted on by one another, they
-fluctuate in their qualities and their magnitude, but so long as a
-substance exists it remains numerically one and the same throughout all
-these changes.  Their existence is the first and most fundamental
-condition of the existence of the universe, since they are the bearers
-of all qualities, the terms of all relations, and the agents and
-patients in all interaction.
-
-The point to note is that Aristotle begins his investigation into the
-structure of What Is and the causes by which it is produced by starting
-from the existence of individual things belonging to the physical order
-and perceived by the senses. About any such thing we may ask two
-questions, (1) into what constituent factors can it be logically
-analysed? (2) and how has it come to exhibit the character which our
-analysis shows it to have?  The answer to these questions will appear
-from a consideration of two standing antitheses which run through
-Aristotle's philosophy, the contrast between Matter and Form, and that
-between Potential and Actual, followed by a recapitulation of his
-doctrine of the Four Causes, or four senses of the word Cause.
-
-*Matter and Form*.--Consider any completely developed individual thing,
-whether it is the product of human manufacture, as a copper bowl, or of
-natural reproduction, as an oak-tree or a horse.  We shall see at once
-that the bowl is like other articles made of the same metal,
-candlesticks, coal-vases, in being made of the same stuff, and unlike
-them in having the special shape or structure which renders it fit for
-being used as a bowl and not for holding a candle or containing coals.
-So a botanist or a chemist will tell you that the constituent tissues of
-an oak or horse, or the chemical elements out of which these tissues are
-built up are of the same kind as those of an ash or an ox, but the oak
-differs from the ash or the horse from the ox in characteristic
-structure. We see thus that in any individual thing we can distinguish
-two components, the stuff of which it consists--which may be identical
-in kind with the stuff of which things of a very different kind
-consist--and the structural law of formation or arrangement which is
-peculiar to the "special" kind of thing under consideration.  In the
-actual individual thing these two are inseparably united; they do not
-exist side by side, as chemists say the atoms of hydrogen and oxygen do
-in a drop of water; the law of organisation or structure is manifested
-in and through the copper, or the various tissues of the living body.
-Aristotle expresses this by saying that you can distinguish two aspects
-in an individual, its Matter, (_hyle, materia_) and its Form (_eidos,
-forma_).  The individual is the matter as organised in accord with a
-determinate principle of structure, the form.  Of these terms, the
-former, _hyle_ (_materia_, matter) means literally timber, and more
-specifically ship's timbers, and his selection of it to mean what is
-most exactly rendered by our own word "stuff" may perhaps be due to a
-reminiscence of an old Pythagorean fancy which looked on the universe as
-a ship.  The word for form is the same as Plato's, and its philosophical
-uses are closely connected with its mathematical sense, "regular
-figure," also a Pythagorean technicality which still survives in certain
-stereotyped phrases in Euclid.  Aristotle extends the analysis into
-Matter and Form by analogy beyond the range of individual substances to
-everything in which we can distinguish a relatively indeterminate
-"somewhat" and a law or type of order and arrangement giving it
-determination.  Thus if you consider the relatively fixed or "formed"
-character of a man in adult life, we may look upon this character as
-produced out of the "raw material" of tendencies and dispositions, which
-have received a specific development along definite lines, according to
-the kind of training to which the mind has been subjected in the
-"formative" period of its growth.  We may therefore speak of native
-disposition as the matter or stuff of which character is made, and the
-practical problem of education is to devise a system of training which
-shall impress on this matter precisely the form required if the grown
-man is to be a good citizen of a good state.  Since a man's character
-itself is not a substance but a complex of habits or fixed ways of
-reacting upon suggestions coming from the world around him, this is a
-good instance of the extension of the antithesis of Matter and Form
-beyond the category of substance.  We see then that Matter in the
-Aristotelian sense must not be confounded with body; the relatively
-undetermined factor which receives completer determination by the
-structural law or Form is Matter, whether it is corporeal or not. This
-comes out with particular clearness in the metaphysical interpretation
-put on the logical process of definition by genus and difference.  When
-I define any real kind by specifying a higher and wider class of which
-it is a sub-kind, and adding the peculiar characteristics which
-distinguish the sub-kind under consideration from the other sub-kinds of
-the same genus, the genus may be said to stand to the "differences" as
-Matter, the relatively indeterminate, to the Form which gives it its
-structure.
-
-We further observe that Matter and Form are strictly correlative.  The
-matter is called so relatively to the form which gives it further
-determination.  When the words are used in their strictest sense, with
-reference to an individual thing, the Form is taken to mean the _last_
-determination by which the thing acquires its complete character, and
-the Matter is that which has yet to receive this last determination.
-Thus in the case of a copper globe, the spherical figure is said to be
-its Form, the copper its material.  In the case of the human body, the
-Matter is the various tissues, muscles, bones, skin, &c. But each of
-these things which are counted as belonging to the Matter of the globe
-or the human body has, according to Aristotle, a development behind it.
-Copper is not an "element" but a specific combination of "elements," and
-the same thing is even more true of the highly elaborate tissues of the
-living body.  Thus what is Matter relatively to the globe or living body
-is Matter already determined by Form if we consider it relatively to its
-own constituents.  The so-called "elements" of Empedocles, earth, water,
-air, fire, are the matter of all chemical compounds, the Form of each
-compound being its specific law of composition; the immediate or
-"proximate" Matter of the tissues of the animal body is, according to
-Aristotle's biology, the "superfluous" blood of the female parent, out
-of which the various tissues in the offspring are developed, and the
-Matter of this blood is in turn the various substances which are taken
-into the body of the parent as food and converted by assimilation into
-blood.  Their Matter, once more, is the earth, air, fire, and water of
-which they are composed. Thus at every stage of a process of manufacture
-or growth a fresh Form is superinduced on, or developed within, a Matter
-which is already itself a combination of Matter and Form relatively to
-the process by which it has itself been originated. Fully thought out,
-such a view would lead to the conclusion that in the end the simple
-ultimate matter of all individual things is one and the same throughout
-the universe, and has absolutely no definite structure at all.  The
-introduction of Form or determinate structure of any kind would then
-have to be thought of as coming from an outside source, since
-structureless Matter cannot be supposed to give itself all sorts of
-specific determinations, as has been demonstrated in our own times by
-the collapse of the "Synthetic Philosophy."  Aristotle avoids the
-difficulty by holding that "pure Matter" is a creation of our thought.
-In actual fact the crudest form in which matter is found is that of the
-"elements."  Since the transmutability of the "elements" is an
-indispensable tenet in Aristotle's Physics, we cannot avoid regarding
-earth, water, fire air as themselves determinations by specific Form of
-a still simpler Matter, though this "prime Matter" "all alone, before a
-rag of Form is on," is never to be found existing in its simplicity.[#]
-
-
-[#] _Hudibras_, Pt. 1, Canto 1, 560.
-
-"He had First Matter seen undressed;
-He took her naked all alone,
-Before one rag of Form was on."
-
-
-*The Potential and the Actual*.--So far we have been looking at the
-analysis of the individual thing, as the current jargon puts it,
-statically; we have arrived at the antithesis of Matter and Form by
-contrasting an unfinished condition of anything with its finished
-condition.  But we may study the same contrast dynamically, with special
-reference to the process of making or growth by which the relatively
-undetermined or unfinished becomes determined or finished.  The contrast
-of Matter with Form then passes into the contrast between Potentiality
-and Actuality.  What this antithesis means we can best see from the case
-of the growth of a living organism. Consider the embryos of two animals,
-or the seeds of two plants.  Even a botanist or a physiologist may be
-unable to pronounce with certainty on the species to which the germ
-submitted to him belongs, and chemical analysis may be equally at a
-loss.  Even at a later stage of development, the embryo of one
-vertebrate animal may be indistinguishable from that of another.  Yet it
-is certain that one of two originally indistinguishable germs will grow
-into an oak and the other into an elm, or one into a chimpanzee and the
-other into a man. However indistinguishable, they therefore may be said
-to have different latent tendencies or possibilities of development
-within them.  Hence we may say of a given germ, "though this is not yet
-actually an oak, it is potentially an oak," meaning not merely that, if
-uninterfered with, it will in time be an oak, but also that by no
-interference can it be made to grow into an elm or a beech.  So we may
-look upon all processes of production or development as processes by
-which what at first possessed only the tendency to grow along certain
-lines or to be worked up into a certain form, has become actually
-endowed with the character to which it possessed the tendency.  The
-acorn becomes in process of time an actual oak, the baby an actual man,
-the copper is made into an actual vase, right education brings out into
-active exercise the special capacities of the learner.  Hence the
-distinction between Matter and Form may also be expressed by saying that
-the Matter is the persistent underlying _substratum_ in which the
-development of the Form takes place, or that the individual when finally
-determined by the Form is the Actuality of which the undeveloped Matter
-was the Potentiality.  The process of conception, birth, and growth to
-maturity in Nature, or of the production of a finished article by the
-"arts" whose business it is to "imitate" Nature, may be said to be one
-of continuous advance towards the actual embodiment of a Form, or law of
-organisation, in a Matter having the latent potentiality of developing
-along those special lines.  When Aristotle is speaking most strictly he
-distinguishes the process by which a Form is realised, which he calls
-Energeia, from the manifestation of the realised Form, calling the
-latter Entelechy (literally "finished" or "completed" condition).
-Often, however, he uses the word Energeia more loosely for the actual
-manifestation of the Form itself, and in this he is followed by the
-scholastic writers, who render Energeia by _actus_ or _actus purus_.
-
-One presupposition of this process must be specially noted. It is not an
-unending process of development of unrealised capacities, but always has
-an End in the perfectly simple sense of a last stage.  We see this best
-in the case of growth. The acorn grows into the sapling and the sapling
-into the oak, but there is nothing related to the oak as the oak is to
-the sapling.  The oak does not grow into something else.  The process of
-development from potential to actual in this special case comes to an
-end with the emergence of the mature oak. In the organic world the end
-or last state is recognised by the fact that the organism can now
-exercise the power of reproducing its like.  This tendency of organic
-process to culminate in a last stage of complete maturity is the key to
-the treatment of the problem of the "true end" of life in Aristotle's
-_Ethics_.
-
-*The Four Causes*.--The conception of the world involved in these
-antitheses of Form and Matter, Potential and Actual, finds its fullest
-expression in Aristotle's doctrine of the Four Causes or conditions of
-the production of things.  This doctrine is looked on by Aristotle as
-the final solution of the problem which had always been the central one
-for Greek philosophy, What are the causes of the world-order?  All the
-previous philosophies he regards as inadequate attempts to formulate the
-answer to this question which is only given completely by his own
-system.  Hence the doctrine requires to be stated with some fullness.
-We may best approach it by starting from the literal meaning of the
-Greek terms _aitia_, _aition_, which Aristotle uses to convey the notion
-of cause.  _Aition_ is properly an adjective used substantially, and
-means "that on which the legal responsibility for a given state of
-affairs can be laid." Similarly _aitia_, the substantive, means the
-"credit" for good or bad, the legal "responsibility," for an act.  Now
-when we ask, "what is responsible for the fact that such and such a
-state of things now exists?" there are four partial answers which may be
-given, and each of these corresponds to one of the "causes."  A complete
-answer requires the enumeration of them all.  We may mention (1) the
-_matter_ or _material_ cause of the thing, (2) the law according to
-which it has grown or developed, the _form_ or _formal_ cause, (3) the
-agent with whose initial impulse the development began--the
-"starting-point of the process," or, as the later Aristotelians call it,
-the _efficient_ cause, (4) the completed result of the whole process,
-which is present in the case of human manufacture as a preconceived idea
-determining the maker's whole method of handling his material, and in
-organic development in Nature as implied in and determining the
-successive stages of growth--the _end_ or _final_ cause.  If any one of
-these had been different, the resultant state of things would also have
-been different.  Hence all four must be specified in completely
-accounting for it.  Obvious illustrations can be given from artificial
-products of human skill, but it seems clear that it was rather
-reflection on the biological process of reproduction and growth which
-originally suggested the analysis.  Suppose we ask what was requisite in
-order that there should be now an oak on a given spot.  There must have
-been (1) a germ from which the oak has grown, and this germ must have
-had the latent tendencies towards development which are characteristic
-of oaks.  This is the material cause of the oak.  (2) This germ must
-have followed a definite law of growth; it must have had a tendency to
-grow in the way characteristic of oaks and to develop the structure of
-an oak, not that of a plane or an ash.  This is form or formal cause.
-(3) Also the germ of the oak did not come from nowhere; it grew on a
-parent oak. The parent oak and its acorn-bearing activity thus
-constitute the _efficient_ cause of the present oak.  (4) And there must
-be a final stage to which the whole process of growth is relative, in
-which the germ or sapling is no longer becoming but is an adult oak
-bearing fresh acorns.  This is the _end_ of the process. One would not
-be going far wrong in saying that Aristotle's biological cast of thought
-leads him to conceive of this "end" in the case of reproduction as a
-sub-conscious purpose, just as the workman's thought of the result to be
-attained by his action forms a conscious directing purpose in the case
-of manufacture.  Both in Nature and in "art" the "form," the "efficient
-cause," and the "end" tend to coalesce.  Thus in Nature "a man begets a
-man," organic beings give birth to other organic beings of the same
-kind, or, in the technical language of the Aristotelian theory of
-Causation, the efficient cause produces, as the "end" of its action, a
-second being having the same "form" as itself, though realised in
-different "matter," and numerically distinct from itself.  Thus the
-efficient cause (_i.e._ the parent) is a "form" realised in matter, and
-the "end" is the same "form" realised in other matter.  So in "products
-of art" the true "source of the process" is the "form" the realisation
-of which is the "end" or final cause, only with this difference, that as
-efficient cause the "form" exists not in the material but by way of
-"idea" or "representation" in the mind of the craftsman.  A house does
-not produce another house, but the house as existing in "idea" in the
-builder's mind sets him at work building, and so produces a
-corresponding house in brick or stone.  Thus the ultimate opposition is
-between the "cause as matter," a passive and inert substratum of change
-and development and the "formal" cause which, in the sense just
-explained, is one with both the "efficient" or starting-point, and the
-"end" or goal of development.  It will, of course, be seen that
-individual bearers of "forms" are indispensable in the theory; hence the
-notion of _activity_ is essential to the causal relation. It is a
-relation between things, not between events.  Aristotle has no sense of
-the word cause corresponding to Mill's conception of a cause as an event
-which is the uniform precursor of another event.
-
-Two more remarks may be made in this connection.  (1) The prominence of
-the notion of "end" gives Aristotle's philosophy a thorough-going
-"ideological" character.  God and Nature, he tells us, do nothing
-aimlessly.  We should probably be mistaken if we took this to mean that
-"God and Nature" act everywhere with conscious design.  The meaning is
-rather that every natural process has a last stage in which the "form"
-which was to begin with present in the agent or "source of change" is
-fully realised in the matter in which the agent has set up the process
-of change.  The normal thing is _e.g._ for animals to reproduce "their
-kind"; if the reproduction is imperfect or distorted, as in monstrous
-births, this is an exception due to the occasional presence in "matter"
-of imperfections which hinder the course of development, and must be
-regarded as "contrary to the normal course of Nature."  So hybrid
-reproduction is exceptional and "against Nature," and this is shown by
-the sterility of hybrids, a sort of lesser monstrosity.  Even females,
-being "arrested developments," are a sort of still minor deviation from
-principle.  (2) It may just be mentioned that Aristotle has a
-classification of efficient causes under the three heads of Nature,
-Intelligence (or Man), and Chance.  The difference between Nature and
-Man or Intelligence as efficient causes has already been illustrated.
-It is that in causation by Nature, such as sexual reproduction, or the
-assimilation of nutriment, or the conversion of one element into another
-in which Aristotle believed, the form which is superinduced on the
-matter by the agent already exists in the agent itself as _its_ form.
-The oak springs from a parent oak, the conversion of nutriment into
-organic tissue is due to the agency of already existing organic tissue.
-In the case of human intelligence or art, the "form" to be superinduced
-exists in the agent not as _his_ characteristic form, but by way of
-representation, as a contemplated design.  The man who builds a house is
-not himself a house; the form characteristic of a house is very
-different from that characteristic of a man, but it is present in
-contemplation to the builder before it is embodied in the actual house.
-A word may be added about the third sort of efficient causality,
-causation by chance.  This is confined to cases which are exceptions
-from the general course of Nature, remarkable coincidences.  It is what
-we may call "simulated purposiveness."  When something in human affairs
-happens in a way which subserves the achievement of a result but was not
-really brought about by any intention to secure the result, we speak of
-it as a remarkable coincidence.  Thus it would be a coincidence if a man
-should be held to ransom by brigands and his best friend should, without
-knowing anything of the matter, turn up on the spot with the means of
-ransoming him. The events could not have happened more opportunely if
-they had been planned, and yet they were not planned but merely fell out
-so: and since such a combination of circumstances simulating design is
-unusual, it is not proper to say that the events happened "in the course
-of Nature."  We therefore say it happened by chance.  This doctrine of
-chance has its significance for medi�val Ethics.  In an age when the
-Protestant superstition that worldly success is proof of nearness to God
-had not yet been invented, the want of correspondence between men's
-"deserts" and their prosperity was accounted for by the view that the
-distribution of worldly goods is, as a rule, the work of Fortune or
-Chance in the Aristotelian sense; that is, it is due to special
-coincidences which may look like deliberate design but are not really
-so.  (See the elaborate exposition of this in Dante, _Inferno_, vii.
-67-97.)
-
-*Motion*.--We have seen that causation, natural or artificial, requires
-the production in a certain "matter" of a certain "form" under the
-influence of a certain "agent."  What is the character of the process
-set up by the agent in the matter and culminating in the appearance of
-the form?  Aristotle answers that it is Motion (_kinesis_).  The effect
-of the agent on the matter is to set up in it a motion which ends in its
-assuming a definite form.  The important point to be noted here is that
-Aristotle regards this motion as falling wholly within the matter which
-is to assume the form.  It is not necessary that the agent should itself
-be in motion, but only that it should induce motion in something else.
-Thus in all cases of intentional action the ultimate efficient cause is
-the "idea of the result to be attained," but this idea does not move
-about.  By its presence to the mind it sets something else (the members
-of the body) moving.  This conception of an efficient cause which, not
-moving itself, by its mere presence induces movement in that to which it
-is present, is of the highest importance in Aristotle's theology.  Of
-course it follows that since the motion by which the transition from
-potentiality to actuality is achieved falls wholly within the matter
-acted upon, Aristotle is not troubled with any of the questions as to
-the way in which motion can be transferred from one body to another
-which were so much agitated in the early days of the modern mechanical
-interpretation of natural processes. Aristotle's way of conceiving
-Nature is thoroughly non-mechanical, and approximates to what would now
-be called the ascription of vital or quasi-vital characteristics to the
-inorganic.  As, in the causality of "art" the mere presence of the
-"form" to be embodied in a given material to the mind of the craftsman
-brings about and directs the process of manufacture, so in some
-analogous fashion the presence of an efficient cause in Nature to that
-on which it works is thought of as itself constituting the "efficiency"
-of the cause.  As Lotze phrases it, things "take note of" one another's
-compresence in the universe, or we might say the efficient cause and
-that on which it exercises its efficiency are _en rapport_.  "Matter" is
-sensitive to the presence of the "efficient cause," and in response to
-this sensitivity, puts forth successive determinations, expands its
-latent tendencies on definite lines.
-
-The name "motion" has a wider sense for Aristotle than it has for
-ourselves.  He includes under the one common name all the processes by
-which things come to be what they are or cease to be what they have
-been.  Thus he distinguishes the following varieties of "motion":
-_generation_ (the coming of an individual thing into being), with its
-opposite _decay_ or _corruption_ (the passing of a thing out of being),
-_alteration_ (change of _quality_ in a thing), _augmentation_ and
-_diminution_ (change in the _magnitude_ of a thing), _motion through
-space_ (of which latter he recognises two sub-species, rectilinear
-_transference_ and _rotation_ in a circular orbit about an axis).  It is
-this last variety, motion through space, which is the most fundamental
-of all, since its occurrence is involved in that of any of the other
-types of process mentioned, though Aristotle does not hold the
-thorough-going mechanical view that the other processes are only
-apparent, and that, as we should put it, qualitative change is a mere
-disguise which mechanical motion wears for our senses.
-
-*The Eternity of Motion*.--Certain very important consequences follow
-from the conception of efficient causation which we have been
-describing.  Aristotle has no sympathy with the "evolutionist" views
-which had been favoured by some of his predecessors.  According to his
-theory of organic generation, "it takes a man to beget a man "; where
-there is a baby, there must have been a father.  Biological kinds
-representing real clefts in Nature, the process of the production of a
-young generation by an already adult generation must be thought of as
-without beginning and without end.  There can be no natural "evolution"
-of animals of one species from individuals of a different kind.  Nor
-does it occur to Aristotle to take into account the possibility of
-"Creationism," the sudden coming into being of a fully fledged first
-generation at a stroke.  This possibility is excluded by the doctrine
-that the "matter" of a thing must exist beforehand as an indispensable
-condition of the production of that thing.  Every baby, as we said, must
-have had a father, but that father must also have been a baby before he
-was a full-grown man.  Hence the perpetuation of unchanging species must
-be without beginning and without end. And it is implied that all the
-various processes, within and without the organism, apart from which its
-life could not be kept up, must be equally without beginning and without
-end.  The "cosmos," or orderly world of natural processes, is strictly
-"eternal"; "motion" is everlasting and continuous, or unbroken.  Even
-the great Christian theologians who built upon Aristotle could not
-absolutely break with him on this point.  St. Thomas, though obliged to
-admit that the world was actually created a few thousand years before
-his own time, maintains that this can only be known to be true from
-revelation, philosophically it is equably tenable that the world should
-have been "created from all eternity."  And it is the general doctrine
-of scholasticism that the expression "creation" only denotes the
-absolute dependence of the world on God for its being.  When we say "God
-created the world out of nothing," we mean that He did not make it out
-of pre-existing matter, that it depends for its being on Him only; the
-expression is purely negative in its import.
-
-*God*.--With the doctrine of the eternity of the world and the processes
-which make up its life we come close to the culminating theory of
-Aristotelian First Philosophy, its doctrine of God, as the eternal,
-unchanging source of all change, movement, and process.  All motion is a
-process within matter by which the forms latent in it are brought into
-actual manifestation. And the process only takes place in the presence
-of an adequate efficient cause or source of motion.  Hence the eternity
-of natural processes involves the existence of one or more eternal
-sources of motion.  For, if we do not admit the existence of an
-unoriginated and ever-present source or sources of motion, our only
-alternative is to hold that the world-process is due to a series of
-sources of motion existing successively. But such a view would leave the
-unity and unbroken continuity of the world-process unaccounted for.  It
-would give us a succession of processes, temporally contiguous, not one
-unbroken process.  Hence we argue from the continuity of motion to its
-dependence on a source or sources which are permanent and present
-throughout the whole everlasting world-process.  And when we come to the
-question whether there is only one such ultimate source of movement for
-the whole universe, or several, Aristotle's answer is that the supreme
-"Unmoved Mover" is one.  One is enough for the purpose, and the law of
-parcimony forbids us to assume the superfluous.  This then is the
-Aristotelian conception of God and God's relation to the world.  God is
-the one supreme unchanging being to whose presence the world responds
-with the whole process of cosmic development, the ultimate educer of the
-series of "forms" latent in the "matter" of the world into actual
-manifestation.  Standing, as He does, outside the whole process which by
-His mere presence He initiates in Nature, He is not himself a composite
-of "form" and "matter," as the products of development are. He is a pure
-individual "form" or "actuality," with no history of gradual development
-behind it.  Thus He is a purely immaterial being, indispensable to the
-world's existence but transcending it and standing outside it.  _How_
-His presence inspires the world to move Aristotle tries to explain by
-the metaphor of appetition.  Just as the good I desire and conceive,
-without itself "moving" "moves" my appetition, so God moves the universe
-by being its good.  This directly brings about a uniform unbroken
-rotation of the whole universe round its axis (in fact, the alternation
-of day and night).  And since this rotation is communicated from the
-outermost "sphere" of heaven to all the lesser "spheres" between it and
-the immovable centre, the effects of God's presence are felt
-universally.  At the same time, we must note that though God is the
-supreme Mover of the Universe, He is not regarded by Aristotle as its
-Creator, even in the sense in which creation can be reconciled with the
-eternity of the world.  For the effect of God's presence is simply to
-lead to the development of "form" in an already existing "matter."
-Without God there could be no "form" or order in things, not even as
-much as is implied in the differentiation of matter into the four
-"elements," yet "primary matter" is no less than God a precondition of
-all that happens.
-
-It is characteristic of Aristotle that his God is as far from
-discharging the functions of a Providence as He is from being a Creator.
-His "activity" is not, as Plato had made it, that of the great "Shepherd
-of the sheep."  As far as the world is concerned, God's only function is
-to be there to move its appetition.  For the rest, the unbroken activity
-of this life is directed wholly inward.  Aristotle expressly calls it an
-"activity of immobility."  More precisely, he tells us, it is activity
-of thought, exercised unbrokenly and everlastingly upon the only object
-adequate to exercise God's contemplation, Himself. His life is one of
-everlasting _self_-contemplation or "thinking of thought itself."  Like
-all unimpeded exercise of activity, it is attended by pleasure, and as
-the activity is continuous, so the pleasure of it is continuous too.  At
-our best, when we give ourselves up to the pure contemplative activity
-of scientific thought or �sthetic appreciation, we enter for a while
-into this divine life and share the happiness of God.  But that is a
-theme for our chapter on the _Ethics_.
-
-It is a far cry from this conception of a God untroubled by care for a
-world to which He is only related as the object of its aspiration to the
-God who cares even for the fall of the sparrow and of whom it is
-written, _Sic Deus dilexit mundum_, but it was the standing task of the
-philosophical theologians of the Middle Ages to fuse the two
-conceptions.  Plato's God, who, if not quite the Creator, is the "Father
-and Fashioner" of us all, and keeps providential watch over the world He
-has fashioned, would have lent Himself better to their purposes, but
-Plato was held by the medi�val church to have denied the resurrection of
-the body.  The combination of Aristotle's Theism with the Theism of
-early Christianity was effected by exquisitely subtle logical devices,
-but even in St. Thomas one cannot help seeing the seams.
-
-Nor can one help seeing in Aristotle's own doctrine the usual want of
-coherence between an initial anti-Platonic bias and a final reversion to
-the very Platonic positions Aristotle is fond of impugning.  We are told
-at the outset that the Platonic "separate forms" are empty names, and
-that the real individual thing is always a composite of matter and a
-form which only exists "in matter."  We find in the end that the source
-of the whole process by which "matter" becomes imbued with "form" is a
-being which is "pure" form and stands outside the whole development
-which its presence sets up. And the issue of Aristotle's warning against
-"poetic metaphors" is the doctrine that God moves the world by being
-"the object of the world's desire."
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER IV*
-
-                               *PHYSICS*
-
-
-There is no part of Aristotle's system which has been more carefully
-thought out than his Physics; at the same time it is almost wholly on
-account of his physical doctrines that his long ascendancy over thought
-is so much to be regretted.  Aristotle's qualifications as a man of
-science have been much overrated. In one department, that of descriptive
-natural history, he shows himself a master of minute and careful
-observation who could obtain unqualified praise from so great a
-naturalist as Darwin. But in Astronomy and Physics proper his
-inferiority in mathematical thinking and his dislike for mechanical ways
-of explaining facts put him at a great disadvantage, as compared with
-Plato and Plato's Pythagorean friends.  Thus his authority was for
-centuries one of the chief influences which prevented the development of
-Astronomy on right lines.  Plato had himself both taught the mobility of
-the earth and denied correctly that the earth is at the centre of the
-universe, and the "Copernican" hypothesis in Astronomy probably
-originated in the Academy.  Aristotle, however, insists on the central
-position of the earth, and violently attacks Plato for believing in its
-motion. It is equally serious that he insists on treating the so-called
-"four elements" as ultimately unanalysable forms of matter, though Plato
-had not only observed that so far from being the ABC (_stoicheia_ or
-_elementa_, literally, letters of the alphabet) of Nature they do not
-deserve to be called even "syllables," but had also definitely put
-forward the view that it is the geometrical structure of the
-"corpuscles" of body upon which sensible qualities depend.  It is on
-this doctrine, of course, that all mathematical physics rests.
-Aristotle reverts to the older theory that the differences between one
-"element" and another are qualitative differences of a sensible kind.
-Even in the biological sciences Aristotle shows an unfortunate proneness
-to disregard established fact when it conflicts with the theories for
-which he has a personal liking.  Thus, though the importance of the
-brain as the central organ of the sensori-motor system had been
-discovered in the late sixth or early fifth century by the physician
-Alemacon of Crotona, and taught by the great Hippocrates in the fifth
-and by Plato in the fourth century, Aristotle's prejudices in favour of
-the doctrines of a different school of biologists led him to revert to
-the view that it is the heart which is the centre of what we now call
-the "nervous system."  It is mainly on account of these reactionary
-scientific views that he was attacked in the early seventeenth century
-by writers like our own Francis Bacon, who found in veneration for
-Aristotle one of the chief hindrances to the free development of natural
-science.  The same complaints had been made long before by critics
-belonging to the Platonic Academy.  It is a Platonist of the time of
-Marcus Aurelius who sums up a vigorous attack on the Aristotelian
-astronomy by the remark that Aristotle never understood that the true
-task of the physicist is not to prescribe laws to Nature, but to learn
-from observation of the facts what the laws followed by Nature are.
-
-In determining the scope of Physics, we have to begin by considering
-what is the special characteristic of things produced by Nature as
-contrasted with those produced by "art."  The obvious distinction,
-intimated by the very etymology of the word "Nature" (_physis_,
-connected with _phyesthai_, to grow, to be born, as _natura_ is with
-_nasci_), is that "what is by Nature" is born and grows, whereas what is
-as a result of artifice is _made_.  The "natural" may thus be said to
-consist of living bodies and of their constituent parts.  Hence
-inorganic matter also is included in "Nature," on the ground that living
-tissue can be analysed back into compounds of the "elements."  Now
-things which are alive and grow are distinguished from things which are
-made by "a source of motion and quiescence within themselves"; all of
-them exhibit motions, changes of quality, processes of growth and
-decline which are initiated from within.  Hence Nature may be defined as
-the totality of things which have a source of motion internal to
-themselves and of the constituent parts of such things.  Nature then
-comprises all beings capable of spontaneous change. Whatever either does
-not change at all, or only changes in consequence of external
-influences, is excluded from Nature.
-
-Thus the fundamental fact everywhere present in Nature is "change,"
-"process," "motion."  Since motion in the literal sense of change of
-position is involved as a condition of every such process, and such
-motion requires space through which to move and time to move in, the
-doctrine of space and time will also form part of Physics.  Hence a
-great part of Aristotle's special lectures on Physics is occupied with
-discussion of the nature of space and time, and of the continuity which
-we must ascribe to them if the "continuous motion" on which the unbroken
-life of the universe depends is to be real Aristotle knows nothing of
-the modern questions whether space and time are "real" or only
-"phenomenal," whether they are "objective" or "subjective."  Just as he
-simply assumes that bodies are things that really exist, whether we
-happen to perceive them or not, so he assumes that the space and time in
-which they move are real features of a world that does not depend for
-its existence on our perceiving it.
-
-His treatment of space is singularly _na�f_.  He conceives it as a sort
-of vessel, into which you can pour different liquids. Just as the same
-pot may hold first wine and then water, so, if you can say, "there was
-water here, but now there is air here," this implies the existence of a
-receptacle which once held the water, but now holds the air.  Hence a
-jug or pot may be called a "place that can be carried about," and space
-or place may be called "an immovable vessel."  Hence the "place" of a
-thing may be defined as the boundary, or inner surface, of the body
-which immediately surrounds the thing. It follows from this that there
-can be no empty space.  In the last resort, "absolute space" is the
-actual surface of the outermost "heaven" which contains everything else
-in itself but is not contained in any remoter body.  Thus all things
-whatever are "in" this "heaven."  But it is not itself "in" anything
-else.  In accord with the standing Greek identification of determinate
-character with limitation, Aristotle holds that this outermost heaven
-must be at a limited distance from us.  Actual space is thus finite in
-the sense that the volume of the universe could be expressed as a finite
-number of cubic miles or yards, though, since it must be "continuous,"
-it is infinitely divisible.  However often you subdivide a length, an
-area, or a volume, you will always be dividing it into lesser lengths,
-&c., which can once more be divided.  You will never by division come to
-"points," _i.e._ mere positions without magnitude of divisibility.
-
-The treatment of time is more thoughtful.  Time is inseparably connected
-with movement or change.  We only perceive that time has elapsed when we
-perceive that change has occurred. But time is not the same as change.
-For change is of different and incommensurate kinds, change of place,
-change of colour, &c.; but to take up time is common to all these forms
-of process.  And time is not the same as motion.  For there are
-different rates of speed, but the very fact that we can compare these
-different velocities implies that there are not different velocities of
-_time_.  Time then is that in terms of which we _measure_ motion, "the
-number of motion in respect of before and after," _i.e._ it is that by
-which we estimate the _duration_ of processes.  Thus _e.g._ when we
-speak of _two_ minutes, _two_ days, _two_ months as required for a
-certain process to be completed, we are counting something.  This
-something is time. It does not seem to occur to Aristotle that this
-definition implies that there are indivisible bits of time, though he
-quite correctly states the incompatible proposition that time is "made
-up of successive _nows_," _i.e._ moments which have no duration at all,
-and can no more be counted than the points on a straight line.  He
-recognises of course that the "continuity" of motion implies that of
-time as well as of space.  Since, however, "continuity" in his language
-means the same thing as indefinite divisibility, it ought not to be
-possible for him to regard time as "made up of _nows_"; time, like
-linear extension, ought for him to be a "length of" something.
-
-*The Continuous Motion and the "Spheres."*--The continuous world-process
-depends upon a continuous movement set up in the universe as a whole by
-the presence of an everlasting and unchangeable "First Mover," God.
-From the self-sameness of God, it follows that this most universal of
-movements must be absolutely uniform.  Of what precise kind can such a
-movement be?  As the source of the movement is one, and the object moved
-is also one--viz. the compass of the "heaven," the movement of the
-_primum mobile_ or "first moved"--the object immediately stimulated to
-motion by God's presence to it, must be mechanically simple.  Now
-Aristotle, mistakenly, held that there are two forms of movement which
-are simple and unanalysable, motion of translation along a straight
-line, and motion of rotation round an axis.  He is at pains to argue
-that rectilinear motion, which we easily discover to be that
-characteristic of bodies near the earth's surface when left to
-themselves, cannot be the kind of movement which belongs to the "heaven"
-as a whole.  For continuous rectilinear movement in the same direction
-could not go on for ever on his assumption that there is no space
-outside the "heaven," which is itself at a finite distance from us.  And
-motion to and fro would not be unbroken, since Aristotle argues that
-every time a moving body reached the end of its path, and the sense of
-its movement was reversed, it would be for two consecutive moments in
-the same place, and therefore at rest.  Reversal of sense would imply a
-discontinuity. Hence he decides that the primary unbroken movement must
-be the rotation of the "first moved"--that is, the heaven containing the
-fixed stars--round its axis.  This is the only movement which could go
-on for ever at a uniform rate and in the same sense.  Starting with the
-conviction that the earth is at rest in the centre of the universe, he
-inevitably accounts for the alternation of day and night as the effect
-of such a revolution of the whole universe round an axis passing through
-the centre of the earth.  The universe is thus thought of as bounded by
-a spherical surface, on the concave side of which are the fixed stars,
-which are therefore one and all at the same distance from us.  This
-sphere, under the immediate influence of God, revolves on its axis once
-in twenty-four hours, and this period of revolution is absolutely
-uniform.  Next the apparently irregular paths of the "planets" known to
-Aristotle (_i.e._ the moon, Mercury, Venus, the sun, Mars, Jupiter,
-Saturn) are resolved into combinations of similar uniform rotations,
-each planet having as many "spheres" assigned to it as are requisite for
-the analysis of its apparent path into perfectly circular elementary
-motions.  Altogether Aristotle holds that fifty-four such rotating
-spheres are required over and above the "first moved" itself, whose
-rotation is, of course, communicated to all the lesser "spheres"
-included within it.  As in the case of the "first moved," the uniform
-unceasing rotation of each "sphere" is explained by the influence on it
-of an unchanging immaterial "form," which is to its own "sphere" what
-God is to the universe as a whole.  In the Aristotelianism of the
-medi�val church these pure forms or intelligences which originate the
-movements of the various planetary spheres are naturally identified with
-angels.  It is _e.g._ to the angelic intelligences which "move" the
-heaven of Venus, which comes third in order counting outward from the
-earth, that Dante addresses his famous Canzone, _Voi ch' intendendo il
-terzo del movete_.  The medi�val astronomy, however, differs in two
-important respects from that of Aristotle himself.  (1) The number of
-"spheres" is different.  Increasing knowledge of the complexity of the
-paths of the planets showed that if their paths are to be analysed into
-combinations of circular motions, fifty-four such rotations must be an
-altogether inadequate number.  Aristotle's method of analysis of the
-heavenly movements was therefore combined with either or both of two
-others originated by pure astronomers who sat loose to metaphysics.  One
-of these methods was to account for a planet's path by the introduction
-of _epicycles_.  The planet was thought of not as fixed at a given point
-on its principal sphere, but as situated on the circumference of a
-lesser sphere which has its centre at a fixed point of the principal
-sphere and rotates around an axis passing through this centre.  If need
-were, this type of hypothesis could be further complicated by imagining
-any number of such epicycles within epicycles.  The other method was the
-employment of "eccentrics," _i.e._ circular movements which are
-described not about the common centre of the earth and the universe, but
-about some point in its neighbourhood.  By combinations of epicycles and
-eccentrics the medi�val astronomers contrived to reduce the number of
-principal spheres to _one_ for each planet, the arrangement we find in
-Dante.  (2) Also real or supposed astronomical perturbations unknown to
-Aristotle led some medi�val theorists to follow the scheme devised by
-Alphonso the Wise of Castille, in which further spheres are inserted
-between that of Saturn, the outermost planet, and the "first moved."  In
-Dante, we have, excluding the "empyrean" or immovable heaven where God
-and the blessed are, nine "spheres," one for each of the planets, one
-for the fixed stars, and one for the "first moved," which is now
-distinguished from the heaven of the stars.  In Milton, who adopts the
-"Alphonsine" scheme, we have further a sphere called the "second
-movable" or "crystalline" introduced between the heaven of the fixed
-stars and the "first moved," to account for the imaginary phenomenon of
-"trepidation."[#]  In reading Dante, Shakespeare, and Milton, we have
-always to remember that none of these reproduces the Aristotelian
-doctrine of the "spheres" accurately; their astronomy is an amalgam of
-Aristotle, Ptolemy, and Hipparchus.
-
-
-[#] _Paradise Lost_, iii. 481.
-
-"They pass the planets seven, and pass the fixed,
-And that crystalline sphere whose balance weighs
-The trepidation talked, and that first moved."
-
-
-So far, the doctrine of the fifty-five "spheres" might be no more than a
-legitimate mathematical fiction, a convenient device for analysing the
-complicated apparent movements of the heavenly bodies into circular
-components.  This was originally the part played by "spheres" in ancient
-astronomical theory, and it is worth while to be quite clear about the
-fact, as there is a mistaken impression widely current to-day that
-Aristotle's astronomy is typical of Greek views in general.  The truth
-is that it is peculiar to himself.  The origin of the theory was
-Academic. Plato proposed to the Academy as a subject of inquiry, to
-devise such a mathematical analysis of astronomical motions as will best
-"save the appearances," _i.e._ will most simply account for the apparent
-paths of the planets.  The analysis of these paths into resultants of
-several rotations was offered as a solution by the astronomer Eudoxus of
-Cnidus.  So far, the "spheres," then, were a mere mathematical
-hypothesis.  What Aristotle did, and it is perhaps the most retrograde
-step ever taken in the history of a science, was to convert the
-mathematical hypothesis into physical fact.  The "spheres" become with
-him real bodies, and as none of the bodies we are familiar with exhibit
-any tendency to rotate in circles when left to themselves, Aristotle was
-forced to introduce into Physics the disastrous theory, which it was a
-great part of Galileo's life-work to destroy, that the stuff of which
-the spheres are made is a "fifth body," different from the "elements" of
-which the bodies among which we live are made.  Hence he makes an
-absolute distinction between two kinds of matter, "celestial matter,"
-the "fifth body," and "terrestrial" or "elementary" matter.  The
-fundamental difference is that "terrestrial" or "elementary" matter,
-left to itself, follows a rectilinear path, "celestial" matter rotates,
-but it is further inferred from the supposed absolute uniformity of the
-celestial movements that "celestial matter" is simple, uncompounded,
-incapable of change, and consequently that no new state of things can
-ever arise in the heavens.  The spheres and planets have always been and
-will always be exactly as they are at the present moment.  Mutability is
-confined to the region of "terrestrial" or "elementary" matter, which
-only extends as far as the orbit of the moon, the "lowest of the
-celestial bodies," because it is only "terrestrial" things which are, as
-we should say, chemical compounds.  This is the doctrine which Galileo
-has in mind when he dwells on such newly-discovered astronomical facts
-as the existence of sun-spots and variable stars, and the signs of
-irregularity presented by the moon's surface.  The distinction is
-peculiar to Aristotle.  No one before him had ever thought of supposing
-the heavenly bodies to be made of any materials other than those of
-which "bodies terrestrial" are made.  In the Academic attack on
-Aristotle's science of which we have already spoken the two points
-singled out for reprobation are (1) his rejection of the principle that
-all moving bodies, left to themselves, follow a rectilinear path, and
-(2) his denial that the heavenly bodies are made of the same "elements"
-as everything else.  (It may just be mentioned in passing that our word
-_quintessence_ gets its sense from the supposed special "nobility" of
-the incorruptible "fifth body.")
-
-*Terrestrial Bodies*.--As we have seen already, Aristotle was out of
-sympathy with the tendency to regard the sensible differences between
-bodies as consequences of more ultimate differences in the geometrical
-structure of their particles.  Hence his whole attitude towards the
-problems of that branch of natural science which we call physics is
-quite unlike any view to which we are accustomed.  He reverts from the
-mathematical lines of thought current in Plato's Academy to the type of
-view more natural to the "plain man," and, like the earliest
-sixth-century men of science, regards the _qualitative_ differences
-which our senses apprehend as fundamental.  Among these, particular
-stress is laid on the difference in sensible temperature (the hot--the
-cold), in saturation (the dry--the moist), and in density (the
-dense--the rare).  If we consider the first two of these oppositions, we
-can make four binary combinations of the elementary "opposite"
-characters, viz. hot and dry, hot and moist, cold and moist, cold and
-dry.  These combinations are regarded as corresponding respectively to
-the sensible characteristics of the four bodies which Empedocles, the
-father of Greek chemistry, had treated as the ultimate components of
-everything. Fire is hot and dry, air hot and moist, water moist and
-cold, earth cold and dry.  This reflection shows us why Aristotle held
-that the most rudimentary form in which "matter" ever actually exists is
-that of one of these "elements."  Each of them has _one_ quality in
-common with another, and it is in virtue of this that a portion of one
-element can be assimilated by and transmuted into another, a process
-which seems to the untutored eye to be constantly recurring in Nature.
-We also observe that the order in which the "elements" appear, when so
-arranged as to form a series in which each term has one quality in
-common with each of its neighbours, is also that of their increasing
-density.  This would help to make the conception of their
-transmutability all the more natural, as it suggests that the process
-may be effected by steady condensation. We must remember carefully that
-for Aristotle, who denies the possibility of a vacuum, as for the
-medi�val alchemists, condensation does not mean a mere diminution of the
-distances between corpuscles which remain unchanged in character, but is
-a process of real qualitative change in the body which undergoes it.
-Incidentally we may remark that _all_ changes of quality are regarded by
-Aristotle as stages in a continuous "movement" from one extreme of a
-scale to another.  For example, colours, with him as with Goethe, form a
-series of which the "opposites" white and black are the end-points.
-Every other colour is a combination of white and black according to a
-definite proportion.
-
-The Aristotelian doctrine of weight was one of the chief obstacles which
-seventeenth-century science had to contend with in establishing correct
-notions in dynamics.  It is a curious feature of Greek science before
-Aristotle that, though the facts connected with gravity were well known,
-no one introduced the notion of weight to account for them.  The
-difference between heavy bodies and light bodies had been previously
-treated as secondary for science.  Plato's treatment of the matter is
-typical of the best fourth-century science.  We must not try to explain
-why the heavier bodies tend to move towards the earth's surface by
-saying that they have a "downward" motion; their motion is not downward
-but "towards the centre" (the earth, though not fixed at the centre of
-the universe, being nearer to it than the rest of the solar and sidereal
-system).  Plato then explains the tendency in virtue of which the
-heavier bodies move towards the "centre" as an attraction of like for
-like.  The universal tendency is for smaller masses of "earth," "water,"
-"air," "fire" to be attracted towards the great aggregations of the same
-materials.  This is far from being a satisfactory theory in the light of
-facts which were not yet known to Plato, but it is on the right lines.
-It starts from the conception of the facts of gravity as due to an
-"attractive force" of some kind, and it has the great merit of bringing
-the "sinking" of stones and the "rising" of vapours under the same
-explanation.
-
-Aristotle, though retaining the central idea that a body tends to move
-towards the region where the great cosmic mass of the same kind is
-congregated, introduced the entirely incompatible notion of an absolute
-distinction of "up" and "down."  He identified the centre of the
-universe with that of the earth, and looked on motion to this centre as
-"downward."  This led him to make a distinction between "heavy" bodies,
-which naturally tend to move "down," and "light" bodies, which tend to
-move "up" away from the centre.  The doctrine works out thus.  The
-heaviest elements tend to be massed together nearest the centre, the
-lightest to be furthest from it. Each element thus has its "proper
-place," that of water being immediately above earth, that of air next,
-and that of fire furthest from the centre, and nearest to the regions
-occupied by "celestial matter."  (Readers of Dante will recollect the
-ascent from the Earthly Paradise through the "sphere of fire" with which
-the _Paradiso_ opens.)
-
-In its own "proper region" no body is heavy or light; as we should say
-any fluid loses its weight when immersed in itself.  When a portion of
-an element is out of its own region and surrounded by the great cosmic
-aggregate of another element, either of two cases may occur.  The body
-which is "out of its element" may be _below_ its proper place, in which
-case it is "light" and tends to move perpendicularly upwards to its
-place, or it may be _above_ its proper place, and then it is "heavy" and
-tends to move perpendicularly "down" until it reaches its place.  It was
-this supposed real distinction between motion "up" and motion "down"
-which made it so hard for the contemporaries of Galileo to understand
-that an inflated bladder rises for the same reason that a stone sinks.
-
-*Biology*.--Of Aristotle's biology reasons of space forbid us to say
-much here.  But a remark or two may be made about his theory of
-reproduction, since it is constantly referred to in much modern
-literature and has also played its part in theology. An interesting
-point is the distinction between "perfect" and "imperfect" animals.
-"Perfect" animals are those which can only be reproduced sexually.
-Aristotle held, however, that there are some creatures, even among
-vertebrates, which _may_ be produced by the vivifying effect of solar
-heat on decomposing matter, without any parents at all.  Thus
-malobservation of the facts of putrefaction led to the belief that flies
-and worms are engendered by heat from decaying bodies, and it was even
-thought that frogs and mice are produced in the same way from
-river-slime.  In this process, the so-called "aequivocal generation,"
-solar heat was conceived as the operative efficient cause which leads to
-the realisation of an organic "form" in the decaying matter.
-
-In sexual reproduction Aristotle regards the male parent as the agent or
-efficient cause which contributes the element of form and organisation
-to the offspring.  The female parent supplies only the raw material of
-the new creature, but she supplies the whole of this.  No _material_ is
-supplied by the male parent to the body of the offspring, a theory which
-St. Thomas found useful in defending the dogma of the Virgin Birth.
-
-*Psychology*.--Since the mind grows and develops, it comes under the
-class of things which have a "source of motion internal to themselves,"
-and psychology is therefore, for Aristotle, a branch of Physics.  To
-understand his treatment of psychological questions we need bear two
-things in mind. (1) _Psyche_ or "soul" means in Greek more than
-"consciousness" does to us.  Consciousness is a relatively late and
-highly developed manifestation of the principle which the Greeks call
-"soul."  That principle shows itself not merely in consciousness but in
-the whole process of nutrition and growth and the adaptation of motor
-response to an external situation. Thus consciousness is a more
-secondary feature of the "soul" in Greek philosophy than in most modern
-thought, which has never ceased to be affected by Descartes' selection
-of "thought" as the special characteristic of psychical life.  In common
-language the word _psyche_ is constantly used where we should say "life"
-rather than "soul," and in Greek philosophy a work "on the _Psyche_"
-means what we should call one on "the principle of life."
-
-(2) It is a consequence of this way of thinking of the "soul" that the
-process of bodily and mental development is regarded by Aristotle as one
-single continuous process.  The growth of a man's intellect and
-character by which he becomes a thinker and a citizen is a continuation
-of the process by which his body is conceived and born and passes into
-physical manhood.  This comes out in the words of the definition of the
-soul.  "The soul is the first entelechy (or actual realisation) of a
-natural organic body."  What this means is that the soul stands to the
-living body as all form realised in matter does to the matter of which
-it is the form, or that the soul is the "form" of the body.  What the
-"organic body" is to the embryo out of which it has grown, that soul is
-to the body itself.  As the embryo grows into the actual living body, so
-the living body grows into a body exhibiting the actual directing
-presence of mind.  Aristotle illustrates the relation by the remark that
-if the whole body was one vast eye, seeing would be its soul.  As the
-eye is a tool for seeing with, but a living tool which is part of
-ourselves, so the body is a like tool or instrument for living with.
-Hence we may say of the soul that it is the "end" of the body, the
-activity to which the body is instrumental, as seeing is the "end" to
-which the eye is instrumental.  But we must note that the soul is called
-only the "first" or initial "entelechy" of the body.  The reason is that
-the mere presence of the soul does not guarantee the full living of the
-life to which our body is but the instrument.  If we are to _live_ in
-the fullest sense of the word, we must not merely "have" a soul; we
-"have" it even in sleep, in ignorance, in folly.  The soul itself needs
-further to be educated and trained in intelligence and character, and to
-exercise its intelligence and character efficiently on the problems of
-thought and life.  The mere "presence" of soul is only a first step in
-the progress towards fullness of life.  This is why Aristotle calls the
-soul the _first_ entelechy of the living body.  The full and final
-entelechy is the life of intelligence and character actively
-functioning.
-
-From this conception of the soul's relation to the body we see that
-Aristotle's "doctrine of body and mind" does not readily fall into line
-with any of the typical theories of our time.  He neither thinks of the
-soul as a thing acting on the body and acted on by it, nor yet as a
-series of "states of mind" concomitant with certain "states of body."
-From his point of view to ask whether soul and body interact, or whether
-they exhibit "parallelism," would be much the same thing as to ask
-whether life interacts with the body, or whether there is a
-"parallelism" between vital processes and bodily processes.  We must not
-ask at all how the body and soul are united.  They are one thing, as the
-matter and the form of a copper globe are one.  Thus they are in actual
-fact inseparable. The soul is the soul of its body and the body the body
-of its soul. We can only distinguish them by logical analysis, as we can
-distinguish the copper from the sphericity in the copper globe.
-
-*Grades of Psychical Life*.--If we consider the order of development, we
-find that some vital activities make their appearance earlier than
-others, and that it is a universal law that the more highly developed
-activities always have the less highly developed as their basis and
-precondition, though the less highly developed may exist apart from the
-more highly developed.  So we may arrange vital activities in general in
-an ontogenetic order, the order in which they make their appearance in
-the individual's development.  Aristotle reckons three such stages, the
-"nutritive," the "sensitive," and the "intelligent."  The lowest form in
-which life shows itself at all, the level of minimum distinction between
-the living and the lifeless, is the power to take in nutriment,
-assimilate it, and grow.  In vegetables the development is arrested at
-this point. With the animals we reach the next highest level, that of
-"sensitive" life.  For all animals have at least the sense of touch.
-Thus they all show sense-perception, and it is a consequence of this
-that they exhibit "appetition," the simplest form of conation, and the
-rudiments of feeling and "temper."  For what has sensations can also
-feel pleasure and pain, and what can feel pleasure and pain can desire,
-since desire is only appetition of what is pleasant.  Thus in the
-animals we have the beginnings of cognition, conation, and affective and
-emotional life in general.  And Aristotle adds that locomotion makes its
-appearance at this level; animals do not, like plants, have to trust to
-their supply of nutriment coming to them; they can go to it.
-
-The third level, that of "intelligence," _i.e._ the power to compare,
-calculate, and reflect, and to order one's life by conscious rule, is
-exhibited by man.  What distinguishes life at this level from mere
-"sensitive" life is, on the intellectual side, the ability to cognise
-universal truths, on the conative, the power to live by rule instead of
-being swayed by momentary "appetition."  The former gives us the
-possibility of science, the latter of moral excellence.[#]
-
-
-[#] _Cf._ Dante's "Fatti non foste a viver como bruti,
-       Ma per seguir virtute e conosoenza."
-
-
-*Sensation*.--Life manifests itself at the animal level on the cognitive
-side as sense-perception, on the conative as appetition or desire, on
-the affective as feeling of pleasure or pain, and in such simple
-emotional moods as "temper," resentment, longing. Aristotle gives
-sensation a logical priority over the conative and emotional expression
-of "animal" life.  To experience appetition or anger or desire you must
-have an object which you crave for or desire or are angry with, and it
-is only when you have reached the level of presentations through the
-senses that you can be said to have an object.  Appetition or "temper"
-is as real a fact as perception, but you cannot crave for or feel angry
-with a thing you do not apprehend.
-
-Aristotle's definition of sense perception is that it is a "capacity for
-discerning" or distinguishing between "the sensible qualities of
-things."  His conception of the process by which the discernment or
-distinguishing is effected is not altogether happy. In sense-perception
-the soul "takes into itself the _form_ of the thing perceived without
-its _matter_, as sealing-wax receives the shape of an iron seal-ring
-without the iron."  To understand this, we have to remember that for
-Aristotle the sensible qualities of the external world, colour, tones,
-tastes, and the rest, are not effects of mechanical stimulation of our
-sense-organs, but real qualities of bodies.  The hardness of iron, the
-redness of a piece of red wax are all primarily "in" the iron or the
-wax.  They are "forms," or determinations by definite law, of the
-"matter" of the iron or the wax.  This will become clearer if we
-consider a definite example, the red colour of the wax.  In the wax the
-red colour is a definite combination of the colour-opposites white and
-black according to a fixed ratio. Now Aristotle's view of the process of
-sense-perception is that when I become aware of the red colour the same
-proportion of white to black which makes the wax red is reproduced in my
-organ of vision; my eye, while I am seeing the red, "assimilated" to the
-wax, is itself for the time actually "reddened."  But it does not become
-wax because the red thing I am looking at is a piece of red wax.  The
-eye remains a thing composed of living tissues.  This is what is meant
-by saying that in seeing the colours of things the eye receives "forms"
-without the "matter" of the things in which those forms are exhibited.
-Thus the process of sense-perception is one in which the organ of sense
-is temporarily assimilated to the thing apprehended in respect of the
-particular quality cognised by that organ, but in respect of no other.
-According to Aristotle this process of "assimilation" always requires
-the presence of a "medium."  If an object is in immediate contact with
-the eye we cannot see its colour; if it is too near the ear, we do not
-discern the note it gives out.  Even in the case of touch and taste
-there is no immediate contact between the object perceived and the true
-organ of perception.  For in touch the "flesh" is not the organ of
-apprehension but an integument surrounding it and capable of acting as
-an intermediary between it and things. Thus perception is always
-accomplished by a "motion" set up in the "medium" by the external
-object, and by the medium in our sense-organs.  Aristotle thus contrives
-to bring correct apprehension by sense of the qualities of things under
-the formula of the "right mean" or "right proportion," which is better
-known from the use made of it in the philosopher's theory of conduct.
-The colour of a surface, the pitch of the note given out by a vibrating
-string, &c., depend on, and vary with, certain forms or ratios "in" the
-surface or the vibrating string; our correct apprehension of the
-qualities depends on the reproduction of the _same_ ratios in our
-sense-organs, the establishment of the "right proportion" in _us_.  That
-this "right proportion" may be reproduced in our own sense-organs it is
-necessary (1) that the medium should have none of the sensible qualities
-for the apprehension whereof it serves as medium, _e.g._ the medium in
-colour-perception must be colourless.  If it had a colour of its own,
-the "motion" set up by the coloured bodies we apprehend would not be
-transmitted undistorted to our organs; we should see everything through
-a coloured haze. It is necessary for the same reason (2) that the
-percipient organ itself, when in a state of quiescence, should possess
-none of the qualities which can be induced in it by stimulation. The
-upshot of the whole theory is that the sense-organ is "potentially" what
-the sense-quality it apprehends is actually. Actual perceiving is just
-that special transition from the potential to the actual which results
-in making the organ for the time being _actually_ of the same quality as
-the object.
-
-*The Common Sensibles and the Common Sense-organ*.--Every sense has a
-range of qualities connected with it as its special objects.  Colours
-can only be perceived by the eye, sounds by the ear, and so forth.  But
-there are certain characters of perceived things which we appear to
-apprehend by more than one sense.  Thus we seem to perceive size and
-shape either by touch or by sight, and number by hearing as well, since
-we can count _e.g._ the strokes of an unseen bell. Hence Aristotle
-distinguishes between the "special sensible qualities" such as colour
-and pitch, and what he calls the "common sensibles," the character of
-things which can be perceived by more than one organ.  These are
-enumerated as size, form or shape, number, motion (and its opposite
-rest), being. (The addition of this last is, of course, meant to account
-for our conviction that any perceived colour, taste, or other quality is
-a reality and not a delusion.)  The list corresponds very closely with
-one given by Plato of the "things which the mind perceives _by herself
-without the help of any organ_," _i.e._ of the leading determinations of
-sensible things which are due not to sense but to understanding.  It was
-an unfortunate innovation to regard the discernment of number or
-movement, which obviously demand intellectual processes such as counting
-and comparison, as performed immediately by "sense," and to assign the
-apprehension of number, movement, figure to a central "organ."  This
-organ he finds in the heart.  The theory is that when the "special
-organs" of the senses are stimulated, they in turn communicate movements
-to the blood and "animal spirits" (_i.e._ the vapours supposed to be
-produced from the blood by animal heat).  These movements are propagated
-inwards to the heart, where they all meet.  This is supposed to account
-for the important fact that, though our sensations are so many and
-diverse, we are conscious of our own unity as the subjects apprehending
-all this variety.  The unity of the perceiving subject is thus made to
-depend on the unity of the ultimate "organ of sensation," the heart.
-Further, when once a type of motion has been set up in any sense-organ
-at the periphery of the body it will be propagated inward to the "common
-sensorium" in the heart.  The motions set up by stimulation, _e.g._ of
-the eye and of the skin, are partly different, partly the same (viz. in
-so far as they are determined by the number, shape, size, movement of
-the external stimuli).  Hence in the heart itself the stimulation on
-which perception of number or size depends is one and the same whether
-it has been transmitted from the eye or from the skin!  Awareness of
-lapse of time is also regarded as a function of the "common
-sense-organ," since it is the "common sensory" which perceives motion,
-and lapse of time is apprehended only in the apprehension of motion.
-Thus, in respect of the inclusion of geometrical form and lapse of time
-among the "common sensibles," there is a certain resemblance between
-Aristotle's doctrine and Kant's theory that recognition of spatial and
-temporal order is a function not of understanding but of "pure" sense.
-It is further held that to be aware that one is perceiving
-(self-consciousness) and to discriminate between the different classes
-of "special" sense-perception must also be functions of the "common
-sense-organ."  Thus Aristotle makes the mistake of treating the most
-fundamental acts of intelligent reflection as precisely on a par, from
-the point of view of the theory of knowledge, with awareness of colour
-or sound.
-
-A more legitimate function assigned to the "common sensorium" in the
-heart is that "fantasy," the formation of mental imagery, depends on its
-activity.  The simplest kind of "image," the pure memory-image left
-behind after the object directly arousing perception has ceased to
-stimulate, is due to the persistence of the movements set up in the
-heart after the sensory process in the peripheral organ is over.  Since
-Aristotle denies the possibility of thinking without the aid of
-memory-images, this function of the "common sensorium" is the
-indispensable basis of mental recall, anticipation, and thought. Neither
-"experience," _i.e._ a general conviction which results from the
-frequent repetition of similar perceptions, nor thought can arise in any
-animal in which sense-stimulation does not leave such "traces" behind
-it.  Similarly "free imagery," the existence of trains of imagination
-not tied down to the reproduction of an actual order of sensations, is
-accounted for by the consideration that "chance coincidence" may lead to
-the stimulation of the heart in the same way in which it might have been
-stimulated by actual sensation-processes.  Sleeping and waking and the
-experiences of dream-life are likewise due to changes in the functioning
-of the "common sense-organ," brought about partly by fatigue in the
-superficial sense-organs, partly by qualitative changes in the blood and
-"animal spirits" caused by the processes of nutrition and digestion.
-Probably Aristotle's best scientific work in psychology is contained in
-the series of small essays in which this theory of memory and its
-imagery is worked out.  (Aristotle's language about the "common
-sensibles" is, of course, the source of our expression "common sense,"
-which, however, has an entirely different meaning.  The shifting of
-sense has apparently been effected through Cicero's employment of the
-phrase _sensus communis_ to mean tactful sympathy, the feeling of
-fellowship with our kind on which the Stoic philosophers laid so much
-stress.)
-
-*Thought*.--Though thinking is impossible except by the use of imagery,
-to think is not merely to possess trains of imagery, or even to be aware
-of possessing them.  Thinking means understanding the meaning of such
-mental imagery and arriving through the understanding at knowledge of
-the structure of the real world.  How this process of interpreting
-mental imagery and reaching valid truth is achieved with greater and
-greater success until it culminates in the apprehension of the supreme
-principles of philosophy we have seen in dealing with the Aristotelian
-theory of knowledge.  From the point of view of the "physicist" who is
-concerned with thinking simply as a type of natural process, the
-relation of "understanding" to the mental imagery just described is
-analogous to that of sensation to sensible qualities.  The objects which
-thinking apprehends are the universal types of relation by which the
-world of things is pervaded.  The process of thinking is one in which
-this system of universal relations is reproduced "by way of idea" in the
-mind of the thinker.  The "understanding" thus stands to its objects as
-matter to form.  The process of getting actually to understand the world
-is one in which our "thought" or "understanding" steadily receives
-completer determination and "form" from its contemplation of reality.
-In this sense, the process is one in which the understanding may be said
-to be passive in knowledge.  It is passive because it is the subject
-which, at every fresh stage in the progress to knowledge, is being quite
-literally "informed" by the action of the real world through the
-sensation and imagery.  Hence Aristotle says that, in order that the
-understanding may be correctly "informed" by its contact with its
-objects, it must, before the process begins, have no determinate
-character of its own.  It must be simply a capacity for apprehending the
-types of interconnection. "What is called the intelligence--I mean that
-with which the soul thinks and understands--is not an actual thing until
-it thinks."  (This is meant to exclude any doctrine which credits the
-"understanding" with either _furniture_ of its own such as "innate
-ideas," or a specific _structure_ of its own.  If the results of our
-thinking arose partly from the structure of the world of objects and
-partly from inherent laws of the "structure of mind," our thought at its
-best would not reproduce the universal "forms" or "types" of
-interconnection as they really are, but would distort them, as the
-shapes of things are distorted when we see them through a lens of high
-refractive index.)  Thus, though Aristotle differs from the modern
-empiricists in holding that "universals" realty exist "in" things, and
-are the links of connection between them, he agrees with the empiricist
-that knowledge is not the resultant of a combination of "facts" on the
-one side and "fundamental laws of the mind's working" on the other.  At
-the outset the "understanding" has no structure; it develops a structure
-for itself in the same process, and to the same degree, in which it
-apprehends the "facts."  Hence the "understanding" only is real in the
-actual process of understanding its objects, and again in a sense the
-understanding and the things it understands are one.  Only we must
-qualify this last statement by saying that it is only "potentially" that
-the understanding is the forms which it apprehends.  Aristotle does not
-mean by this that such things as horses and oxen are thoughts or
-"ideas."  By the things with which "understanding" is said to be one he
-means the "forms" which we apprehend when we actually understand the
-world or any part of it, the truths of science.  His point then is that
-the actual thinking of these truths and the truths themselves do not
-exist apart from one another.  "Science" does not mean certain things
-written down in a book; it means a mind engaged in thinking and knowing
-things, and of the mind itself, considered out of its relation to the
-actual life of thinking the truths of science, we can say no more than
-that it is a name for the fact that we are capable of achieving such
-thought.
-
-*The Active Intelligence*.--So far Aristotle's account of thought has
-been plain sailing.  Thought has been considered as the final and
-highest development of the vital functions of the organism, and hence as
-something inseparable from the lower functions of nutrition and
-sensitive life. The existence of a thought which is not a function of a
-living body, and which is not "passive," has been absolutely excluded.
-But at this point we are suddenly met by the most startling of all the
-inconsistencies between the naturalistic and the "spiritualist" strains
-in Aristotle's philosophy.  In a few broken lines he tells us that there
-is another sense of the word "thought" in which "thought" actually
-creates the truths it understands, just as light may be said to make the
-colours which we see by its aid.  "And _this_ intelligence," he adds,
-"is separable from matter, and impassive and unmixed, being in its
-essential nature an _activity_....  It has no intermission in its
-thinking.  It is only in separation from matter that it is fully itself,
-and it alone is immortal and everlasting ... while the passive
-intelligence is perishable and does not think at all, apart from this."
-The meaning of this is not made clear by Aristotle himself, and the
-interpretation was disputed even among the philosopher's personal
-disciples.
-
-One important attempt to clear up the difficulty is that made by
-Alexander of Aphrodisias, the greatest of the commentators on Aristotle,
-in the second century A.D.  Alexander said, as Aristotle has not done,
-that the "active intelligence" is numerically the same in all men, and
-is identical with God. Thus, all that is specifically human in each of
-us is the "passive intelligence" or capacity for being enlightened by
-God's activity upon us.  The advantage of the view is, that it removes
-the "active intelligence" altogether from the purview of psychology,
-which then becomes a purely naturalistic science.  The great Arabian
-Aristotelian, Averroes (Ibn Roschd) of Cordova, in the twelfth century,
-went still further in the direction of naturalism.  Since the "active"
-and "passive" intelligence can only be separated by a logical
-abstraction, he inferred that men, speaking strictly, do not think at
-all; there is only one and the same individual intelligence in the
-universe, and all that we call our thinking is really not ours but
-God's.  The great Christian scholastics of the following century in
-general read Aristotle through the eyes of Averroes, "_the_
-Commentator," as St. Thomas calls him, "Averrois che il gran commento
-feo," as Dante says. But their theology compelled them to disavow his
-doctrine of the "active intelligence," against which they could also
-bring, as St. Thomas does, the telling argument that Aristotle could
-never have meant to say that there really is no such thing as human
-intelligence.  Hence arose a third interpretation, the Thomist,
-according to which the "active intelligence" is neither God nor the same
-for all men, but is the highest and most rational "part" of the
-individual human soul, which has no bodily "organ."
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER V*
-
-                         *PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY*
-
-
-Hitherto we have been concerned with the speculative branches of
-knowledge, we have now to turn to practice. Practice, too, is an
-activity of thought, but an activity which is never satisfied by the
-process of thinking itself.  In practice our thinking is always directed
-towards the production of some result other than true thought itself.
-As in engineering it is not enough to find a solution of the problem how
-to build a bridge over a given river capable of sustaining a given
-strain, so in directing our thought on the problems of human conduct and
-the organisation of society we aim at something more than the
-understanding of human life.  In the one case what we aim at is the
-construction of the bridge; in the other it is the production of
-goodness in ourselves and our fellow-men, and the establishment of right
-social relations in the state.  Aristotle is careful to insist on this
-point throughout his whole treatment of moral and social problems.  The
-principal object of his lectures on conduct is not to tell his hearers
-what goodness is, but to make them good, and similarly it is quite plain
-that _Politics_ was intended as a text-book for legislators.  In close
-connection with this practical object stands his theory of the kind of
-truth which must be looked for in ethics and politics.  He warns us
-against expecting precepts which have the exact and universal rigidity
-of the truths of speculative science.  Practical science has to do with
-the affairs of men's lives, matters which are highly complex and
-variable, in a word, with "what may be otherwise."  Hence we must be
-content if we can lay down precepts which hold good in the main, just as
-in medicine we do not expect to find directions which will effect a cure
-in all cases, but are content with general directions which require to
-be adapted to special cases by the experience and judgment of the
-practitioner.  The object of practical science then is to formulate
-rules which will guide us in obtaining our various ends.  Now when we
-consider these ends we see at once that some are subordinate to others.
-The manufacture of small-arms may be the end at which their maker aims,
-but it is to the military man a mere means to _his_ end, which is the
-effective use of them. Successful use of arms is again the end of the
-professional soldier, but it is a mere means among others to the
-statesman. Further, it is the military men who use the arms from whom
-the manufacturer has to take his directions as to the kind of arms that
-are wanted, and again it is the statesman to whom the professional
-soldiers have to look for directions as to when and with what general
-objects in view they shall fight.  So the art which uses the things
-produced by another art is the superior and directing art; the art which
-makes the things, the inferior and subordinate art.  Hence the supreme
-practical art is politics, since it is the art which uses the products
-turned out by all other arts as means to its ends.  It is the business
-of politics, the art of the statesman, to prescribe to the practitioners
-of all other arts and professions the lines on which and the conditions
-under which they shall exercise their vocation with a view to securing
-the supreme practical end, the well-being of the community.  Among the
-other professions and arts which make the materials the statesman
-employs, the profession of the educator stands foremost.  The statesman
-is bound to demand certain qualities of mind and character in the
-individual citizens.  The production of these mental and moral qualities
-must therefore be the work of the educator.  It thus becomes an
-important branch of politics to specify the kind of mental and moral
-qualities which a statesman should require the educator to produce in
-his pupils.
-
-It is this branch of politics which Aristotle discusses in his _Ethics_.
-He never contemplates a study of the individual's good apart from
-politics, the study of the good of the society. What then is the good or
-the best kind of life for an individual member of society?  Aristotle
-answers that as far as the mere name is concerned, there is a general
-agreement to call the best life, _Eudaimonia_, Happiness.  But the real
-problem is one of fact.  What kind of life deserves to be called
-happiness? Plato had laid it down that the happy life must satisfy three
-conditions.  It must be desirable for its own sake, it must be
-sufficient of itself to satisfy us, and it must be the life a wise man
-would prefer to any other.  The question is, What general formula can we
-find which will define the life which satisfies these conditions?  To
-find the answer we have to consider what Plato and Aristotle call the
-work or function of man.  By the work of anything we mean what can only
-be done by it, or by it better than by anything else.  Thus the work of
-the eye is to see.  You cannot see with any other organ, and when the
-eye does this work of seeing well you say it is a good eye.  So we may
-say of any living being that its work is to live, and that it is a good
-being when it does this work of living efficiently. To do its own work
-efficiently is the excellence or virtue of the thing.  The excellence or
-virtue of a man will thus be to live efficiently, but since life can be
-manifested at different levels, if we would know what man's work is we
-must ask whether there is not some form of life which can _only_ be
-lived by man. Now the life which consists in merely feeding and growing
-belongs to all organisms and can be lived with equal vigour by them all.
-There is, however, a kind of life which can only be lived by man, the
-life which consists in conscious direction of one's actions by a rule.
-It is the work of man to live this kind of life, and his happiness
-consists in living it efficiently and well.  So we may give as the
-definition of human well-being that it is "an active life in accord with
-excellence, or if there are more forms of excellence than one, in accord
-with the best and completest of them"; and we must add "in a complete
-life" to show that mere promise not crowned by performance does not
-suffice to entitle man's life to be called happy.  We can see that this
-definition satisfies Plato's three conditions.  A vigorous and active
-living in a way which calls into play the specifically human capacities
-of man is desirable for its own sake, and preferable to any other life
-which could be proposed to us.  It too is the only life which can
-permanently satisfy men, but we must add that if such a life is to be
-lived adequately certain advantages of fortune must be presupposed. We
-cannot fully live a life of this kind if we are prevented from
-exercising our capacities by lack of means or health or friends and
-associates, and even the calamities which arise in the course of events
-may be so crushing as to hinder a man, for a time, from putting forth
-his full powers.  These external good things are not constituents of
-happiness, but merely necessary conditions of that exercise of our own
-capacities which is the happy life.
-
-In our definition of the happy life we said that it was one of activity
-in accord with goodness or excellence, and we left it an open question
-whether there are more kinds of such goodness than one.  On
-consideration we see that two kinds of goodness or excellence are
-required in living the happy life. The happy life for man is a life of
-conscious following of a rule.  To live it well, then, you need to know
-what the right rule to follow is, and you need also to follow it.  There
-are persons who deliberately follow a wrong rule of life--the wicked.
-There are others who know what the right rule is but fail to follow it
-because their tempers and appetites are unruly--the morally weak.  To
-live the happy life, then, two sorts of goodness are required.  You must
-have a good judgment as to what the right rule is (or if you cannot find
-it out for yourself, you must at least be able to recognise it when it
-is laid down by some one else, the teacher or lawgiver), and you must
-have your appetites, feelings, and emotions generally so trained that
-they obey the rule.  Hence excellence, goodness, or virtue is divided
-into goodness of intellect and goodness of character (moral goodness),
-the word _character_ being used for the complex of tempers, feelings,
-and the affective side of human nature generally.  In education goodness
-of character has to be produced by training and discipline before
-goodness of intellect can be imparted.  The young generally have to be
-trained to obey the right rule before they can see for themselves that
-it is the right rule, and if a man's tempers and passions are not first
-schooled into actual obedience to the rule he will in most cases never
-see that it is the right rule at all.  Hence Aristotle next goes on to
-discuss the general character of the kind of goodness he calls goodness
-of character, the right state of the feelings and passions.
-
-The first step towards understanding what goodness of character is is to
-consider the way in which it is actually produced.  We are not born with
-this goodness of tempers and feelings ready made, nor yet do we obtain
-it by theoretical instruction; it is a result of a training and
-discipline of the feelings and impulses.  The possibility of such a
-training is due to the fact that feelings and impulses are rational
-capacities, and a rational capacity can be developed into either of two
-contrasted activities according to the training it receives.  You cannot
-train stones to fall upwards, but you can train a hot temper to display
-itself either in the form of righteous resentment of wrong-doing or in
-that of violent defiance of all authority.  Our natural emotions and
-impulses are in themselves neither good nor bad; they are the raw
-material out of which training makes good or bad character according to
-the direction it gives to them.  The effect of training is to convert
-the indeterminate tendency into a fixed habit.  We may say, then, that
-moral goodness is a fixed state of the soul produced by habituation.  By
-being trained in habits of endurance, self-mastery, and fair dealing, we
-acquire the kind of character to which it is pleasing to act bravely,
-continently, and fairly, and disagreeable to act unfairly, profligately,
-or like a coward. When habituation has brought about this result the
-moral excellences in question have become part of our inmost self and we
-are in full possession of goodness of character.  In a word, it is by
-repeated doing of right acts that we acquire the right kind of
-character.
-
-But what general characteristics distinguish right acts and right habits
-from wrong ones?  Aristotle is guided in answering the question by an
-analogy which is really at the bottom of all Greek thinking on morality.
-The thought is that goodness is in the soul what health and fitness are
-in the body, and that the preceptor is for the soul what the physician
-or the trainer is for the body.  Now it was a well-known medical theory,
-favoured by both Plato and Aristotle, that health in the body means a
-condition of balance or equilibration among the elements of which it is
-composed.  When the hot and the cold, the moist and the dry in the
-composition of the human frame exactly balance one another, the body is
-in perfect health.  Hence the object of the regimen of the physician or
-the trainer is to produce and maintain a proper balance or proportion
-between the ingredients of the body.  Any course which disturbs this
-balance is injurious to health and strength. You damage your health if
-you take too much food or exercise, and also if you take too little.
-The same thing is true of health in the soul.  Our soul's health may be
-injured by allowing too much or too little play to any of our natural
-impulses or feelings.  We may lay it down, then, that the kind of
-training which gives rise to a good habit is training in the avoidance
-of the opposite errors of the too much and the too little.  And since
-the effect of training is to produce habits which issue in the
-spontaneous performance of the same kind of acts by which the habits
-were acquired, we may say not merely that goodness of character is
-produced by acts which exhibit a proper balance or mean, but that it is
-a settled habit of acting so as to exhibit the same balance or
-proportion. Hence the formal definition of goodness of character is that
-it is "a settled condition of the soul which wills or chooses the mean
-relatively to ourselves, this mean being determined by a rule or
-whatever we like to call that by which the wise man determines it."
-
-There are several points in this definition of the mean upon which moral
-virtue depends of which we must take note unless we are to misunderstand
-Aristotle seriously.  To begin with, the definition expressly says that
-"moral goodness is a state of will or choice."  Thus it is not enough
-that one should follow the rule of the mean outwardly in one's actions;
-one's personal will must be regulated by it.  Goodness of character is
-inward; it is not merely outward.  Next we must not suppose that
-Aristotle means that the "just enough" is the same for all our feelings,
-that every impulse has a moral right to the same authority in shaping
-our conduct as any other.  How much or how little is the just enough in
-connection with a given spring of action is one of the things which the
-wise man's rule has to determine, just as the wise physician's rule may
-determine that a very little quantity is the just enough in the case of
-some articles of diet or curative drugs, while in the case of others the
-just enough may be a considerable amount.  Also the right mean is not
-the same for every one.  What we have to attain is the mean relatively
-to _ourselves_, and this will be different for persons of different
-constitutions and in different conditions.  It is this relativity of the
-just enough to the individual's personality and circumstances which
-makes it impossible to lay down precise rules of conduct applicable
-alike to everybody, and renders the practical attainment of goodness so
-hard.  It is my duty to spend some part of my income in buying books on
-philosophy, but no general rule will tell me what percentage of my
-income is the right amount for me to spend in this way.  That depends on
-a host of considerations, such as the excess of my income above my
-necessary expenses and the like.  Or again, the just enough may vary
-with the same man according to the circumstances of the particular case.
-No rule of thumb application of a formula will decide such problems.
-Hence Aristotle insists that the right mean in the individual case has
-always to be determined by immediate insight.  This is precisely why
-goodness of intellect needs to be added to goodness of character.  His
-meaning is well brought out by an illustration which I borrow from
-Professor Burnet. "On a given occasion there will be a temperature which
-is just right for my morning bath.  If the bath is hotter than this, it
-will be too hot; if it is colder, it will be too cold.  But as this just
-right temperature varies with the condition of my body, it cannot be
-ascertained by simply using a thermometer. If I am in good general
-health I shall, however, know by the feel of the water when the
-temperature is right.  So if I am in good moral health I shall know,
-without appealing to a formal code of maxims, what is the right degree,
-_e.g._ of indignation to show in a given case, how it should be shown
-and towards whom."  Thus we see why Aristotle demands goodness of
-character as a preliminary condition of goodness of intellect or
-judgment in moral matters.  Finally, if we ask by _what_ rule the mean
-is determined, the answer will be that the rule is the judgment of the
-legislator who determines what is the right mean by his knowledge of the
-conditions on which the well-being of the community depends.  He then
-embodies his insight in the laws which he makes and the regulations he
-imposes on the educators of youth.  The final aim of education in
-goodness is to make our immediate judgment as to what is right coincide
-with the spirit of a wise legislation.
-
-The introduction of the reference to will or choice into the definition
-of goodness of character leads Aristotle to consider the relation of
-will to conduct.  His main object is to escape the paradoxical doctrine
-which superficial students might derive from the works of Plato, that
-wrong-doing is always well-meaning ignorance.  Aristotle's point is that
-it is the condition of will revealed by men's acts which is the real
-object of our approval or blame.  This is because in voluntary action
-the man himself is the efficient cause of his act.  Hence the law
-recognises only two grounds on which a man may plead, that he is not
-answerable for what he does.  (1) Actual physical compulsion by _force
-majeure_.  (2) Ignorance, not due to the man's own previous negligence,
-of some circumstances material to the issue.  When either of these pleas
-can be made with truth the man does not really contribute by his choice
-to the resulting act, and therefore is not really its cause. But a plea
-of ignorance of the general laws of morality does not excuse.  I cannot
-escape responsibility for a murder by pleading that I did not know that
-murder is wrong.  Such a plea does not exempt me from having been the
-cause of the murder; it only shows that my moral principles are
-depraved.
-
-More precisely will is a process which has both an intellectual and an
-appetitive element.  The appetitive element is our wish for some result.
-The intellectual factor is the calculation of the steps by which that
-result may be obtained. When we wish for the result we begin to consider
-how it might be brought about, and we continue our analysis until we
-find that the chain of conditions requisite may be started by the
-performance of some act now in our power to do.  Will may thus be
-defined as the deliberate appetition of something within our power, and
-the very definition shows that our choice is an efficient cause of the
-acts we choose to do.  This is why we rightly regard men as responsible
-or answerable for their acts of choice, good and bad alike.
-
-From the analysis of goodness of character, we proceed to that of
-goodness of intellect.  The important point is to decide which of all
-the forms of goodness of intellect is that which must be combined with
-goodness of character to make a man fit to be a citizen of the state.
-It must be a kind of intellectual excellence which makes a man see what
-the right rule by which the mean is determined is.  Now when we come to
-consider the different excellences of intellect we find that they all
-fall under one of two heads, theoretical or speculative wisdom and
-practical wisdom.
-
-Theoretical wisdom is contained in the sciences which give us universal
-truths about the fixed and unalterable relations of the things in the
-universe, or, as we should say, which teach us the laws of Nature.  Its
-method is syllogism, the function of which is to make us see how the
-more complex truths are implied in simpler principles.  Practical wisdom
-is intelligence as employed in controlling and directing human life to
-the production of the happy life for a community, and it is this form of
-intellectual excellence which we require of the statesman.  It is
-required of him not only that he should know in general what things are
-good for man, but also that he should be able to judge correctly that in
-given circumstances such and such an act is the one which will secure
-the good.  He must not only know the right rule itself, which
-corresponds to the major premiss of syllogism in theoretical science,
-but he must understand the character of particular acts so as to see
-that they fall under the right rule.  Thus the method of practical
-wisdom will be analogous to that of theoretical wisdom.  In both cases
-what we have to do is to see that certain special facts are cases of a
-general law or rule.  Hence Aristotle calls the method of practical
-wisdom the practical syllogism or syllogism of action, since its
-peculiarity is that what issues from the putting together of the
-premisses is not an assertion but the performance of an act.  In the
-syllogism of action, the conclusion, that is to say, the performance of
-a given act, just as in the syllogism of theory, is connected with the
-rule given in the major premiss by a statement of fact; thus _e.g._ the
-performance of a specific act such as the writing of this book is
-connected with the general rule what helps to spread knowledge ought to
-be done by the conviction that the writing of this book helps to spread
-knowledge.  Our perception of such a fact is like a sense-perception in
-its directness and immediacy.  We see therefore that the kind of
-intellectual excellence which the statesman must possess embraces at
-once a right conception of the general character of the life which is
-best for man, because it calls into play his specific capacities as a
-human being, and also a sound judgment in virtue of which he sees
-correctly that particular acts are expressions of this good for man.
-This, then, is what we mean by practical wisdom.
-
-So far, then, it would seem that the best life for man is just the life
-of co-operation in the life of the state, which man, being the only
-political animal or animal capable of life in a state, has as his
-peculiar work, and as if the end of all moral education should be to
-make us good and efficient citizens. But in the _Ethics_, as elsewhere,
-the end of Aristotle's argument has a way of forgetting the beginning.
-We find that there is after all a still higher life open to man than
-that of public affairs.  Affairs and business of all kinds are only
-undertaken as means to getting leisure, just as civilised men go to war,
-not for the love of war itself, but to secure peace. The highest aim of
-life, then, is not the carrying on of political business for its own
-sake, but the worthy and noble employment of leisure, the periods in
-which we are our own masters. It has the advantage that it depends more
-purely on ourselves and our own internal resources than any other life
-of which we know, for it needs very little equipment with external goods
-as compared with any form of the life of action.  It calls into play the
-very highest of our own capacities as intelligent beings, and for that
-very reason the active living of it is attended with the purest of all
-pleasures.  In it, moreover, we enter at intervals and for a little
-while, so far as the conditions of our mundane existence allow, into the
-life which God enjoys through an unbroken eternity.  Thus we reach the
-curious paradox that while the life of contemplation is said to be that
-of our truest self, it is also maintained that this highest and happiest
-life is one which we live, not in respect of being human, but in respect
-of having a divine something in us. When we ask what this life of
-contemplation includes, we see from references in the _Politics_ that it
-includes the genuinely �sthetic appreciation of good literature and
-music and pictorial and plastic art, but there can be no doubt that what
-bulks most largely in Aristotle's mind is the active pursuit of science
-for its own sake, particularly of such studies as First Philosophy and
-Physics, which deal with the fundamental structure of the universe.
-Aristotle thus definitely ends by placing the life of the scholar and
-the student on the very summit of felicity.
-
-It is from this doctrine that medi�val Christianity derives its
-opposition between the _vita contemplativa_ and _vita activa_ and its
-preference for the former, though in the medi�val mind the contemplative
-life has come to mean generally a kind of brooding over theological
-speculations and of absorption in mystical ecstasy very foreign to the
-spirit of Aristotle.  The types by which the contrast of the two lives
-is illustrated, Rachael and Leah, Mary and Martha, are familiar to all
-readers of Christian literature.
-
-+The Theory of the State+.--Man is by nature a political animal, a being
-who can only develop his capacities by sharing in the life of a
-community.  Hence Aristotle definitely rejects the view that the state
-or society is a mere creature of convention or agreement, an institution
-made by compact between individuals for certain special ends, not
-growing naturally out of the universal demands and aspirations of
-humanity.  Mankind, he urges, have never existed at all as isolated
-individuals.  Some rudimentary form of social organisation is to be
-found wherever men are to be found.  The actual stages in the
-development of social organisation have been three--the family, the
-village community, the city state.  In the very rudest forms of social
-life known to us, the patriarchal family, not the individual, is the
-social unit.  Men lived at first in separate families under the control
-of the head of the family.  Now a family is made up in its simplest form
-of at least three persons, a man, his wife, and a servant or slave to do
-the hard work, though very poor men often have to replace the servant by
-an ox as the drudge of all work.  Children when they come swell the
-number, and thus we see the beginnings of complex social relations of
-subordination in the family itself.  It involves three such distinct
-relations, that of husband and wife, that of parent and child, that of
-master and man.  The family passes into the village community, partly by
-the tendency of several families of common descent to remain together
-under the direction of the oldest male member of the group, partly by
-the association of a number of distinct families for purposes of mutual
-help and protection against common dangers.  Neither of these forms of
-association, however, makes adequate provision for the most permanent
-needs of human nature.  Complete security for a permanent supply of
-material necessaries and adequate protection only come when a number of
-such scattered communities pool their resources, and surround themselves
-with a city wall. The city state, which has come into being in this way,
-proves adequate to provide from its own internal resources for all the
-spiritual as well as the material needs of its members.  Hence the
-independent city state does not grow as civilisation advances into any
-higher form of organisation, as the family and village grew into it.  It
-is the end, the last word of social progress. It is amazing to us that
-this piece of cheap conservatism should have been uttered at the very
-time when the system of independent city states had visibly broken down,
-and a former pupil of Aristotle himself was founding a gigantic empire
-to take their place as the vehicle of civilisation.
-
-The end for which the state exists is not merely its own
-self-perpetuation.  As we have seen, Aristotle assigns a higher value to
-the life of the student than to the life of practical affairs.  Since it
-is only in the civilised state that the student can pursue his vocation,
-the ultimate reason for which the state exists is to educate its
-citizens in such a way as shall fit them to make the noble use of
-leisure.  In the end the state itself is a means to the spiritual
-cultivation of its individual members. This implies that the chosen few,
-who have a vocation to make full use of the opportunities provided for
-leading this life of noble leisure, are the real end for the sake of
-which society exists. The other citizens who have no qualification for
-any life higher than that of business and affairs are making the most of
-themselves in devoting their lives to the conduct and maintenance of the
-organisation whose full advantages they are unequal to share in.  It is
-from this point of view also that Aristotle treats the social problem of
-the existence of a class whose whole life is spent in doing the hard
-work of society, and thus setting the citizen body free to make the best
-use it can of leisure.  In the conditions of life in the Greek world
-this class consisted mainly of slaves, and thus the problem Aristotle
-has to face is the moral justifiability of slavery.  We must remember
-that he knew slavery only in its comparatively humane Hellenic form. The
-slaves of whom he speaks were household servants and assistants in small
-businesses.  He had not before his eyes the system of enormous
-industries carried on by huge gangs of slaves under conditions of
-revolting degradation which disgraced the later Roman Republic and the
-early Roman Empire, or the Southern States of North America.  His
-problems are in all essentials much the same as those which concern us
-to-day in connection with the social position of the classes who do the
-hard bodily work of the community.
-
-Much consideration is given in the _Politics_ to the classification of
-the different types of constitution possible for the city-state.  The
-current view was that there are three main types distinguished by the
-number of persons who form the sovereign political authority, monarchy,
-in which sovereign power belongs to a single person; oligarchy, in which
-it is in the hands of a select few; democracy, in which it is enjoyed by
-the whole body of the citizens.  Aristotle observes, correctly, that the
-really fundamental distinction between a Greek oligarchy and a Greek
-democracy was that the former was government by the propertied classes,
-the latter government by the masses.  Hence the watchword of democracy
-was always that all political rights should belong equally to all
-citizens, that of oligarchy that a man's political status should be
-graded according to his "stake in the country."  Both ideals are,
-according to him, equally mistaken, since the real end of government,
-which both overlook, is the promotion of the "good life."  In a state
-which recognises this ideal, an aristocracy or government by the best,
-only the "best" men will possess the full rights of citizenship, whether
-they are many or few.  There might even be a monarch at the head of such
-a state, if it happened to contain some one man of outstanding
-intellectual and moral worth.  Such a state should be the very opposite
-of a great imperial power.  It should, that its cultivation may be the
-more intensive, be as small as is compatible with complete independence
-of outside communities for its material and spiritual sustenance, and
-its territory should only be large enough to provide its members with
-the permanent possibility of ample leisure, so long as they are content
-with plain and frugal living.  Though it ought not, for military and
-other reasons, to be cut off from communication with the sea, the great
-military and commercial high road of the Greek world, it ought not to be
-near enough to the coast to run any risk of imperilling its moral
-cultivation by becoming a great emporium, like the Athens of Pericles.
-In the organisation of the society care should be taken to exclude the
-agricultural and industrial population from full citizenship, which
-carries with it the right to appoint and to be appointed as
-administrative magistrates.  This is because these classes, having no
-opportunity for the worthy employment of leisure, cannot be trusted to
-administer the state for the high ends which it is its true function to
-further.
-
-Thus Aristotle's political ideal is that of a small but leisured and
-highly cultivated aristocracy, without large fortunes or any remarkable
-differences in material wealth, free from the spirit of adventure and
-enterprise, pursuing the arts and sciences quietly while its material
-needs are supplied by the labour of a class excluded from citizenship,
-kindly treated but without prospects.  Weimar, in the days when
-Thackeray knew it as a lad, would apparently reproduce the ideal better
-than any other modern state one can think of.
-
-The object of the _Politics_ is, however, not merely to discuss the
-ideal state but to give practical advice to men who might be looking
-forward to actual political life, and would therefore largely have to be
-content with making the best of existing institutions.  In the absence
-of the ideal aristocracy, Aristotle's preference is for what he calls
-Polity or constitutional government, a sort of compromise between
-oligarchy and democracy. Of course a practical statesman may have to
-work with a theoretically undesirable constitution, such as an oligarchy
-or an unqualified democracy.  But it is only in an ideal constitution
-that the education which makes its subject a good man, in the
-philosopher's sense of the word, will also make him a good citizen.  If
-the constitution is bad, then the education best fitted to make a man
-loyal to it may have to be very different from that which you would
-choose to make him a good man. The discussion of the kind of education
-desirable for the best kind of state, in which to be a loyal citizen and
-to be a good man are the same thing, is perhaps the most permanently
-valuable part of the _Politics_.  Though Aristotle's writings on
-"practical" philosophy have been more read in modern times than any
-other part of his works, they are far from being his best and most
-thorough performances.  In no department of his thought is he quite so
-slavishly dependent on his master Plato as in the theory of the "good
-for man" and the character of "moral" excellence.  No Aristotelian work
-is quite so commonplace in its handling of a vast subject as the
-_Politics_. In truth his interest in these social questions is not of
-the deepest.  He is, in accordance with his view of the superiority of
-"theoretical science," entirely devoid of the spirit of the social
-reformer.  What he really cares about is "theology" and "physics," and
-the fact that the objects of the educational regulations of the
-_Politics_ are all designed to encourage the study of these
-"theoretical" sciences, makes this section of the _Politics_ still one
-of the most valuable expositions of the aims and requirements of a
-"liberal" education.
-
-All education must be under public control, and education must be
-universal and compulsory.  Public control is necessary, not merely to
-avoid educational anarchy, but because it is a matter of importance to
-the community that its future citizens should be trained in the way
-which will make them most loyal to the constitution and the ends it is
-designed to subserve.  Even in one of the "bad" types of state, where
-the life which the constitution tends to foster is not the highest, the
-legislator's business is to see that education is directed towards
-fostering the "spirit of the constitution."  There is to be an
-"atmosphere" which impregnates the whole of the teaching, and it is to
-be an "atmosphere" of public spirit.  The only advantage which Aristotle
-sees in private education is that it allows of more modification of
-programme to meet the special needs of the individual pupil than a rigid
-state education which is to be the same for all.  The actual regulations
-which Aristotle lays down are not very different from those of Plato.
-Both philosophers hold that "primary" education, in the early years of
-life, should aim partly at promoting bodily health and growth by a
-proper system of physical exercises, partly at influencing character and
-giving a refined and elevated tone to the mind by the study of letters,
-art, and music.  Both agree that this should be followed in the later
-"teens" by two or three years of specially rigorous systematic military
-training combined with a taste of actual service in the less exhausting
-and less dangerous parts of a soldier's duty.  It is only after this, at
-about the age at which young men now take a "university" course, that
-Plato and Aristotle would have the serious scientific training of the
-intellect begun.  The _Politics_ leaves the subject just at the point
-where the young men are ready to undergo their special military
-training.  Thus we do not know with certainty what scientific curriculum
-Aristotle would have recommended, though we may safely guess that it
-would have contained comparatively little pure mathematics, but a great
-deal of astronomy, cosmology, and biology.
-
-With respect to the "primary" education Aristotle has a good deal to
-say.  As "forcing" is always injurious, it should not be begun too soon.
-For the first five years a child's life should be given up to healthy
-play.  Great care must be taken that children are not allowed to be too
-much with "servants," from whom they may imbibe low tastes, and that
-they are protected against any familiarity with indecency.  From five to
-seven a child may begin to make a first easy acquaintance with the life
-of the school by looking on at the lessons of its elders.  The real work
-of school education is to begin at seven and not before.
-
-We next have to consider what should be the staple subjects of an
-education meant not for those who are to follow some particular calling,
-but for all the full citizens of a state. Aristotle's view is that some
-"useful" subjects must, of course, be taught.  Reading and writing, for
-instance, are useful for the discharge of the business of life, though
-their commercial utility is not the highest value which they have for
-us.  But care must be taken that only those "useful" studies which are
-also "liberal" should be taught; "illiberal" or "mechanical" subjects
-must not have any place in the curriculum.  A "liberal" education means,
-as the name shows, one which will tend to make its recipient a "free
-man," and not a slave in body and soul.  The mechanical crafts were felt
-by Aristotle to be illiberal because they leave a man no leisure to make
-the best of body and mind; practice of them sets a stamp on the body and
-narrows the mind's outlook.  In principle then, no study should form a
-subject of the universal curriculum if its only value is that it
-prepares a man for a profession followed as a means of making a living.
-General education, all-round training which aims at the development of
-body and mind for its own sake, must be kept free from the intrusion of
-everything which has a merely commercial value and tends to contract the
-mental vision.  It is the same principle which we rightly employ
-ourselves when we maintain that a university education ought not to
-include specialisation on merely "technical" or "professional" studies.
-The useful subjects which have at the same time a higher value as
-contributing to the formation of taste and character and serving to
-elevate and refine the mind include, besides reading and writing, which
-render great literature accessible to us, bodily culture (the true
-object of which is not merely to make the body strong and hardy, but to
-develop the moral qualities of grace and courage), music, and drawing.
-Aristotle holds that the real reason for making children learn music is
-(1) that the artistic appreciation of really great music is one of the
-ways in which "leisure" may be worthily employed, and to appreciate
-music rightly we must have some personal training in musical execution;
-(2) that all art, and music in particular, has a direct influence on
-character.
-
-Plato and Aristotle, though they differ on certain points of detail, are
-agreed that the influence of music on character, for good or bad, is
-enormous.  Music, they say, is the most imitative of all the arts.  The
-various rhythms, times, and scales imitate different tempers and
-emotional moods, and it is a fundamental law of our nature that we grow
-like what we take pleasure in seeing or having imitated or represented
-for us. Hence if we are early accustomed to take pleasure in the
-imitation of the manly, resolute, and orderly, these qualities will in
-time become part of our own nature.  This is why right musical education
-is so important that Plato declared that the revolutionary spirit always
-makes its first appearance in innovations on established musical form.
-
-There is, however, one important difference between the two philosophers
-which must be noted, because it concerns Aristotle's chief contribution
-to the philosophy of fine art.  Plato had in the _Republic_ proposed to
-expel florid, languishing, or unduly exciting forms of music not only
-from the schoolroom, but from life altogether, on the ground of their
-unwholesome tendency to foster an unstable and morbid character in those
-who enjoy them.  For the same reason he had proposed the entire
-suppression of tragic drama.  Aristotle has a theory which is directly
-aimed against this overstrained Puritanism. He holds that the exciting
-and sensational art which would be very bad as daily food may be very
-useful as an occasional medicine for the soul.  He would retain even the
-most sensational forms of music on account of what he calls their
-"purgative" value.  In the same spirit he asserts that the function of
-tragedy, with its sensational representations of the calamities of its
-heroes, is "by the vehicle of fear and pity to purge our minds of those
-and similar emotions."  The explanation of the theory is to be sought in
-the literal sense of the medical term "purgative."  According to the
-medical view which we have already found influencing his ethical
-doctrine, health consists in the maintenance of an equality between the
-various ingredients of the body.  Every now and again it happens that
-there arise superfluous accretions of some one ingredient, which are not
-carried away in the normal routine of bodily life. These give rise to
-serious derangement of function and may permanently injure the working
-of the organism, unless they are removed in time by a medicine which
-acts as a purge, and clears the body of a superfluous accumulation.  The
-same thing also happens in the life of the soul.  So long as we are in
-good spiritual health our various feelings and emotional moods will be
-readily discharged in action, in the course of our daily life. But there
-is always the possibility of an excessive accumulation of emotional
-"moods" for which the routine of daily life does not provide an adequate
-discharge in action.  Unless this tendency is checked we may contract
-dangerously morbid habits of soul.  Thus we need some medicine for the
-soul against this danger, which may be to it what a purgative is to the
-body.
-
-Now it was a well-known fact, observed in connection with some of the
-more extravagant religious cults, that persons suffering from an excess
-of religious frenzy might be cured homoeopathically, so to say, by
-artificially arousing the very emotion in question by the use of
-exciting music.  Aristotle extends the principle by suggesting that in
-the artificial excitement aroused by violently stimulating music or in
-the transports of sympathetic apprehension and pity with which we follow
-the disasters of the stage-hero, we have a safe and ready means of
-ridding ourselves of morbid emotional strain which might otherwise have
-worked havoc with the efficient conduct of real life.
-
-The great value of this defence of the occasional employment of
-sensation as a medicine for the soul is obvious.  Unhappily it would
-seem to have so dominated Aristotle's thought on the functions of
-dramatic art as to blind him to what we are accustomed to think the
-nobler functions of tragedy.  No book has had a more curious fate than
-the little manual for intending composers of tragedies which is all that
-remains to us of Aristotle's lectures on Poetry.  This is not the place
-to tell the story of the way in which the great classical French
-playwrights, who hopelessly misunderstood the meaning of Aristotle's
-chief special directions, but quite correctly divined that his lectures
-were meant to be an actual _Vade Mecum_ for the dramatist, deliberately
-constructed their masterpieces in absolute submission to regulations for
-which they had no better reasons than that they had once been given
-magisterially by an ancient Greek philosopher.  But it may be worth
-while to remark that the worth of Aristotle's account of tragedy as
-art-criticism has probably been vastly overrated.  From first to last
-the standpoint he assumes, in his verdicts on the great tragic poets, is
-that of the gallery.  What he insists on all through, probably because
-he has the purgative effect of the play always in his mind, is a
-well-woven plot with plenty of melodramatic surprise in the incidents
-and a thoroughly sensational culmination in a sense of unrelieved
-catastrophe over which the spectator can have a good cry, and so get
-well "purged" of his superfluous emotion.  It is clear from his repeated
-allusions that the play he admired above all others was the _King
-Oedipus_ of Sophocles, but it is equally clear that he admired it not
-for the profound insight into human life and destiny or the deep sense
-of the mystery of things which some modern critics have found in it, but
-because its plot is the best and most startling detective story ever
-devised, and its finale a triumph of melodramatic horror.
-
-
-
-
-                             *BIBLIOGRAPHY*
-
-
-The English reader who wishes for further information about Aristotle
-and his philosophy may be referred to any or all of the following
-works:--
-
-E. Zeller.--_Aristotle and the Earlier Peripatetics_.  English
-translation in 2 vols. by B. F. C. Costelloe and J. H. Muirhead. London.
-Longmans & Co.
-
-*E. Wallace.--_Outlines of the Philosophy of Aristotle_.  Cambridge
-University Press.
-
-G. Grote.--_Aristotle_.  London.  John Murray.
-
-*W. D. Ross.--_The Works of Aristotle translated into English_, vol.
-viii., _Metaphysics_.  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.
-
-*A. E. Taylor.--_Aristotle on his Predecessor_.  (_Metaphysics_, Bk. I.,
-translated with notes, &c.) Chicago.  Open Court Publishing Co.
-
-G. D. Hicks.--_Aristotle de Anima_ (Greek text, English translation,
-Commentary).  Cambridge University Press.
-
-*D. P. Chase.--_The Ethics of Aristotle_.  Walter Scott Co.
-
-*J. Burnet.--_Aristotle on Education_.  (English translation of
-_Ethics_, Bks. I.-III. 5, X. 6 to end; _Politics_, VIII. 17, VIII.)
-Cambridge University Press.
-
-*B. Jowett.--_The Politics of Aristotle_.  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.
-
-*I. Bywater.--_Aristotle on the Art of Poetry_.  (Greek Text, English
-Translation, Commentary.)  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.
-
-J. I. Beare and W. D. Ross.--_The Works of Aristotle translated into
-English_, Pt. I.  (_Parvu Naturalia_, the minor psychological works.)
-Oxford.  Clarendon Press.
-
-J. I. Beare.--_Greek Theories of Elementary Cognition from Alemacon to
-Aristotle_.  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.
-
-The works marked by an asterisk will probably be found most useful for
-the beginner.  No works in foreign languages and no editions not
-accompanied by an English translation have been mentioned.
-
-There is at present no satisfactory complete translation of Aristotle
-into English.  One, of which two volumes have been mentioned above, is
-in course of production at the Clarendon Press, Oxford, under the
-editorship of J. A. Smith and W. D. Ross.
-
-
-
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-Harcourt, M.P.
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-Prof. Ramsay Muir, M.A.
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-M.A.
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+  <title>ARISTOTLE</title>
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+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 48002 ***</div>
+  <div class="document" id="aristotle">
+    <h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">ARISTOTLE</span></h1>
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+      <tr>
+        <td>THERE IS AN EXPANDED EDITION OF THIS TITLE WITH LINKED FOOTNOTES AND INDEX WHICH MAY VIEWED AT EBOOK <big><b><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45851">[# 45851 ]</a></b></big></td>
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+      <p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold xx-large">ARISTOTLE</span></p>
+      <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+      <p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY A. E. TAYLOR, M.A., D.LITT., F.B.A.</span></p>
+      <div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"></div>
+      <p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">LONDON: T. C. &amp; E. C. JACK<br />
+      67 LONG ACRE, W.C., AND EDINBURGH<br />
+      NEW YORK: DODGE PUBLISHING CO.</span></p>
+      <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
+    </div>
+    <p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS</span></p>
+    <p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">CHAP.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>I.</span> <a class="reference internal" href="#life-and-works">LIFE AND WORKS</a></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>II.</span> <a class="reference internal" href="#the-classification-of-the-sciences-scientific-method">THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES: SCIENTIFIC METHOD</a></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>III.</span> <a class="reference internal" href="#first-philosophy">FIRST PHILOSOPHY</a></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>IV.</span> <a class="reference internal" href="#physics">PHYSICS</a></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>V.</span> <a class="reference internal" href="#practical-philosophy">PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY</a></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#bibliography">BIBLIOGRAPHY</a></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst" id="life-and-works"><span class="bold x-large">ARISTOTLE</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I</span></p>
+    <p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">LIFE AND WORKS</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>It has not commonly been the lot of philosophers, as it is of great poets, that their names should become household words. We should hardly call an Englishman well read if he had not heard the name of Sophocles or Molière. An educated man is expected to know at least who these great writers were, and to understand an allusion to the</span> <em class="italics">Antigone</em> <span>or</span> <em class="italics">Le Misanthrope</em><span>. But we call a man well read if his mind is stored with the verse of poets and the prose of historians, even though he were ignorant of the name of Descartes or Kant. Yet there are a few philosophers whose influence on thought and language has been so extensive that no one who reads can be ignorant of their names, and that every man who speaks the language of educated Europeans is constantly using their vocabulary. Among this few Aristotle holds not the lowest place. We have all heard of him, as we have all heard of Homer. He has left his impress so firmly on theology that many of the formulae of the Churches are unintelligible without acquaintance with his conception of the universe. If we are interested in the growth of modern science we shall readily discover for ourselves that some knowledge of Aristotelianism is necessary for the understanding of Bacon and Galileo and the other great anti-Aristotelians who created the "modern scientific" view of Nature. If we turn to the imaginative literature of the modern languages, Dante is a sealed book, and many a passage of Chaucer and Shakespeare and Milton is half unmeaning to us unless we are at home in the outlines of Aristotle's philosophy. And if we turn to ordinary language, we find that many of the familiar turns of modern speech cannot be fully understood without a knowledge of the doctrines they were first forged to express. An Englishman who speaks of the "golden mean" or of "liberal education," or contrasts the "matter" of a work of literature with its "form," or the "essential" features of a situation or a scheme of policy with its "accidents," or "theory" with "practice," is using words which derive their significance from the part they play in the vocabulary of Aristotle. The unambitious object of this little book is, then, to help the English reader to a better understanding of such familiar language and a fuller comprehension of much that he will find in Dante and Shakespeare and Bacon.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Life of Aristotle.</strong><span>--The main facts of Aristotle's life may be briefly told. He was born in 385-4 B.C. at Stagirus, a little city of the Chalcidic peninsula, still called, almost by its ancient name, Chalcis, and died at the age of sixty-two at Chalcis in Euboea. Thus he is a contemporary of Demosthenes, his manhood witnessed the struggle which ended in the establishment of the Macedonian monarchy as the dominant power in Hellas, and his later years the campaigns in which his pupil Alexander the Great overthrew the Persian Empire and carried Greek civilisation to the banks of the Jumna. In studying the constitutional theories of Aristotle, it is necessary to bear these facts in mind. They help to explain certain limitations of outlook which might otherwise appear strange in so great a man. It throws a great deal of light on the philosopher's intense conviction of the natural inferiority of the "barbarian" intellect and character to remember that he grew up in an outlying region where the "barbarian" was seen to disadvantage in the ordinary course of life. Hence the distinction between Greek and "barbarian" came to mean for him much what the "colour-line" does to an American brought up in a Southern State. So, again, when we are struck by his "provincialism," his apparent satisfaction with the ideal of a small self-contained city-state with a decently oligarchical government, a good system of public education, and no "social problems," but devoid alike of great traditions and far-reaching ambitions, we must remember that the philosopher himself belonged to just such a tiny community without a past and without a future. The Chalcidic cities had been first founded, as the name of the peninsula implies, as colonies from the town of Chalcis in Euboea; Corinth had also been prominent in establishing settlements in the same region. At the height of Athenian Imperial prosperity in the age of Pericles the district had fallen politically under Athenian control, but had been detached again from Athens, in the last years of the Archidamian war, by the genius of the great Spartan soldier and diplomat Brasidas. Early in the fourth century the Chalcidic cities had attempted to form themselves into an independent federation, but the movement had been put down by Sparta, and the cities had fallen under the control of the rising Macedonian monarchy, when Aristotle was a baby. A generation later, a double intrigue of the cities with Philip of Macedon and Athens failed of its effect, and the peninsula was finally incorporated with the Macedonian kingdom. It is also important to note that the philosopher belonged by birth to a guild, the Asclepiadae, in which the medical profession was hereditary. His father Nicomachus was court physician to Amyntas II., the king for whose benefit the Spartans had put down the Chalcidic league. This early connection with medicine and with the Macedonian court explains largely both the predominantly biological cast of Aristotle's philosophical thought and the intense dislike of "princes" and courts to which he more than once gives expression. At the age of eighteen, in 367-6, Aristotle was sent to Athens for "higher" education in philosophy and science, and entered the famous Platonic Academy, where he remained as a member of the scientific group gathered round the master for twenty years, until Plato's death in 347-6. For the three years immediately following Aristotle was in Asia Minor with his friend and fellow-student Hermeias, who had become by force of sheer capacity monarch of the city of Atarneus in the Troad, and was maintaining himself with much energy against the Persian king. Pythias, the niece of Hermeias, became the philosopher's wife, and it seems that the marriage was happy. Examination of Aristotle's contributions to marine biology has shown that his knowledge of the subject is specially good for the Aeolic coast and the shores of the adjacent islands. This throws light on his occupations during his residence with Hermeias, and suggests that Plato had discerned the bent of his distinguished pupil's mind, and that his special share in the researches of the Academy had, like that of Speusippus, Plato's nephew and successor in the headship of the school, been largely of a biological kind. We also know that, presumably shortly after Plato's death, Aristotle had been one of the group of disciples who edited their teacher's unpublished lectures. In 343 Hermeias was assassinated at the instigation of Persia; Aristotle honoured his memory by a hymn setting forth the godlikeness of virtue as illustrated by the life of his friend. Aristotle now removed to the Macedonian court, where he received the position of tutor to the Crown Prince, afterwards Alexander the Great, at this time (343 B.C.) a boy of thirteen. The association of the great philosopher and the great king as tutor and pupil has naturally struck the imagination of later ages; even in Plutarch's</span> <em class="italics">Life of Alexander</em> <span>we meet already with the full-blown legend of the influence of Aristotle's philosophical speculations on Alexander. It is, however, improbable that Aristotle's influence counted for much in forming the character of Alexander. Aristotle's dislike of monarchies and their accessories is written large on many a page of his</span> <em class="italics">Ethics</em> <span>and</span> <em class="italics">Politics</em><span>; the small self-contained city-state with no political ambitions for which he reserves his admiration would have seemed a mere relic of antiquity to Philip and Alexander. The only piece of contemporary evidence as to the relations between the master and the pupil is a sentence in a letter to the young Alexander from the Athenian publicist Isocrates who maliciously congratulates the prince on his preference for "rhetoric," the art of efficient public speech, and his indifference to "logic-choppers." How little sympathy Aristotle can have had with his pupil's ambitions is shown by the fact that though his political theories must have been worked out during the very years in which Alexander was revolutionising Hellenism by the foundation of his world-empire, they contain no allusion to so momentous a change in the social order. For all that Aristotle tells us, Alexander might never have existed, and the small city-state might have been the last word of Hellenic political development. Hence it is probable that the selection of Aristotle, who had not yet appeared before the world as an independent thinker, to take part in the education of the Crown Prince was due less to personal reputation than to the connection of his family with the court, taken together with his own position as a pupil of Plato, whose intervention in the public affairs of Sicily had caused the Academy to be regarded as the special home of scientific interest in politics and jurisprudence. It may be true that Alexander found time in the midst of his conquests to supply his old tutor with zoological specimens; it is as certain as such a thing can be that the ideals and characters of the two men were too different to allow of any intimate influence of either on the other.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>When Alexander was suddenly called to the Macedonian throne by the murder of his father in 336 B.C., Aristotle's services were no longer needed; he returned to Athens and gave himself to purely scientific work. Just at this juncture the presidency of the Academy was vacant by the death of Speusippus, Aristotle's old associate in biological research. Possibly Aristotle thought himself injured when the school passed him over and elected Xenocrates of Chalcedon as its new president. At any rate, though he appears never to have wholly severed his connection with the Academy, in 335 he opened a rival institution in the Lyceum, or gymnasium attached to the temple of Apollo Lyceus, to which he was followed by some of the most distinguished members of the Academy. From the fact that his instruction was given in the</span> <em class="italics">peripatos</em> <span>or covered portico of the gymnasium the school has derived its name of Peripatetic. For the next twelve years he was occupied in the organisation of the school as an abode for the prosecution of speculation and research in every department of inquiry, and in the composition of numerous courses of lectures on scientific and philosophical questions. The chief difference in general character between the new school and the Academy is that while the scientific interests of the Platonists centred in mathematics, the main contributions of the Lyceum to science lay in the departments of biology and history.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Towards the end of Alexander's life his attention was unfavourably directed on his old teacher. A relative of Aristotle named Callisthenes had attended Alexander in his campaigns as historiographer, and had provoked disfavour by his censure of the King's attempts to invest his semi-constitutional position towards his Hellenic subjects with the pomp of an Oriental despotism. The historian's independence proved fatal. He was accused of instigating an assassination plot among Alexander's pages, and hanged, or, as some said, thrown into a prison where he died before trial. Alexander is reported to have held Aristotle responsible for his relative's treason, and to have meditated revenge. If this is so, he was fortunately diverted from the commission of a crime by preoccupation with the invasion of India.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>On the death of Alexander in 323 a brief but vigorous anti-Macedonian agitation broke out at Athens. Aristotle, from his Macedonian connections, naturally fell a victim, in spite of his want of sympathy with the ideals of Philip and Alexander. Like Socrates, he was indicted on the capital charge of "impiety," the pretext being that his poem on the death of Hermeias, written twenty years before, was a virtual deification of his friend. This was, however, only a pretext; the real offence was political, and lay in his connection with the Macedonian leader Antipater. As condemnation was certain, the philosopher anticipated it by withdrawing with his disciples to Chalcis, the mother city of his native Stagirus. Here he died in the following year, at the age of sixty-two or sixty-three.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>The features of Aristotle, familiar to us from busts and intaglios, are handsome, but indicate refinement and acuteness rather than originality, an impression in keeping with what we should expect from a study of his writings. The anecdotes related of him reveal a kindly, affectionate character, and show little trace of the self-importance which appears in his work. His will, which has been preserved, exhibits the same traits in its references to his happy family life and its solicitous care for the future of his children and servants. He was twice married, first to Pythias, and secondly to a certain Herpyllis, by whom he left a son Nicomachus and a daughter. The "goodness" of Herpyllis to her husband is specially mentioned in the clauses of the will which make provision for her, while the warmth of the writer's feelings for Pythias is shown by the direction that her remains are to be placed in the same tomb with his own. The list of servants remembered and the bequests enumerated show the philosopher to have been in easier circumstances than Plato.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Works of Aristotle</strong><span>.--The so-called works of Aristotle present us with a curious problem. When we turn from Plato to his pupil we seem to have passed into a different atmosphere. The</span> <em class="italics">Discourses of Socrates</em> <span>exhibit a prose style which is perhaps the most marvellous of all literary achievements. Nowhere else do we meet with quite the same combination of eloquence, imaginative splendour, incisive logic, and irresistible wit and humour. The manner of Aristotle is dry and formal. His language bristles with technicalities, makes little appeal to the emotions, disdains graces of style, and frequently defies the simplest rules of composition. Our surprise is all the greater that we find later writers of antiquity, such as Cicero, commending Aristotle for his copious and golden eloquence, a characteristic which is conspicuously wanting in the Aristotelian writings we possess. The explanation of the puzzle is, however, simple. Plato and Aristotle were at once what we should call professors and men of letters; both wrote works for general circulation, and both delivered courses of lectures to special students. But while Plato's lectures have perished, his books have come down to us. Aristotle's books have almost wholly been lost, but we possess many of his lectures. The "works" of Aristotle praised by Cicero for their eloquence were philosophical dialogues, and formed the model for Cicero's own compositions in this kind. None of them have survived, though some passages have been preserved in quotations by later writers. That the "works" are actually the MSS. of a lecturer posthumously edited by his pupils seems clear from external as well as from internal evidence. In one instance we have the advantage of a double recension. Aristotle's</span> <em class="italics">Ethics</em> <span>or</span> <em class="italics">Discourses on Conduct</em> <span>have come down to us in two forms--the so-called</span> <em class="italics">Nicomachean Ethics</em><span>, a redaction by the philosopher's son, Nicomachus, preserving all the characteristics of an oral course of lectures; and a freer and more readable recast by a pupil, the mathematician Eudemus, known as the</span> <em class="italics">Eudemian Ethics</em><span>. In recent years we have also recovered from the sands of Egypt what appears to be our one specimen of a "work" of Aristotle, intended to be read by the public at large, the essay on the Constitution of Athens. The style of this essay is easy, flowing, and popular, and shows that Aristotle could write well and gracefully when he thought fit.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst" id="the-classification-of-the-sciences-scientific-method"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II</span></p>
+    <p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES: SCIENTIFIC METHOD</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>Philosophy, as understood by Aristotle, may be said to be the organised whole of disinterested knowledge, that is, knowledge which we seek for the satisfaction which it carries with itself, and not as a mere means to utilitarian ends. The impulse which receives this satisfaction is curiosity or wonder, which Aristotle regards as innate in man, though it does not get full play until civilisation has advanced far enough to make secure provision for the immediate material needs of life. Human curiosity was naturally directed first to the outstanding "marvellous works" of the physical world, the planets, the periodicity of their movements, the return of the seasons, winds, thunder and lightning, and the like. Hence the earliest Greek speculation was concerned with problems of astronomy and meteorology. Then, as reflection developed, men speculated about geometrical figure, and number, the possibility of having assured knowledge at all, the character of the common principles assumed in all branches of study or of the special principles assumed in some one branch, and thus philosophy has finally become the disinterested study of every department of Being or Reality. Since Aristotle, like Hegel, thought that his own doctrine was, in essentials, the last word of speculation, the complete expression of the principles by which his predecessors had been unconsciously guided, he believes himself in a position to make a final classification of the branches of science, showing how they are related and how they are discriminated from one another. This classification we have now to consider.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Classification of the Sciences</strong><span>.--To begin with, we have to discriminate Philosophy from two rivals with which it might be confounded on a superficial view, Dialectic and Sophistry. Dialectic is the art of reasoning accurately from given premisses, true or false. This art has its proper uses, and of one of these we shall have to speak. But in itself it is indifferent to the truth of its premisses. You may reason dialectically from premisses which you believe to be false, for the express purpose of showing the absurd conclusions to which they lead. Or you may reason from premisses which you assume tentatively to see what conclusions you are committed to if you adopt them. In either case your object is not directly to secure truth, but only to secure consistency. Science or Philosophy aims directly at</span> <em class="italics">truth</em><span>, and hence requires to start with true and certain premisses. Thus the distinction between Science and Dialectic is that Science reasons from true premisses, Dialectic only from "probable" or "plausible" premisses. Sophistry differs from Science in virtue of its moral character. It is the profession of making a living by the abuse of reasoning, the trick of employing logical skill for the apparent demonstration of scientific or ethical falsehoods. "The sophist is one who earns a living from an apparent but unreal wisdom." (The emphasis thus falls on the notion of making an "unreal wisdom" into a</span> <em class="italics">trade</em><span>. The sophist's real concern is to get his fee.) Science or Philosophy is thus the disinterested employment of the understanding in the discovery of truth.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>We may now distinguish the different branches of science as defined. The first and most important division to be made is that between Speculative or Theoretical Science and Practical Science. The broad distinction is that which we should now draw between the Sciences and the Arts (</span><em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>the industrial and technical, not the "fine" arts). Speculative or Theoretical Philosophy differs from Practical Philosophy in its purpose, and, in consequence, in its subject-matter, and its formal logical character. The purpose of the former is the disinterested contemplation of truths which are what they are independently of our own volition; its end is to</span> <em class="italics">know</em> <span>and only to</span> <em class="italics">know</em><span>. The object of "practical" Science is to know, but not only to know but also to turn our knowledge to account in devising ways of successful interference with the course of events. (The real importance of the distinction comes out in Aristotle's treatment of the problems of moral and social science. Since we require knowledge of the moral and social nature of men not merely to satisfy an intellectual interest, but as a basis for a sound system of education and government, Politics, the theory of government, and Ethics, the theory of goodness of conduct, which for Aristotle is only a subordinate branch of Politics, belong to Practical, not to Theoretical Philosophy, a view which is attended by important consequences.)</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>It follows that there is a corresponding difference in the objects investigated by the two branches of Philosophy. Speculative or Theoretical Philosophy is concerned with "that which cannot possibly be other than it is," truths and relations independent of human volition for their subsistence, and calling simply for</span> <em class="italics">recognition</em> <span>on our part. Practical Philosophy has to do with relations which human volition can modify, "things which may be other than they are," the contingent. (Thus</span> <em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>not only politics, but medicine and economics will belong to Practical Science.)</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Hence again arises a logical difference between the conclusions of Theoretical and those of Practical Philosophy. Those of the former are universal truths deducible with logical necessity from self-evident[#] principles. Those of the latter, because they relate to what "can be otherwise," are never rigidly universal; they are</span> <em class="italics">general</em> <span>rules which hold good "in the majority of cases," but are liable to occasional exceptions owing to the contingent character of the facts with which they deal. It is a proof of a philosopher's lack of grounding in logic that he looks to the results of a practical science (</span><em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>to the detailed precepts of medicine or ethics) for a higher degree of certainty and validity than the nature of the subject-matter allows. Thus for Aristotle the distinction between the necessary and the contingent is real and not merely apparent, and "probability is the guide" in studies which have to do with the direction of life.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Self-evident, that is, in a purely logical sense. When you apprehend the principles in question, you</span> <em class="italics small">see</em> <span class="small">at once that they are true, and do not require to have them</span> <em class="italics small">proved</em><span class="small">. It is not meant that any and every man</span> <em class="italics small">does</em><span class="small">, in point of fact, always apprehend the principles, or that they can be apprehended without preliminary mental discipline.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>We proceed to the question how many subdivisions there are within "theoretical" Philosophy itself. Plato had held that there are none. All the sciences are deductions from a single set of ultimate principles which it is the business of that supreme science to which Plato had given the name of Dialectic to establish. This is not Aristotle's view. According to him, "theoretical" Philosophy falls into a number of distinct though not co-ordinate branches, each with its own special subjects of investigation and its own special axiomatic principles. Of these branches there are three, First Philosophy, Mathematics, and Physics. First Philosophy--afterwards to be known to the Middle Ages as Metaphysics[#]--treats, to use Aristotle's own expression, of "Being</span> <em class="italics">quà</em> <span>Being." This means that it is concerned with the universal characteristics which belong to the system of knowable reality as such, and the principles of its organisation in their full universality. First Philosophy alone investigates the character of those causative factors in the system which are without body or shape and exempt from all mutability. Since in Aristotle's system God is the supreme Cause of this kind, First Philosophy culminates in the knowledge of God, and is hence frequently called Theology. It thus includes an element which would to-day be assigned to the theory of knowledge, as well as one which we should ascribe to metaphysics, since it deals at once with the ultimate postulates of knowledge and the ultimate causes of the order of real existence.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The origin of this name seems to be that Aristotle's lectures on First Philosophy came to be studied as a continuation of his course on Physics. Hence the lectures got the name</span> <em class="italics small">Metaphysica</em> <span class="small">because they came</span> <em class="italics small">after</em> <span class="small">(</span><em class="italics small">meta</em><span class="small">) those on Physics. Finally the name was transferred (as in the case of</span> <em class="italics small">Ethics</em><span class="small">) from the lectures to the subject of which they treat.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>Mathematics is of narrower scope. What it studies is no longer "real being as such," but only real being in so far as it exhibits number and geometrical form. Since Aristotle holds the view that number and figure only exist as determinations of objects given in perception (though by a convenient fiction the mathematician treats of them in abstraction from the perceived objects which they qualify), he marks the difference between Mathematics and First Philosophy by saying that "whereas the objects of First Philosophy are separate from matter and devoid of motion, those of Mathematics, though incapable of motion, have no separable existence but are inherent in matter." Physics is concerned with the study of objects which are both material and capable of motion. Thus the principle of the distinction is the presence or absence of initial restrictions of the range of the different branches of Science. First Philosophy has the widest range, since its contemplation covers the whole ground of the real and knowable; Physics the narrowest, because it is confined to a "universe of discourse" restricted by the double qualification that its members are all material and capable of displacement. Mathematics holds an intermediate position, since in it, one of these qualifications is removed, but the other still remains, for the geometer's figures are boundaries and limits of sensible bodies, and the arithmetician's numbers properties of collections of concrete objects. It follows also that the initial axioms or postulates of Mathematics form a less simple system than those of First Philosophy, and those of Physics than those of Mathematics. Mathematics requires as initial assumptions not only those which hold good for</span> <em class="italics">all</em> <span>thought, but certain other special axioms which are only valid and significant for the realm of figure and number; Physics requires yet further axioms which are only applicable to "what is in motion." This is why, though the three disciplines are treated as distinct, they are not strictly co-ordinate, and "First Philosophy," though "first," is only</span> <em class="italics">prima inter pares</em><span>.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>We thus get the following diagrammatic scheme of the classification of sciences:--</span></p>
+    <pre class="literal-block">
+<span>                      Science
+                         |
+             +-----------+------------+
+             |                        |
+        Theoretical               Practical
+             |
+         +---+---------+-----------+
+         |             |           |
+First Philosophy     Mathe-     Physics
+       or            matics
+    Theology</span>
+</pre>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>Practical Philosophy is not subjected by Aristotle to any similar subdivision. Later students were accustomed to recognise a threefold division into Ethics (the theory of individual conduct), Economics (the theory of the management of the household), Politics (the theory of the management of the State). Aristotle himself does not make these distinctions. His general name for the theory of conduct is Politics, the doctrine of individual conduct being for him inseparable from that of the right ordering of society. Though he composed a separate course of lectures on individual conduct (the</span> <em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>), he takes care to open the course by stating that the science of which it treats is Politics, and offers an apology for dealing with the education of individual character apart from the more general doctrine of the organisation of society. No special recognition is given in Aristotle's own classification to the Philosophy of Art. Modern students of Aristotle have tried to fill in the omission by adding artistic creation to contemplation and practice as a third fundamental form of mental activity, and thus making a threefold division of Philosophy into Theoretical, Practical, and Productive. The object of this is to find a place in the classification for Aristotle's famous</span> <em class="italics">Poetics</em> <span>and his work on Rhetoric, the art of effective speech and writing. But the admission of the third division of Science has no warrant in the text of Aristotle, nor are the</span> <em class="italics">Rhetoric</em> <span>and</span> <em class="italics">Poetics</em><span>, properly speaking, a contribution to Philosophy. They are intended as collections of practical rules for the composition of a pamphlet or a tragedy, not as a critical examination of the canons of literary taste. This was correctly seen by the dramatic theorists of the seventeenth century. They exaggerated the value of Aristotle's directions and entirely misunderstood the meaning of some of them, but they were right in their view that the</span> <em class="italics">Poetics</em> <span>was meant to be a collection of rules by obeying which the craftsman might make sure of turning out a successful play. So far as Aristotle has a Philosophy of Fine Art at all, it forms part of his more general theory of education and must be looked for in the general discussion of the aims of education contained in his</span> <em class="italics">Politics</em><span>.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Methods of Science</strong><span>.--No place has been assigned in the scheme to what we call logic and Aristotle called</span> <em class="italics">Analytics</em><span>, the theory of scientific method, or of proof and the estimation of evidence. The reason is that since the fundamental character of proof is the same in all science, Aristotle looks upon logic as a study of the methods common to all science. At a later date it became a hotly debated question whether logic should be regarded in this way as a study of the methods instrumental to proof in all sciences, or as itself a special constituent division of philosophy. The Aristotelian view was concisely indicated by the name which became attached to the collection of Aristotle's logical works. They were called the</span> <em class="italics">Organon</em><span>, that is, the "instrument," or the body of rules of method employed by Science. The thought implied is thus that logic furnishes the</span> <em class="italics">tools</em> <span>with which every science has to work in establishing its results. Our space will only permit of a brief statement as to the points in which the Aristotelian formal logic appears to be really original, and the main peculiarities of Aristotle's theory of knowledge.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>(a)</span> <strong class="bold">Formal Logic</strong><span>.--In compass the Aristotelian logic corresponds roughly with the contents of modern elementary treatises on the same subject, with the omission of the sections which deal with the so-called Conditional Syllogism. The inclusion of arguments of this type in mediæval and modern expositions of formal logic is principally due to the Stoics, who preferred to throw their reasoning into these forms and subjected them to minute scrutiny. In his treatment of the doctrine of Terms, Aristotle avoids the mistake of treating the isolated name as though it had significance apart from the enunciations in which it occurs. He is quite clear on the all-important point that the unit of thought is the proposition in which something is affirmed or denied, the one thought-form which can be properly called "true" or "false." Such an assertion he analyses into two factors, that about which something is affirmed or denied (the Subject), and that which is affirmed or denied of it (the Predicate). Consequently his doctrine of the classification of Terms is based on a classification of Predicates, or of Propositions according to the special kind of connection between the Subject and Predicate which they affirm or deny. Two such classifications, which cannot be made to fit into one another, meet us in Aristotle's logical writings, the scheme of the ten "Categories," and that which was afterwards known in the Middle Ages as the list of "Predicaments" or "Heads of Predicates," or again as the "Five Words." The list of "Categories" reveals itself as an attempt to answer the question in how many different senses the words "is a" or "are" are employed when we assert that "</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>is</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>" or "</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>is a</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>" or "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span>s are</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>s." Such a statement may tell us (1) what</span> <em class="italics">x</em> <span>is, as if I say "</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>is a lion"; the predicate is then said to fall under the category of Substance; (2) what</span> <em class="italics">x</em> <span>is like, as when I say "</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>is white, or</span> <em class="italics">x</em> <span>is wise,"--the category of Quality; (3) how much or how many</span> <em class="italics">x</em> <span>is, as when I say "</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>is tall" or "</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>is five feet long,"--the category of Quantity; (4) how</span> <em class="italics">x</em> <span>is related to something else, as when I say "</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>is to the right of</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>," "</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>is the father of</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>,"--the category of Relation. These are the four chief "categories" discussed by Aristotle. The remainder are (5) Place, (6) Time, (7) and (8) Condition or State, as when I say "</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>is sitting down" or "</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>has his armour on,"--(the only distinction between the two cases seems to be that (7) denotes a more permanent state of</span> <em class="italics">x</em> <span>than (8)); (9) Action or Activity, as when I say "</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>is cutting," or generally "</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>is doing something to</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>"; (10) Passivity, as when I say "</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>is being cut," or more generally, "so-and-so is being done to</span> <em class="italics">x</em><span>." No attempt is made to show that this list of "figures of predication" is complete, or to point out any principle which has been followed in its construction. It also happens that much the same enumeration is incidentally made in one or two passages of Plato. Hence it is not unlikely that the list was taken over by Aristotle as one which would be familiar to pupils who had read their Plato, and therefore convenient for practical purposes. The fivefold classification does depend on a principle pointed out by Aristotle which guarantees its completeness, and is therefore likely to have been thought out by him for himself, and to be the genuine Aristotelian scheme. Consider an ordinary universal affirmative proposition of the form "all</span> <em class="italics">x</em><span>s are</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>s." Now if this statement is true it may also be true that "all</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>s are</span> <em class="italics">x</em><span>s," or it may not. On the first supposition we have two possible cases, (1) the predicate may state precisely what the subject defined</span> <em class="italics">is</em><span>; then</span> <em class="italics">y</em> <span>is the Definition of</span> <em class="italics">x</em><span>, as when I say that "men are mortal animals, capable of discourse." Here it is also true to say that "mortal animals capable of discourse are men," and Aristotle regards the predicate "mortal animal capable of discourse" as expressing the inmost nature of man. (2) The predicate may not express the inmost nature of the subject, and yet may belong only to the class denoted by the subject and to every member of that class. The predicate is then called a Proprium or property, an exclusive attribute of the class in question. Thus it was held that "all men are capable of laughter" and "all beings capable of laughter are men," but that the capacity for laughter is no part of the inmost nature or "real essence" of humanity. It is therefore reckoned as a Proprium.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Again in the case where it is true that "all</span> <em class="italics">x</em><span>s are</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>s," but not true that all "</span><em class="italics">y</em><span>s are</span> <em class="italics">x</em><span>s,"</span> <em class="italics">y</em> <span>may be part of the definition of</span> <em class="italics">x</em> <span>or it may not. If it is part of the definition of</span> <em class="italics">x</em> <span>it will be either (3) a genus or wider class of which</span> <em class="italics">x</em> <span>forms a subdivision, as when I say, "All men are animals," or (4) a difference, that is, one of the distinctive marks by which the</span> <em class="italics">x</em><span>s are distinguished from other sub-classes or species of the same genus, as when I say, "All men are capable of discourse." Or finally (5)</span> <em class="italics">y</em> <span>may be no part of the definition of</span> <em class="italics">x</em><span>, but a characteristic which belongs both to the</span> <em class="italics">x</em><span>s and some things other than</span> <em class="italics">x</em><span>s. The predicate is then called an Accident. We have now exhausted all the possible cases, and may say that the predicate of a universal affirmative proposition is always either a definition, a proprium, a genus, a difference, or an accident. This classification reached the Middle Ages not in the precise form in which it is given by Aristotle, but with modifications mainly due to the Neo-Platonic philosopher Porphyry. In its modified form it is regarded as a classification of terms generally. Definition disappears from the list, as the definition is regarded as a complex made up of the genus, or next highest class to which the class to be defined belongs, and the differences which mark off this particular species or sub-class. The species itself which figures as the subject-term in a definition is added, and thus the "Five Words" of mediæval logic are enumerated as genus, species, difference, proprium, accident.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>The one point of philosophical interest about this doctrine appears alike in the scheme of the "Categories" in the presence of a category of "substance," and in the list of "Predicaments" in the sharp distinction drawn between "definition" and "proprium." From a logical point of view it does not appear why</span> <em class="italics">any</em> <span>proprium,</span> <em class="italics">any</em> <span>character belonging to all the members of a class and to them alone, should not be taken as defining the class. Why should it be assumed that there is only</span> <em class="italics">one</em> <span>predicate, viz.</span> <em class="italics">man</em><span>, which precisely answers the question, "What is Socrates?" Why should it not be equally correct to answer, "a Greek," or "a philosopher"? The explanation is that Aristotle takes it for granted that not all the distinctions we can make between "kinds" of things are arbitrary and subjective. Nature herself has made certain hard and fast divisions between kinds which it is the business of our thought to recognise and follow. Thus according to Aristotle there is a real gulf, a genuine difference in kind, between the horse and the ass, and this is illustrated by the fact that the mule, the offspring of a horse and an ass, is not capable of reproduction. It is thus a sort of imperfect being, a kind of "monster" existing</span> <em class="italics">contra naturam</em><span>. Such differences as we find when we compare</span> <em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>Egyptians with Greeks do not amount to a difference in "kind." To say that Socrates is a man tells me what Socrates is, because the statement places Socrates in the real kind to which he actually belongs; to say that he is wise, or old, or a philosopher merely tells me some of his attributes. It follows from this belief in "real" or "natural" kinds that the problem of definition acquires an enormous importance for science. We, who are accustomed to regard the whole business of classification as a matter of making a grouping of our materials such as is most pertinent to the special question we have in hand, tend to look upon any predicate which belongs universally and exclusively to the members of a group, as a sufficient basis for a possible definition of the group. Hence we are prone to take the "nominalist" view of definition,</span> <em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>to look upon a definition as no more than a declaration of the sense which we intend henceforward to put on a word or other symbol. And consequently we readily admit that there may be as many definitions of a class as it has different propria. But in a philosophy like that of Aristotle, in which it is held that a true classification must not only be formally satisfactory, but must also conform to the actual lines of cleavage which Nature has established between kind and kind, the task of classificatory science becomes much more difficult. Science is called on to supply not merely a definition but</span> <em class="italics">the</em> <span>definition of the classes it considers,</span> <em class="italics">the</em> <span>definition which faithfully reflects the "lines of cleavage" in Nature. This is why the Aristotelian view is that a true definition should always be</span> <em class="italics">per genus et differentias</em><span>. It should "place" a given class by mentioning the wider class next above it in the objective hierarchy, and then enumerating the most deep-seated distinctions by which Nature herself marks off this class from others belonging to the same wider class. Modern evolutionary thought may possibly bring us back to this Aristotelian standpoint. Modern evolutionary science differs from Aristotelianism on one point of the first importance. It regards the difference between kinds, not as a primary fact of Nature, but as produced by a long process of accumulation of slight differences. But a world in which the process has progressed far enough will exhibit much the same character as the Nature of Aristotle. As the intermediate links between "species" drop out because they are less thoroughly adapted to maintain themselves than the extremes between which they form links, the world produced approximates more and more to a system of species between which there are unbridgeable chasms; evolution tends more and more to the final establishment of "real kinds," marked by the fact that there is no permanent possibility of cross-breeding between them. This makes it once more possible to distinguish between a "nominal" definition and a "real" definition. From an evolutionary point of view, a "real" definition would be one which specifies not merely enough characters to mark off the group defined from others, but selects also for the purpose those characters which indicate the line of historical development by which the group has successively separated itself from other groups descended from the same ancestors. We shall learn yet more of the significance of this conception of a "real kind" as we go on to make acquaintance with the outlines of First Philosophy. Over the rest of the formal logic of Aristotle we must be content to pass more rapidly. In connection with the doctrine of Propositions, Aristotle lays down the familiar distinction between the four types of proposition according to their quantity (as universal or particular) and quality (as affirmative or negative), and treats of their contrary and contradictory opposition in a way which still forms the basis of the handling of the subject in elementary works on formal logic. He also considers at great length a subject nowadays commonly excluded from the elementary books, the modal distinction between the Problematic proposition (</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>may be</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>), the Assertory (</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>is</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>), and the Necessary (</span><em class="italics">x</em> <span>must be</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>), and the way in which all these forms may be contradicted. For him, modality is a formal distinction like quantity or quality, because he believes that contingency and necessity are not merely relative to the state of our knowledge, but represent real and objective features of the order of Nature.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>In connection with the doctrine of Inference, it is worth while to give his definition of Syllogism or Inference (literally "computation") in his own words. "Syllogism is a discourse wherein certain things (viz. the premisses) being admitted, something else, different from what has been admitted, follows of necessity because the admissions are what they are." The last clause shows that Aristotle is aware that the all-important thing in an inference is not that the conclusion should be novel but that it should be proved. We may have known the conclusion as a fact before; what the inference does for us is to connect it with the rest of our knowledge, and thus to show</span> <em class="italics">why</em> <span>it is true. He also formulates the axiom upon which syllogistic inference rests, that "if A is predicated universally of B and B of C, A is necessarily predicated universally of C." Stated in the language of class-inclusion, and adapted to include the case where B is denied of C this becomes the formula, "whatever is asserted universally, whether positively or negatively, of a class B is asserted in like manner of any class C which is wholly contained in B," the axiom</span> <em class="italics">de omni et nullo</em> <span>of mediæval logic. The syllogism of the "first figure," to which this principle immediately applies, is accordingly regarded by Aristotle as the natural and perfect form of inference. Syllogisms of the second and third figures can only be shown to fall under the dictum by a process of "reduction" or transformation into corresponding arguments in the first "figure," and are therefore called "imperfect" or "incomplete," because they do not exhibit the conclusive force of the reasoning with equal clearness, and also because no universal affirmative conclusion can be proved in them, and the aim of science is always to establish such affirmatives. The list of "moods" of the three figures, and the doctrine of the methods by which each mood of the imperfect figures can be replaced by an equivalent mood of the first is worked out substantially as in our current text-books. The so-called "fourth" figure is not recognised, its moods being regarded merely as unnatural and distorted statements of those of the first figure.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Induction</strong><span>.--Of the use of "induction" in Aristotle's philosophy we shall speak under the head of "Theory of Knowledge." Formally it is called "the way of proceeding from particular facts to universals," and Aristotle insists that the conclusion is only proved if</span> <em class="italics">all</em> <span>the particulars have been examined. Thus he gives as an example the following argument, "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span>,</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>,</span> <em class="italics">z</em> <span>are long-lived species of animals;</span> <em class="italics">x</em><span>,</span> <em class="italics">y</em><span>,</span> <em class="italics">z</em> <span>are the only species which have no gall;</span> <em class="italics">ergo</em> <span>all animals which have no gall are long-lived." This is the "induction by simple enumeration" denounced by Francis Bacon on the ground that it may always be discredited by the production of a single "contrary instance,"</span> <em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>a single instance of an animal which has no gall and yet is not long-lived. Aristotle is quite aware that his "induction" does not establish its conclusion unless all the cases have been included in the examination. In fact, as his own example shows, an induction which gives certainty does not start with "particular facts" at all. It is a method of arguing that what has been proved true of each sub-class of a wider class will be true of the wider class as a whole. The premisses are strictly universal throughout. In general, Aristotle does not regard "induction" as</span> <em class="italics">proof</em> <span>at all. Historically "induction" is held by Aristotle to have been first made prominent in philosophy by Socrates, who constantly employed the method in his attempts to establish universal results in moral science. Thus he gives, as a characteristic argument for the famous Socratic doctrine that knowledge is the one thing needful, the "induction," "he who understands the theory of navigation is the best navigator, he who understands the theory of chariot-driving the best driver; from these examples we see that universally he who understands the theory of a thing is the best practitioner," where it is evident that</span> <em class="italics">all</em> <span>the relevant cases have</span> <em class="italics">not</em> <span>been examined, and consequently that the reasoning does not amount to proof. Mill's so-called reasoning from particulars to particulars finds a place in Aristotle's theory under the name of "arguing from an example." He gives as an illustration, "A war between Athens and Thebes will be a bad thing, for we see that the war between Thebes and Phocis was so." He is careful to point out that the whole force of the argument depends on the</span> <em class="italics">implied</em> <span>assumption of a universal proposition which covers both cases, such as "wars between</span> <em class="italics">neighbours</em> <span>are bad things." Hence he calls such appeals to example "rhetorical" reasoning, because the politician is accustomed to leave his hearers to supply the relevant universal consideration for themselves.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Theory of Knowledge</strong><span>.--Here, as everywhere in Aristotle's philosophy, we are confronted by an initial and insuperable difficulty. Aristotle is always anxious to insist on the difference between his own doctrines and those of Plato, and his bias in this direction regularly leads him to speak as though he held a thorough-going naturalistic and empirical theory with no "transcendental moonshine" about it. Yet his final conclusions on all points of importance are hardly distinguishable from those of Plato except by the fact that, as they are so much at variance with the naturalistic side of his philosophy, they have the appearance of being sudden lapses into an alogical mysticism. We shall find the presence of this "fault" more pronouncedly in his metaphysics, psychology, and ethics than in his theory of knowledge, but it is not absent from any part of his philosophy. He is everywhere a Platonist</span> <em class="italics">malgré lui</em><span>, and it is just the Platonic element in his thought to which it owes its hold over men's minds.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Plato's doctrine on the subject may be stated with enough accuracy for our purpose as follows. There is a radical distinction between sense-perception and scientific knowledge. A scientific truth is exact and definite, it is also true once and for all, and never becomes truer or falser with the lapse of time. This is the character of the propositions of the science which Plato regarded as the type of what true science ought to be, pure mathematics. It is very different with the judgments which we try to base on our sense-perceptions of the visible and tangible world. The colours, tastes, shapes of sensible things seem different to different percipients, and moreover they are constantly changing in incalculable ways. We can never be certain that two lines which seem to our senses to be equal are really so; it may be that the inequality is merely too slight to be perceptible to our senses. No figure which we can draw and see actually has the exact properties ascribed by the mathematician to a circle or a square. Hence Plato concludes that if the word science be taken in its fullest sense, there can be no science about the world which our senses reveal. We can have only an approximate knowledge, a knowledge which is after all, at best, probable opinion. The objects of which the mathematician has certain, exact, and final knowledge cannot be anything which the senses reveal. They are objects of</span> <em class="italics">thought</em><span>, and the function of visible models and diagrams in mathematics is not to present</span> <em class="italics">examples</em> <span>of them to us, but only to show us imperfect</span> <em class="italics">approximations</em> <span>to them and so to "remind" the soul of objects and relations between them which she has never cognised with the bodily senses. Thus mathematical straightness is never actually beheld, but when we see lines of less and more approximate straightness we are "put in mind" of that absolute straightness to which sense-perception only approximates. So in the moral sciences, the various "virtues" are not presented in their perfection by the course of daily life. We do not meet with men who are perfectly brave or just, but the experience that one man is braver or juster than another "calls into our mind" the thought of the absolute standard of courage or justice implied in the conviction that one man comes nearer to it than another, and it is these absolute standards which are the real objects of our attention when we try to define the terms by which we describe the moral life. This is the "epistemological" side of the famous doctrine of the "Ideas." The main points are two, (1) that strict science deals throughout with objects and relations between objects which are of a purely intellectual or conceptual order, no sense-data entering into their constitution; (2) since the objects of science are of this character, it follows that the "Idea" or "concept" or "universal" is not arrived at by any process of "abstracting" from our experience of sensible things the features common to them all. As the particular fact never actually exhibits the "universal" except approximately, the "universal" cannot be simply disentangled from particulars by abstraction. As Plato puts it, it is "apart from" particulars, or, as we might reword his thought, the pure concepts of science represent "upper limits" to which the comparative series which we can form out of sensible data continually approximate but do not reach them.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>In his theory of knowledge Aristotle begins by brushing aside the Platonic view. Science requires no such "Ideas," transcending sense-experience, as Plato had spoken of; they are, in fact, no more than "poetic metaphors." What is required for science is not that there should be a "one over and above the many" (that is, such pure concepts, unrealised in the world of actual perception, as Plato had spoken of), but only that it should be possible to predicate one term universally of many others. This, by itself, means that the "universal" is looked on as a mere residue of the characteristics found in each member of a group, got by abstraction,</span> <em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>by leaving out of view the characteristics which are peculiar to some of the group and retaining only those which are common to all. If Aristotle had held consistently to this point of view, his theory of knowledge would have been a purely empirical one. He would have had to say that, since all the objects of knowledge are particular facts given in sense-perception, the universal laws of science are a mere convenient way of describing the observed uniformities in the behaviour of sensible things. But, since it is obvious that in pure mathematics we are not concerned with the actual relations between sensible data or the actual ways in which they behave, but with so-called "pure cases" or ideals to which the perceived world only approximately conforms, he would also have had to say that the propositions of mathematics are not strictly true. In modern times consistent empiricists have said this, but it is not a position possible to one who had passed twenty years in association with the mathematicians of the Academy, and Aristotle's theory only begins in naturalism to end in Platonism. We may condense its most striking positions into the following statement. By science we mean</span> <em class="italics">proved</em> <span>knowledge. And proved knowledge is always "mediated"; it is the knowledge of</span> <em class="italics">conclusions</em> <span>from premisses. A truth that is scientifically known does not stand alone. The "proof" is simply the pointing out of the connection between the truth we call the conclusion, and other truths which we call the premisses of our demonstration. Science points out the</span> <em class="italics">reason why</em> <span>of things, and this is what is meant by the Aristotelian principle that to have science is to know things through their</span> <em class="italics">causes</em> <span>or</span> <em class="italics">reasons why</em><span>. In an ordered digest of scientific truths, the proper arrangement is to begin with the simplest and most widely extended principles and to reason down, through successive inferences, to the most complex propositions, the</span> <em class="italics">reason why</em> <span>of which can only be exhibited by long chains of deductions. This is the order of logical dependence, and is described by Aristotle as reasoning</span> <em class="italics">from</em> <span>what is "more knowable in its own nature,"[#] the simple, to what is usually "more familiar to</span> <em class="italics">us</em><span>," because less removed from the infinite wealth of sense-perception, the complex. In</span> <em class="italics">discovery</em> <span>we have usually to reverse the process and argue from "the familiar to us," highly complex facts, to "the more knowable in its own nature," the simpler principles implied in the facts.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] This simple expression acquires a mysterious appearance in mediæval philosophy from the standing mistranslation</span> <em class="italics small">notiora naturæ</em><span class="small">, "better known to nature."</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>It follows that Aristotle, after all, admits the disparateness of sense-perception and scientific knowledge. Sense-perception of itself never gives us scientific truth, because it can only assure us that a fact is so; it cannot</span> <em class="italics">explain</em> <span>the fact by showing its connection with the rest of the system of facts, "it does not give the</span> <em class="italics">reason</em> <span>for the fact." Knowledge of perception is always "immediate," and for that very reason is never scientific. If we stood on the moon and saw the earth, interposing between us and the sun, we should still not have scientific knowledge about the eclipse, because "we should still have to ask for the</span> <em class="italics">reason why</em><span>." (In fact, we should not know the reason</span> <em class="italics">why</em> <span>without a theory of light including the proposition that light-waves are propagated in straight lines and several others.) Similarly Aristotle insists that Induction does not yield scientific truth. "He who makes an induction points out something, but does not demonstrate anything."</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>For instance, if we know that</span> <em class="italics">each</em> <span>species of animal which is without a gall is long-lived, we may make the induction that</span> <em class="italics">all</em> <span>animals without a gall are long-lived, but in doing so we have got no nearer to seeing</span> <em class="italics">why</em> <span>or</span> <em class="italics">how</em> <span>the absence of a gall makes for longevity. The question which we may raise in science may all be reduced to four heads, (1) Does this thing exist? (2) Does this event occur? (3) If the thing exists, precisely what is it? and (4) If the event occurs,</span> <em class="italics">why</em> <span>does it occur? and science has not completed its task unless it can advance from the solution of the first two questions to that of the latter two. Science is no mere catalogue of things and events, it consists of inquiries into the "real essences" and characteristics of things and the laws of connection between events.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Looking at scientific reasoning, then, from the point of view of its formal character, we may say that all science consists in the search for "middle terms" of syllogisms, by which to connect the truth which appears as a conclusion with the less complex truths which appear as the premisses from which it is drawn. When we ask, "does such a thing exist?" or "does such an event happen?" we are asking, "is there a middle term which can connect the thing or event in question with the rest of known reality?" Since it is a rule of the syllogism that the middle term must be taken universally, at least once in the premisses, the search for middle terms may also be described as the search for universals, and we may speak of science as knowledge of the universal interconnections between facts and events.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>A science, then, may be analysed into three constituents. These are: (1) a determinate class of objects which form the subject-matter of its inquiries. In an orderly exhibition of the contents of the science, these appear, as in Euclid, as the initial data about which the science reasons; (2) a number of principles, postulates, and axioms, from which our demonstrations must start. Some of these will be principles employed in all scientific reasoning. Others will be specific to the subject-matter with which a particular science is concerned; (3) certain characteristics of the objects under study which can be shown by means of our axioms and postulates to follow from our initial definitions, the</span> <em class="italics">accidentia per se</em> <span>of the objects defined. It is these last which are expressed by the conclusions of scientific demonstration. We are said to know scientifically that B is true of A when we show that this follows, in virtue of the principles of some science, from the initial definition of A. Thus if we convinced ourselves that the sum of the angles of a plane triangle is equal to two right angles by measurement, we could not be said to have scientific knowledge of the proposition. But if we show that the same proposition follows from the definition of a plane triangle by repeated applications of admitted axioms or postulates of geometry, our knowledge is genuinely scientific. We now know that it is so, and we see</span> <em class="italics">why</em> <span>it is so; we see the connection of this truth with the simple initial truths of geometry.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>This leads us to the consideration of the most characteristic point of Aristotle's whole theory. Science is demonstrated knowledge, that is, it is the knowledge that certain truths follow from still simpler truths. Hence the simplest of all the truths of any science cannot themselves be capable of being known by inference. You cannot infer that the axioms of geometry are true because its conclusions are true, since the truth of the conclusions is itself a consequence of the truth of the axioms. Nor yet must you ask for demonstration of the axioms as consequences of still simpler premisses, because if all truths can be proved, they ought to be proved, and you would therefore require an infinity of successive demonstrations to prove anything whatever. But under such conditions all knowledge of demonstrated truth would be impossible. The first principles of any science must therefore be indemonstrable. They must be known, as facts of sense-perception are known, immediately and not mediately. How then do we come by our knowledge of them? Aristotle's answer to this question appears at first sight curiously contradictory. He seems to say that these simplest truths are apprehended intuitively, or on inspection, as self-evident by Intelligence or Mind. On the other hand, he also says that they are known</span> <em class="italics">to us</em> <span>as a result of induction from sense-experience. Thus he</span> <em class="italics">seems</em> <span>to be either a Platonist or an empiricist, according as you choose to remember one set of his utterances or another, and this apparent inconsistency has led to his authority being claimed in their favour by thinkers of the most widely different types. But more careful study will show that the seeming confusion is due to the fact that he tries to combine in one statement his answers to two quite different questions, (1) how we come to reflect on the axioms, (2) what evidence there is for their truth. To the first question he replies, "by induction from experience," and so far he might seem to be a precursor of John Stuart Mill. Successive repetitions of the same sense-perceptions give rise to a single experience, and it is by reflection on experience that we become aware of the most ultimate simple and universal principles. We might illustrate his point by considering how the thought that two and two are four may be brought before a child's mind. We might first take two apples, and two other apples and set the child to count them. By repeating the process with different apples we may teach the child to dissociate the result of the counting from the particular apples employed, and to advance to the thought, "any two apples and any two other apples make four apples." Then we might substitute pears or cherries for the apples, so as to suggest the thought, "two fruits and two fruits make four fruits." And by similar methods we should in the end evoke the thought, "any two objects whatever and any other two objects whatever make four objects." This exactly illustrates Aristotle's conception of the function of induction, or comparison of instances, in fixing attention on a universal principle of which one had not been conscious before the comparison was made.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Now comes in the point where Aristotle differs wholly from all empiricists, later and earlier. Mill regards the instances produced in the induction as having a double function; they not merely fix the attention on the principle, they also are the evidence of its truth. This gives rise to the greatest difficulty in his whole logical theory. Induction by imperfect enumeration is pronounced to be (as it clearly is) fallacious, yet the principle of the uniformity of Nature which Mill regards as the ultimate premiss of all science, is itself supposed to be proved by this radically fallacious method. Aristotle avoids a similar inconsistency by holding that the sole function of the induction is to fix our attention on a principle which it does not prove. He holds that ultimate principles neither permit of nor require proof. When the induction has done its work in calling attention to the principle, you have to see for yourself that the principle is true. You see that it is true by immediate inspection just as in sense-perception you have to see that the colour before your eyes is red or blue. This is why Aristotle holds that the knowledge of the principles of science is not itself science (demonstrated knowledge), but what he calls intelligence, and we may call intellectual intuition. Thus his doctrine is sharply distinguished not only from empiricism (the doctrine that universal principles are proved by particular facts), but also from all theories of the Hegelian type which regard the principles and the facts as somehow reciprocally proving each other, and from the doctrine of some eminent modern logicians who hold that "self-evidence" is not required in the ultimate principles of science, as we are only concerned in logic with the question what consequences follow from our initial assumptions, and not with the truth or falsehood of the assumptions themselves.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>The result is that Aristotle does little more than repeat the Platonic view of the nature of science. Science consists of deductions from universal principles which sensible experience "suggests," but into which, as they are apprehended by a purely intellectual inspection, no sense-data enter as constituents. The apparent rejection of "transcendental moonshine" has, after all, led to nothing. The only difference between Plato and his scholar lies in the clearness of intellectual vision which Plato shows when he expressly maintains in plain words that the universals of exact science are not "in" our sense-perceptions and therefore to be extracted from them by a process of abstraction, but are "apart from" or "over" them, and form an ideal system of interconnected concepts which the experiences of sense merely "imitate" or make approximation to.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>One more point remains to be considered to complete our outline of the Aristotelian theory of knowledge. The sciences have "principles" which are discerned to be true by immediate inspection. But what if one man professes to see the self-evident truth of such an alleged principle, while another is doubtful of its truth, or even denies it? There can be no question of silencing the objector by a demonstration, since no genuine simple principle admits of demonstration. All that can be done,</span> <em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>if a man doubts whether things equal to the same thing are equal to one another, or whether the law of contradiction is true, is to examine the consequences of a denial of the axiom and to show that they include some which are false, or which your antagonist at least considers false. In this way, by showing the falsity of consequences which follow from the denial of a given "principle," you indirectly establish its truth. Now reasoning of this kind differs from "science" precisely in the point that you take as your major premiss, not what you regard as true, but the opposite thesis of your antagonist, which you regard as false. Your object is not to prove a true conclusion but to show your opponent that</span> <em class="italics">his</em> <span>premisses lead to false conclusions. This is "dialectical" reasoning in Aristotle's sense of the word,</span> <em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>reasoning not from your own but from some one else's premisses. Hence the chief philosophical importance which Aristotle ascribes to "dialectic" is that it provides a method of defending the undemonstrable axioms against objections. Dialectic of this kind became highly important in the mediæval Aristotelianism of the schoolmen, with whom it became a regular method, as may be seen</span> <em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>in the</span> <em class="italics">Summa</em> <span>of St. Thomas, to begin their consideration of a doctrine by a preliminary rehearsal of all the arguments they could find or devise against the conclusion they meant to adopt. Thus the first division of any article in the</span> <em class="italics">Summa Theologiæ</em> <span>of Thomas is regularly constituted by arguments based on the premisses of actual or possible antagonists, and is strictly dialectical. (To be quite accurate Aristotle should, of course, have observed that this dialectical method of defending a principle becomes useless in the case of a logical axiom which is presupposed by all deduction. For this reason Aristotle falls into fallacy when he tries to defend the law of contradiction by dialectic. It is true that if the law be denied, then any and every predicate may be indifferently ascribed to any subject. But until the law of contradiction has been admitted, you have no right to regard it as absurd to ascribe all predicates indiscriminately to all subjects. Thus, it is only assumed laws which are</span> <em class="italics">not</em> <span>ultimate laws of logic that admit of dialectical justification. If a truth is so ultimate that it has either to be recognised by direct inspection or not at all, there can be no arguing at all with one who cannot or will not see it.)</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst" id="first-philosophy"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III</span></p>
+    <p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">FIRST PHILOSOPHY</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>First Philosophy is defined by Aristotle as a "science which considers What Is simply in its character of Being, and the properties which it has as such." That there is, or ought to be, such a science is urged on the ground that every "special" science deals only with some restricted department of what is, and thus considers its subject-matter not universally in its character of being, or being real, but as determined by some more special condition. Thus, First Philosophy, the science which attempts to discover the most ultimate reasons of, or grounds for, the character of things in general cannot be identified with any of the "departmental" sciences. The same consideration explains why it is "First Philosophy" which has to disentangle the "principles" of the various sciences, and defend them by dialectic against those who impugn them. It is no part of the duty of a geometer or a physicist to deal with objections to such universal principles of reasoning as the law of contradiction. They may safely assume such principles; if they are attacked, it is not by specifically geometrical or physical considerations that they can be defended. Even the "principles of the special sciences" have not to be examined and defended by the special sciences. They are the starting-points of the sciences which employ them; these sciences are therefore justified in requiring that they shall be admitted as a condition of geometrical, or physical, or biological demonstrations. If they are called in question, the defence of them is the business of logic.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>First Philosophy, then, is the study of "What Is simply as such," the universal principles of structure without which there could be no ordered system of knowable objects. But the word "is" has more than one sense. There are as many modes of being as there are types of predication. "Substances," men, horses, and the like, have their own specific mode of being--they are things; qualities, such as green or sweet, have a different mode of being--they are not things, but "affections" or "attributes" of things. Actions, again, such as building, killing, are neither things nor yet "affections" of things; their mode of being is that they are processes which produce or destroy things. First Philosophy is concerned with the general character of all these modes of being, but it is specially concerned with that mode of being which belongs to</span> <em class="italics">substances</em><span>. For this is the most primary of all modes of being. We had to introduce a reference to it in our attempt to say what the mode of being of qualities and actions is, and it would have been the same had our illustrations been drawn from any other "categories." Hence the central and special problem of First Philosophy is to analyse the notion of substance and to show the causes of the existence of substances.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Next, we have to note that the word "substance" itself has two senses. When we spoke of substance as one of the categories we were using it in a secondary sense. We meant by substances "horse," "man," and the rest of the "real kinds" which we find in Nature, and try to reproduce in a scientific classification. In this sense of the word "substances" are a special class of</span> <em class="italics">predicates</em><span>, as when we affirm of Plato that he is a man, or of Bucephalus that he is a horse. But in the primary sense a substance means an absolutely individual thing, "</span><em class="italics">this</em> <span>man," or "</span><em class="italics">this</em> <span>horse." We may therefore define primary substances from the logician's point of view by saying that they can be only subjects of predication, never predicates. Or again, it is peculiar to substances, that while remaining numerically one a substance admits of incompatible determinations, as Socrates, remaining one and the same Socrates, is successively young and old. This is not true of "qualities," "actions," and the rest. The same colour cannot be first white and then black; the same act cannot be first bad and then good. Thus we may say that individual substances are the fixed and permanent factors in the world of mutability, the invariants of existence. Processes go on in them, they run the gamut of changes from birth to decay, processes take place</span> <em class="italics">among</em> <span>them, they act on and are acted on by one another, they fluctuate in their qualities and their magnitude, but so long as a substance exists it remains numerically one and the same throughout all these changes. Their existence is the first and most fundamental condition of the existence of the universe, since they are the bearers of all qualities, the terms of all relations, and the agents and patients in all interaction.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>The point to note is that Aristotle begins his investigation into the structure of What Is and the causes by which it is produced by starting from the existence of individual things belonging to the physical order and perceived by the senses. About any such thing we may ask two questions, (1) into what constituent factors can it be logically analysed? (2) and how has it come to exhibit the character which our analysis shows it to have? The answer to these questions will appear from a consideration of two standing antitheses which run through Aristotle's philosophy, the contrast between Matter and Form, and that between Potential and Actual, followed by a recapitulation of his doctrine of the Four Causes, or four senses of the word Cause.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Matter and Form</strong><span>.--Consider any completely developed individual thing, whether it is the product of human manufacture, as a copper bowl, or of natural reproduction, as an oak-tree or a horse. We shall see at once that the bowl is like other articles made of the same metal, candlesticks, coal-vases, in being made of the same stuff, and unlike them in having the special shape or structure which renders it fit for being used as a bowl and not for holding a candle or containing coals. So a botanist or a chemist will tell you that the constituent tissues of an oak or horse, or the chemical elements out of which these tissues are built up are of the same kind as those of an ash or an ox, but the oak differs from the ash or the horse from the ox in characteristic structure. We see thus that in any individual thing we can distinguish two components, the stuff of which it consists--which may be identical in kind with the stuff of which things of a very different kind consist--and the structural law of formation or arrangement which is peculiar to the "special" kind of thing under consideration. In the actual individual thing these two are inseparably united; they do not exist side by side, as chemists say the atoms of hydrogen and oxygen do in a drop of water; the law of organisation or structure is manifested in and through the copper, or the various tissues of the living body. Aristotle expresses this by saying that you can distinguish two aspects in an individual, its Matter, (</span><em class="italics">hyle, materia</em><span>) and its Form (</span><em class="italics">eidos, forma</em><span>). The individual is the matter as organised in accord with a determinate principle of structure, the form. Of these terms, the former,</span> <em class="italics">hyle</em> <span>(</span><em class="italics">materia</em><span>, matter) means literally timber, and more specifically ship's timbers, and his selection of it to mean what is most exactly rendered by our own word "stuff" may perhaps be due to a reminiscence of an old Pythagorean fancy which looked on the universe as a ship. The word for form is the same as Plato's, and its philosophical uses are closely connected with its mathematical sense, "regular figure," also a Pythagorean technicality which still survives in certain stereotyped phrases in Euclid. Aristotle extends the analysis into Matter and Form by analogy beyond the range of individual substances to everything in which we can distinguish a relatively indeterminate "somewhat" and a law or type of order and arrangement giving it determination. Thus if you consider the relatively fixed or "formed" character of a man in adult life, we may look upon this character as produced out of the "raw material" of tendencies and dispositions, which have received a specific development along definite lines, according to the kind of training to which the mind has been subjected in the "formative" period of its growth. We may therefore speak of native disposition as the matter or stuff of which character is made, and the practical problem of education is to devise a system of training which shall impress on this matter precisely the form required if the grown man is to be a good citizen of a good state. Since a man's character itself is not a substance but a complex of habits or fixed ways of reacting upon suggestions coming from the world around him, this is a good instance of the extension of the antithesis of Matter and Form beyond the category of substance. We see then that Matter in the Aristotelian sense must not be confounded with body; the relatively undetermined factor which receives completer determination by the structural law or Form is Matter, whether it is corporeal or not. This comes out with particular clearness in the metaphysical interpretation put on the logical process of definition by genus and difference. When I define any real kind by specifying a higher and wider class of which it is a sub-kind, and adding the peculiar characteristics which distinguish the sub-kind under consideration from the other sub-kinds of the same genus, the genus may be said to stand to the "differences" as Matter, the relatively indeterminate, to the Form which gives it its structure.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>We further observe that Matter and Form are strictly correlative. The matter is called so relatively to the form which gives it further determination. When the words are used in their strictest sense, with reference to an individual thing, the Form is taken to mean the</span> <em class="italics">last</em> <span>determination by which the thing acquires its complete character, and the Matter is that which has yet to receive this last determination. Thus in the case of a copper globe, the spherical figure is said to be its Form, the copper its material. In the case of the human body, the Matter is the various tissues, muscles, bones, skin, &amp;c. But each of these things which are counted as belonging to the Matter of the globe or the human body has, according to Aristotle, a development behind it. Copper is not an "element" but a specific combination of "elements," and the same thing is even more true of the highly elaborate tissues of the living body. Thus what is Matter relatively to the globe or living body is Matter already determined by Form if we consider it relatively to its own constituents. The so-called "elements" of Empedocles, earth, water, air, fire, are the matter of all chemical compounds, the Form of each compound being its specific law of composition; the immediate or "proximate" Matter of the tissues of the animal body is, according to Aristotle's biology, the "superfluous" blood of the female parent, out of which the various tissues in the offspring are developed, and the Matter of this blood is in turn the various substances which are taken into the body of the parent as food and converted by assimilation into blood. Their Matter, once more, is the earth, air, fire, and water of which they are composed. Thus at every stage of a process of manufacture or growth a fresh Form is superinduced on, or developed within, a Matter which is already itself a combination of Matter and Form relatively to the process by which it has itself been originated. Fully thought out, such a view would lead to the conclusion that in the end the simple ultimate matter of all individual things is one and the same throughout the universe, and has absolutely no definite structure at all. The introduction of Form or determinate structure of any kind would then have to be thought of as coming from an outside source, since structureless Matter cannot be supposed to give itself all sorts of specific determinations, as has been demonstrated in our own times by the collapse of the "Synthetic Philosophy." Aristotle avoids the difficulty by holding that "pure Matter" is a creation of our thought. In actual fact the crudest form in which matter is found is that of the "elements." Since the transmutability of the "elements" is an indispensable tenet in Aristotle's Physics, we cannot avoid regarding earth, water, fire air as themselves determinations by specific Form of a still simpler Matter, though this "prime Matter" "all alone, before a rag of Form is on," is never to be found existing in its simplicity.[#]</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#]</span> <em class="italics small">Hudibras</em><span class="small">, Pt. 1, Canto 1, 560.</span></p>
+    <p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">"He had First Matter seen undressed;<br />
+    He took her naked all alone,<br />
+    Before one rag of Form was on."</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Potential and the Actual</strong><span>.--So far we have been looking at the analysis of the individual thing, as the current jargon puts it, statically; we have arrived at the antithesis of Matter and Form by contrasting an unfinished condition of anything with its finished condition. But we may study the same contrast dynamically, with special reference to the process of making or growth by which the relatively undetermined or unfinished becomes determined or finished. The contrast of Matter with Form then passes into the contrast between Potentiality and Actuality. What this antithesis means we can best see from the case of the growth of a living organism. Consider the embryos of two animals, or the seeds of two plants. Even a botanist or a physiologist may be unable to pronounce with certainty on the species to which the germ submitted to him belongs, and chemical analysis may be equally at a loss. Even at a later stage of development, the embryo of one vertebrate animal may be indistinguishable from that of another. Yet it is certain that one of two originally indistinguishable germs will grow into an oak and the other into an elm, or one into a chimpanzee and the other into a man. However indistinguishable, they therefore may be said to have different latent tendencies or possibilities of development within them. Hence we may say of a given germ, "though this is not yet actually an oak, it is potentially an oak," meaning not merely that, if uninterfered with, it will in time be an oak, but also that by no interference can it be made to grow into an elm or a beech. So we may look upon all processes of production or development as processes by which what at first possessed only the tendency to grow along certain lines or to be worked up into a certain form, has become actually endowed with the character to which it possessed the tendency. The acorn becomes in process of time an actual oak, the baby an actual man, the copper is made into an actual vase, right education brings out into active exercise the special capacities of the learner. Hence the distinction between Matter and Form may also be expressed by saying that the Matter is the persistent underlying</span> <em class="italics">substratum</em> <span>in which the development of the Form takes place, or that the individual when finally determined by the Form is the Actuality of which the undeveloped Matter was the Potentiality. The process of conception, birth, and growth to maturity in Nature, or of the production of a finished article by the "arts" whose business it is to "imitate" Nature, may be said to be one of continuous advance towards the actual embodiment of a Form, or law of organisation, in a Matter having the latent potentiality of developing along those special lines. When Aristotle is speaking most strictly he distinguishes the process by which a Form is realised, which he calls Energeia, from the manifestation of the realised Form, calling the latter Entelechy (literally "finished" or "completed" condition). Often, however, he uses the word Energeia more loosely for the actual manifestation of the Form itself, and in this he is followed by the scholastic writers, who render Energeia by</span> <em class="italics">actus</em> <span>or</span> <em class="italics">actus purus</em><span>.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>One presupposition of this process must be specially noted. It is not an unending process of development of unrealised capacities, but always has an End in the perfectly simple sense of a last stage. We see this best in the case of growth. The acorn grows into the sapling and the sapling into the oak, but there is nothing related to the oak as the oak is to the sapling. The oak does not grow into something else. The process of development from potential to actual in this special case comes to an end with the emergence of the mature oak. In the organic world the end or last state is recognised by the fact that the organism can now exercise the power of reproducing its like. This tendency of organic process to culminate in a last stage of complete maturity is the key to the treatment of the problem of the "true end" of life in Aristotle's</span> <em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Four Causes</strong><span>.--The conception of the world involved in these antitheses of Form and Matter, Potential and Actual, finds its fullest expression in Aristotle's doctrine of the Four Causes or conditions of the production of things. This doctrine is looked on by Aristotle as the final solution of the problem which had always been the central one for Greek philosophy, What are the causes of the world-order? All the previous philosophies he regards as inadequate attempts to formulate the answer to this question which is only given completely by his own system. Hence the doctrine requires to be stated with some fullness. We may best approach it by starting from the literal meaning of the Greek terms</span> <em class="italics">aitia</em><span>,</span> <em class="italics">aition</em><span>, which Aristotle uses to convey the notion of cause.</span> <em class="italics">Aition</em> <span>is properly an adjective used substantially, and means "that on which the legal responsibility for a given state of affairs can be laid." Similarly</span> <em class="italics">aitia</em><span>, the substantive, means the "credit" for good or bad, the legal "responsibility," for an act. Now when we ask, "what is responsible for the fact that such and such a state of things now exists?" there are four partial answers which may be given, and each of these corresponds to one of the "causes." A complete answer requires the enumeration of them all. We may mention (1) the</span> <em class="italics">matter</em> <span>or</span> <em class="italics">material</em> <span>cause of the thing, (2) the law according to which it has grown or developed, the</span> <em class="italics">form</em> <span>or</span> <em class="italics">formal</em> <span>cause, (3) the agent with whose initial impulse the development began--the "starting-point of the process," or, as the later Aristotelians call it, the</span> <em class="italics">efficient</em> <span>cause, (4) the completed result of the whole process, which is present in the case of human manufacture as a preconceived idea determining the maker's whole method of handling his material, and in organic development in Nature as implied in and determining the successive stages of growth--the</span> <em class="italics">end</em> <span>or</span> <em class="italics">final</em> <span>cause. If any one of these had been different, the resultant state of things would also have been different. Hence all four must be specified in completely accounting for it. Obvious illustrations can be given from artificial products of human skill, but it seems clear that it was rather reflection on the biological process of reproduction and growth which originally suggested the analysis. Suppose we ask what was requisite in order that there should be now an oak on a given spot. There must have been (1) a germ from which the oak has grown, and this germ must have had the latent tendencies towards development which are characteristic of oaks. This is the material cause of the oak. (2) This germ must have followed a definite law of growth; it must have had a tendency to grow in the way characteristic of oaks and to develop the structure of an oak, not that of a plane or an ash. This is form or formal cause. (3) Also the germ of the oak did not come from nowhere; it grew on a parent oak. The parent oak and its acorn-bearing activity thus constitute the</span> <em class="italics">efficient</em> <span>cause of the present oak. (4) And there must be a final stage to which the whole process of growth is relative, in which the germ or sapling is no longer becoming but is an adult oak bearing fresh acorns. This is the</span> <em class="italics">end</em> <span>of the process. One would not be going far wrong in saying that Aristotle's biological cast of thought leads him to conceive of this "end" in the case of reproduction as a sub-conscious purpose, just as the workman's thought of the result to be attained by his action forms a conscious directing purpose in the case of manufacture. Both in Nature and in "art" the "form," the "efficient cause," and the "end" tend to coalesce. Thus in Nature "a man begets a man," organic beings give birth to other organic beings of the same kind, or, in the technical language of the Aristotelian theory of Causation, the efficient cause produces, as the "end" of its action, a second being having the same "form" as itself, though realised in different "matter," and numerically distinct from itself. Thus the efficient cause (</span><em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>the parent) is a "form" realised in matter, and the "end" is the same "form" realised in other matter. So in "products of art" the true "source of the process" is the "form" the realisation of which is the "end" or final cause, only with this difference, that as efficient cause the "form" exists not in the material but by way of "idea" or "representation" in the mind of the craftsman. A house does not produce another house, but the house as existing in "idea" in the builder's mind sets him at work building, and so produces a corresponding house in brick or stone. Thus the ultimate opposition is between the "cause as matter," a passive and inert substratum of change and development and the "formal" cause which, in the sense just explained, is one with both the "efficient" or starting-point, and the "end" or goal of development. It will, of course, be seen that individual bearers of "forms" are indispensable in the theory; hence the notion of</span> <em class="italics">activity</em> <span>is essential to the causal relation. It is a relation between things, not between events. Aristotle has no sense of the word cause corresponding to Mill's conception of a cause as an event which is the uniform precursor of another event.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Two more remarks may be made in this connection. (1) The prominence of the notion of "end" gives Aristotle's philosophy a thorough-going "ideological" character. God and Nature, he tells us, do nothing aimlessly. We should probably be mistaken if we took this to mean that "God and Nature" act everywhere with conscious design. The meaning is rather that every natural process has a last stage in which the "form" which was to begin with present in the agent or "source of change" is fully realised in the matter in which the agent has set up the process of change. The normal thing is</span> <em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>for animals to reproduce "their kind"; if the reproduction is imperfect or distorted, as in monstrous births, this is an exception due to the occasional presence in "matter" of imperfections which hinder the course of development, and must be regarded as "contrary to the normal course of Nature." So hybrid reproduction is exceptional and "against Nature," and this is shown by the sterility of hybrids, a sort of lesser monstrosity. Even females, being "arrested developments," are a sort of still minor deviation from principle. (2) It may just be mentioned that Aristotle has a classification of efficient causes under the three heads of Nature, Intelligence (or Man), and Chance. The difference between Nature and Man or Intelligence as efficient causes has already been illustrated. It is that in causation by Nature, such as sexual reproduction, or the assimilation of nutriment, or the conversion of one element into another in which Aristotle believed, the form which is superinduced on the matter by the agent already exists in the agent itself as</span> <em class="italics">its</em> <span>form. The oak springs from a parent oak, the conversion of nutriment into organic tissue is due to the agency of already existing organic tissue. In the case of human intelligence or art, the "form" to be superinduced exists in the agent not as</span> <em class="italics">his</em> <span>characteristic form, but by way of representation, as a contemplated design. The man who builds a house is not himself a house; the form characteristic of a house is very different from that characteristic of a man, but it is present in contemplation to the builder before it is embodied in the actual house. A word may be added about the third sort of efficient causality, causation by chance. This is confined to cases which are exceptions from the general course of Nature, remarkable coincidences. It is what we may call "simulated purposiveness." When something in human affairs happens in a way which subserves the achievement of a result but was not really brought about by any intention to secure the result, we speak of it as a remarkable coincidence. Thus it would be a coincidence if a man should be held to ransom by brigands and his best friend should, without knowing anything of the matter, turn up on the spot with the means of ransoming him. The events could not have happened more opportunely if they had been planned, and yet they were not planned but merely fell out so: and since such a combination of circumstances simulating design is unusual, it is not proper to say that the events happened "in the course of Nature." We therefore say it happened by chance. This doctrine of chance has its significance for mediæval Ethics. In an age when the Protestant superstition that worldly success is proof of nearness to God had not yet been invented, the want of correspondence between men's "deserts" and their prosperity was accounted for by the view that the distribution of worldly goods is, as a rule, the work of Fortune or Chance in the Aristotelian sense; that is, it is due to special coincidences which may look like deliberate design but are not really so. (See the elaborate exposition of this in Dante,</span> <em class="italics">Inferno</em><span>, vii. 67-97.)</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Motion</strong><span>.--We have seen that causation, natural or artificial, requires the production in a certain "matter" of a certain "form" under the influence of a certain "agent." What is the character of the process set up by the agent in the matter and culminating in the appearance of the form? Aristotle answers that it is Motion (</span><em class="italics">kinesis</em><span>). The effect of the agent on the matter is to set up in it a motion which ends in its assuming a definite form. The important point to be noted here is that Aristotle regards this motion as falling wholly within the matter which is to assume the form. It is not necessary that the agent should itself be in motion, but only that it should induce motion in something else. Thus in all cases of intentional action the ultimate efficient cause is the "idea of the result to be attained," but this idea does not move about. By its presence to the mind it sets something else (the members of the body) moving. This conception of an efficient cause which, not moving itself, by its mere presence induces movement in that to which it is present, is of the highest importance in Aristotle's theology. Of course it follows that since the motion by which the transition from potentiality to actuality is achieved falls wholly within the matter acted upon, Aristotle is not troubled with any of the questions as to the way in which motion can be transferred from one body to another which were so much agitated in the early days of the modern mechanical interpretation of natural processes. Aristotle's way of conceiving Nature is thoroughly non-mechanical, and approximates to what would now be called the ascription of vital or quasi-vital characteristics to the inorganic. As, in the causality of "art" the mere presence of the "form" to be embodied in a given material to the mind of the craftsman brings about and directs the process of manufacture, so in some analogous fashion the presence of an efficient cause in Nature to that on which it works is thought of as itself constituting the "efficiency" of the cause. As Lotze phrases it, things "take note of" one another's compresence in the universe, or we might say the efficient cause and that on which it exercises its efficiency are</span> <em class="italics">en rapport</em><span>. "Matter" is sensitive to the presence of the "efficient cause," and in response to this sensitivity, puts forth successive determinations, expands its latent tendencies on definite lines.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>The name "motion" has a wider sense for Aristotle than it has for ourselves. He includes under the one common name all the processes by which things come to be what they are or cease to be what they have been. Thus he distinguishes the following varieties of "motion":</span> <em class="italics">generation</em> <span>(the coming of an individual thing into being), with its opposite</span> <em class="italics">decay</em> <span>or</span> <em class="italics">corruption</em> <span>(the passing of a thing out of being),</span> <em class="italics">alteration</em> <span>(change of</span> <em class="italics">quality</em> <span>in a thing),</span> <em class="italics">augmentation</em> <span>and</span> <em class="italics">diminution</em> <span>(change in the</span> <em class="italics">magnitude</em> <span>of a thing),</span> <em class="italics">motion through space</em> <span>(of which latter he recognises two sub-species, rectilinear</span> <em class="italics">transference</em> <span>and</span> <em class="italics">rotation</em> <span>in a circular orbit about an axis). It is this last variety, motion through space, which is the most fundamental of all, since its occurrence is involved in that of any of the other types of process mentioned, though Aristotle does not hold the thorough-going mechanical view that the other processes are only apparent, and that, as we should put it, qualitative change is a mere disguise which mechanical motion wears for our senses.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Eternity of Motion</strong><span>.--Certain very important consequences follow from the conception of efficient causation which we have been describing. Aristotle has no sympathy with the "evolutionist" views which had been favoured by some of his predecessors. According to his theory of organic generation, "it takes a man to beget a man "; where there is a baby, there must have been a father. Biological kinds representing real clefts in Nature, the process of the production of a young generation by an already adult generation must be thought of as without beginning and without end. There can be no natural "evolution" of animals of one species from individuals of a different kind. Nor does it occur to Aristotle to take into account the possibility of "Creationism," the sudden coming into being of a fully fledged first generation at a stroke. This possibility is excluded by the doctrine that the "matter" of a thing must exist beforehand as an indispensable condition of the production of that thing. Every baby, as we said, must have had a father, but that father must also have been a baby before he was a full-grown man. Hence the perpetuation of unchanging species must be without beginning and without end. And it is implied that all the various processes, within and without the organism, apart from which its life could not be kept up, must be equally without beginning and without end. The "cosmos," or orderly world of natural processes, is strictly "eternal"; "motion" is everlasting and continuous, or unbroken. Even the great Christian theologians who built upon Aristotle could not absolutely break with him on this point. St. Thomas, though obliged to admit that the world was actually created a few thousand years before his own time, maintains that this can only be known to be true from revelation, philosophically it is equably tenable that the world should have been "created from all eternity." And it is the general doctrine of scholasticism that the expression "creation" only denotes the absolute dependence of the world on God for its being. When we say "God created the world out of nothing," we mean that He did not make it out of pre-existing matter, that it depends for its being on Him only; the expression is purely negative in its import.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">God</strong><span>.--With the doctrine of the eternity of the world and the processes which make up its life we come close to the culminating theory of Aristotelian First Philosophy, its doctrine of God, as the eternal, unchanging source of all change, movement, and process. All motion is a process within matter by which the forms latent in it are brought into actual manifestation. And the process only takes place in the presence of an adequate efficient cause or source of motion. Hence the eternity of natural processes involves the existence of one or more eternal sources of motion. For, if we do not admit the existence of an unoriginated and ever-present source or sources of motion, our only alternative is to hold that the world-process is due to a series of sources of motion existing successively. But such a view would leave the unity and unbroken continuity of the world-process unaccounted for. It would give us a succession of processes, temporally contiguous, not one unbroken process. Hence we argue from the continuity of motion to its dependence on a source or sources which are permanent and present throughout the whole everlasting world-process. And when we come to the question whether there is only one such ultimate source of movement for the whole universe, or several, Aristotle's answer is that the supreme "Unmoved Mover" is one. One is enough for the purpose, and the law of parcimony forbids us to assume the superfluous. This then is the Aristotelian conception of God and God's relation to the world. God is the one supreme unchanging being to whose presence the world responds with the whole process of cosmic development, the ultimate educer of the series of "forms" latent in the "matter" of the world into actual manifestation. Standing, as He does, outside the whole process which by His mere presence He initiates in Nature, He is not himself a composite of "form" and "matter," as the products of development are. He is a pure individual "form" or "actuality," with no history of gradual development behind it. Thus He is a purely immaterial being, indispensable to the world's existence but transcending it and standing outside it.</span> <em class="italics">How</em> <span>His presence inspires the world to move Aristotle tries to explain by the metaphor of appetition. Just as the good I desire and conceive, without itself "moving" "moves" my appetition, so God moves the universe by being its good. This directly brings about a uniform unbroken rotation of the whole universe round its axis (in fact, the alternation of day and night). And since this rotation is communicated from the outermost "sphere" of heaven to all the lesser "spheres" between it and the immovable centre, the effects of God's presence are felt universally. At the same time, we must note that though God is the supreme Mover of the Universe, He is not regarded by Aristotle as its Creator, even in the sense in which creation can be reconciled with the eternity of the world. For the effect of God's presence is simply to lead to the development of "form" in an already existing "matter." Without God there could be no "form" or order in things, not even as much as is implied in the differentiation of matter into the four "elements," yet "primary matter" is no less than God a precondition of all that happens.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>It is characteristic of Aristotle that his God is as far from discharging the functions of a Providence as He is from being a Creator. His "activity" is not, as Plato had made it, that of the great "Shepherd of the sheep." As far as the world is concerned, God's only function is to be there to move its appetition. For the rest, the unbroken activity of this life is directed wholly inward. Aristotle expressly calls it an "activity of immobility." More precisely, he tells us, it is activity of thought, exercised unbrokenly and everlastingly upon the only object adequate to exercise God's contemplation, Himself. His life is one of everlasting</span> <em class="italics">self</em><span>-contemplation or "thinking of thought itself." Like all unimpeded exercise of activity, it is attended by pleasure, and as the activity is continuous, so the pleasure of it is continuous too. At our best, when we give ourselves up to the pure contemplative activity of scientific thought or æsthetic appreciation, we enter for a while into this divine life and share the happiness of God. But that is a theme for our chapter on the</span> <em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>It is a far cry from this conception of a God untroubled by care for a world to which He is only related as the object of its aspiration to the God who cares even for the fall of the sparrow and of whom it is written,</span> <em class="italics">Sic Deus dilexit mundum</em><span>, but it was the standing task of the philosophical theologians of the Middle Ages to fuse the two conceptions. Plato's God, who, if not quite the Creator, is the "Father and Fashioner" of us all, and keeps providential watch over the world He has fashioned, would have lent Himself better to their purposes, but Plato was held by the mediæval church to have denied the resurrection of the body. The combination of Aristotle's Theism with the Theism of early Christianity was effected by exquisitely subtle logical devices, but even in St. Thomas one cannot help seeing the seams.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Nor can one help seeing in Aristotle's own doctrine the usual want of coherence between an initial anti-Platonic bias and a final reversion to the very Platonic positions Aristotle is fond of impugning. We are told at the outset that the Platonic "separate forms" are empty names, and that the real individual thing is always a composite of matter and a form which only exists "in matter." We find in the end that the source of the whole process by which "matter" becomes imbued with "form" is a being which is "pure" form and stands outside the whole development which its presence sets up. And the issue of Aristotle's warning against "poetic metaphors" is the doctrine that God moves the world by being "the object of the world's desire."</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst" id="physics"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV</span></p>
+    <p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">PHYSICS</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>There is no part of Aristotle's system which has been more carefully thought out than his Physics; at the same time it is almost wholly on account of his physical doctrines that his long ascendancy over thought is so much to be regretted. Aristotle's qualifications as a man of science have been much overrated. In one department, that of descriptive natural history, he shows himself a master of minute and careful observation who could obtain unqualified praise from so great a naturalist as Darwin. But in Astronomy and Physics proper his inferiority in mathematical thinking and his dislike for mechanical ways of explaining facts put him at a great disadvantage, as compared with Plato and Plato's Pythagorean friends. Thus his authority was for centuries one of the chief influences which prevented the development of Astronomy on right lines. Plato had himself both taught the mobility of the earth and denied correctly that the earth is at the centre of the universe, and the "Copernican" hypothesis in Astronomy probably originated in the Academy. Aristotle, however, insists on the central position of the earth, and violently attacks Plato for believing in its motion. It is equally serious that he insists on treating the so-called "four elements" as ultimately unanalysable forms of matter, though Plato had not only observed that so far from being the ABC (</span><em class="italics">stoicheia</em> <span>or</span> <em class="italics">elementa</em><span>, literally, letters of the alphabet) of Nature they do not deserve to be called even "syllables," but had also definitely put forward the view that it is the geometrical structure of the "corpuscles" of body upon which sensible qualities depend. It is on this doctrine, of course, that all mathematical physics rests. Aristotle reverts to the older theory that the differences between one "element" and another are qualitative differences of a sensible kind. Even in the biological sciences Aristotle shows an unfortunate proneness to disregard established fact when it conflicts with the theories for which he has a personal liking. Thus, though the importance of the brain as the central organ of the sensori-motor system had been discovered in the late sixth or early fifth century by the physician Alemacon of Crotona, and taught by the great Hippocrates in the fifth and by Plato in the fourth century, Aristotle's prejudices in favour of the doctrines of a different school of biologists led him to revert to the view that it is the heart which is the centre of what we now call the "nervous system." It is mainly on account of these reactionary scientific views that he was attacked in the early seventeenth century by writers like our own Francis Bacon, who found in veneration for Aristotle one of the chief hindrances to the free development of natural science. The same complaints had been made long before by critics belonging to the Platonic Academy. It is a Platonist of the time of Marcus Aurelius who sums up a vigorous attack on the Aristotelian astronomy by the remark that Aristotle never understood that the true task of the physicist is not to prescribe laws to Nature, but to learn from observation of the facts what the laws followed by Nature are.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>In determining the scope of Physics, we have to begin by considering what is the special characteristic of things produced by Nature as contrasted with those produced by "art." The obvious distinction, intimated by the very etymology of the word "Nature" (</span><em class="italics">physis</em><span>, connected with</span> <em class="italics">phyesthai</em><span>, to grow, to be born, as</span> <em class="italics">natura</em> <span>is with</span> <em class="italics">nasci</em><span>), is that "what is by Nature" is born and grows, whereas what is as a result of artifice is</span> <em class="italics">made</em><span>. The "natural" may thus be said to consist of living bodies and of their constituent parts. Hence inorganic matter also is included in "Nature," on the ground that living tissue can be analysed back into compounds of the "elements." Now things which are alive and grow are distinguished from things which are made by "a source of motion and quiescence within themselves"; all of them exhibit motions, changes of quality, processes of growth and decline which are initiated from within. Hence Nature may be defined as the totality of things which have a source of motion internal to themselves and of the constituent parts of such things. Nature then comprises all beings capable of spontaneous change. Whatever either does not change at all, or only changes in consequence of external influences, is excluded from Nature.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Thus the fundamental fact everywhere present in Nature is "change," "process," "motion." Since motion in the literal sense of change of position is involved as a condition of every such process, and such motion requires space through which to move and time to move in, the doctrine of space and time will also form part of Physics. Hence a great part of Aristotle's special lectures on Physics is occupied with discussion of the nature of space and time, and of the continuity which we must ascribe to them if the "continuous motion" on which the unbroken life of the universe depends is to be real Aristotle knows nothing of the modern questions whether space and time are "real" or only "phenomenal," whether they are "objective" or "subjective." Just as he simply assumes that bodies are things that really exist, whether we happen to perceive them or not, so he assumes that the space and time in which they move are real features of a world that does not depend for its existence on our perceiving it.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>His treatment of space is singularly</span> <em class="italics">naïf</em><span>. He conceives it as a sort of vessel, into which you can pour different liquids. Just as the same pot may hold first wine and then water, so, if you can say, "there was water here, but now there is air here," this implies the existence of a receptacle which once held the water, but now holds the air. Hence a jug or pot may be called a "place that can be carried about," and space or place may be called "an immovable vessel." Hence the "place" of a thing may be defined as the boundary, or inner surface, of the body which immediately surrounds the thing. It follows from this that there can be no empty space. In the last resort, "absolute space" is the actual surface of the outermost "heaven" which contains everything else in itself but is not contained in any remoter body. Thus all things whatever are "in" this "heaven." But it is not itself "in" anything else. In accord with the standing Greek identification of determinate character with limitation, Aristotle holds that this outermost heaven must be at a limited distance from us. Actual space is thus finite in the sense that the volume of the universe could be expressed as a finite number of cubic miles or yards, though, since it must be "continuous," it is infinitely divisible. However often you subdivide a length, an area, or a volume, you will always be dividing it into lesser lengths, &amp;c., which can once more be divided. You will never by division come to "points,"</span> <em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>mere positions without magnitude of divisibility.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>The treatment of time is more thoughtful. Time is inseparably connected with movement or change. We only perceive that time has elapsed when we perceive that change has occurred. But time is not the same as change. For change is of different and incommensurate kinds, change of place, change of colour, &amp;c.; but to take up time is common to all these forms of process. And time is not the same as motion. For there are different rates of speed, but the very fact that we can compare these different velocities implies that there are not different velocities of</span> <em class="italics">time</em><span>. Time then is that in terms of which we</span> <em class="italics">measure</em> <span>motion, "the number of motion in respect of before and after,"</span> <em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>it is that by which we estimate the</span> <em class="italics">duration</em> <span>of processes. Thus</span> <em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>when we speak of</span> <em class="italics">two</em> <span>minutes,</span> <em class="italics">two</em> <span>days,</span> <em class="italics">two</em> <span>months as required for a certain process to be completed, we are counting something. This something is time. It does not seem to occur to Aristotle that this definition implies that there are indivisible bits of time, though he quite correctly states the incompatible proposition that time is "made up of successive</span> <em class="italics">nows</em><span>,"</span> <em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>moments which have no duration at all, and can no more be counted than the points on a straight line. He recognises of course that the "continuity" of motion implies that of time as well as of space. Since, however, "continuity" in his language means the same thing as indefinite divisibility, it ought not to be possible for him to regard time as "made up of</span> <em class="italics">nows</em><span>"; time, like linear extension, ought for him to be a "length of" something.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Continuous Motion and the "Spheres."</strong><span>--The continuous world-process depends upon a continuous movement set up in the universe as a whole by the presence of an everlasting and unchangeable "First Mover," God. From the self-sameness of God, it follows that this most universal of movements must be absolutely uniform. Of what precise kind can such a movement be? As the source of the movement is one, and the object moved is also one--viz. the compass of the "heaven," the movement of the</span> <em class="italics">primum mobile</em> <span>or "first moved"--the object immediately stimulated to motion by God's presence to it, must be mechanically simple. Now Aristotle, mistakenly, held that there are two forms of movement which are simple and unanalysable, motion of translation along a straight line, and motion of rotation round an axis. He is at pains to argue that rectilinear motion, which we easily discover to be that characteristic of bodies near the earth's surface when left to themselves, cannot be the kind of movement which belongs to the "heaven" as a whole. For continuous rectilinear movement in the same direction could not go on for ever on his assumption that there is no space outside the "heaven," which is itself at a finite distance from us. And motion to and fro would not be unbroken, since Aristotle argues that every time a moving body reached the end of its path, and the sense of its movement was reversed, it would be for two consecutive moments in the same place, and therefore at rest. Reversal of sense would imply a discontinuity. Hence he decides that the primary unbroken movement must be the rotation of the "first moved"--that is, the heaven containing the fixed stars--round its axis. This is the only movement which could go on for ever at a uniform rate and in the same sense. Starting with the conviction that the earth is at rest in the centre of the universe, he inevitably accounts for the alternation of day and night as the effect of such a revolution of the whole universe round an axis passing through the centre of the earth. The universe is thus thought of as bounded by a spherical surface, on the concave side of which are the fixed stars, which are therefore one and all at the same distance from us. This sphere, under the immediate influence of God, revolves on its axis once in twenty-four hours, and this period of revolution is absolutely uniform. Next the apparently irregular paths of the "planets" known to Aristotle (</span><em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>the moon, Mercury, Venus, the sun, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn) are resolved into combinations of similar uniform rotations, each planet having as many "spheres" assigned to it as are requisite for the analysis of its apparent path into perfectly circular elementary motions. Altogether Aristotle holds that fifty-four such rotating spheres are required over and above the "first moved" itself, whose rotation is, of course, communicated to all the lesser "spheres" included within it. As in the case of the "first moved," the uniform unceasing rotation of each "sphere" is explained by the influence on it of an unchanging immaterial "form," which is to its own "sphere" what God is to the universe as a whole. In the Aristotelianism of the mediæval church these pure forms or intelligences which originate the movements of the various planetary spheres are naturally identified with angels. It is</span> <em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>to the angelic intelligences which "move" the heaven of Venus, which comes third in order counting outward from the earth, that Dante addresses his famous Canzone,</span> <em class="italics">Voi ch' intendendo il terzo del movete</em><span>. The mediæval astronomy, however, differs in two important respects from that of Aristotle himself. (1) The number of "spheres" is different. Increasing knowledge of the complexity of the paths of the planets showed that if their paths are to be analysed into combinations of circular motions, fifty-four such rotations must be an altogether inadequate number. Aristotle's method of analysis of the heavenly movements was therefore combined with either or both of two others originated by pure astronomers who sat loose to metaphysics. One of these methods was to account for a planet's path by the introduction of</span> <em class="italics">epicycles</em><span>. The planet was thought of not as fixed at a given point on its principal sphere, but as situated on the circumference of a lesser sphere which has its centre at a fixed point of the principal sphere and rotates around an axis passing through this centre. If need were, this type of hypothesis could be further complicated by imagining any number of such epicycles within epicycles. The other method was the employment of "eccentrics,"</span> <em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>circular movements which are described not about the common centre of the earth and the universe, but about some point in its neighbourhood. By combinations of epicycles and eccentrics the mediæval astronomers contrived to reduce the number of principal spheres to</span> <em class="italics">one</em> <span>for each planet, the arrangement we find in Dante. (2) Also real or supposed astronomical perturbations unknown to Aristotle led some mediæval theorists to follow the scheme devised by Alphonso the Wise of Castille, in which further spheres are inserted between that of Saturn, the outermost planet, and the "first moved." In Dante, we have, excluding the "empyrean" or immovable heaven where God and the blessed are, nine "spheres," one for each of the planets, one for the fixed stars, and one for the "first moved," which is now distinguished from the heaven of the stars. In Milton, who adopts the "Alphonsine" scheme, we have further a sphere called the "second movable" or "crystalline" introduced between the heaven of the fixed stars and the "first moved," to account for the imaginary phenomenon of "trepidation."[#] In reading Dante, Shakespeare, and Milton, we have always to remember that none of these reproduces the Aristotelian doctrine of the "spheres" accurately; their astronomy is an amalgam of Aristotle, Ptolemy, and Hipparchus.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#]</span> <em class="italics small">Paradise Lost</em><span class="small">, iii. 481.</span></p>
+    <p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">"They pass the planets seven, and pass the fixed,<br />
+    And that crystalline sphere whose balance weighs<br />
+    The trepidation talked, and that first moved."</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>So far, the doctrine of the fifty-five "spheres" might be no more than a legitimate mathematical fiction, a convenient device for analysing the complicated apparent movements of the heavenly bodies into circular components. This was originally the part played by "spheres" in ancient astronomical theory, and it is worth while to be quite clear about the fact, as there is a mistaken impression widely current to-day that Aristotle's astronomy is typical of Greek views in general. The truth is that it is peculiar to himself. The origin of the theory was Academic. Plato proposed to the Academy as a subject of inquiry, to devise such a mathematical analysis of astronomical motions as will best "save the appearances,"</span> <em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>will most simply account for the apparent paths of the planets. The analysis of these paths into resultants of several rotations was offered as a solution by the astronomer Eudoxus of Cnidus. So far, the "spheres," then, were a mere mathematical hypothesis. What Aristotle did, and it is perhaps the most retrograde step ever taken in the history of a science, was to convert the mathematical hypothesis into physical fact. The "spheres" become with him real bodies, and as none of the bodies we are familiar with exhibit any tendency to rotate in circles when left to themselves, Aristotle was forced to introduce into Physics the disastrous theory, which it was a great part of Galileo's life-work to destroy, that the stuff of which the spheres are made is a "fifth body," different from the "elements" of which the bodies among which we live are made. Hence he makes an absolute distinction between two kinds of matter, "celestial matter," the "fifth body," and "terrestrial" or "elementary" matter. The fundamental difference is that "terrestrial" or "elementary" matter, left to itself, follows a rectilinear path, "celestial" matter rotates, but it is further inferred from the supposed absolute uniformity of the celestial movements that "celestial matter" is simple, uncompounded, incapable of change, and consequently that no new state of things can ever arise in the heavens. The spheres and planets have always been and will always be exactly as they are at the present moment. Mutability is confined to the region of "terrestrial" or "elementary" matter, which only extends as far as the orbit of the moon, the "lowest of the celestial bodies," because it is only "terrestrial" things which are, as we should say, chemical compounds. This is the doctrine which Galileo has in mind when he dwells on such newly-discovered astronomical facts as the existence of sun-spots and variable stars, and the signs of irregularity presented by the moon's surface. The distinction is peculiar to Aristotle. No one before him had ever thought of supposing the heavenly bodies to be made of any materials other than those of which "bodies terrestrial" are made. In the Academic attack on Aristotle's science of which we have already spoken the two points singled out for reprobation are (1) his rejection of the principle that all moving bodies, left to themselves, follow a rectilinear path, and (2) his denial that the heavenly bodies are made of the same "elements" as everything else. (It may just be mentioned in passing that our word</span> <em class="italics">quintessence</em> <span>gets its sense from the supposed special "nobility" of the incorruptible "fifth body.")</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Terrestrial Bodies</strong><span>.--As we have seen already, Aristotle was out of sympathy with the tendency to regard the sensible differences between bodies as consequences of more ultimate differences in the geometrical structure of their particles. Hence his whole attitude towards the problems of that branch of natural science which we call physics is quite unlike any view to which we are accustomed. He reverts from the mathematical lines of thought current in Plato's Academy to the type of view more natural to the "plain man," and, like the earliest sixth-century men of science, regards the</span> <em class="italics">qualitative</em> <span>differences which our senses apprehend as fundamental. Among these, particular stress is laid on the difference in sensible temperature (the hot--the cold), in saturation (the dry--the moist), and in density (the dense--the rare). If we consider the first two of these oppositions, we can make four binary combinations of the elementary "opposite" characters, viz. hot and dry, hot and moist, cold and moist, cold and dry. These combinations are regarded as corresponding respectively to the sensible characteristics of the four bodies which Empedocles, the father of Greek chemistry, had treated as the ultimate components of everything. Fire is hot and dry, air hot and moist, water moist and cold, earth cold and dry. This reflection shows us why Aristotle held that the most rudimentary form in which "matter" ever actually exists is that of one of these "elements." Each of them has</span> <em class="italics">one</em> <span>quality in common with another, and it is in virtue of this that a portion of one element can be assimilated by and transmuted into another, a process which seems to the untutored eye to be constantly recurring in Nature. We also observe that the order in which the "elements" appear, when so arranged as to form a series in which each term has one quality in common with each of its neighbours, is also that of their increasing density. This would help to make the conception of their transmutability all the more natural, as it suggests that the process may be effected by steady condensation. We must remember carefully that for Aristotle, who denies the possibility of a vacuum, as for the mediæval alchemists, condensation does not mean a mere diminution of the distances between corpuscles which remain unchanged in character, but is a process of real qualitative change in the body which undergoes it. Incidentally we may remark that</span> <em class="italics">all</em> <span>changes of quality are regarded by Aristotle as stages in a continuous "movement" from one extreme of a scale to another. For example, colours, with him as with Goethe, form a series of which the "opposites" white and black are the end-points. Every other colour is a combination of white and black according to a definite proportion.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>The Aristotelian doctrine of weight was one of the chief obstacles which seventeenth-century science had to contend with in establishing correct notions in dynamics. It is a curious feature of Greek science before Aristotle that, though the facts connected with gravity were well known, no one introduced the notion of weight to account for them. The difference between heavy bodies and light bodies had been previously treated as secondary for science. Plato's treatment of the matter is typical of the best fourth-century science. We must not try to explain why the heavier bodies tend to move towards the earth's surface by saying that they have a "downward" motion; their motion is not downward but "towards the centre" (the earth, though not fixed at the centre of the universe, being nearer to it than the rest of the solar and sidereal system). Plato then explains the tendency in virtue of which the heavier bodies move towards the "centre" as an attraction of like for like. The universal tendency is for smaller masses of "earth," "water," "air," "fire" to be attracted towards the great aggregations of the same materials. This is far from being a satisfactory theory in the light of facts which were not yet known to Plato, but it is on the right lines. It starts from the conception of the facts of gravity as due to an "attractive force" of some kind, and it has the great merit of bringing the "sinking" of stones and the "rising" of vapours under the same explanation.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Aristotle, though retaining the central idea that a body tends to move towards the region where the great cosmic mass of the same kind is congregated, introduced the entirely incompatible notion of an absolute distinction of "up" and "down." He identified the centre of the universe with that of the earth, and looked on motion to this centre as "downward." This led him to make a distinction between "heavy" bodies, which naturally tend to move "down," and "light" bodies, which tend to move "up" away from the centre. The doctrine works out thus. The heaviest elements tend to be massed together nearest the centre, the lightest to be furthest from it. Each element thus has its "proper place," that of water being immediately above earth, that of air next, and that of fire furthest from the centre, and nearest to the regions occupied by "celestial matter." (Readers of Dante will recollect the ascent from the Earthly Paradise through the "sphere of fire" with which the</span> <em class="italics">Paradiso</em> <span>opens.)</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>In its own "proper region" no body is heavy or light; as we should say any fluid loses its weight when immersed in itself. When a portion of an element is out of its own region and surrounded by the great cosmic aggregate of another element, either of two cases may occur. The body which is "out of its element" may be</span> <em class="italics">below</em> <span>its proper place, in which case it is "light" and tends to move perpendicularly upwards to its place, or it may be</span> <em class="italics">above</em> <span>its proper place, and then it is "heavy" and tends to move perpendicularly "down" until it reaches its place. It was this supposed real distinction between motion "up" and motion "down" which made it so hard for the contemporaries of Galileo to understand that an inflated bladder rises for the same reason that a stone sinks.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Biology</strong><span>.--Of Aristotle's biology reasons of space forbid us to say much here. But a remark or two may be made about his theory of reproduction, since it is constantly referred to in much modern literature and has also played its part in theology. An interesting point is the distinction between "perfect" and "imperfect" animals. "Perfect" animals are those which can only be reproduced sexually. Aristotle held, however, that there are some creatures, even among vertebrates, which</span> <em class="italics">may</em> <span>be produced by the vivifying effect of solar heat on decomposing matter, without any parents at all. Thus malobservation of the facts of putrefaction led to the belief that flies and worms are engendered by heat from decaying bodies, and it was even thought that frogs and mice are produced in the same way from river-slime. In this process, the so-called "aequivocal generation," solar heat was conceived as the operative efficient cause which leads to the realisation of an organic "form" in the decaying matter.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>In sexual reproduction Aristotle regards the male parent as the agent or efficient cause which contributes the element of form and organisation to the offspring. The female parent supplies only the raw material of the new creature, but she supplies the whole of this. No</span> <em class="italics">material</em> <span>is supplied by the male parent to the body of the offspring, a theory which St. Thomas found useful in defending the dogma of the Virgin Birth.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Psychology</strong><span>.--Since the mind grows and develops, it comes under the class of things which have a "source of motion internal to themselves," and psychology is therefore, for Aristotle, a branch of Physics. To understand his treatment of psychological questions we need bear two things in mind. (1)</span> <em class="italics">Psyche</em> <span>or "soul" means in Greek more than "consciousness" does to us. Consciousness is a relatively late and highly developed manifestation of the principle which the Greeks call "soul." That principle shows itself not merely in consciousness but in the whole process of nutrition and growth and the adaptation of motor response to an external situation. Thus consciousness is a more secondary feature of the "soul" in Greek philosophy than in most modern thought, which has never ceased to be affected by Descartes' selection of "thought" as the special characteristic of psychical life. In common language the word</span> <em class="italics">psyche</em> <span>is constantly used where we should say "life" rather than "soul," and in Greek philosophy a work "on the</span> <em class="italics">Psyche</em><span>" means what we should call one on "the principle of life."</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>(2) It is a consequence of this way of thinking of the "soul" that the process of bodily and mental development is regarded by Aristotle as one single continuous process. The growth of a man's intellect and character by which he becomes a thinker and a citizen is a continuation of the process by which his body is conceived and born and passes into physical manhood. This comes out in the words of the definition of the soul. "The soul is the first entelechy (or actual realisation) of a natural organic body." What this means is that the soul stands to the living body as all form realised in matter does to the matter of which it is the form, or that the soul is the "form" of the body. What the "organic body" is to the embryo out of which it has grown, that soul is to the body itself. As the embryo grows into the actual living body, so the living body grows into a body exhibiting the actual directing presence of mind. Aristotle illustrates the relation by the remark that if the whole body was one vast eye, seeing would be its soul. As the eye is a tool for seeing with, but a living tool which is part of ourselves, so the body is a like tool or instrument for living with. Hence we may say of the soul that it is the "end" of the body, the activity to which the body is instrumental, as seeing is the "end" to which the eye is instrumental. But we must note that the soul is called only the "first" or initial "entelechy" of the body. The reason is that the mere presence of the soul does not guarantee the full living of the life to which our body is but the instrument. If we are to</span> <em class="italics">live</em> <span>in the fullest sense of the word, we must not merely "have" a soul; we "have" it even in sleep, in ignorance, in folly. The soul itself needs further to be educated and trained in intelligence and character, and to exercise its intelligence and character efficiently on the problems of thought and life. The mere "presence" of soul is only a first step in the progress towards fullness of life. This is why Aristotle calls the soul the</span> <em class="italics">first</em> <span>entelechy of the living body. The full and final entelechy is the life of intelligence and character actively functioning.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>From this conception of the soul's relation to the body we see that Aristotle's "doctrine of body and mind" does not readily fall into line with any of the typical theories of our time. He neither thinks of the soul as a thing acting on the body and acted on by it, nor yet as a series of "states of mind" concomitant with certain "states of body." From his point of view to ask whether soul and body interact, or whether they exhibit "parallelism," would be much the same thing as to ask whether life interacts with the body, or whether there is a "parallelism" between vital processes and bodily processes. We must not ask at all how the body and soul are united. They are one thing, as the matter and the form of a copper globe are one. Thus they are in actual fact inseparable. The soul is the soul of its body and the body the body of its soul. We can only distinguish them by logical analysis, as we can distinguish the copper from the sphericity in the copper globe.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Grades of Psychical Life</strong><span>.--If we consider the order of development, we find that some vital activities make their appearance earlier than others, and that it is a universal law that the more highly developed activities always have the less highly developed as their basis and precondition, though the less highly developed may exist apart from the more highly developed. So we may arrange vital activities in general in an ontogenetic order, the order in which they make their appearance in the individual's development. Aristotle reckons three such stages, the "nutritive," the "sensitive," and the "intelligent." The lowest form in which life shows itself at all, the level of minimum distinction between the living and the lifeless, is the power to take in nutriment, assimilate it, and grow. In vegetables the development is arrested at this point. With the animals we reach the next highest level, that of "sensitive" life. For all animals have at least the sense of touch. Thus they all show sense-perception, and it is a consequence of this that they exhibit "appetition," the simplest form of conation, and the rudiments of feeling and "temper." For what has sensations can also feel pleasure and pain, and what can feel pleasure and pain can desire, since desire is only appetition of what is pleasant. Thus in the animals we have the beginnings of cognition, conation, and affective and emotional life in general. And Aristotle adds that locomotion makes its appearance at this level; animals do not, like plants, have to trust to their supply of nutriment coming to them; they can go to it.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>The third level, that of "intelligence,"</span> <em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>the power to compare, calculate, and reflect, and to order one's life by conscious rule, is exhibited by man. What distinguishes life at this level from mere "sensitive" life is, on the intellectual side, the ability to cognise universal truths, on the conative, the power to live by rule instead of being swayed by momentary "appetition." The former gives us the possibility of science, the latter of moral excellence.[#]</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <dl class="docutils">
+      <dt class="noindent"><span class="small">[#]</span> <em class="italics small">Cf.</em> <span class="small">Dante's "Fatti non foste a viver como bruti,</span></dt>
+      <dd>
+        <p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span class="small">Ma per seguir virtute e conosoenza."</span></p>
+      </dd>
+    </dl>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">Sensation</strong><span>.--Life manifests itself at the animal level on the cognitive side as sense-perception, on the conative as appetition or desire, on the affective as feeling of pleasure or pain, and in such simple emotional moods as "temper," resentment, longing. Aristotle gives sensation a logical priority over the conative and emotional expression of "animal" life. To experience appetition or anger or desire you must have an object which you crave for or desire or are angry with, and it is only when you have reached the level of presentations through the senses that you can be said to have an object. Appetition or "temper" is as real a fact as perception, but you cannot crave for or feel angry with a thing you do not apprehend.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Aristotle's definition of sense perception is that it is a "capacity for discerning" or distinguishing between "the sensible qualities of things." His conception of the process by which the discernment or distinguishing is effected is not altogether happy. In sense-perception the soul "takes into itself the</span> <em class="italics">form</em> <span>of the thing perceived without its</span> <em class="italics">matter</em><span>, as sealing-wax receives the shape of an iron seal-ring without the iron." To understand this, we have to remember that for Aristotle the sensible qualities of the external world, colour, tones, tastes, and the rest, are not effects of mechanical stimulation of our sense-organs, but real qualities of bodies. The hardness of iron, the redness of a piece of red wax are all primarily "in" the iron or the wax. They are "forms," or determinations by definite law, of the "matter" of the iron or the wax. This will become clearer if we consider a definite example, the red colour of the wax. In the wax the red colour is a definite combination of the colour-opposites white and black according to a fixed ratio. Now Aristotle's view of the process of sense-perception is that when I become aware of the red colour the same proportion of white to black which makes the wax red is reproduced in my organ of vision; my eye, while I am seeing the red, "assimilated" to the wax, is itself for the time actually "reddened." But it does not become wax because the red thing I am looking at is a piece of red wax. The eye remains a thing composed of living tissues. This is what is meant by saying that in seeing the colours of things the eye receives "forms" without the "matter" of the things in which those forms are exhibited. Thus the process of sense-perception is one in which the organ of sense is temporarily assimilated to the thing apprehended in respect of the particular quality cognised by that organ, but in respect of no other. According to Aristotle this process of "assimilation" always requires the presence of a "medium." If an object is in immediate contact with the eye we cannot see its colour; if it is too near the ear, we do not discern the note it gives out. Even in the case of touch and taste there is no immediate contact between the object perceived and the true organ of perception. For in touch the "flesh" is not the organ of apprehension but an integument surrounding it and capable of acting as an intermediary between it and things. Thus perception is always accomplished by a "motion" set up in the "medium" by the external object, and by the medium in our sense-organs. Aristotle thus contrives to bring correct apprehension by sense of the qualities of things under the formula of the "right mean" or "right proportion," which is better known from the use made of it in the philosopher's theory of conduct. The colour of a surface, the pitch of the note given out by a vibrating string, &amp;c., depend on, and vary with, certain forms or ratios "in" the surface or the vibrating string; our correct apprehension of the qualities depends on the reproduction of the</span> <em class="italics">same</em> <span>ratios in our sense-organs, the establishment of the "right proportion" in</span> <em class="italics">us</em><span>. That this "right proportion" may be reproduced in our own sense-organs it is necessary (1) that the medium should have none of the sensible qualities for the apprehension whereof it serves as medium,</span> <em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>the medium in colour-perception must be colourless. If it had a colour of its own, the "motion" set up by the coloured bodies we apprehend would not be transmitted undistorted to our organs; we should see everything through a coloured haze. It is necessary for the same reason (2) that the percipient organ itself, when in a state of quiescence, should possess none of the qualities which can be induced in it by stimulation. The upshot of the whole theory is that the sense-organ is "potentially" what the sense-quality it apprehends is actually. Actual perceiving is just that special transition from the potential to the actual which results in making the organ for the time being</span> <em class="italics">actually</em> <span>of the same quality as the object.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Common Sensibles and the Common Sense-organ</strong><span>.--Every sense has a range of qualities connected with it as its special objects. Colours can only be perceived by the eye, sounds by the ear, and so forth. But there are certain characters of perceived things which we appear to apprehend by more than one sense. Thus we seem to perceive size and shape either by touch or by sight, and number by hearing as well, since we can count</span> <em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>the strokes of an unseen bell. Hence Aristotle distinguishes between the "special sensible qualities" such as colour and pitch, and what he calls the "common sensibles," the character of things which can be perceived by more than one organ. These are enumerated as size, form or shape, number, motion (and its opposite rest), being. (The addition of this last is, of course, meant to account for our conviction that any perceived colour, taste, or other quality is a reality and not a delusion.) The list corresponds very closely with one given by Plato of the "things which the mind perceives</span> <em class="italics">by herself without the help of any organ</em><span>,"</span> <em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>of the leading determinations of sensible things which are due not to sense but to understanding. It was an unfortunate innovation to regard the discernment of number or movement, which obviously demand intellectual processes such as counting and comparison, as performed immediately by "sense," and to assign the apprehension of number, movement, figure to a central "organ." This organ he finds in the heart. The theory is that when the "special organs" of the senses are stimulated, they in turn communicate movements to the blood and "animal spirits" (</span><em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>the vapours supposed to be produced from the blood by animal heat). These movements are propagated inwards to the heart, where they all meet. This is supposed to account for the important fact that, though our sensations are so many and diverse, we are conscious of our own unity as the subjects apprehending all this variety. The unity of the perceiving subject is thus made to depend on the unity of the ultimate "organ of sensation," the heart. Further, when once a type of motion has been set up in any sense-organ at the periphery of the body it will be propagated inward to the "common sensorium" in the heart. The motions set up by stimulation,</span> <em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>of the eye and of the skin, are partly different, partly the same (viz. in so far as they are determined by the number, shape, size, movement of the external stimuli). Hence in the heart itself the stimulation on which perception of number or size depends is one and the same whether it has been transmitted from the eye or from the skin! Awareness of lapse of time is also regarded as a function of the "common sense-organ," since it is the "common sensory" which perceives motion, and lapse of time is apprehended only in the apprehension of motion. Thus, in respect of the inclusion of geometrical form and lapse of time among the "common sensibles," there is a certain resemblance between Aristotle's doctrine and Kant's theory that recognition of spatial and temporal order is a function not of understanding but of "pure" sense. It is further held that to be aware that one is perceiving (self-consciousness) and to discriminate between the different classes of "special" sense-perception must also be functions of the "common sense-organ." Thus Aristotle makes the mistake of treating the most fundamental acts of intelligent reflection as precisely on a par, from the point of view of the theory of knowledge, with awareness of colour or sound.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>A more legitimate function assigned to the "common sensorium" in the heart is that "fantasy," the formation of mental imagery, depends on its activity. The simplest kind of "image," the pure memory-image left behind after the object directly arousing perception has ceased to stimulate, is due to the persistence of the movements set up in the heart after the sensory process in the peripheral organ is over. Since Aristotle denies the possibility of thinking without the aid of memory-images, this function of the "common sensorium" is the indispensable basis of mental recall, anticipation, and thought. Neither "experience,"</span> <em class="italics">i.e.</em> <span>a general conviction which results from the frequent repetition of similar perceptions, nor thought can arise in any animal in which sense-stimulation does not leave such "traces" behind it. Similarly "free imagery," the existence of trains of imagination not tied down to the reproduction of an actual order of sensations, is accounted for by the consideration that "chance coincidence" may lead to the stimulation of the heart in the same way in which it might have been stimulated by actual sensation-processes. Sleeping and waking and the experiences of dream-life are likewise due to changes in the functioning of the "common sense-organ," brought about partly by fatigue in the superficial sense-organs, partly by qualitative changes in the blood and "animal spirits" caused by the processes of nutrition and digestion. Probably Aristotle's best scientific work in psychology is contained in the series of small essays in which this theory of memory and its imagery is worked out. (Aristotle's language about the "common sensibles" is, of course, the source of our expression "common sense," which, however, has an entirely different meaning. The shifting of sense has apparently been effected through Cicero's employment of the phrase</span> <em class="italics">sensus communis</em> <span>to mean tactful sympathy, the feeling of fellowship with our kind on which the Stoic philosophers laid so much stress.)</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Thought</strong><span>.--Though thinking is impossible except by the use of imagery, to think is not merely to possess trains of imagery, or even to be aware of possessing them. Thinking means understanding the meaning of such mental imagery and arriving through the understanding at knowledge of the structure of the real world. How this process of interpreting mental imagery and reaching valid truth is achieved with greater and greater success until it culminates in the apprehension of the supreme principles of philosophy we have seen in dealing with the Aristotelian theory of knowledge. From the point of view of the "physicist" who is concerned with thinking simply as a type of natural process, the relation of "understanding" to the mental imagery just described is analogous to that of sensation to sensible qualities. The objects which thinking apprehends are the universal types of relation by which the world of things is pervaded. The process of thinking is one in which this system of universal relations is reproduced "by way of idea" in the mind of the thinker. The "understanding" thus stands to its objects as matter to form. The process of getting actually to understand the world is one in which our "thought" or "understanding" steadily receives completer determination and "form" from its contemplation of reality. In this sense, the process is one in which the understanding may be said to be passive in knowledge. It is passive because it is the subject which, at every fresh stage in the progress to knowledge, is being quite literally "informed" by the action of the real world through the sensation and imagery. Hence Aristotle says that, in order that the understanding may be correctly "informed" by its contact with its objects, it must, before the process begins, have no determinate character of its own. It must be simply a capacity for apprehending the types of interconnection. "What is called the intelligence--I mean that with which the soul thinks and understands--is not an actual thing until it thinks." (This is meant to exclude any doctrine which credits the "understanding" with either</span> <em class="italics">furniture</em> <span>of its own such as "innate ideas," or a specific</span> <em class="italics">structure</em> <span>of its own. If the results of our thinking arose partly from the structure of the world of objects and partly from inherent laws of the "structure of mind," our thought at its best would not reproduce the universal "forms" or "types" of interconnection as they really are, but would distort them, as the shapes of things are distorted when we see them through a lens of high refractive index.) Thus, though Aristotle differs from the modern empiricists in holding that "universals" realty exist "in" things, and are the links of connection between them, he agrees with the empiricist that knowledge is not the resultant of a combination of "facts" on the one side and "fundamental laws of the mind's working" on the other. At the outset the "understanding" has no structure; it develops a structure for itself in the same process, and to the same degree, in which it apprehends the "facts." Hence the "understanding" only is real in the actual process of understanding its objects, and again in a sense the understanding and the things it understands are one. Only we must qualify this last statement by saying that it is only "potentially" that the understanding is the forms which it apprehends. Aristotle does not mean by this that such things as horses and oxen are thoughts or "ideas." By the things with which "understanding" is said to be one he means the "forms" which we apprehend when we actually understand the world or any part of it, the truths of science. His point then is that the actual thinking of these truths and the truths themselves do not exist apart from one another. "Science" does not mean certain things written down in a book; it means a mind engaged in thinking and knowing things, and of the mind itself, considered out of its relation to the actual life of thinking the truths of science, we can say no more than that it is a name for the fact that we are capable of achieving such thought.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Active Intelligence</strong><span>.--So far Aristotle's account of thought has been plain sailing. Thought has been considered as the final and highest development of the vital functions of the organism, and hence as something inseparable from the lower functions of nutrition and sensitive life. The existence of a thought which is not a function of a living body, and which is not "passive," has been absolutely excluded. But at this point we are suddenly met by the most startling of all the inconsistencies between the naturalistic and the "spiritualist" strains in Aristotle's philosophy. In a few broken lines he tells us that there is another sense of the word "thought" in which "thought" actually creates the truths it understands, just as light may be said to make the colours which we see by its aid. "And</span> <em class="italics">this</em> <span>intelligence," he adds, "is separable from matter, and impassive and unmixed, being in its essential nature an</span> <em class="italics">activity</em><span>.... It has no intermission in its thinking. It is only in separation from matter that it is fully itself, and it alone is immortal and everlasting ... while the passive intelligence is perishable and does not think at all, apart from this." The meaning of this is not made clear by Aristotle himself, and the interpretation was disputed even among the philosopher's personal disciples.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>One important attempt to clear up the difficulty is that made by Alexander of Aphrodisias, the greatest of the commentators on Aristotle, in the second century A.D. Alexander said, as Aristotle has not done, that the "active intelligence" is numerically the same in all men, and is identical with God. Thus, all that is specifically human in each of us is the "passive intelligence" or capacity for being enlightened by God's activity upon us. The advantage of the view is, that it removes the "active intelligence" altogether from the purview of psychology, which then becomes a purely naturalistic science. The great Arabian Aristotelian, Averroes (Ibn Roschd) of Cordova, in the twelfth century, went still further in the direction of naturalism. Since the "active" and "passive" intelligence can only be separated by a logical abstraction, he inferred that men, speaking strictly, do not think at all; there is only one and the same individual intelligence in the universe, and all that we call our thinking is really not ours but God's. The great Christian scholastics of the following century in general read Aristotle through the eyes of Averroes, "</span><em class="italics">the</em> <span>Commentator," as St. Thomas calls him, "Averrois che il gran commento feo," as Dante says. But their theology compelled them to disavow his doctrine of the "active intelligence," against which they could also bring, as St. Thomas does, the telling argument that Aristotle could never have meant to say that there really is no such thing as human intelligence. Hence arose a third interpretation, the Thomist, according to which the "active intelligence" is neither God nor the same for all men, but is the highest and most rational "part" of the individual human soul, which has no bodily "organ."</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst" id="practical-philosophy"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V</span></p>
+    <p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>Hitherto we have been concerned with the speculative branches of knowledge, we have now to turn to practice. Practice, too, is an activity of thought, but an activity which is never satisfied by the process of thinking itself. In practice our thinking is always directed towards the production of some result other than true thought itself. As in engineering it is not enough to find a solution of the problem how to build a bridge over a given river capable of sustaining a given strain, so in directing our thought on the problems of human conduct and the organisation of society we aim at something more than the understanding of human life. In the one case what we aim at is the construction of the bridge; in the other it is the production of goodness in ourselves and our fellow-men, and the establishment of right social relations in the state. Aristotle is careful to insist on this point throughout his whole treatment of moral and social problems. The principal object of his lectures on conduct is not to tell his hearers what goodness is, but to make them good, and similarly it is quite plain that</span> <em class="italics">Politics</em> <span>was intended as a text-book for legislators. In close connection with this practical object stands his theory of the kind of truth which must be looked for in ethics and politics. He warns us against expecting precepts which have the exact and universal rigidity of the truths of speculative science. Practical science has to do with the affairs of men's lives, matters which are highly complex and variable, in a word, with "what may be otherwise." Hence we must be content if we can lay down precepts which hold good in the main, just as in medicine we do not expect to find directions which will effect a cure in all cases, but are content with general directions which require to be adapted to special cases by the experience and judgment of the practitioner. The object of practical science then is to formulate rules which will guide us in obtaining our various ends. Now when we consider these ends we see at once that some are subordinate to others. The manufacture of small-arms may be the end at which their maker aims, but it is to the military man a mere means to</span> <em class="italics">his</em> <span>end, which is the effective use of them. Successful use of arms is again the end of the professional soldier, but it is a mere means among others to the statesman. Further, it is the military men who use the arms from whom the manufacturer has to take his directions as to the kind of arms that are wanted, and again it is the statesman to whom the professional soldiers have to look for directions as to when and with what general objects in view they shall fight. So the art which uses the things produced by another art is the superior and directing art; the art which makes the things, the inferior and subordinate art. Hence the supreme practical art is politics, since it is the art which uses the products turned out by all other arts as means to its ends. It is the business of politics, the art of the statesman, to prescribe to the practitioners of all other arts and professions the lines on which and the conditions under which they shall exercise their vocation with a view to securing the supreme practical end, the well-being of the community. Among the other professions and arts which make the materials the statesman employs, the profession of the educator stands foremost. The statesman is bound to demand certain qualities of mind and character in the individual citizens. The production of these mental and moral qualities must therefore be the work of the educator. It thus becomes an important branch of politics to specify the kind of mental and moral qualities which a statesman should require the educator to produce in his pupils.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>It is this branch of politics which Aristotle discusses in his</span> <em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>. He never contemplates a study of the individual's good apart from politics, the study of the good of the society. What then is the good or the best kind of life for an individual member of society? Aristotle answers that as far as the mere name is concerned, there is a general agreement to call the best life,</span> <em class="italics">Eudaimonia</em><span>, Happiness. But the real problem is one of fact. What kind of life deserves to be called happiness? Plato had laid it down that the happy life must satisfy three conditions. It must be desirable for its own sake, it must be sufficient of itself to satisfy us, and it must be the life a wise man would prefer to any other. The question is, What general formula can we find which will define the life which satisfies these conditions? To find the answer we have to consider what Plato and Aristotle call the work or function of man. By the work of anything we mean what can only be done by it, or by it better than by anything else. Thus the work of the eye is to see. You cannot see with any other organ, and when the eye does this work of seeing well you say it is a good eye. So we may say of any living being that its work is to live, and that it is a good being when it does this work of living efficiently. To do its own work efficiently is the excellence or virtue of the thing. The excellence or virtue of a man will thus be to live efficiently, but since life can be manifested at different levels, if we would know what man's work is we must ask whether there is not some form of life which can</span> <em class="italics">only</em> <span>be lived by man. Now the life which consists in merely feeding and growing belongs to all organisms and can be lived with equal vigour by them all. There is, however, a kind of life which can only be lived by man, the life which consists in conscious direction of one's actions by a rule. It is the work of man to live this kind of life, and his happiness consists in living it efficiently and well. So we may give as the definition of human well-being that it is "an active life in accord with excellence, or if there are more forms of excellence than one, in accord with the best and completest of them"; and we must add "in a complete life" to show that mere promise not crowned by performance does not suffice to entitle man's life to be called happy. We can see that this definition satisfies Plato's three conditions. A vigorous and active living in a way which calls into play the specifically human capacities of man is desirable for its own sake, and preferable to any other life which could be proposed to us. It too is the only life which can permanently satisfy men, but we must add that if such a life is to be lived adequately certain advantages of fortune must be presupposed. We cannot fully live a life of this kind if we are prevented from exercising our capacities by lack of means or health or friends and associates, and even the calamities which arise in the course of events may be so crushing as to hinder a man, for a time, from putting forth his full powers. These external good things are not constituents of happiness, but merely necessary conditions of that exercise of our own capacities which is the happy life.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>In our definition of the happy life we said that it was one of activity in accord with goodness or excellence, and we left it an open question whether there are more kinds of such goodness than one. On consideration we see that two kinds of goodness or excellence are required in living the happy life. The happy life for man is a life of conscious following of a rule. To live it well, then, you need to know what the right rule to follow is, and you need also to follow it. There are persons who deliberately follow a wrong rule of life--the wicked. There are others who know what the right rule is but fail to follow it because their tempers and appetites are unruly--the morally weak. To live the happy life, then, two sorts of goodness are required. You must have a good judgment as to what the right rule is (or if you cannot find it out for yourself, you must at least be able to recognise it when it is laid down by some one else, the teacher or lawgiver), and you must have your appetites, feelings, and emotions generally so trained that they obey the rule. Hence excellence, goodness, or virtue is divided into goodness of intellect and goodness of character (moral goodness), the word</span> <em class="italics">character</em> <span>being used for the complex of tempers, feelings, and the affective side of human nature generally. In education goodness of character has to be produced by training and discipline before goodness of intellect can be imparted. The young generally have to be trained to obey the right rule before they can see for themselves that it is the right rule, and if a man's tempers and passions are not first schooled into actual obedience to the rule he will in most cases never see that it is the right rule at all. Hence Aristotle next goes on to discuss the general character of the kind of goodness he calls goodness of character, the right state of the feelings and passions.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>The first step towards understanding what goodness of character is is to consider the way in which it is actually produced. We are not born with this goodness of tempers and feelings ready made, nor yet do we obtain it by theoretical instruction; it is a result of a training and discipline of the feelings and impulses. The possibility of such a training is due to the fact that feelings and impulses are rational capacities, and a rational capacity can be developed into either of two contrasted activities according to the training it receives. You cannot train stones to fall upwards, but you can train a hot temper to display itself either in the form of righteous resentment of wrong-doing or in that of violent defiance of all authority. Our natural emotions and impulses are in themselves neither good nor bad; they are the raw material out of which training makes good or bad character according to the direction it gives to them. The effect of training is to convert the indeterminate tendency into a fixed habit. We may say, then, that moral goodness is a fixed state of the soul produced by habituation. By being trained in habits of endurance, self-mastery, and fair dealing, we acquire the kind of character to which it is pleasing to act bravely, continently, and fairly, and disagreeable to act unfairly, profligately, or like a coward. When habituation has brought about this result the moral excellences in question have become part of our inmost self and we are in full possession of goodness of character. In a word, it is by repeated doing of right acts that we acquire the right kind of character.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>But what general characteristics distinguish right acts and right habits from wrong ones? Aristotle is guided in answering the question by an analogy which is really at the bottom of all Greek thinking on morality. The thought is that goodness is in the soul what health and fitness are in the body, and that the preceptor is for the soul what the physician or the trainer is for the body. Now it was a well-known medical theory, favoured by both Plato and Aristotle, that health in the body means a condition of balance or equilibration among the elements of which it is composed. When the hot and the cold, the moist and the dry in the composition of the human frame exactly balance one another, the body is in perfect health. Hence the object of the regimen of the physician or the trainer is to produce and maintain a proper balance or proportion between the ingredients of the body. Any course which disturbs this balance is injurious to health and strength. You damage your health if you take too much food or exercise, and also if you take too little. The same thing is true of health in the soul. Our soul's health may be injured by allowing too much or too little play to any of our natural impulses or feelings. We may lay it down, then, that the kind of training which gives rise to a good habit is training in the avoidance of the opposite errors of the too much and the too little. And since the effect of training is to produce habits which issue in the spontaneous performance of the same kind of acts by which the habits were acquired, we may say not merely that goodness of character is produced by acts which exhibit a proper balance or mean, but that it is a settled habit of acting so as to exhibit the same balance or proportion. Hence the formal definition of goodness of character is that it is "a settled condition of the soul which wills or chooses the mean relatively to ourselves, this mean being determined by a rule or whatever we like to call that by which the wise man determines it."</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>There are several points in this definition of the mean upon which moral virtue depends of which we must take note unless we are to misunderstand Aristotle seriously. To begin with, the definition expressly says that "moral goodness is a state of will or choice." Thus it is not enough that one should follow the rule of the mean outwardly in one's actions; one's personal will must be regulated by it. Goodness of character is inward; it is not merely outward. Next we must not suppose that Aristotle means that the "just enough" is the same for all our feelings, that every impulse has a moral right to the same authority in shaping our conduct as any other. How much or how little is the just enough in connection with a given spring of action is one of the things which the wise man's rule has to determine, just as the wise physician's rule may determine that a very little quantity is the just enough in the case of some articles of diet or curative drugs, while in the case of others the just enough may be a considerable amount. Also the right mean is not the same for every one. What we have to attain is the mean relatively to</span> <em class="italics">ourselves</em><span>, and this will be different for persons of different constitutions and in different conditions. It is this relativity of the just enough to the individual's personality and circumstances which makes it impossible to lay down precise rules of conduct applicable alike to everybody, and renders the practical attainment of goodness so hard. It is my duty to spend some part of my income in buying books on philosophy, but no general rule will tell me what percentage of my income is the right amount for me to spend in this way. That depends on a host of considerations, such as the excess of my income above my necessary expenses and the like. Or again, the just enough may vary with the same man according to the circumstances of the particular case. No rule of thumb application of a formula will decide such problems. Hence Aristotle insists that the right mean in the individual case has always to be determined by immediate insight. This is precisely why goodness of intellect needs to be added to goodness of character. His meaning is well brought out by an illustration which I borrow from Professor Burnet. "On a given occasion there will be a temperature which is just right for my morning bath. If the bath is hotter than this, it will be too hot; if it is colder, it will be too cold. But as this just right temperature varies with the condition of my body, it cannot be ascertained by simply using a thermometer. If I am in good general health I shall, however, know by the feel of the water when the temperature is right. So if I am in good moral health I shall know, without appealing to a formal code of maxims, what is the right degree,</span> <em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>of indignation to show in a given case, how it should be shown and towards whom." Thus we see why Aristotle demands goodness of character as a preliminary condition of goodness of intellect or judgment in moral matters. Finally, if we ask by</span> <em class="italics">what</em> <span>rule the mean is determined, the answer will be that the rule is the judgment of the legislator who determines what is the right mean by his knowledge of the conditions on which the well-being of the community depends. He then embodies his insight in the laws which he makes and the regulations he imposes on the educators of youth. The final aim of education in goodness is to make our immediate judgment as to what is right coincide with the spirit of a wise legislation.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>The introduction of the reference to will or choice into the definition of goodness of character leads Aristotle to consider the relation of will to conduct. His main object is to escape the paradoxical doctrine which superficial students might derive from the works of Plato, that wrong-doing is always well-meaning ignorance. Aristotle's point is that it is the condition of will revealed by men's acts which is the real object of our approval or blame. This is because in voluntary action the man himself is the efficient cause of his act. Hence the law recognises only two grounds on which a man may plead, that he is not answerable for what he does. (1) Actual physical compulsion by</span> <em class="italics">force majeure</em><span>. (2) Ignorance, not due to the man's own previous negligence, of some circumstances material to the issue. When either of these pleas can be made with truth the man does not really contribute by his choice to the resulting act, and therefore is not really its cause. But a plea of ignorance of the general laws of morality does not excuse. I cannot escape responsibility for a murder by pleading that I did not know that murder is wrong. Such a plea does not exempt me from having been the cause of the murder; it only shows that my moral principles are depraved.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>More precisely will is a process which has both an intellectual and an appetitive element. The appetitive element is our wish for some result. The intellectual factor is the calculation of the steps by which that result may be obtained. When we wish for the result we begin to consider how it might be brought about, and we continue our analysis until we find that the chain of conditions requisite may be started by the performance of some act now in our power to do. Will may thus be defined as the deliberate appetition of something within our power, and the very definition shows that our choice is an efficient cause of the acts we choose to do. This is why we rightly regard men as responsible or answerable for their acts of choice, good and bad alike.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>From the analysis of goodness of character, we proceed to that of goodness of intellect. The important point is to decide which of all the forms of goodness of intellect is that which must be combined with goodness of character to make a man fit to be a citizen of the state. It must be a kind of intellectual excellence which makes a man see what the right rule by which the mean is determined is. Now when we come to consider the different excellences of intellect we find that they all fall under one of two heads, theoretical or speculative wisdom and practical wisdom.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Theoretical wisdom is contained in the sciences which give us universal truths about the fixed and unalterable relations of the things in the universe, or, as we should say, which teach us the laws of Nature. Its method is syllogism, the function of which is to make us see how the more complex truths are implied in simpler principles. Practical wisdom is intelligence as employed in controlling and directing human life to the production of the happy life for a community, and it is this form of intellectual excellence which we require of the statesman. It is required of him not only that he should know in general what things are good for man, but also that he should be able to judge correctly that in given circumstances such and such an act is the one which will secure the good. He must not only know the right rule itself, which corresponds to the major premiss of syllogism in theoretical science, but he must understand the character of particular acts so as to see that they fall under the right rule. Thus the method of practical wisdom will be analogous to that of theoretical wisdom. In both cases what we have to do is to see that certain special facts are cases of a general law or rule. Hence Aristotle calls the method of practical wisdom the practical syllogism or syllogism of action, since its peculiarity is that what issues from the putting together of the premisses is not an assertion but the performance of an act. In the syllogism of action, the conclusion, that is to say, the performance of a given act, just as in the syllogism of theory, is connected with the rule given in the major premiss by a statement of fact; thus</span> <em class="italics">e.g.</em> <span>the performance of a specific act such as the writing of this book is connected with the general rule what helps to spread knowledge ought to be done by the conviction that the writing of this book helps to spread knowledge. Our perception of such a fact is like a sense-perception in its directness and immediacy. We see therefore that the kind of intellectual excellence which the statesman must possess embraces at once a right conception of the general character of the life which is best for man, because it calls into play his specific capacities as a human being, and also a sound judgment in virtue of which he sees correctly that particular acts are expressions of this good for man. This, then, is what we mean by practical wisdom.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>So far, then, it would seem that the best life for man is just the life of co-operation in the life of the state, which man, being the only political animal or animal capable of life in a state, has as his peculiar work, and as if the end of all moral education should be to make us good and efficient citizens. But in the</span> <em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>, as elsewhere, the end of Aristotle's argument has a way of forgetting the beginning. We find that there is after all a still higher life open to man than that of public affairs. Affairs and business of all kinds are only undertaken as means to getting leisure, just as civilised men go to war, not for the love of war itself, but to secure peace. The highest aim of life, then, is not the carrying on of political business for its own sake, but the worthy and noble employment of leisure, the periods in which we are our own masters. It has the advantage that it depends more purely on ourselves and our own internal resources than any other life of which we know, for it needs very little equipment with external goods as compared with any form of the life of action. It calls into play the very highest of our own capacities as intelligent beings, and for that very reason the active living of it is attended with the purest of all pleasures. In it, moreover, we enter at intervals and for a little while, so far as the conditions of our mundane existence allow, into the life which God enjoys through an unbroken eternity. Thus we reach the curious paradox that while the life of contemplation is said to be that of our truest self, it is also maintained that this highest and happiest life is one which we live, not in respect of being human, but in respect of having a divine something in us. When we ask what this life of contemplation includes, we see from references in the</span> <em class="italics">Politics</em> <span>that it includes the genuinely æsthetic appreciation of good literature and music and pictorial and plastic art, but there can be no doubt that what bulks most largely in Aristotle's mind is the active pursuit of science for its own sake, particularly of such studies as First Philosophy and Physics, which deal with the fundamental structure of the universe. Aristotle thus definitely ends by placing the life of the scholar and the student on the very summit of felicity.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>It is from this doctrine that mediæval Christianity derives its opposition between the</span> <em class="italics">vita contemplativa</em> <span>and</span> <em class="italics">vita activa</em> <span>and its preference for the former, though in the mediæval mind the contemplative life has come to mean generally a kind of brooding over theological speculations and of absorption in mystical ecstasy very foreign to the spirit of Aristotle. The types by which the contrast of the two lives is illustrated, Rachael and Leah, Mary and Martha, are familiar to all readers of Christian literature.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>+The Theory of the State+.--Man is by nature a political animal, a being who can only develop his capacities by sharing in the life of a community. Hence Aristotle definitely rejects the view that the state or society is a mere creature of convention or agreement, an institution made by compact between individuals for certain special ends, not growing naturally out of the universal demands and aspirations of humanity. Mankind, he urges, have never existed at all as isolated individuals. Some rudimentary form of social organisation is to be found wherever men are to be found. The actual stages in the development of social organisation have been three--the family, the village community, the city state. In the very rudest forms of social life known to us, the patriarchal family, not the individual, is the social unit. Men lived at first in separate families under the control of the head of the family. Now a family is made up in its simplest form of at least three persons, a man, his wife, and a servant or slave to do the hard work, though very poor men often have to replace the servant by an ox as the drudge of all work. Children when they come swell the number, and thus we see the beginnings of complex social relations of subordination in the family itself. It involves three such distinct relations, that of husband and wife, that of parent and child, that of master and man. The family passes into the village community, partly by the tendency of several families of common descent to remain together under the direction of the oldest male member of the group, partly by the association of a number of distinct families for purposes of mutual help and protection against common dangers. Neither of these forms of association, however, makes adequate provision for the most permanent needs of human nature. Complete security for a permanent supply of material necessaries and adequate protection only come when a number of such scattered communities pool their resources, and surround themselves with a city wall. The city state, which has come into being in this way, proves adequate to provide from its own internal resources for all the spiritual as well as the material needs of its members. Hence the independent city state does not grow as civilisation advances into any higher form of organisation, as the family and village grew into it. It is the end, the last word of social progress. It is amazing to us that this piece of cheap conservatism should have been uttered at the very time when the system of independent city states had visibly broken down, and a former pupil of Aristotle himself was founding a gigantic empire to take their place as the vehicle of civilisation.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>The end for which the state exists is not merely its own self-perpetuation. As we have seen, Aristotle assigns a higher value to the life of the student than to the life of practical affairs. Since it is only in the civilised state that the student can pursue his vocation, the ultimate reason for which the state exists is to educate its citizens in such a way as shall fit them to make the noble use of leisure. In the end the state itself is a means to the spiritual cultivation of its individual members. This implies that the chosen few, who have a vocation to make full use of the opportunities provided for leading this life of noble leisure, are the real end for the sake of which society exists. The other citizens who have no qualification for any life higher than that of business and affairs are making the most of themselves in devoting their lives to the conduct and maintenance of the organisation whose full advantages they are unequal to share in. It is from this point of view also that Aristotle treats the social problem of the existence of a class whose whole life is spent in doing the hard work of society, and thus setting the citizen body free to make the best use it can of leisure. In the conditions of life in the Greek world this class consisted mainly of slaves, and thus the problem Aristotle has to face is the moral justifiability of slavery. We must remember that he knew slavery only in its comparatively humane Hellenic form. The slaves of whom he speaks were household servants and assistants in small businesses. He had not before his eyes the system of enormous industries carried on by huge gangs of slaves under conditions of revolting degradation which disgraced the later Roman Republic and the early Roman Empire, or the Southern States of North America. His problems are in all essentials much the same as those which concern us to-day in connection with the social position of the classes who do the hard bodily work of the community.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Much consideration is given in the</span> <em class="italics">Politics</em> <span>to the classification of the different types of constitution possible for the city-state. The current view was that there are three main types distinguished by the number of persons who form the sovereign political authority, monarchy, in which sovereign power belongs to a single person; oligarchy, in which it is in the hands of a select few; democracy, in which it is enjoyed by the whole body of the citizens. Aristotle observes, correctly, that the really fundamental distinction between a Greek oligarchy and a Greek democracy was that the former was government by the propertied classes, the latter government by the masses. Hence the watchword of democracy was always that all political rights should belong equally to all citizens, that of oligarchy that a man's political status should be graded according to his "stake in the country." Both ideals are, according to him, equally mistaken, since the real end of government, which both overlook, is the promotion of the "good life." In a state which recognises this ideal, an aristocracy or government by the best, only the "best" men will possess the full rights of citizenship, whether they are many or few. There might even be a monarch at the head of such a state, if it happened to contain some one man of outstanding intellectual and moral worth. Such a state should be the very opposite of a great imperial power. It should, that its cultivation may be the more intensive, be as small as is compatible with complete independence of outside communities for its material and spiritual sustenance, and its territory should only be large enough to provide its members with the permanent possibility of ample leisure, so long as they are content with plain and frugal living. Though it ought not, for military and other reasons, to be cut off from communication with the sea, the great military and commercial high road of the Greek world, it ought not to be near enough to the coast to run any risk of imperilling its moral cultivation by becoming a great emporium, like the Athens of Pericles. In the organisation of the society care should be taken to exclude the agricultural and industrial population from full citizenship, which carries with it the right to appoint and to be appointed as administrative magistrates. This is because these classes, having no opportunity for the worthy employment of leisure, cannot be trusted to administer the state for the high ends which it is its true function to further.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Thus Aristotle's political ideal is that of a small but leisured and highly cultivated aristocracy, without large fortunes or any remarkable differences in material wealth, free from the spirit of adventure and enterprise, pursuing the arts and sciences quietly while its material needs are supplied by the labour of a class excluded from citizenship, kindly treated but without prospects. Weimar, in the days when Thackeray knew it as a lad, would apparently reproduce the ideal better than any other modern state one can think of.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>The object of the</span> <em class="italics">Politics</em> <span>is, however, not merely to discuss the ideal state but to give practical advice to men who might be looking forward to actual political life, and would therefore largely have to be content with making the best of existing institutions. In the absence of the ideal aristocracy, Aristotle's preference is for what he calls Polity or constitutional government, a sort of compromise between oligarchy and democracy. Of course a practical statesman may have to work with a theoretically undesirable constitution, such as an oligarchy or an unqualified democracy. But it is only in an ideal constitution that the education which makes its subject a good man, in the philosopher's sense of the word, will also make him a good citizen. If the constitution is bad, then the education best fitted to make a man loyal to it may have to be very different from that which you would choose to make him a good man. The discussion of the kind of education desirable for the best kind of state, in which to be a loyal citizen and to be a good man are the same thing, is perhaps the most permanently valuable part of the</span> <em class="italics">Politics</em><span>. Though Aristotle's writings on "practical" philosophy have been more read in modern times than any other part of his works, they are far from being his best and most thorough performances. In no department of his thought is he quite so slavishly dependent on his master Plato as in the theory of the "good for man" and the character of "moral" excellence. No Aristotelian work is quite so commonplace in its handling of a vast subject as the</span> <em class="italics">Politics</em><span>. In truth his interest in these social questions is not of the deepest. He is, in accordance with his view of the superiority of "theoretical science," entirely devoid of the spirit of the social reformer. What he really cares about is "theology" and "physics," and the fact that the objects of the educational regulations of the</span> <em class="italics">Politics</em> <span>are all designed to encourage the study of these "theoretical" sciences, makes this section of the</span> <em class="italics">Politics</em> <span>still one of the most valuable expositions of the aims and requirements of a "liberal" education.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>All education must be under public control, and education must be universal and compulsory. Public control is necessary, not merely to avoid educational anarchy, but because it is a matter of importance to the community that its future citizens should be trained in the way which will make them most loyal to the constitution and the ends it is designed to subserve. Even in one of the "bad" types of state, where the life which the constitution tends to foster is not the highest, the legislator's business is to see that education is directed towards fostering the "spirit of the constitution." There is to be an "atmosphere" which impregnates the whole of the teaching, and it is to be an "atmosphere" of public spirit. The only advantage which Aristotle sees in private education is that it allows of more modification of programme to meet the special needs of the individual pupil than a rigid state education which is to be the same for all. The actual regulations which Aristotle lays down are not very different from those of Plato. Both philosophers hold that "primary" education, in the early years of life, should aim partly at promoting bodily health and growth by a proper system of physical exercises, partly at influencing character and giving a refined and elevated tone to the mind by the study of letters, art, and music. Both agree that this should be followed in the later "teens" by two or three years of specially rigorous systematic military training combined with a taste of actual service in the less exhausting and less dangerous parts of a soldier's duty. It is only after this, at about the age at which young men now take a "university" course, that Plato and Aristotle would have the serious scientific training of the intellect begun. The</span> <em class="italics">Politics</em> <span>leaves the subject just at the point where the young men are ready to undergo their special military training. Thus we do not know with certainty what scientific curriculum Aristotle would have recommended, though we may safely guess that it would have contained comparatively little pure mathematics, but a great deal of astronomy, cosmology, and biology.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>With respect to the "primary" education Aristotle has a good deal to say. As "forcing" is always injurious, it should not be begun too soon. For the first five years a child's life should be given up to healthy play. Great care must be taken that children are not allowed to be too much with "servants," from whom they may imbibe low tastes, and that they are protected against any familiarity with indecency. From five to seven a child may begin to make a first easy acquaintance with the life of the school by looking on at the lessons of its elders. The real work of school education is to begin at seven and not before.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>We next have to consider what should be the staple subjects of an education meant not for those who are to follow some particular calling, but for all the full citizens of a state. Aristotle's view is that some "useful" subjects must, of course, be taught. Reading and writing, for instance, are useful for the discharge of the business of life, though their commercial utility is not the highest value which they have for us. But care must be taken that only those "useful" studies which are also "liberal" should be taught; "illiberal" or "mechanical" subjects must not have any place in the curriculum. A "liberal" education means, as the name shows, one which will tend to make its recipient a "free man," and not a slave in body and soul. The mechanical crafts were felt by Aristotle to be illiberal because they leave a man no leisure to make the best of body and mind; practice of them sets a stamp on the body and narrows the mind's outlook. In principle then, no study should form a subject of the universal curriculum if its only value is that it prepares a man for a profession followed as a means of making a living. General education, all-round training which aims at the development of body and mind for its own sake, must be kept free from the intrusion of everything which has a merely commercial value and tends to contract the mental vision. It is the same principle which we rightly employ ourselves when we maintain that a university education ought not to include specialisation on merely "technical" or "professional" studies. The useful subjects which have at the same time a higher value as contributing to the formation of taste and character and serving to elevate and refine the mind include, besides reading and writing, which render great literature accessible to us, bodily culture (the true object of which is not merely to make the body strong and hardy, but to develop the moral qualities of grace and courage), music, and drawing. Aristotle holds that the real reason for making children learn music is (1) that the artistic appreciation of really great music is one of the ways in which "leisure" may be worthily employed, and to appreciate music rightly we must have some personal training in musical execution; (2) that all art, and music in particular, has a direct influence on character.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Plato and Aristotle, though they differ on certain points of detail, are agreed that the influence of music on character, for good or bad, is enormous. Music, they say, is the most imitative of all the arts. The various rhythms, times, and scales imitate different tempers and emotional moods, and it is a fundamental law of our nature that we grow like what we take pleasure in seeing or having imitated or represented for us. Hence if we are early accustomed to take pleasure in the imitation of the manly, resolute, and orderly, these qualities will in time become part of our own nature. This is why right musical education is so important that Plato declared that the revolutionary spirit always makes its first appearance in innovations on established musical form.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>There is, however, one important difference between the two philosophers which must be noted, because it concerns Aristotle's chief contribution to the philosophy of fine art. Plato had in the</span> <em class="italics">Republic</em> <span>proposed to expel florid, languishing, or unduly exciting forms of music not only from the schoolroom, but from life altogether, on the ground of their unwholesome tendency to foster an unstable and morbid character in those who enjoy them. For the same reason he had proposed the entire suppression of tragic drama. Aristotle has a theory which is directly aimed against this overstrained Puritanism. He holds that the exciting and sensational art which would be very bad as daily food may be very useful as an occasional medicine for the soul. He would retain even the most sensational forms of music on account of what he calls their "purgative" value. In the same spirit he asserts that the function of tragedy, with its sensational representations of the calamities of its heroes, is "by the vehicle of fear and pity to purge our minds of those and similar emotions." The explanation of the theory is to be sought in the literal sense of the medical term "purgative." According to the medical view which we have already found influencing his ethical doctrine, health consists in the maintenance of an equality between the various ingredients of the body. Every now and again it happens that there arise superfluous accretions of some one ingredient, which are not carried away in the normal routine of bodily life. These give rise to serious derangement of function and may permanently injure the working of the organism, unless they are removed in time by a medicine which acts as a purge, and clears the body of a superfluous accumulation. The same thing also happens in the life of the soul. So long as we are in good spiritual health our various feelings and emotional moods will be readily discharged in action, in the course of our daily life. But there is always the possibility of an excessive accumulation of emotional "moods" for which the routine of daily life does not provide an adequate discharge in action. Unless this tendency is checked we may contract dangerously morbid habits of soul. Thus we need some medicine for the soul against this danger, which may be to it what a purgative is to the body.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>Now it was a well-known fact, observed in connection with some of the more extravagant religious cults, that persons suffering from an excess of religious frenzy might be cured homoeopathically, so to say, by artificially arousing the very emotion in question by the use of exciting music. Aristotle extends the principle by suggesting that in the artificial excitement aroused by violently stimulating music or in the transports of sympathetic apprehension and pity with which we follow the disasters of the stage-hero, we have a safe and ready means of ridding ourselves of morbid emotional strain which might otherwise have worked havoc with the efficient conduct of real life.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>The great value of this defence of the occasional employment of sensation as a medicine for the soul is obvious. Unhappily it would seem to have so dominated Aristotle's thought on the functions of dramatic art as to blind him to what we are accustomed to think the nobler functions of tragedy. No book has had a more curious fate than the little manual for intending composers of tragedies which is all that remains to us of Aristotle's lectures on Poetry. This is not the place to tell the story of the way in which the great classical French playwrights, who hopelessly misunderstood the meaning of Aristotle's chief special directions, but quite correctly divined that his lectures were meant to be an actual</span> <em class="italics">Vade Mecum</em> <span>for the dramatist, deliberately constructed their masterpieces in absolute submission to regulations for which they had no better reasons than that they had once been given magisterially by an ancient Greek philosopher. But it may be worth while to remark that the worth of Aristotle's account of tragedy as art-criticism has probably been vastly overrated. From first to last the standpoint he assumes, in his verdicts on the great tragic poets, is that of the gallery. What he insists on all through, probably because he has the purgative effect of the play always in his mind, is a well-woven plot with plenty of melodramatic surprise in the incidents and a thoroughly sensational culmination in a sense of unrelieved catastrophe over which the spectator can have a good cry, and so get well "purged" of his superfluous emotion. It is clear from his repeated allusions that the play he admired above all others was the</span> <em class="italics">King Oedipus</em> <span>of Sophocles, but it is equally clear that he admired it not for the profound insight into human life and destiny or the deep sense of the mystery of things which some modern critics have found in it, but because its plot is the best and most startling detective story ever devised, and its finale a triumph of melodramatic horror.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst" id="bibliography"><span class="bold large">BIBLIOGRAPHY</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>The English reader who wishes for further information about Aristotle and his philosophy may be referred to any or all of the following works:--</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>E. Zeller.--</span><em class="italics">Aristotle and the Earlier Peripatetics</em><span>. English translation in 2 vols. by B. F. C. Costelloe and J. H. Muirhead. London. Longmans &amp; Co.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>*E. Wallace.--</span><em class="italics">Outlines of the Philosophy of Aristotle</em><span>. Cambridge University Press.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>G. Grote.--</span><em class="italics">Aristotle</em><span>. London. John Murray.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>*W. D. Ross.--</span><em class="italics">The Works of Aristotle translated into English</em><span>, vol. viii.,</span> <em class="italics">Metaphysics</em><span>. Oxford. Clarendon Press.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>*A. E. Taylor.--</span><em class="italics">Aristotle on his Predecessor</em><span>. (</span><em class="italics">Metaphysics</em><span>, Bk. I., translated with notes, &amp;c.) Chicago. Open Court Publishing Co.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>G. D. Hicks.--</span><em class="italics">Aristotle de Anima</em> <span>(Greek text, English translation, Commentary). Cambridge University Press.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>*D. P. Chase.--</span><em class="italics">The Ethics of Aristotle</em><span>. Walter Scott Co.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>*J. Burnet.--</span><em class="italics">Aristotle on Education</em><span>. (English translation of</span> <em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>, Bks. I.-III. 5, X. 6 to end;</span> <em class="italics">Politics</em><span>, VIII. 17, VIII.) Cambridge University Press.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>*B. Jowett.--</span><em class="italics">The Politics of Aristotle</em><span>. Oxford. Clarendon Press.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>*I. Bywater.--</span><em class="italics">Aristotle on the Art of Poetry</em><span>. (Greek Text, English Translation, Commentary.) Oxford. Clarendon Press.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>J. I. Beare and W. D. Ross.--</span><em class="italics">The Works of Aristotle translated into English</em><span>, Pt. I. (</span><em class="italics">Parvu Naturalia</em><span>, the minor psychological works.) Oxford. Clarendon Press.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>J. I. Beare.--</span><em class="italics">Greek Theories of Elementary Cognition from Alemacon to Aristotle</em><span>. Oxford. Clarendon Press.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
+    <p class="pfirst"><span>The works marked by an asterisk will probably be found most useful for the beginner. No works in foreign languages and no editions not accompanied by an English translation have been mentioned.</span></p>
+    <p class="pnext"><span>There is at present no satisfactory complete translation of Aristotle into English. One, of which two volumes have been mentioned above, is in course of production at the Clarendon Press, Oxford, under the editorship of J. A. Smith and W. D. Ross.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON &amp; Co.<br />
+    Edinburgh &amp; London</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst"><span>*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">"We have nothing but the highest praise for these<br />
+    little books, and no one who examines them will have<br />
+    anything else."--</span><em class="italics small">Westminster Gazette</em><span class="small">, 22nd June 1912.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">THE PEOPLE'S BOOKS</span></p>
+    <p class="center pnext"><span class="bold">THE FIRST NINETY VOLUMES</span></p>
+    <p class="center pnext"><span>The volumes issued are marked with an asterisk</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">SCIENCE</span></p>
+    <p class="noindent pnext"><span>1. The Foundations of Science . . . By W. C. D. Whetham, M.A., F.R.S.<br />
+    2. Embryology--The Beginnings of Life . . . By Prof. Gerald Leighton, M.D.<br />
+    3. Biology . . . By Prof. W. D. Henderson, M.A.<br />
+    4. Zoology: The Study of Animal Life . . . By Prof. E. W. MacBride, M.A., F.R.S.<br />
+    5. Botany; The Modern Study of Plants . . . By M. C. Stopes, D.Sc., Ph.D., F.L.S.<br />
+    7. The Structure of the Earth . . . By Prof. T. G. Bonney, F.R.S.<br />
+    8. Evolution . . . By E. S. Goodrich, M.A., F.R.S.<br />
+    10. Heredity . . . By J. A. S. Watson, B.Sc.<br />
+    11. Inorganic Chemistry . . . By Prof. E. C. C. Baly, F.R.S.<br />
+    12. Organic Chemistry . . . By Prof. J. B. Cohen, B.Sc., F.R.S.<br />
+    13. The Principles of Electricity . . . By Norman K. Campbell, M.A.<br />
+    14. Radiation . . . By P. Phillips, D.Sc.<br />
+    15. The Science of the Stars . . . By E. W. Maunder, F.R.A.S.<br />
+    16. The Science of Light . . . By P. Phillips, D.Sc.<br />
+    17. Weather Science . . . By R. G. K. Lempfert, M.A.<br />
+    18. Hypnotism and Self-Education . . . By A. M. Hutchison, M.D.<br />
+    19. The Baby: A Mother's Book . . . By a University Woman.<br />
+    20. Youth and Sex--Dangers and Safeguards for Boys and Girls . . . By Mary Scharlieb, M.D., M.S., and F. Arthur Sibly, M.A., LL.D.<br />
+    21. Marriage and Motherhood . . . By H. S. Davidson, M.B., F.R.C.S.E.<br />
+    22. Lord Kelvin . . . By A. Russell, M.A., D.Sc., M.I.E.E.<br />
+    23. Huxley . . . By Professor G. Leighton, M.D.<br />
+    24. Sir William Huggins and Spectroscopic Astronomy . . . By E. W. Maunder, F.R.A.S., of the Royal Observatory, Greenwich.<br />
+    62. Practical Astronomy . . . By H. Macpherson, Jr., F.R.A.S.<br />
+    63. Aviation . . . By Sydney F. Walker, R.N.<br />
+    64. Navigation . . . By William Hall, R.N., B.A.<br />
+    65. Pond Life . . . By E. C. Ash, M.R.A.C.<br />
+    66. Dietetics . . . By Alex. Bryce, M.D., D.P.H.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION</span></p>
+    <p class="noindent pnext"><span>25. The Meaning of Philosophy . . . By Prof. A. E. Taylor, M.A., F.B.A.<br />
+    26. Henri Bergson . . . By H. Wildon Carr, Litt.D.<br />
+    27. Psychology . . . By H. J. Watt, M.A., Ph.D., D.Phil.<br />
+    28. Ethics . . . By Canon Rashdall, D.Litt., F.B.A.<br />
+    29. Kant's Philosophy . . . By A. D. Lindsay, M.A.<br />
+    30. The Teaching of Plato . . . By A. D. Lindsay, M.A.<br />
+    67. Aristotle . . . By Prof. A. E. Taylor, M.A., F.B.A.<br />
+    68. Friedrich Nietzsche . . . By M. A. Mügge.<br />
+    69. Eucken: A Philosophy of Life . . . By A. J. Jones, M.A., B.Sc., Ph.D.<br />
+    70. The Experimental Psychology of Beauty . . . By C. W. Valentine, B.A., D.Phil.<br />
+    71. The Problem of Truth . . . By H. Wildon Carr, Litt.D.<br />
+    31. Buddhism . . . By Prof. T. W. Rhys Davids, M.A., F.B.A.<br />
+    32. Roman Catholicism . . . By H. B. Coxon. Preface, Mgr. R. H. Benson.<br />
+    33. The Oxford Movement . . . By Wilfrid Ward.<br />
+    34. The Bible and Criticism . . . By W. H. Bennett, D.D., Litt.P., and W. F. Adeney, D.D.<br />
+    35. Cardinal Newman . . . By Wilfrid Meynell.<br />
+    72. The Church of England . . . By Rev. Canon Masterman.<br />
+    73. Anglo-Catholicism . . . By A. E. Manning Foster.<br />
+    74. The Free Churches . . . By Rev. Edward Shillito, M.A.<br />
+    75. Judaism . . . By Ephraim Levine, M.A.<br />
+    76. Theosophy . . . By Annie Besant.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">HISTORY</span></p>
+    <p class="noindent pnext"><span>36. The Growth of Freedom . . . By H. W. Nevinson.<br />
+    37. Bismarck and the Origin of the German Empire . . . By Professor F. M. Powicke.<br />
+    38. Oliver Cromwell . . . By Hilda Johnstone, M.A.<br />
+    39. Mary Queen of Scots . . . By E. O'Neill, M.A.<br />
+    40. Cecil John Rhodes, 1853-1902 . . . By Ian D. Colvin.<br />
+    41. Julius Cæsar . . . By Hilary Hardinge.<br />
+    42. England in the Making . . . By Prof. F. J. C. Hearnshaw, M.A., LL.D.<br />
+    43. England in the Middle Ages . . . By E. O'Neill, M.A.<br />
+    44. The Monarchy and the People . . . By W. T. Waugh, M.A.<br />
+    45. The Industrial Revolution . . . By Arthur Jones, M.A.<br />
+    46. Empire and Democracy . . . By G. S. Veitch, M.A., Litt.D.<br />
+    61. Home Rule . . . By L. G. Redmond Howard. Preface by Robert Harcourt, M.P.<br />
+    77. Nelson . . . By H. W. Wilson.<br />
+    78. Wellington and Waterloo . . . By Major G. W. Redway.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">SOCIAL AND ECONOMIC</span></p>
+    <p class="noindent pnext"><span>47. Women's Suffrage . . . By M. G. Fawcett, LL.D.<br />
+    48. The Working of the British System of Government to-day . . . By Prof. Ramsay Muir, M.A.<br />
+    49. An Introduction to Economic Science . . . By Prof H. O. Meredith. M.A.<br />
+    50. Socialism . . . By B. B. Kirkman, B.A.<br />
+    79. Mediæval Socialism . . . By Bede Jarrett, O.P., M.A.<br />
+    80. Syndicalism . . . By J. H. Harley, M.A.<br />
+    81. Labour and Wages . . . By H. M. Hallsworth, M.A., B.Sc.<br />
+    82. Co-operation . . . By Joseph Clayton.<br />
+    83. Insurance as a Means of Investment . . . By W. A. Robertson, F.F.A.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">LETTERS</span></p>
+    <p class="noindent pnext"><span>51. Shakespeare . . . By Prof. C. H. Herford, Litt.D.<br />
+    52. Wordsworth . . . By Rosaline Masson.<br />
+    53. Pure Gold--A Choice of Lyrics and Sonnets . . . by H. C. O'Neill<br />
+    54. Francis Bacon . . . By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A.<br />
+    55. The Brontës . . . By Flora Masson.<br />
+    56. Carlyle . . . By L. MacLean Watt.<br />
+    57. Dante . . . By A. G. Ferrers Howell.<br />
+    58. Ruskin . . . By A. Blyth Webster, M.A.<br />
+    59. Common Faults in Writing English . . . By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A.<br />
+    60. A Dictionary of Synonyms . . . By Austin K. Gray, B.A.<br />
+    84. History of English Literature . . . By A. Compton-Rickett.<br />
+    85. A History of English Literature . . . By A. Compton-Rickett, LL.D.<br />
+    86. Browning . . . By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A.<br />
+    87. Charles Lamb . . . By Flora Masson.<br />
+    88. Goethe . . . By Prof. C. H. Herford, Litt.D.<br />
+    90. Rousseau . . . By F. B. Kirkman, B.A.<br />
+    91. Ibsen . . . By Hilary Hardinge.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
+    <p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">LONDON AND EDINBURGH: T. C. &amp; E. C. JACK<br />
+    NEW YORK: DODGE PUBLISHING CO.</span></p>
+    <div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"></div><!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- -->
+    <div class="backmatter"></div>
+    <div class="cleardoublepage"></div>
+  </div>
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 48002 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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-<title>ARISTOTLE</title>
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-<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">ARISTOTLE</span></h1>
-
-
-
-
-<table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3">
-<tr>
-<td>
-THERE IS AN EXPANDED EDITION OF THIS TITLE WITH LINKED FOOTNOTES AND INDEX WHICH MAY VIEWED AT EBOOK <big><b><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45851">
-[# 45851 ]</a></b></big>
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-<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
-and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
-restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
-under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with
-this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. If you
-are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws
-of the country where you are located before using this ebook.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
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-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Aristotle
-<br />
-<br />Author: A. E. Taylor
-<br />
-<br />Release Date: January 16, 2015 [EBook #48002]
-<br />
-<br />Language: English
-<br />
-<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p>
-</div>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>ARISTOTLE</span><span> ***</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container frontispiece">
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
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-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container titlepage">
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold xx-large">ARISTOTLE</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY A. E. TAYLOR, M.A., D.LITT., F.B.A.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">LONDON: T. C. &amp; E. C. JACK
-<br />67 LONG ACRE, W.C., AND EDINBURGH
-<br />NEW YORK: DODGE PUBLISHING CO.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">CHAP.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>I. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#life-and-works">LIFE AND WORKS</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>II. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-classification-of-the-sciences-scientific-method">THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES: SCIENTIFIC METHOD</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>III. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#first-philosophy">FIRST PHILOSOPHY</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>IV. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#physics">PHYSICS</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>V. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#practical-philosophy">PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#bibliography">BIBLIOGRAPHY</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="life-and-works"><span class="bold x-large">ARISTOTLE</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">LIFE AND WORKS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>It has not commonly been the lot of philosophers, as it is of
-great poets, that their names should become household words.
-We should hardly call an Englishman well read if he had not
-heard the name of Sophocles or Molière.  An educated man is
-expected to know at least who these great writers were, and
-to understand an allusion to the </span><em class="italics">Antigone</em><span> or </span><em class="italics">Le Misanthrope</em><span>.
-But we call a man well read if his mind is stored with the
-verse of poets and the prose of historians, even though he were
-ignorant of the name of Descartes or Kant.  Yet there are a
-few philosophers whose influence on thought and language has
-been so extensive that no one who reads can be ignorant of
-their names, and that every man who speaks the language
-of educated Europeans is constantly using their vocabulary.
-Among this few Aristotle holds not the lowest place.  We have
-all heard of him, as we have all heard of Homer.  He has left
-his impress so firmly on theology that many of the formulae of the
-Churches are unintelligible without acquaintance with his
-conception of the universe.  If we are interested in the growth of
-modern science we shall readily discover for ourselves that some
-knowledge of Aristotelianism is necessary for the understanding
-of Bacon and Galileo and the other great anti-Aristotelians who
-created the "modern scientific" view of Nature.  If we turn to
-the imaginative literature of the modern languages, Dante is a
-sealed book, and many a passage of Chaucer and Shakespeare
-and Milton is half unmeaning to us unless we are at home
-in the outlines of Aristotle's philosophy.  And if we turn to
-ordinary language, we find that many of the familiar turns of
-modern speech cannot be fully understood without a knowledge
-of the doctrines they were first forged to express.  An Englishman
-who speaks of the "golden mean" or of "liberal education,"
-or contrasts the "matter" of a work of literature with its
-"form," or the "essential" features of a situation or a scheme
-of policy with its "accidents," or "theory" with "practice,"
-is using words which derive their significance from the part
-they play in the vocabulary of Aristotle.  The unambitious
-object of this little book is, then, to help the English reader to
-a better understanding of such familiar language and a fuller
-comprehension of much that he will find in Dante and
-Shakespeare and Bacon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Life of Aristotle.</strong><span>--The main facts of Aristotle's life may be
-briefly told.  He was born in 385-4 B.C. at Stagirus, a little
-city of the Chalcidic peninsula, still called, almost by its
-ancient name, Chalcis, and died at the age of sixty-two at
-Chalcis in Euboea.  Thus he is a contemporary of Demosthenes,
-his manhood witnessed the struggle which ended in the
-establishment of the Macedonian monarchy as the dominant power
-in Hellas, and his later years the campaigns in which his pupil
-Alexander the Great overthrew the Persian Empire and carried
-Greek civilisation to the banks of the Jumna.  In studying
-the constitutional theories of Aristotle, it is necessary to bear
-these facts in mind.  They help to explain certain limitations
-of outlook which might otherwise appear strange in so great a
-man.  It throws a great deal of light on the philosopher's
-intense conviction of the natural inferiority of the "barbarian"
-intellect and character to remember that he grew up in an
-outlying region where the "barbarian" was seen to disadvantage
-in the ordinary course of life.  Hence the distinction between
-Greek and "barbarian" came to mean for him much what the
-"colour-line" does to an American brought up in a Southern
-State.  So, again, when we are struck by his "provincialism,"
-his apparent satisfaction with the ideal of a small self-contained
-city-state with a decently oligarchical government, a good
-system of public education, and no "social problems," but
-devoid alike of great traditions and far-reaching ambitions, we
-must remember that the philosopher himself belonged to just
-such a tiny community without a past and without a future.
-The Chalcidic cities had been first founded, as the name of the
-peninsula implies, as colonies from the town of Chalcis in
-Euboea; Corinth had also been prominent in establishing
-settlements in the same region.  At the height of Athenian
-Imperial prosperity in the age of Pericles the district had fallen
-politically under Athenian control, but had been detached again
-from Athens, in the last years of the Archidamian war, by the
-genius of the great Spartan soldier and diplomat Brasidas.
-Early in the fourth century the Chalcidic cities had attempted
-to form themselves into an independent federation, but the
-movement had been put down by Sparta, and the cities had
-fallen under the control of the rising Macedonian monarchy,
-when Aristotle was a baby.  A generation later, a double
-intrigue of the cities with Philip of Macedon and Athens failed
-of its effect, and the peninsula was finally incorporated with
-the Macedonian kingdom.  It is also important to note that
-the philosopher belonged by birth to a guild, the Asclepiadae,
-in which the medical profession was hereditary.  His father
-Nicomachus was court physician to Amyntas II., the king for
-whose benefit the Spartans had put down the Chalcidic league.
-This early connection with medicine and with the Macedonian
-court explains largely both the predominantly biological cast of
-Aristotle's philosophical thought and the intense dislike of
-"princes" and courts to which he more than once gives
-expression.  At the age of eighteen, in 367-6, Aristotle was sent to
-Athens for "higher" education in philosophy and science, and
-entered the famous Platonic Academy, where he remained as a
-member of the scientific group gathered round the master for
-twenty years, until Plato's death in 347-6.  For the three
-years immediately following Aristotle was in Asia Minor with
-his friend and fellow-student Hermeias, who had become by
-force of sheer capacity monarch of the city of Atarneus in the
-Troad, and was maintaining himself with much energy against
-the Persian king.  Pythias, the niece of Hermeias, became the
-philosopher's wife, and it seems that the marriage was happy.
-Examination of Aristotle's contributions to marine biology has
-shown that his knowledge of the subject is specially good for
-the Aeolic coast and the shores of the adjacent islands.  This
-throws light on his occupations during his residence with
-Hermeias, and suggests that Plato had discerned the bent of
-his distinguished pupil's mind, and that his special share in
-the researches of the Academy had, like that of Speusippus,
-Plato's nephew and successor in the headship of the school, been
-largely of a biological kind.  We also know that, presumably
-shortly after Plato's death, Aristotle had been one of the group
-of disciples who edited their teacher's unpublished lectures.
-In 343 Hermeias was assassinated at the instigation of Persia;
-Aristotle honoured his memory by a hymn setting forth the
-godlikeness of virtue as illustrated by the life of his friend.
-Aristotle now removed to the Macedonian court, where he
-received the position of tutor to the Crown Prince, afterwards
-Alexander the Great, at this time (343 B.C.) a boy of thirteen.
-The association of the great philosopher and the great king as
-tutor and pupil has naturally struck the imagination of later
-ages; even in Plutarch's </span><em class="italics">Life of Alexander</em><span> we meet already
-with the full-blown legend of the influence of Aristotle's
-philosophical speculations on Alexander.  It is, however, improbable
-that Aristotle's influence counted for much in forming the
-character of Alexander.  Aristotle's dislike of monarchies and
-their accessories is written large on many a page of his </span><em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>
-and </span><em class="italics">Politics</em><span>; the small self-contained city-state with no political
-ambitions for which he reserves his admiration would have
-seemed a mere relic of antiquity to Philip and Alexander.  The
-only piece of contemporary evidence as to the relations between
-the master and the pupil is a sentence in a letter to the young
-Alexander from the Athenian publicist Isocrates who maliciously
-congratulates the prince on his preference for "rhetoric,"
-the art of efficient public speech, and his indifference to
-"logic-choppers."  How little sympathy Aristotle can have had with his
-pupil's ambitions is shown by the fact that though his political
-theories must have been worked out during the very years in
-which Alexander was revolutionising Hellenism by the foundation
-of his world-empire, they contain no allusion to so momentous
-a change in the social order.  For all that Aristotle tells
-us, Alexander might never have existed, and the small
-city-state might have been the last word of Hellenic political
-development.  Hence it is probable that the selection of Aristotle,
-who had not yet appeared before the world as an independent
-thinker, to take part in the education of the Crown Prince was
-due less to personal reputation than to the connection of his
-family with the court, taken together with his own position as
-a pupil of Plato, whose intervention in the public affairs of
-Sicily had caused the Academy to be regarded as the special
-home of scientific interest in politics and jurisprudence.  It
-may be true that Alexander found time in the midst of his
-conquests to supply his old tutor with zoological specimens;
-it is as certain as such a thing can be that the ideals and
-characters of the two men were too different to allow of any
-intimate influence of either on the other.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When Alexander was suddenly called to the Macedonian
-throne by the murder of his father in 336 B.C., Aristotle's
-services were no longer needed; he returned to Athens and
-gave himself to purely scientific work.  Just at this juncture
-the presidency of the Academy was vacant by the death of
-Speusippus, Aristotle's old associate in biological research.
-Possibly Aristotle thought himself injured when the school
-passed him over and elected Xenocrates of Chalcedon as its new
-president.  At any rate, though he appears never to have
-wholly severed his connection with the Academy, in 335 he
-opened a rival institution in the Lyceum, or gymnasium attached
-to the temple of Apollo Lyceus, to which he was followed by
-some of the most distinguished members of the Academy.  From
-the fact that his instruction was given in the </span><em class="italics">peripatos</em><span> or
-covered portico of the gymnasium the school has derived its
-name of Peripatetic.  For the next twelve years he was occupied
-in the organisation of the school as an abode for the prosecution
-of speculation and research in every department of inquiry, and
-in the composition of numerous courses of lectures on scientific
-and philosophical questions.  The chief difference in general
-character between the new school and the Academy is that
-while the scientific interests of the Platonists centred in
-mathematics, the main contributions of the Lyceum to science lay in
-the departments of biology and history.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Towards the end of Alexander's life his attention was
-unfavourably directed on his old teacher.  A relative of Aristotle
-named Callisthenes had attended Alexander in his campaigns as
-historiographer, and had provoked disfavour by his censure of
-the King's attempts to invest his semi-constitutional position
-towards his Hellenic subjects with the pomp of an Oriental
-despotism.  The historian's independence proved fatal.  He
-was accused of instigating an assassination plot among
-Alexander's pages, and hanged, or, as some said, thrown into a
-prison where he died before trial.  Alexander is reported to
-have held Aristotle responsible for his relative's treason, and to
-have meditated revenge.  If this is so, he was fortunately
-diverted from the commission of a crime by preoccupation with
-the invasion of India.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On the death of Alexander in 323 a brief but vigorous
-anti-Macedonian agitation broke out at Athens.  Aristotle, from his
-Macedonian connections, naturally fell a victim, in spite of his
-want of sympathy with the ideals of Philip and Alexander.
-Like Socrates, he was indicted on the capital charge of "impiety,"
-the pretext being that his poem on the death of Hermeias,
-written twenty years before, was a virtual deification of his
-friend.  This was, however, only a pretext; the real offence
-was political, and lay in his connection with the Macedonian
-leader Antipater.  As condemnation was certain, the philosopher
-anticipated it by withdrawing with his disciples to Chalcis, the
-mother city of his native Stagirus.  Here he died in the
-following year, at the age of sixty-two or sixty-three.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The features of Aristotle, familiar to us from busts and
-intaglios, are handsome, but indicate refinement and acuteness
-rather than originality, an impression in keeping with what we
-should expect from a study of his writings.  The anecdotes
-related of him reveal a kindly, affectionate character, and show
-little trace of the self-importance which appears in his work.
-His will, which has been preserved, exhibits the same traits in
-its references to his happy family life and its solicitous care for
-the future of his children and servants.  He was twice married,
-first to Pythias, and secondly to a certain Herpyllis, by whom
-he left a son Nicomachus and a daughter.  The "goodness" of
-Herpyllis to her husband is specially mentioned in the clauses
-of the will which make provision for her, while the warmth of
-the writer's feelings for Pythias is shown by the direction that
-her remains are to be placed in the same tomb with his own.
-The list of servants remembered and the bequests enumerated
-show the philosopher to have been in easier circumstances than
-Plato.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Works of Aristotle</strong><span>.--The so-called works of Aristotle
-present us with a curious problem.  When we turn from Plato
-to his pupil we seem to have passed into a different
-atmosphere.  The </span><em class="italics">Discourses of Socrates</em><span> exhibit a prose style
-which is perhaps the most marvellous of all literary
-achievements.  Nowhere else do we meet with quite the same
-combination of eloquence, imaginative splendour, incisive logic, and
-irresistible wit and humour.  The manner of Aristotle is dry
-and formal.  His language bristles with technicalities, makes
-little appeal to the emotions, disdains graces of style, and
-frequently defies the simplest rules of composition.  Our
-surprise is all the greater that we find later writers of antiquity,
-such as Cicero, commending Aristotle for his copious and golden
-eloquence, a characteristic which is conspicuously wanting in
-the Aristotelian writings we possess.  The explanation of the
-puzzle is, however, simple.  Plato and Aristotle were at once
-what we should call professors and men of letters; both wrote
-works for general circulation, and both delivered courses of
-lectures to special students.  But while Plato's lectures have
-perished, his books have come down to us.  Aristotle's books
-have almost wholly been lost, but we possess many of his lectures.
-The "works" of Aristotle praised by Cicero for their eloquence
-were philosophical dialogues, and formed the model for Cicero's
-own compositions in this kind.  None of them have survived,
-though some passages have been preserved in quotations by
-later writers.  That the "works" are actually the MSS. of a
-lecturer posthumously edited by his pupils seems clear from
-external as well as from internal evidence.  In one instance we
-have the advantage of a double recension.  Aristotle's </span><em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>
-or </span><em class="italics">Discourses on Conduct</em><span> have come down to us in two
-forms--the so-called </span><em class="italics">Nicomachean Ethics</em><span>, a redaction by the
-philosopher's son, Nicomachus, preserving all the characteristics
-of an oral course of lectures; and a freer and more readable recast
-by a pupil, the mathematician Eudemus, known as the </span><em class="italics">Eudemian
-Ethics</em><span>.  In recent years we have also recovered from the sands
-of Egypt what appears to be our one specimen of a "work" of
-Aristotle, intended to be read by the public at large, the essay
-on the Constitution of Athens.  The style of this essay is easy,
-flowing, and popular, and shows that Aristotle could write well
-and gracefully when he thought fit.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="the-classification-of-the-sciences-scientific-method"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES: SCIENTIFIC METHOD</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Philosophy, as understood by Aristotle, may be said to be
-the organised whole of disinterested knowledge, that is,
-knowledge which we seek for the satisfaction which it carries with
-itself, and not as a mere means to utilitarian ends.  The impulse
-which receives this satisfaction is curiosity or wonder, which
-Aristotle regards as innate in man, though it does not get full
-play until civilisation has advanced far enough to make secure
-provision for the immediate material needs of life.  Human
-curiosity was naturally directed first to the outstanding
-"marvellous works" of the physical world, the planets, the
-periodicity of their movements, the return of the seasons,
-winds, thunder and lightning, and the like.  Hence the earliest
-Greek speculation was concerned with problems of astronomy
-and meteorology.  Then, as reflection developed, men speculated
-about geometrical figure, and number, the possibility of
-having assured knowledge at all, the character of the common
-principles assumed in all branches of study or of the special
-principles assumed in some one branch, and thus philosophy
-has finally become the disinterested study of every department
-of Being or Reality.  Since Aristotle, like Hegel, thought that
-his own doctrine was, in essentials, the last word of speculation,
-the complete expression of the principles by which his
-predecessors had been unconsciously guided, he believes himself
-in a position to make a final classification of the branches of
-science, showing how they are related and how they are
-discriminated from one another.  This classification we have now
-to consider.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Classification of the Sciences</strong><span>.--To begin with, we have to
-discriminate Philosophy from two rivals with which it might
-be confounded on a superficial view, Dialectic and Sophistry.
-Dialectic is the art of reasoning accurately from given premisses,
-true or false.  This art has its proper uses, and of one of these
-we shall have to speak.  But in itself it is indifferent to the
-truth of its premisses.  You may reason dialectically from
-premisses which you believe to be false, for the express purpose of
-showing the absurd conclusions to which they lead.  Or you
-may reason from premisses which you assume tentatively to see
-what conclusions you are committed to if you adopt them.  In
-either case your object is not directly to secure truth, but
-only to secure consistency.  Science or Philosophy aims directly
-at </span><em class="italics">truth</em><span>, and hence requires to start with true and certain
-premisses.  Thus the distinction between Science and Dialectic
-is that Science reasons from true premisses, Dialectic only from
-"probable" or "plausible" premisses.  Sophistry differs from
-Science in virtue of its moral character.  It is the profession
-of making a living by the abuse of reasoning, the trick of
-employing logical skill for the apparent demonstration of
-scientific or ethical falsehoods.  "The sophist is one who
-earns a living from an apparent but unreal wisdom."  (The
-emphasis thus falls on the notion of making an "unreal
-wisdom" into a </span><em class="italics">trade</em><span>.  The sophist's real concern is to get
-his fee.)  Science or Philosophy is thus the disinterested
-employment of the understanding in the discovery of truth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We may now distinguish the different branches of science as
-defined.  The first and most important division to be made is
-that between Speculative or Theoretical Science and Practical
-Science.  The broad distinction is that which we should now
-draw between the Sciences and the Arts (</span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> the industrial
-and technical, not the "fine" arts).  Speculative or Theoretical
-Philosophy differs from Practical Philosophy in its purpose, and,
-in consequence, in its subject-matter, and its formal logical
-character.  The purpose of the former is the disinterested
-contemplation of truths which are what they are independently
-of our own volition; its end is to </span><em class="italics">know</em><span> and only to </span><em class="italics">know</em><span>.
-The object of "practical" Science is to know, but not only to
-know but also to turn our knowledge to account in devising
-ways of successful interference with the course of events.  (The
-real importance of the distinction comes out in Aristotle's
-treatment of the problems of moral and social science.  Since we
-require knowledge of the moral and social nature of men not
-merely to satisfy an intellectual interest, but as a basis for a
-sound system of education and government, Politics, the theory
-of government, and Ethics, the theory of goodness of conduct,
-which for Aristotle is only a subordinate branch of Politics,
-belong to Practical, not to Theoretical Philosophy, a view
-which is attended by important consequences.)</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It follows that there is a corresponding difference in the objects
-investigated by the two branches of Philosophy.  Speculative or
-Theoretical Philosophy is concerned with "that which cannot
-possibly be other than it is," truths and relations independent
-of human volition for their subsistence, and calling simply for
-</span><em class="italics">recognition</em><span> on our part.  Practical Philosophy has to do with
-relations which human volition can modify, "things which
-may be other than they are," the contingent.  (Thus </span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span>
-not only politics, but medicine and economics will belong to
-Practical Science.)</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Hence again arises a logical difference between the conclusions
-of Theoretical and those of Practical Philosophy.  Those
-of the former are universal truths deducible with logical
-necessity from self-evident[#] principles.  Those of the latter,
-because they relate to what "can be otherwise," are never
-rigidly universal; they are </span><em class="italics">general</em><span> rules which hold good "in
-the majority of cases," but are liable to occasional exceptions
-owing to the contingent character of the facts with which they
-deal.  It is a proof of a philosopher's lack of grounding in
-logic that he looks to the results of a practical science (</span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> to
-the detailed precepts of medicine or ethics) for a higher degree
-of certainty and validity than the nature of the subject-matter
-allows.  Thus for Aristotle the distinction between the
-necessary and the contingent is real and not merely apparent, and
-"probability is the guide" in studies which have to do with
-the direction of life.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Self-evident, that is, in a purely logical sense.
-When you apprehend
-the principles in question, you </span><em class="italics small">see</em><span class="small"> at once
-that they are true, and do not
-require to have them </span><em class="italics small">proved</em><span class="small">.
-It is not meant that any and every man
-</span><em class="italics small">does</em><span class="small">, in point of fact, always apprehend the principles,
-or that they can
-be apprehended without preliminary mental discipline.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>We proceed to the question how many subdivisions there
-are within "theoretical" Philosophy itself.  Plato had held
-that there are none.  All the sciences are deductions from a
-single set of ultimate principles which it is the business of
-that supreme science to which Plato had given the name of
-Dialectic to establish.  This is not Aristotle's view.  According
-to him, "theoretical" Philosophy falls into a number of
-distinct though not co-ordinate branches, each with its own
-special subjects of investigation and its own special axiomatic
-principles.  Of these branches there are three, First Philosophy,
-Mathematics, and Physics.  First Philosophy--afterwards
-to be known to the Middle Ages as Metaphysics[#]--treats, to
-use Aristotle's own expression, of "Being </span><em class="italics">quà</em><span> Being."  This
-means that it is concerned with the universal characteristics
-which belong to the system of knowable reality as such, and
-the principles of its organisation in their full universality.
-First Philosophy alone investigates the character of those
-causative factors in the system which are without body or
-shape and exempt from all mutability.  Since in Aristotle's
-system God is the supreme Cause of this kind, First Philosophy
-culminates in the knowledge of God, and is hence frequently
-called Theology.  It thus includes an element which would
-to-day be assigned to the theory of knowledge, as well as one
-which we should ascribe to metaphysics, since it deals at once
-with the ultimate postulates of knowledge and the ultimate
-causes of the order of real existence.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The origin of this name seems to be
-that Aristotle's lectures on First
-Philosophy came to be studied as
-a continuation of his course on Physics.
-Hence the lectures got the name
-</span><em class="italics small">Metaphysica</em><span class="small"> because they came </span><em class="italics small">after</em><span class="small">
-(</span><em class="italics small">meta</em><span class="small">) those on Physics.
-Finally the name was transferred (as in the
-case of </span><em class="italics small">Ethics</em><span class="small">) from the lectures
-to the subject of which they treat.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Mathematics is of narrower scope.  What it studies is no
-longer "real being as such," but only real being in so far as it
-exhibits number and geometrical form.  Since Aristotle holds
-the view that number and figure only exist as determinations
-of objects given in perception (though by a convenient fiction
-the mathematician treats of them in abstraction from the
-perceived objects which they qualify), he marks the difference
-between Mathematics and First Philosophy by saying that
-"whereas the objects of First Philosophy are separate from
-matter and devoid of motion, those of Mathematics, though
-incapable of motion, have no separable existence but are
-inherent in matter."  Physics is concerned with the study of
-objects which are both material and capable of motion.  Thus
-the principle of the distinction is the presence or absence of
-initial restrictions of the range of the different branches of
-Science.  First Philosophy has the widest range, since its
-contemplation covers the whole ground of the real and knowable;
-Physics the narrowest, because it is confined to a "universe
-of discourse" restricted by the double qualification that its
-members are all material and capable of displacement.  Mathematics
-holds an intermediate position, since in it, one of these
-qualifications is removed, but the other still remains, for
-the geometer's figures are boundaries and limits of sensible
-bodies, and the arithmetician's numbers properties of collections
-of concrete objects.  It follows also that the initial axioms or
-postulates of Mathematics form a less simple system than those
-of First Philosophy, and those of Physics than those of
-Mathematics.  Mathematics requires as initial assumptions not only
-those which hold good for </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> thought, but certain other special
-axioms which are only valid and significant for the realm of
-figure and number; Physics requires yet further axioms which
-are only applicable to "what is in motion."  This is why,
-though the three disciplines are treated as distinct, they are
-not strictly co-ordinate, and "First Philosophy," though
-"first," is only </span><em class="italics">prima inter pares</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We thus get the following diagrammatic scheme of the
-classification of sciences:--</span></p>
-<pre class="literal-block">
-<span>                      Science
-                         |
-             +-----------+------------+
-             |                        |
-        Theoretical               Practical
-             |
-         +---+---------+-----------+
-         |             |           |
-First Philosophy     Mathe-     Physics
-       or            matics
-    Theology</span>
-</pre>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Practical Philosophy is not subjected by Aristotle to any
-similar subdivision.  Later students were accustomed to recognise
-a threefold division into Ethics (the theory of individual
-conduct), Economics (the theory of the management of the
-household), Politics (the theory of the management of the
-State).  Aristotle himself does not make these distinctions.
-His general name for the theory of conduct is Politics, the
-doctrine of individual conduct being for him inseparable from
-that of the right ordering of society.  Though he composed a
-separate course of lectures on individual conduct (the </span><em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>),
-he takes care to open the course by stating that the science of
-which it treats is Politics, and offers an apology for dealing
-with the education of individual character apart from the more
-general doctrine of the organisation of society.  No special
-recognition is given in Aristotle's own classification to the
-Philosophy of Art.  Modern students of Aristotle have tried
-to fill in the omission by adding artistic creation to
-contemplation and practice as a third fundamental form of mental
-activity, and thus making a threefold division of Philosophy
-into Theoretical, Practical, and Productive.  The object of this
-is to find a place in the classification for Aristotle's famous
-</span><em class="italics">Poetics</em><span> and his work on Rhetoric, the art of effective speech
-and writing.  But the admission of the third division of
-Science has no warrant in the text of Aristotle, nor are the
-</span><em class="italics">Rhetoric</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">Poetics</em><span>, properly speaking, a contribution to
-Philosophy.  They are intended as collections of practical rules
-for the composition of a pamphlet or a tragedy, not as a critical
-examination of the canons of literary taste.  This was correctly
-seen by the dramatic theorists of the seventeenth century.  They
-exaggerated the value of Aristotle's directions and entirely
-misunderstood the meaning of some of them, but they were right
-in their view that the </span><em class="italics">Poetics</em><span> was meant to be a collection
-of rules by obeying which the craftsman might make sure
-of turning out a successful play.  So far as Aristotle has a
-Philosophy of Fine Art at all, it forms part of his more general
-theory of education and must be looked for in the general
-discussion of the aims of education contained in his </span><em class="italics">Politics</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Methods of Science</strong><span>.--No place has been assigned in
-the scheme to what we call logic and Aristotle called </span><em class="italics">Analytics</em><span>,
-the theory of scientific method, or of proof and the estimation
-of evidence.  The reason is that since the fundamental character
-of proof is the same in all science, Aristotle looks upon
-logic as a study of the methods common to all science.  At a
-later date it became a hotly debated question whether logic
-should be regarded in this way as a study of the methods
-instrumental to proof in all sciences, or as itself a special
-constituent division of philosophy.  The Aristotelian view was
-concisely indicated by the name which became attached to the
-collection of Aristotle's logical works.  They were called the
-</span><em class="italics">Organon</em><span>, that is, the "instrument," or the body of rules of
-method employed by Science.  The thought implied is thus
-that logic furnishes the </span><em class="italics">tools</em><span> with which every science has to
-work in establishing its results.  Our space will only permit of
-a brief statement as to the points in which the Aristotelian
-formal logic appears to be really original, and the main
-peculiarities of Aristotle's theory of knowledge.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>(a) </span><strong class="bold">Formal Logic</strong><span>.--In compass the Aristotelian logic corresponds
-roughly with the contents of modern elementary treatises
-on the same subject, with the omission of the sections which
-deal with the so-called Conditional Syllogism.  The inclusion
-of arguments of this type in mediæval and modern expositions
-of formal logic is principally due to the Stoics, who preferred to
-throw their reasoning into these forms and subjected them to
-minute scrutiny.  In his treatment of the doctrine of Terms,
-Aristotle avoids the mistake of treating the isolated name as
-though it had significance apart from the enunciations in which
-it occurs.  He is quite clear on the all-important point that
-the unit of thought is the proposition in which something is
-affirmed or denied, the one thought-form which can be properly
-called "true" or "false."  Such an assertion he analyses into
-two factors, that about which something is affirmed or denied (the
-Subject), and that which is affirmed or denied of it (the Predicate).
-Consequently his doctrine of the classification of Terms is
-based on a classification of Predicates, or of Propositions
-according to the special kind of connection between the Subject and
-Predicate which they affirm or deny.  Two such classifications,
-which cannot be made to fit into one another, meet us in Aristotle's
-logical writings, the scheme of the ten "Categories," and
-that which was afterwards known in the Middle Ages as the list
-of "Predicaments" or "Heads of Predicates," or again as the
-"Five Words."  The list of "Categories" reveals itself as an
-attempt to answer the question in how many different senses the
-words "is a" or "are" are employed when we assert that "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is
-</span><em class="italics">y</em><span>" or "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is a </span><em class="italics">y</em><span>" or "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span>s are </span><em class="italics">y</em><span>s."  Such a statement may tell us
-(1) what </span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is, as if I say "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is a lion"; the predicate is then
-said to fall under the category of Substance; (2) what </span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is
-like, as when I say "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is white, or </span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is wise,"--the category
-of Quality; (3) how much or how many </span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is, as when I say
-"</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is tall" or "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is five feet long,"--the category of Quantity;
-(4) how </span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is related to something else, as when I say "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is to
-the right of </span><em class="italics">y</em><span>," "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is the father of </span><em class="italics">y</em><span>,"--the category of
-Relation.  These are the four chief "categories" discussed by
-Aristotle.  The remainder are (5) Place, (6) Time, (7) and
-(8) Condition or State, as when I say "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is sitting down" or
-"</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> has his armour on,"--(the only distinction between the two
-cases seems to be that (7) denotes a more permanent state of </span><em class="italics">x</em><span>
-than (8)); (9) Action or Activity, as when I say "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is cutting,"
-or generally "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is doing something to </span><em class="italics">y</em><span>"; (10) Passivity, as
-when I say "</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is being cut," or more generally, "so-and-so
-is being done to </span><em class="italics">x</em><span>."  No attempt is made to show that this
-list of "figures of predication" is complete, or to point out any
-principle which has been followed in its construction.  It also
-happens that much the same enumeration is incidentally made
-in one or two passages of Plato.  Hence it is not unlikely
-that the list was taken over by Aristotle as one which would be
-familiar to pupils who had read their Plato, and therefore
-convenient for practical purposes.  The fivefold classification
-does depend on a principle pointed out by Aristotle which
-guarantees its completeness, and is therefore likely to have
-been thought out by him for himself, and to be the genuine
-Aristotelian scheme.  Consider an ordinary universal affirmative
-proposition of the form "all </span><em class="italics">x</em><span>s are </span><em class="italics">y</em><span>s."  Now if this
-statement is true it may also be true that "all </span><em class="italics">y</em><span>s are </span><em class="italics">x</em><span>s," or
-it may not.  On the first supposition we have two possible
-cases, (1) the predicate may state precisely what the subject
-defined </span><em class="italics">is</em><span>; then </span><em class="italics">y</em><span> is the Definition of </span><em class="italics">x</em><span>, as when I say that "men
-are mortal animals, capable of discourse."  Here it is also true
-to say that "mortal animals capable of discourse are men,"
-and Aristotle regards the predicate "mortal animal capable of
-discourse" as expressing the inmost nature of man.  (2) The
-predicate may not express the inmost nature of the subject,
-and yet may belong only to the class denoted by the subject
-and to every member of that class.  The predicate is then
-called a Proprium or property, an exclusive attribute of the
-class in question.  Thus it was held that "all men are capable
-of laughter" and "all beings capable of laughter are men," but
-that the capacity for laughter is no part of the inmost nature
-or "real essence" of humanity.  It is therefore reckoned as a
-Proprium.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Again in the case where it is true that "all </span><em class="italics">x</em><span>s are </span><em class="italics">y</em><span>s," but
-not true that all "</span><em class="italics">y</em><span>s are </span><em class="italics">x</em><span>s," </span><em class="italics">y</em><span> may be part of the definition
-of </span><em class="italics">x</em><span> or it may not.  If it is part of the definition of </span><em class="italics">x</em><span> it will
-be either (3) a genus or wider class of which </span><em class="italics">x</em><span> forms a
-subdivision, as when I say, "All men are animals," or (4) a
-difference, that is, one of the distinctive marks by which the </span><em class="italics">x</em><span>s
-are distinguished from other sub-classes or species of the same
-genus, as when I say, "All men are capable of discourse."  Or
-finally (5) </span><em class="italics">y</em><span> may be no part of the definition of </span><em class="italics">x</em><span>, but a
-characteristic which belongs both to the </span><em class="italics">x</em><span>s and some things
-other than </span><em class="italics">x</em><span>s.  The predicate is then called an Accident.  We
-have now exhausted all the possible cases, and may say that
-the predicate of a universal affirmative proposition is always
-either a definition, a proprium, a genus, a difference, or an
-accident.  This classification reached the Middle Ages not in the
-precise form in which it is given by Aristotle, but with
-modifications mainly due to the Neo-Platonic philosopher Porphyry.
-In its modified form it is regarded as a classification of terms
-generally.  Definition disappears from the list, as the definition
-is regarded as a complex made up of the genus, or next highest
-class to which the class to be defined belongs, and the differences
-which mark off this particular species or sub-class.  The species
-itself which figures as the subject-term in a definition is added,
-and thus the "Five Words" of mediæval logic are enumerated
-as genus, species, difference, proprium, accident.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The one point of philosophical interest about this doctrine
-appears alike in the scheme of the "Categories" in the presence
-of a category of "substance," and in the list of "Predicaments"
-in the sharp distinction drawn between "definition" and
-"proprium."  From a logical point of view it does not appear
-why </span><em class="italics">any</em><span> proprium, </span><em class="italics">any</em><span> character belonging to all the members
-of a class and to them alone, should not be taken as defining
-the class.  Why should it be assumed that there is only </span><em class="italics">one</em><span>
-predicate, viz. </span><em class="italics">man</em><span>, which precisely answers the question,
-"What is Socrates?"  Why should it not be equally correct
-to answer, "a Greek," or "a philosopher"?  The explanation
-is that Aristotle takes it for granted that not all the distinctions
-we can make between "kinds" of things are arbitrary and
-subjective.  Nature herself has made certain hard and fast
-divisions between kinds which it is the business of our thought
-to recognise and follow.  Thus according to Aristotle there is
-a real gulf, a genuine difference in kind, between the horse and
-the ass, and this is illustrated by the fact that the mule, the
-offspring of a horse and an ass, is not capable of reproduction.
-It is thus a sort of imperfect being, a kind of "monster"
-existing </span><em class="italics">contra naturam</em><span>.  Such differences as we find when
-we compare </span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> Egyptians with Greeks do not amount to a
-difference in "kind."  To say that Socrates is a man tells me
-what Socrates is, because the statement places Socrates in the
-real kind to which he actually belongs; to say that he is wise,
-or old, or a philosopher merely tells me some of his attributes.
-It follows from this belief in "real" or "natural" kinds that
-the problem of definition acquires an enormous importance for
-science.  We, who are accustomed to regard the whole business
-of classification as a matter of making a grouping of our
-materials such as is most pertinent to the special question we
-have in hand, tend to look upon any predicate which belongs
-universally and exclusively to the members of a group, as a
-sufficient basis for a possible definition of the group.  Hence
-we are prone to take the "nominalist" view of definition, </span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span>
-to look upon a definition as no more than a declaration of the
-sense which we intend henceforward to put on a word or other
-symbol.  And consequently we readily admit that there may
-be as many definitions of a class as it has different propria.
-But in a philosophy like that of Aristotle, in which it is held
-that a true classification must not only be formally satisfactory,
-but must also conform to the actual lines of cleavage which
-Nature has established between kind and kind, the task of
-classificatory science becomes much more difficult.  Science
-is called on to supply not merely a definition but </span><em class="italics">the</em><span> definition
-of the classes it considers, </span><em class="italics">the</em><span> definition which faithfully reflects
-the "lines of cleavage" in Nature.  This is why the Aristotelian
-view is that a true definition should always be </span><em class="italics">per genus et
-differentias</em><span>.  It should "place" a given class by mentioning
-the wider class next above it in the objective hierarchy, and
-then enumerating the most deep-seated distinctions by which
-Nature herself marks off this class from others belonging to
-the same wider class.  Modern evolutionary thought may
-possibly bring us back to this Aristotelian standpoint.  Modern
-evolutionary science differs from Aristotelianism on one point
-of the first importance.  It regards the difference between
-kinds, not as a primary fact of Nature, but as produced by a
-long process of accumulation of slight differences.  But a
-world in which the process has progressed far enough will
-exhibit much the same character as the Nature of Aristotle.
-As the intermediate links between "species" drop out because
-they are less thoroughly adapted to maintain themselves than
-the extremes between which they form links, the world produced
-approximates more and more to a system of species between
-which there are unbridgeable chasms; evolution tends more and
-more to the final establishment of "real kinds," marked by
-the fact that there is no permanent possibility of cross-breeding
-between them.  This makes it once more possible to
-distinguish between a "nominal" definition and a "real"
-definition.  From an evolutionary point of view, a "real" definition
-would be one which specifies not merely enough characters
-to mark off the group defined from others, but selects also
-for the purpose those characters which indicate the line of
-historical development by which the group has successively
-separated itself from other groups descended from the same
-ancestors.  We shall learn yet more of the significance of this
-conception of a "real kind" as we go on to make acquaintance
-with the outlines of First Philosophy.  Over the rest of the
-formal logic of Aristotle we must be content to pass more
-rapidly.  In connection with the doctrine of Propositions,
-Aristotle lays down the familiar distinction between the four
-types of proposition according to their quantity (as universal
-or particular) and quality (as affirmative or negative), and
-treats of their contrary and contradictory opposition in a way
-which still forms the basis of the handling of the subject in
-elementary works on formal logic.  He also considers at
-great length a subject nowadays commonly excluded from the
-elementary books, the modal distinction between the Problematic
-proposition (</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> may be </span><em class="italics">y</em><span>), the Assertory (</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> is </span><em class="italics">y</em><span>), and the
-Necessary (</span><em class="italics">x</em><span> must be </span><em class="italics">y</em><span>), and the way in which all these forms
-may be contradicted.  For him, modality is a formal distinction
-like quantity or quality, because he believes that
-contingency and necessity are not merely relative to the state
-of our knowledge, but represent real and objective features of
-the order of Nature.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In connection with the doctrine of Inference, it is worth
-while to give his definition of Syllogism or Inference (literally
-"computation") in his own words.  "Syllogism is a discourse
-wherein certain things (viz. the premisses) being admitted,
-something else, different from what has been admitted, follows
-of necessity because the admissions are what they are."  The
-last clause shows that Aristotle is aware that the all-important
-thing in an inference is not that the conclusion should be novel
-but that it should be proved.  We may have known the
-conclusion as a fact before; what the inference does for us is to
-connect it with the rest of our knowledge, and thus to show
-</span><em class="italics">why</em><span> it is true.  He also formulates the axiom upon which
-syllogistic inference rests, that "if A is predicated universally
-of B and B of C, A is necessarily predicated universally of
-C."  Stated in the language of class-inclusion, and adapted to
-include the case where B is denied of C this becomes the formula,
-"whatever is asserted universally, whether positively or
-negatively, of a class B is asserted in like manner of any class C
-which is wholly contained in B," the axiom </span><em class="italics">de omni et nullo</em><span>
-of mediæval logic.  The syllogism of the "first figure," to
-which this principle immediately applies, is accordingly
-regarded by Aristotle as the natural and perfect form of
-inference.  Syllogisms of the second and third figures can only
-be shown to fall under the dictum by a process of "reduction"
-or transformation into corresponding arguments in the first
-"figure," and are therefore called "imperfect" or "incomplete,"
-because they do not exhibit the conclusive force of the reasoning
-with equal clearness, and also because no universal affirmative
-conclusion can be proved in them, and the aim of science
-is always to establish such affirmatives.  The list of "moods"
-of the three figures, and the doctrine of the methods by which
-each mood of the imperfect figures can be replaced by an
-equivalent mood of the first is worked out substantially as in our
-current text-books.  The so-called "fourth" figure is not
-recognised, its moods being regarded merely as unnatural and
-distorted statements of those of the first figure.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Induction</strong><span>.--Of the use of "induction" in Aristotle's
-philosophy we shall speak under the head of "Theory of
-Knowledge."  Formally it is called "the way of proceeding from
-particular facts to universals," and Aristotle insists that the
-conclusion is only proved if </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> the particulars have been
-examined.  Thus he gives as an example the following argument,
-"</span><em class="italics">x</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">y</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">z</em><span> are long-lived species of animals; </span><em class="italics">x</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">y</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">z</em><span> are the only
-species which have no gall; </span><em class="italics">ergo</em><span> all animals which have no
-gall are long-lived."  This is the "induction by simple
-enumeration" denounced by Francis Bacon on the ground that it
-may always be discredited by the production of a single
-"contrary instance," </span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> a single instance of an animal which has
-no gall and yet is not long-lived.  Aristotle is quite aware
-that his "induction" does not establish its conclusion unless
-all the cases have been included in the examination.  In fact,
-as his own example shows, an induction which gives certainty
-does not start with "particular facts" at all.  It is a method
-of arguing that what has been proved true of each sub-class
-of a wider class will be true of the wider class as a whole.
-The premisses are strictly universal throughout.  In general,
-Aristotle does not regard "induction" as </span><em class="italics">proof</em><span> at all.
-Historically "induction" is held by Aristotle to have been first
-made prominent in philosophy by Socrates, who constantly
-employed the method in his attempts to establish universal
-results in moral science.  Thus he gives, as a characteristic
-argument for the famous Socratic doctrine that knowledge
-is the one thing needful, the "induction," "he who understands
-the theory of navigation is the best navigator, he who
-understands the theory of chariot-driving the best driver; from
-these examples we see that universally he who understands
-the theory of a thing is the best practitioner," where it is
-evident that </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> the relevant cases have </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> been examined,
-and consequently that the reasoning does not amount to proof.
-Mill's so-called reasoning from particulars to particulars finds
-a place in Aristotle's theory under the name of "arguing from
-an example."  He gives as an illustration, "A war between
-Athens and Thebes will be a bad thing, for we see that the
-war between Thebes and Phocis was so."  He is careful to
-point out that the whole force of the argument depends on
-the </span><em class="italics">implied</em><span> assumption of a universal proposition which covers
-both cases, such as "wars between </span><em class="italics">neighbours</em><span> are bad things."
-Hence he calls such appeals to example "rhetorical" reasoning,
-because the politician is accustomed to leave his hearers to
-supply the relevant universal consideration for themselves.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Theory of Knowledge</strong><span>.--Here, as everywhere in Aristotle's
-philosophy, we are confronted by an initial and insuperable
-difficulty.  Aristotle is always anxious to insist on the
-difference between his own doctrines and those of Plato, and his
-bias in this direction regularly leads him to speak as though
-he held a thorough-going naturalistic and empirical theory with
-no "transcendental moonshine" about it.  Yet his final
-conclusions on all points of importance are hardly distinguishable
-from those of Plato except by the fact that, as they are so
-much at variance with the naturalistic side of his philosophy,
-they have the appearance of being sudden lapses into an
-alogical mysticism.  We shall find the presence of this "fault"
-more pronouncedly in his metaphysics, psychology, and ethics
-than in his theory of knowledge, but it is not absent from any
-part of his philosophy.  He is everywhere a Platonist </span><em class="italics">malgré
-lui</em><span>, and it is just the Platonic element in his thought to which
-it owes its hold over men's minds.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Plato's doctrine on the subject may be stated with enough
-accuracy for our purpose as follows.  There is a radical
-distinction between sense-perception and scientific knowledge.
-A scientific truth is exact and definite, it is also true once and
-for all, and never becomes truer or falser with the lapse of
-time.  This is the character of the propositions of the science
-which Plato regarded as the type of what true science ought to
-be, pure mathematics.  It is very different with the judgments
-which we try to base on our sense-perceptions of the visible
-and tangible world.  The colours, tastes, shapes of sensible
-things seem different to different percipients, and moreover they
-are constantly changing in incalculable ways.  We can never be
-certain that two lines which seem to our senses to be equal
-are really so; it may be that the inequality is merely too
-slight to be perceptible to our senses.  No figure which we
-can draw and see actually has the exact properties ascribed by
-the mathematician to a circle or a square.  Hence Plato
-concludes that if the word science be taken in its fullest sense,
-there can be no science about the world which our senses
-reveal.  We can have only an approximate knowledge, a
-knowledge which is after all, at best, probable opinion.  The
-objects of which the mathematician has certain, exact, and
-final knowledge cannot be anything which the senses reveal.
-They are objects of </span><em class="italics">thought</em><span>, and the function of visible models
-and diagrams in mathematics is not to present </span><em class="italics">examples</em><span> of
-them to us, but only to show us imperfect </span><em class="italics">approximations</em><span> to
-them and so to "remind" the soul of objects and relations
-between them which she has never cognised with the bodily
-senses.  Thus mathematical straightness is never actually
-beheld, but when we see lines of less and more approximate
-straightness we are "put in mind" of that absolute straightness
-to which sense-perception only approximates.  So in the
-moral sciences, the various "virtues" are not presented in
-their perfection by the course of daily life.  We do not meet
-with men who are perfectly brave or just, but the experience
-that one man is braver or juster than another "calls into our
-mind" the thought of the absolute standard of courage or
-justice implied in the conviction that one man comes nearer
-to it than another, and it is these absolute standards which
-are the real objects of our attention when we try to define the
-terms by which we describe the moral life.  This is the
-"epistemological" side of the famous doctrine of the "Ideas."  The
-main points are two, (1) that strict science deals throughout
-with objects and relations between objects which are of a
-purely intellectual or conceptual order, no sense-data entering
-into their constitution; (2) since the objects of science are of
-this character, it follows that the "Idea" or "concept" or
-"universal" is not arrived at by any process of "abstracting"
-from our experience of sensible things the features common to
-them all.  As the particular fact never actually exhibits the
-"universal" except approximately, the "universal" cannot be
-simply disentangled from particulars by abstraction.  As Plato
-puts it, it is "apart from" particulars, or, as we might reword
-his thought, the pure concepts of science represent "upper
-limits" to which the comparative series which we can form out
-of sensible data continually approximate but do not reach them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In his theory of knowledge Aristotle begins by brushing aside
-the Platonic view.  Science requires no such "Ideas,"
-transcending sense-experience, as Plato had spoken of; they are, in
-fact, no more than "poetic metaphors."  What is required for
-science is not that there should be a "one over and above the
-many" (that is, such pure concepts, unrealised in the world of
-actual perception, as Plato had spoken of), but only that it
-should be possible to predicate one term universally of many
-others.  This, by itself, means that the "universal" is looked
-on as a mere residue of the characteristics found in each member
-of a group, got by abstraction, </span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> by leaving out of view the
-characteristics which are peculiar to some of the group and
-retaining only those which are common to all.  If Aristotle had
-held consistently to this point of view, his theory of knowledge
-would have been a purely empirical one.  He would have had
-to say that, since all the objects of knowledge are particular
-facts given in sense-perception, the universal laws of science are
-a mere convenient way of describing the observed uniformities
-in the behaviour of sensible things.  But, since it is obvious
-that in pure mathematics we are not concerned with the actual
-relations between sensible data or the actual ways in which
-they behave, but with so-called "pure cases" or ideals to which
-the perceived world only approximately conforms, he would also
-have had to say that the propositions of mathematics are not
-strictly true.  In modern times consistent empiricists have said
-this, but it is not a position possible to one who had passed
-twenty years in association with the mathematicians of the
-Academy, and Aristotle's theory only begins in naturalism to
-end in Platonism.  We may condense its most striking positions
-into the following statement.  By science we mean </span><em class="italics">proved</em><span>
-knowledge.  And proved knowledge is always "mediated";
-it is the knowledge of </span><em class="italics">conclusions</em><span> from premisses.  A truth
-that is scientifically known does not stand alone.  The "proof"
-is simply the pointing out of the connection between the truth
-we call the conclusion, and other truths which we call the
-premisses of our demonstration.  Science points out the </span><em class="italics">reason
-why</em><span> of things, and this is what is meant by the Aristotelian
-principle that to have science is to know things through their
-</span><em class="italics">causes</em><span> or </span><em class="italics">reasons why</em><span>.  In an ordered digest of scientific truths,
-the proper arrangement is to begin with the simplest and most
-widely extended principles and to reason down, through successive
-inferences, to the most complex propositions, the </span><em class="italics">reason why</em><span>
-of which can only be exhibited by long chains of deductions.  This
-is the order of logical dependence, and is described by Aristotle
-as reasoning </span><em class="italics">from</em><span> what is "more knowable in its own nature,"[#]
-the simple, to what is usually "more familiar to </span><em class="italics">us</em><span>," because
-less removed from the infinite wealth of sense-perception, the
-complex.  In </span><em class="italics">discovery</em><span> we have usually to reverse the
-process and argue from "the familiar to us," highly complex
-facts, to "the more knowable in its own nature," the simpler
-principles implied in the facts.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] This simple expression acquires a
-mysterious appearance in mediæval
-philosophy from the standing mistranslation </span><em class="italics small">notiora
-naturæ</em><span class="small">, "better known to nature."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>It follows that Aristotle, after all, admits the disparateness
-of sense-perception and scientific knowledge.  Sense-perception
-of itself never gives us scientific truth, because it can only assure
-us that a fact is so; it cannot </span><em class="italics">explain</em><span> the fact by showing its
-connection with the rest of the system of facts, "it does not
-give the </span><em class="italics">reason</em><span> for the fact."  Knowledge of perception is
-always "immediate," and for that very reason is never scientific.
-If we stood on the moon and saw the earth, interposing between
-us and the sun, we should still not have scientific knowledge
-about the eclipse, because "we should still have to ask for the
-</span><em class="italics">reason why</em><span>."  (In fact, we should not know the reason </span><em class="italics">why</em><span>
-without a theory of light including the proposition that
-light-waves are propagated in straight lines and several others.)
-Similarly Aristotle insists that Induction does not yield scientific
-truth.  "He who makes an induction points out something,
-but does not demonstrate anything."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For instance, if we know that </span><em class="italics">each</em><span> species of animal which
-is without a gall is long-lived, we may make the induction that
-</span><em class="italics">all</em><span> animals without a gall are long-lived, but in doing so we
-have got no nearer to seeing </span><em class="italics">why</em><span> or </span><em class="italics">how</em><span> the absence of a gall
-makes for longevity.  The question which we may raise in
-science may all be reduced to four heads, (1) Does this thing
-exist? (2) Does this event occur? (3) If the thing exists, precisely
-what is it? and (4) If the event occurs, </span><em class="italics">why</em><span> does it occur? and
-science has not completed its task unless it can advance from
-the solution of the first two questions to that of the latter two.
-Science is no mere catalogue of things and events, it consists
-of inquiries into the "real essences" and characteristics of things
-and the laws of connection between events.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Looking at scientific reasoning, then, from the point of view
-of its formal character, we may say that all science consists in
-the search for "middle terms" of syllogisms, by which to
-connect the truth which appears as a conclusion with the less
-complex truths which appear as the premisses from which it is
-drawn.  When we ask, "does such a thing exist?" or "does
-such an event happen?" we are asking, "is there a middle term
-which can connect the thing or event in question with the rest
-of known reality?"  Since it is a rule of the syllogism that the
-middle term must be taken universally, at least once in the
-premisses, the search for middle terms may also be described as
-the search for universals, and we may speak of science as
-knowledge of the universal interconnections between facts and
-events.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A science, then, may be analysed into three constituents.
-These are: (1) a determinate class of objects which form the
-subject-matter of its inquiries.  In an orderly exhibition of
-the contents of the science, these appear, as in Euclid, as the
-initial data about which the science reasons; (2) a number of
-principles, postulates, and axioms, from which our demonstrations
-must start.  Some of these will be principles employed
-in all scientific reasoning.  Others will be specific to the
-subject-matter with which a particular science is concerned;
-(3) certain characteristics of the objects under study which can
-be shown by means of our axioms and postulates to follow from
-our initial definitions, the </span><em class="italics">accidentia per se</em><span> of the objects
-defined.  It is these last which are expressed by the
-conclusions of scientific demonstration.  We are said to know
-scientifically that B is true of A when we show that this
-follows, in virtue of the principles of some science, from the
-initial definition of A.  Thus if we convinced ourselves that
-the sum of the angles of a plane triangle is equal to two right
-angles by measurement, we could not be said to have scientific
-knowledge of the proposition.  But if we show that the same
-proposition follows from the definition of a plane triangle by
-repeated applications of admitted axioms or postulates of geometry,
-our knowledge is genuinely scientific.  We now know that it
-is so, and we see </span><em class="italics">why</em><span> it is so; we see the connection of this
-truth with the simple initial truths of geometry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This leads us to the consideration of the most characteristic
-point of Aristotle's whole theory.  Science is demonstrated
-knowledge, that is, it is the knowledge that certain truths
-follow from still simpler truths.  Hence the simplest of all the
-truths of any science cannot themselves be capable of being
-known by inference.  You cannot infer that the axioms of
-geometry are true because its conclusions are true, since the
-truth of the conclusions is itself a consequence of the truth of
-the axioms.  Nor yet must you ask for demonstration of the
-axioms as consequences of still simpler premisses, because if all
-truths can be proved, they ought to be proved, and you would
-therefore require an infinity of successive demonstrations to
-prove anything whatever.  But under such conditions all
-knowledge of demonstrated truth would be impossible.  The first
-principles of any science must therefore be indemonstrable.
-They must be known, as facts of sense-perception are known,
-immediately and not mediately.  How then do we come by our
-knowledge of them?  Aristotle's answer to this question appears
-at first sight curiously contradictory.  He seems to say that
-these simplest truths are apprehended intuitively, or on
-inspection, as self-evident by Intelligence or Mind.  On the other
-hand, he also says that they are known </span><em class="italics">to us</em><span> as a result of
-induction from sense-experience.  Thus he </span><em class="italics">seems</em><span> to be either a
-Platonist or an empiricist, according as you choose to remember
-one set of his utterances or another, and this apparent
-inconsistency has led to his authority being claimed in their favour
-by thinkers of the most widely different types.  But more
-careful study will show that the seeming confusion is due to
-the fact that he tries to combine in one statement his answers
-to two quite different questions, (1) how we come to reflect
-on the axioms, (2) what evidence there is for their truth.  To
-the first question he replies, "by induction from experience,"
-and so far he might seem to be a precursor of John Stuart
-Mill.  Successive repetitions of the same sense-perceptions give
-rise to a single experience, and it is by reflection on experience
-that we become aware of the most ultimate simple and universal
-principles.  We might illustrate his point by considering
-how the thought that two and two are four may be brought
-before a child's mind.  We might first take two apples, and
-two other apples and set the child to count them.  By repeating
-the process with different apples we may teach the child
-to dissociate the result of the counting from the particular
-apples employed, and to advance to the thought, "any two
-apples and any two other apples make four apples."  Then we
-might substitute pears or cherries for the apples, so as to
-suggest the thought, "two fruits and two fruits make four
-fruits."  And by similar methods we should in the end evoke
-the thought, "any two objects whatever and any other two
-objects whatever make four objects."  This exactly illustrates
-Aristotle's conception of the function of induction, or comparison
-of instances, in fixing attention on a universal principle of
-which one had not been conscious before the comparison was
-made.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Now comes in the point where Aristotle differs wholly from
-all empiricists, later and earlier.  Mill regards the instances
-produced in the induction as having a double function; they
-not merely fix the attention on the principle, they also are the
-evidence of its truth.  This gives rise to the greatest difficulty
-in his whole logical theory.  Induction by imperfect enumeration
-is pronounced to be (as it clearly is) fallacious, yet the
-principle of the uniformity of Nature which Mill regards as the
-ultimate premiss of all science, is itself supposed to be proved
-by this radically fallacious method.  Aristotle avoids a similar
-inconsistency by holding that the sole function of the induction
-is to fix our attention on a principle which it does not prove.
-He holds that ultimate principles neither permit of nor require
-proof.  When the induction has done its work in calling
-attention to the principle, you have to see for yourself that the
-principle is true.  You see that it is true by immediate
-inspection just as in sense-perception you have to see that the
-colour before your eyes is red or blue.  This is why Aristotle
-holds that the knowledge of the principles of science is not
-itself science (demonstrated knowledge), but what he calls
-intelligence, and we may call intellectual intuition.  Thus his
-doctrine is sharply distinguished not only from empiricism
-(the doctrine that universal principles are proved by particular
-facts), but also from all theories of the Hegelian type which
-regard the principles and the facts as somehow reciprocally
-proving each other, and from the doctrine of some eminent
-modern logicians who hold that "self-evidence" is not required
-in the ultimate principles of science, as we are only concerned
-in logic with the question what consequences follow from our
-initial assumptions, and not with the truth or falsehood of the
-assumptions themselves.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The result is that Aristotle does little more than repeat the
-Platonic view of the nature of science.  Science consists of
-deductions from universal principles which sensible experience
-"suggests," but into which, as they are apprehended by a
-purely intellectual inspection, no sense-data enter as constituents.
-The apparent rejection of "transcendental moonshine" has,
-after all, led to nothing.  The only difference between Plato
-and his scholar lies in the clearness of intellectual vision which
-Plato shows when he expressly maintains in plain words
-that the universals of exact science are not "in" our
-sense-perceptions and therefore to be extracted from them by a
-process of abstraction, but are "apart from" or "over" them, and
-form an ideal system of interconnected concepts which the
-experiences of sense merely "imitate" or make approximation to.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One more point remains to be considered to complete our
-outline of the Aristotelian theory of knowledge.  The sciences
-have "principles" which are discerned to be true by immediate
-inspection.  But what if one man professes to see the
-self-evident truth of such an alleged principle, while another is
-doubtful of its truth, or even denies it?  There can be no
-question of silencing the objector by a demonstration, since no
-genuine simple principle admits of demonstration.  All that
-can be done, </span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> if a man doubts whether things equal to the
-same thing are equal to one another, or whether the law of
-contradiction is true, is to examine the consequences of a denial
-of the axiom and to show that they include some which
-are false, or which your antagonist at least considers false.  In
-this way, by showing the falsity of consequences which follow
-from the denial of a given "principle," you indirectly establish
-its truth.  Now reasoning of this kind differs from "science"
-precisely in the point that you take as your major premiss, not
-what you regard as true, but the opposite thesis of your
-antagonist, which you regard as false.  Your object is not to prove
-a true conclusion but to show your opponent that </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> premisses
-lead to false conclusions.  This is "dialectical" reasoning in
-Aristotle's sense of the word, </span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> reasoning not from your own
-but from some one else's premisses.  Hence the chief philosophical
-importance which Aristotle ascribes to "dialectic" is
-that it provides a method of defending the undemonstrable
-axioms against objections.  Dialectic of this kind became highly
-important in the mediæval Aristotelianism of the schoolmen,
-with whom it became a regular method, as may be seen </span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> in
-the </span><em class="italics">Summa</em><span> of St. Thomas, to begin their consideration of a
-doctrine by a preliminary rehearsal of all the arguments they
-could find or devise against the conclusion they meant to adopt.
-Thus the first division of any article in the </span><em class="italics">Summa Theologiæ</em><span>
-of Thomas is regularly constituted by arguments based on the
-premisses of actual or possible antagonists, and is strictly
-dialectical.  (To be quite accurate Aristotle should, of course,
-have observed that this dialectical method of defending a
-principle becomes useless in the case of a logical axiom which is
-presupposed by all deduction.  For this reason Aristotle falls
-into fallacy when he tries to defend the law of contradiction by
-dialectic.  It is true that if the law be denied, then any and
-every predicate may be indifferently ascribed to any subject.
-But until the law of contradiction has been admitted, you
-have no right to regard it as absurd to ascribe all predicates
-indiscriminately to all subjects.  Thus, it is only assumed laws
-which are </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> ultimate laws of logic that admit of dialectical
-justification.  If a truth is so ultimate that it has either to be
-recognised by direct inspection or not at all, there can be no
-arguing at all with one who cannot or will not see it.)</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="first-philosophy"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">FIRST PHILOSOPHY</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>First Philosophy is defined by Aristotle as a "science which
-considers What Is simply in its character of Being, and the
-properties which it has as such."  That there is, or ought to
-be, such a science is urged on the ground that every "special"
-science deals only with some restricted department of what is,
-and thus considers its subject-matter not universally in its
-character of being, or being real, but as determined by some more
-special condition.  Thus, First Philosophy, the science which
-attempts to discover the most ultimate reasons of, or grounds
-for, the character of things in general cannot be identified with
-any of the "departmental" sciences.  The same consideration
-explains why it is "First Philosophy" which has to disentangle
-the "principles" of the various sciences, and defend them
-by dialectic against those who impugn them.  It is no part
-of the duty of a geometer or a physicist to deal with
-objections to such universal principles of reasoning as the law of
-contradiction.  They may safely assume such principles; if
-they are attacked, it is not by specifically geometrical or physical
-considerations that they can be defended.  Even the "principles
-of the special sciences" have not to be examined and defended
-by the special sciences.  They are the starting-points of the
-sciences which employ them; these sciences are therefore justified
-in requiring that they shall be admitted as a condition of
-geometrical, or physical, or biological demonstrations.  If they are
-called in question, the defence of them is the business of logic.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>First Philosophy, then, is the study of "What Is simply as
-such," the universal principles of structure without which there
-could be no ordered system of knowable objects.  But the word
-"is" has more than one sense.  There are as many modes of
-being as there are types of predication.  "Substances," men,
-horses, and the like, have their own specific mode of being--they
-are things; qualities, such as green or sweet, have a different
-mode of being--they are not things, but "affections" or
-"attributes" of things.  Actions, again, such as building, killing,
-are neither things nor yet "affections" of things; their mode
-of being is that they are processes which produce or destroy
-things.  First Philosophy is concerned with the general character
-of all these modes of being, but it is specially concerned with
-that mode of being which belongs to </span><em class="italics">substances</em><span>.  For this is
-the most primary of all modes of being.  We had to introduce
-a reference to it in our attempt to say what the mode of being
-of qualities and actions is, and it would have been the same
-had our illustrations been drawn from any other "categories."  Hence
-the central and special problem of First Philosophy is
-to analyse the notion of substance and to show the causes of
-the existence of substances.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Next, we have to note that the word "substance" itself
-has two senses.  When we spoke of substance as one of the
-categories we were using it in a secondary sense.  We meant
-by substances "horse," "man," and the rest of the "real
-kinds" which we find in Nature, and try to reproduce in a
-scientific classification.  In this sense of the word "substances"
-are a special class of </span><em class="italics">predicates</em><span>, as when we affirm of Plato
-that he is a man, or of Bucephalus that he is a horse.  But in
-the primary sense a substance means an absolutely individual
-thing, "</span><em class="italics">this</em><span> man," or "</span><em class="italics">this</em><span> horse."  We may therefore define
-primary substances from the logician's point of view by saying
-that they can be only subjects of predication, never predicates.
-Or again, it is peculiar to substances, that while remaining
-numerically one a substance admits of incompatible determinations,
-as Socrates, remaining one and the same Socrates, is
-successively young and old.  This is not true of "qualities,"
-"actions," and the rest.  The same colour cannot be first white
-and then black; the same act cannot be first bad and then
-good.  Thus we may say that individual substances are the
-fixed and permanent factors in the world of mutability, the
-invariants of existence.  Processes go on in them, they run
-the gamut of changes from birth to decay, processes take place
-</span><em class="italics">among</em><span> them, they act on and are acted on by one another, they
-fluctuate in their qualities and their magnitude, but so long
-as a substance exists it remains numerically one and the same
-throughout all these changes.  Their existence is the first
-and most fundamental condition of the existence of the universe,
-since they are the bearers of all qualities, the terms of all
-relations, and the agents and patients in all interaction.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The point to note is that Aristotle begins his investigation
-into the structure of What Is and the causes by which it is
-produced by starting from the existence of individual things
-belonging to the physical order and perceived by the senses.
-About any such thing we may ask two questions, (1) into
-what constituent factors can it be logically analysed? (2) and
-how has it come to exhibit the character which our analysis
-shows it to have?  The answer to these questions will appear
-from a consideration of two standing antitheses which run
-through Aristotle's philosophy, the contrast between Matter and
-Form, and that between Potential and Actual, followed by a
-recapitulation of his doctrine of the Four Causes, or four senses
-of the word Cause.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Matter and Form</strong><span>.--Consider any completely developed
-individual thing, whether it is the product of human
-manufacture, as a copper bowl, or of natural reproduction, as
-an oak-tree or a horse.  We shall see at once that the bowl
-is like other articles made of the same metal, candlesticks,
-coal-vases, in being made of the same stuff, and unlike them
-in having the special shape or structure which renders it fit
-for being used as a bowl and not for holding a candle or
-containing coals.  So a botanist or a chemist will tell you that
-the constituent tissues of an oak or horse, or the chemical
-elements out of which these tissues are built up are of the
-same kind as those of an ash or an ox, but the oak differs
-from the ash or the horse from the ox in characteristic structure.
-We see thus that in any individual thing we can distinguish
-two components, the stuff of which it consists--which may be
-identical in kind with the stuff of which things of a very
-different kind consist--and the structural law of formation
-or arrangement which is peculiar to the "special" kind of
-thing under consideration.  In the actual individual thing
-these two are inseparably united; they do not exist side
-by side, as chemists say the atoms of hydrogen and oxygen
-do in a drop of water; the law of organisation or structure
-is manifested in and through the copper, or the various tissues
-of the living body.  Aristotle expresses this by saying that
-you can distinguish two aspects in an individual, its Matter,
-(</span><em class="italics">hyle, materia</em><span>) and its Form (</span><em class="italics">eidos, forma</em><span>).  The individual
-is the matter as organised in accord with a determinate
-principle of structure, the form.  Of these terms, the former,
-</span><em class="italics">hyle</em><span> (</span><em class="italics">materia</em><span>, matter) means literally timber, and more
-specifically ship's timbers, and his selection of it to mean
-what is most exactly rendered by our own word "stuff" may
-perhaps be due to a reminiscence of an old Pythagorean fancy
-which looked on the universe as a ship.  The word for form
-is the same as Plato's, and its philosophical uses are closely
-connected with its mathematical sense, "regular figure," also
-a Pythagorean technicality which still survives in certain
-stereotyped phrases in Euclid.  Aristotle extends the analysis
-into Matter and Form by analogy beyond the range of
-individual substances to everything in which we can distinguish
-a relatively indeterminate "somewhat" and a law or type
-of order and arrangement giving it determination.  Thus if
-you consider the relatively fixed or "formed" character of a
-man in adult life, we may look upon this character as produced
-out of the "raw material" of tendencies and dispositions,
-which have received a specific development along definite
-lines, according to the kind of training to which the mind has
-been subjected in the "formative" period of its growth.  We
-may therefore speak of native disposition as the matter or
-stuff of which character is made, and the practical problem
-of education is to devise a system of training which shall
-impress on this matter precisely the form required if the grown
-man is to be a good citizen of a good state.  Since a man's
-character itself is not a substance but a complex of habits or
-fixed ways of reacting upon suggestions coming from the world
-around him, this is a good instance of the extension of the
-antithesis of Matter and Form beyond the category of
-substance.  We see then that Matter in the Aristotelian sense
-must not be confounded with body; the relatively undetermined
-factor which receives completer determination by the
-structural law or Form is Matter, whether it is corporeal or not.
-This comes out with particular clearness in the metaphysical
-interpretation put on the logical process of definition by genus
-and difference.  When I define any real kind by specifying
-a higher and wider class of which it is a sub-kind, and adding
-the peculiar characteristics which distinguish the sub-kind
-under consideration from the other sub-kinds of the same
-genus, the genus may be said to stand to the "differences"
-as Matter, the relatively indeterminate, to the Form which
-gives it its structure.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We further observe that Matter and Form are strictly
-correlative.  The matter is called so relatively to the form which
-gives it further determination.  When the words are used in
-their strictest sense, with reference to an individual thing, the
-Form is taken to mean the </span><em class="italics">last</em><span> determination by which the
-thing acquires its complete character, and the Matter is that
-which has yet to receive this last determination.  Thus in the
-case of a copper globe, the spherical figure is said to be its
-Form, the copper its material.  In the case of the human body,
-the Matter is the various tissues, muscles, bones, skin, &amp;c.
-But each of these things which are counted as belonging to the
-Matter of the globe or the human body has, according to
-Aristotle, a development behind it.  Copper is not an "element"
-but a specific combination of "elements," and the same thing
-is even more true of the highly elaborate tissues of the living
-body.  Thus what is Matter relatively to the globe or living
-body is Matter already determined by Form if we consider it
-relatively to its own constituents.  The so-called "elements"
-of Empedocles, earth, water, air, fire, are the matter of all
-chemical compounds, the Form of each compound being its
-specific law of composition; the immediate or "proximate"
-Matter of the tissues of the animal body is, according to
-Aristotle's biology, the "superfluous" blood of the female parent,
-out of which the various tissues in the offspring are developed,
-and the Matter of this blood is in turn the various substances
-which are taken into the body of the parent as food and
-converted by assimilation into blood.  Their Matter, once more,
-is the earth, air, fire, and water of which they are composed.
-Thus at every stage of a process of manufacture or growth a
-fresh Form is superinduced on, or developed within, a Matter
-which is already itself a combination of Matter and Form
-relatively to the process by which it has itself been originated.
-Fully thought out, such a view would lead to the conclusion
-that in the end the simple ultimate matter of all individual
-things is one and the same throughout the universe, and has
-absolutely no definite structure at all.  The introduction of
-Form or determinate structure of any kind would then have to
-be thought of as coming from an outside source, since structureless
-Matter cannot be supposed to give itself all sorts of specific
-determinations, as has been demonstrated in our own times by
-the collapse of the "Synthetic Philosophy."  Aristotle avoids
-the difficulty by holding that "pure Matter" is a creation of
-our thought.  In actual fact the crudest form in which matter
-is found is that of the "elements."  Since the transmutability
-of the "elements" is an indispensable tenet in Aristotle's
-Physics, we cannot avoid regarding earth, water, fire air as
-themselves determinations by specific Form of a still simpler
-Matter, though this "prime Matter" "all alone, before a rag of
-Form is on," is never to be found existing in its simplicity.[#]</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] </span><em class="italics small">Hudibras</em><span class="small">, Pt. 1, Canto 1, 560.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">"He had First Matter seen undressed;
-<br />He took her naked all alone,
-<br />Before one rag of Form was on."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Potential and the Actual</strong><span>.--So far we have been looking
-at the analysis of the individual thing, as the current jargon
-puts it, statically; we have arrived at the antithesis of
-Matter and Form by contrasting an unfinished condition of
-anything with its finished condition.  But we may study the
-same contrast dynamically, with special reference to the process
-of making or growth by which the relatively undetermined or
-unfinished becomes determined or finished.  The contrast of
-Matter with Form then passes into the contrast between
-Potentiality and Actuality.  What this antithesis means we
-can best see from the case of the growth of a living organism.
-Consider the embryos of two animals, or the seeds of two
-plants.  Even a botanist or a physiologist may be unable to
-pronounce with certainty on the species to which the germ
-submitted to him belongs, and chemical analysis may be equally at
-a loss.  Even at a later stage of development, the embryo of
-one vertebrate animal may be indistinguishable from that of
-another.  Yet it is certain that one of two originally
-indistinguishable germs will grow into an oak and the other into an
-elm, or one into a chimpanzee and the other into a man.
-However indistinguishable, they therefore may be said to have
-different latent tendencies or possibilities of development within
-them.  Hence we may say of a given germ, "though this is
-not yet actually an oak, it is potentially an oak," meaning not
-merely that, if uninterfered with, it will in time be an oak,
-but also that by no interference can it be made to grow into
-an elm or a beech.  So we may look upon all processes of
-production or development as processes by which what at first
-possessed only the tendency to grow along certain lines or to
-be worked up into a certain form, has become actually endowed
-with the character to which it possessed the tendency.  The
-acorn becomes in process of time an actual oak, the baby an
-actual man, the copper is made into an actual vase, right education
-brings out into active exercise the special capacities of the
-learner.  Hence the distinction between Matter and Form may
-also be expressed by saying that the Matter is the persistent
-underlying </span><em class="italics">substratum</em><span> in which the development of the Form
-takes place, or that the individual when finally determined by
-the Form is the Actuality of which the undeveloped Matter
-was the Potentiality.  The process of conception, birth, and
-growth to maturity in Nature, or of the production of a finished
-article by the "arts" whose business it is to "imitate" Nature,
-may be said to be one of continuous advance towards the
-actual embodiment of a Form, or law of organisation, in a
-Matter having the latent potentiality of developing along those
-special lines.  When Aristotle is speaking most strictly he
-distinguishes the process by which a Form is realised, which he
-calls Energeia, from the manifestation of the realised Form,
-calling the latter Entelechy (literally "finished" or
-"completed" condition).  Often, however, he uses the word Energeia
-more loosely for the actual manifestation of the Form itself,
-and in this he is followed by the scholastic writers, who render
-Energeia by </span><em class="italics">actus</em><span> or </span><em class="italics">actus purus</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One presupposition of this process must be specially noted.
-It is not an unending process of development of unrealised
-capacities, but always has an End in the perfectly simple
-sense of a last stage.  We see this best in the case of growth.
-The acorn grows into the sapling and the sapling into the oak,
-but there is nothing related to the oak as the oak is to the
-sapling.  The oak does not grow into something else.  The
-process of development from potential to actual in this special
-case comes to an end with the emergence of the mature oak.
-In the organic world the end or last state is recognised by the
-fact that the organism can now exercise the power of reproducing
-its like.  This tendency of organic process to culminate
-in a last stage of complete maturity is the key to the
-treatment of the problem of the "true end" of life in Aristotle's
-</span><em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Four Causes</strong><span>.--The conception of the world involved
-in these antitheses of Form and Matter, Potential and Actual,
-finds its fullest expression in Aristotle's doctrine of the Four
-Causes or conditions of the production of things.  This doctrine
-is looked on by Aristotle as the final solution of the problem
-which had always been the central one for Greek philosophy,
-What are the causes of the world-order?  All the previous
-philosophies he regards as inadequate attempts to formulate
-the answer to this question which is only given completely by
-his own system.  Hence the doctrine requires to be stated
-with some fullness.  We may best approach it by starting from
-the literal meaning of the Greek terms </span><em class="italics">aitia</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">aition</em><span>, which
-Aristotle uses to convey the notion of cause.  </span><em class="italics">Aition</em><span> is properly
-an adjective used substantially, and means "that on which
-the legal responsibility for a given state of affairs can be laid."
-Similarly </span><em class="italics">aitia</em><span>, the substantive, means the "credit" for good
-or bad, the legal "responsibility," for an act.  Now when we
-ask, "what is responsible for the fact that such and such
-a state of things now exists?" there are four partial answers
-which may be given, and each of these corresponds to one of
-the "causes."  A complete answer requires the enumeration
-of them all.  We may mention (1) the </span><em class="italics">matter</em><span> or </span><em class="italics">material</em><span>
-cause of the thing, (2) the law according to which it has grown
-or developed, the </span><em class="italics">form</em><span> or </span><em class="italics">formal</em><span> cause, (3) the agent with
-whose initial impulse the development began--the "starting-point
-of the process," or, as the later Aristotelians call it, the
-</span><em class="italics">efficient</em><span> cause, (4) the completed result of the whole process,
-which is present in the case of human manufacture as a
-preconceived idea determining the maker's whole method of
-handling his material, and in organic development in Nature
-as implied in and determining the successive stages of
-growth--the </span><em class="italics">end</em><span> or </span><em class="italics">final</em><span> cause.  If any one of these had been
-different, the resultant state of things would also have been
-different.  Hence all four must be specified in completely
-accounting for it.  Obvious illustrations can be given from
-artificial products of human skill, but it seems clear that it
-was rather reflection on the biological process of reproduction
-and growth which originally suggested the analysis.  Suppose
-we ask what was requisite in order that there should be now an
-oak on a given spot.  There must have been (1) a germ from
-which the oak has grown, and this germ must have had the
-latent tendencies towards development which are characteristic
-of oaks.  This is the material cause of the oak.  (2) This
-germ must have followed a definite law of growth; it must
-have had a tendency to grow in the way characteristic of oaks
-and to develop the structure of an oak, not that of a plane or
-an ash.  This is form or formal cause.  (3) Also the germ of
-the oak did not come from nowhere; it grew on a parent oak.
-The parent oak and its acorn-bearing activity thus constitute
-the </span><em class="italics">efficient</em><span> cause of the present oak.  (4) And there must be
-a final stage to which the whole process of growth is relative,
-in which the germ or sapling is no longer becoming but is an
-adult oak bearing fresh acorns.  This is the </span><em class="italics">end</em><span> of the process.
-One would not be going far wrong in saying that Aristotle's
-biological cast of thought leads him to conceive of this "end"
-in the case of reproduction as a sub-conscious purpose, just as
-the workman's thought of the result to be attained by his
-action forms a conscious directing purpose in the case of
-manufacture.  Both in Nature and in "art" the "form," the
-"efficient cause," and the "end" tend to coalesce.  Thus in
-Nature "a man begets a man," organic beings give birth to
-other organic beings of the same kind, or, in the technical
-language of the Aristotelian theory of Causation, the efficient
-cause produces, as the "end" of its action, a second being
-having the same "form" as itself, though realised in different
-"matter," and numerically distinct from itself.  Thus the
-efficient cause (</span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> the parent) is a "form" realised in
-matter, and the "end" is the same "form" realised in other
-matter.  So in "products of art" the true "source of the
-process" is the "form" the realisation of which is the "end"
-or final cause, only with this difference, that as efficient cause
-the "form" exists not in the material but by way of "idea"
-or "representation" in the mind of the craftsman.  A house
-does not produce another house, but the house as existing in
-"idea" in the builder's mind sets him at work building, and
-so produces a corresponding house in brick or stone.  Thus
-the ultimate opposition is between the "cause as matter," a
-passive and inert substratum of change and development and
-the "formal" cause which, in the sense just explained, is one
-with both the "efficient" or starting-point, and the "end"
-or goal of development.  It will, of course, be seen that
-individual bearers of "forms" are indispensable in the theory;
-hence the notion of </span><em class="italics">activity</em><span> is essential to the causal relation.
-It is a relation between things, not between events.  Aristotle
-has no sense of the word cause corresponding to Mill's
-conception of a cause as an event which is the uniform precursor
-of another event.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Two more remarks may be made in this connection.  (1)
-The prominence of the notion of "end" gives Aristotle's
-philosophy a thorough-going "ideological" character.  God
-and Nature, he tells us, do nothing aimlessly.  We should
-probably be mistaken if we took this to mean that "God and
-Nature" act everywhere with conscious design.  The meaning
-is rather that every natural process has a last stage in which
-the "form" which was to begin with present in the agent or
-"source of change" is fully realised in the matter in which
-the agent has set up the process of change.  The normal thing
-is </span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> for animals to reproduce "their kind"; if the reproduction
-is imperfect or distorted, as in monstrous births, this is
-an exception due to the occasional presence in "matter" of
-imperfections which hinder the course of development, and
-must be regarded as "contrary to the normal course of Nature."  So
-hybrid reproduction is exceptional and "against Nature,"
-and this is shown by the sterility of hybrids, a sort of lesser
-monstrosity.  Even females, being "arrested developments,"
-are a sort of still minor deviation from principle.  (2) It may
-just be mentioned that Aristotle has a classification of efficient
-causes under the three heads of Nature, Intelligence (or Man),
-and Chance.  The difference between Nature and Man or
-Intelligence as efficient causes has already been illustrated.  It
-is that in causation by Nature, such as sexual reproduction, or
-the assimilation of nutriment, or the conversion of one element
-into another in which Aristotle believed, the form which is
-superinduced on the matter by the agent already exists in the
-agent itself as </span><em class="italics">its</em><span> form.  The oak springs from a parent oak,
-the conversion of nutriment into organic tissue is due to the
-agency of already existing organic tissue.  In the case of human
-intelligence or art, the "form" to be superinduced exists in
-the agent not as </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> characteristic form, but by way of
-representation, as a contemplated design.  The man who builds a
-house is not himself a house; the form characteristic of a house
-is very different from that characteristic of a man, but it is
-present in contemplation to the builder before it is embodied
-in the actual house.  A word may be added about the third
-sort of efficient causality, causation by chance.  This is confined
-to cases which are exceptions from the general course of Nature,
-remarkable coincidences.  It is what we may call "simulated
-purposiveness."  When something in human affairs happens
-in a way which subserves the achievement of a result but was
-not really brought about by any intention to secure the result,
-we speak of it as a remarkable coincidence.  Thus it would be
-a coincidence if a man should be held to ransom by brigands
-and his best friend should, without knowing anything of the
-matter, turn up on the spot with the means of ransoming him.
-The events could not have happened more opportunely if they
-had been planned, and yet they were not planned but merely
-fell out so: and since such a combination of circumstances
-simulating design is unusual, it is not proper to say that the
-events happened "in the course of Nature."  We therefore
-say it happened by chance.  This doctrine of chance has its
-significance for mediæval Ethics.  In an age when the
-Protestant superstition that worldly success is proof of nearness
-to God had not yet been invented, the want of correspondence
-between men's "deserts" and their prosperity was accounted
-for by the view that the distribution of worldly goods is, as a
-rule, the work of Fortune or Chance in the Aristotelian sense;
-that is, it is due to special coincidences which may look like
-deliberate design but are not really so.  (See the elaborate
-exposition of this in Dante, </span><em class="italics">Inferno</em><span>, vii. 67-97.)</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Motion</strong><span>.--We have seen that causation, natural or artificial,
-requires the production in a certain "matter" of a certain
-"form" under the influence of a certain "agent."  What is
-the character of the process set up by the agent in the matter
-and culminating in the appearance of the form?  Aristotle
-answers that it is Motion (</span><em class="italics">kinesis</em><span>).  The effect of the agent
-on the matter is to set up in it a motion which ends in its
-assuming a definite form.  The important point to be noted
-here is that Aristotle regards this motion as falling wholly
-within the matter which is to assume the form.  It is not
-necessary that the agent should itself be in motion, but only
-that it should induce motion in something else.  Thus in all
-cases of intentional action the ultimate efficient cause is the
-"idea of the result to be attained," but this idea does not
-move about.  By its presence to the mind it sets something
-else (the members of the body) moving.  This conception of
-an efficient cause which, not moving itself, by its mere presence
-induces movement in that to which it is present, is of the
-highest importance in Aristotle's theology.  Of course it follows
-that since the motion by which the transition from potentiality
-to actuality is achieved falls wholly within the matter acted
-upon, Aristotle is not troubled with any of the questions as to
-the way in which motion can be transferred from one body to
-another which were so much agitated in the early days of the
-modern mechanical interpretation of natural processes.
-Aristotle's way of conceiving Nature is thoroughly non-mechanical,
-and approximates to what would now be called the ascription
-of vital or quasi-vital characteristics to the inorganic.  As, in
-the causality of "art" the mere presence of the "form" to be
-embodied in a given material to the mind of the craftsman
-brings about and directs the process of manufacture, so in some
-analogous fashion the presence of an efficient cause in Nature to
-that on which it works is thought of as itself constituting the
-"efficiency" of the cause.  As Lotze phrases it, things "take
-note of" one another's compresence in the universe, or we
-might say the efficient cause and that on which it exercises
-its efficiency are </span><em class="italics">en rapport</em><span>.  "Matter" is sensitive to the
-presence of the "efficient cause," and in response to this
-sensitivity, puts forth successive determinations, expands its
-latent tendencies on definite lines.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The name "motion" has a wider sense for Aristotle than it
-has for ourselves.  He includes under the one common name
-all the processes by which things come to be what they are or
-cease to be what they have been.  Thus he distinguishes the
-following varieties of "motion": </span><em class="italics">generation</em><span> (the coming of an
-individual thing into being), with its opposite </span><em class="italics">decay</em><span> or </span><em class="italics">corruption</em><span>
-(the passing of a thing out of being), </span><em class="italics">alteration</em><span> (change of </span><em class="italics">quality</em><span>
-in a thing), </span><em class="italics">augmentation</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">diminution</em><span> (change in the </span><em class="italics">magnitude</em><span>
-of a thing), </span><em class="italics">motion through space</em><span> (of which latter he recognises
-two sub-species, rectilinear </span><em class="italics">transference</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">rotation</em><span> in a
-circular orbit about an axis).  It is this last variety, motion
-through space, which is the most fundamental of all, since its
-occurrence is involved in that of any of the other types of
-process mentioned, though Aristotle does not hold the
-thorough-going mechanical view that the other processes are only
-apparent, and that, as we should put it, qualitative change is
-a mere disguise which mechanical motion wears for our senses.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Eternity of Motion</strong><span>.--Certain very important consequences
-follow from the conception of efficient causation which
-we have been describing.  Aristotle has no sympathy with the
-"evolutionist" views which had been favoured by some of his
-predecessors.  According to his theory of organic generation,
-"it takes a man to beget a man "; where there is a baby, there
-must have been a father.  Biological kinds representing real
-clefts in Nature, the process of the production of a young
-generation by an already adult generation must be thought of
-as without beginning and without end.  There can be no
-natural "evolution" of animals of one species from individuals
-of a different kind.  Nor does it occur to Aristotle to take into
-account the possibility of "Creationism," the sudden coming
-into being of a fully fledged first generation at a stroke.  This
-possibility is excluded by the doctrine that the "matter" of
-a thing must exist beforehand as an indispensable condition of
-the production of that thing.  Every baby, as we said, must
-have had a father, but that father must also have been a baby
-before he was a full-grown man.  Hence the perpetuation of
-unchanging species must be without beginning and without end.
-And it is implied that all the various processes, within and
-without the organism, apart from which its life could not
-be kept up, must be equally without beginning and without
-end.  The "cosmos," or orderly world of natural processes, is
-strictly "eternal"; "motion" is everlasting and continuous,
-or unbroken.  Even the great Christian theologians who built
-upon Aristotle could not absolutely break with him on this
-point.  St. Thomas, though obliged to admit that the world
-was actually created a few thousand years before his own time,
-maintains that this can only be known to be true from revelation,
-philosophically it is equably tenable that the world should
-have been "created from all eternity."  And it is the general
-doctrine of scholasticism that the expression "creation" only
-denotes the absolute dependence of the world on God for its
-being.  When we say "God created the world out of nothing,"
-we mean that He did not make it out of pre-existing matter,
-that it depends for its being on Him only; the expression is
-purely negative in its import.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">God</strong><span>.--With the doctrine of the eternity of the world and
-the processes which make up its life we come close to the
-culminating theory of Aristotelian First Philosophy, its doctrine
-of God, as the eternal, unchanging source of all change,
-movement, and process.  All motion is a process within matter by
-which the forms latent in it are brought into actual manifestation.
-And the process only takes place in the presence of an
-adequate efficient cause or source of motion.  Hence the eternity
-of natural processes involves the existence of one or more
-eternal sources of motion.  For, if we do not admit the
-existence of an unoriginated and ever-present source or sources of
-motion, our only alternative is to hold that the world-process
-is due to a series of sources of motion existing successively.
-But such a view would leave the unity and unbroken continuity
-of the world-process unaccounted for.  It would give us a
-succession of processes, temporally contiguous, not one unbroken
-process.  Hence we argue from the continuity of motion to its
-dependence on a source or sources which are permanent and
-present throughout the whole everlasting world-process.  And
-when we come to the question whether there is only one such
-ultimate source of movement for the whole universe, or several,
-Aristotle's answer is that the supreme "Unmoved Mover" is
-one.  One is enough for the purpose, and the law of parcimony
-forbids us to assume the superfluous.  This then is the
-Aristotelian conception of God and God's relation to the world.  God
-is the one supreme unchanging being to whose presence the
-world responds with the whole process of cosmic development,
-the ultimate educer of the series of "forms" latent in the
-"matter" of the world into actual manifestation.  Standing,
-as He does, outside the whole process which by His mere
-presence He initiates in Nature, He is not himself a composite
-of "form" and "matter," as the products of development are.
-He is a pure individual "form" or "actuality," with no history
-of gradual development behind it.  Thus He is a purely
-immaterial being, indispensable to the world's existence but
-transcending it and standing outside it.  </span><em class="italics">How</em><span> His presence inspires
-the world to move Aristotle tries to explain by the metaphor
-of appetition.  Just as the good I desire and conceive, without
-itself "moving" "moves" my appetition, so God moves the
-universe by being its good.  This directly brings about a uniform
-unbroken rotation of the whole universe round its axis (in fact,
-the alternation of day and night).  And since this rotation is
-communicated from the outermost "sphere" of heaven to all
-the lesser "spheres" between it and the immovable centre,
-the effects of God's presence are felt universally.  At the same
-time, we must note that though God is the supreme Mover of
-the Universe, He is not regarded by Aristotle as its Creator,
-even in the sense in which creation can be reconciled with the
-eternity of the world.  For the effect of God's presence is simply
-to lead to the development of "form" in an already existing
-"matter."  Without God there could be no "form" or order
-in things, not even as much as is implied in the differentiation
-of matter into the four "elements," yet "primary matter" is
-no less than God a precondition of all that happens.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It is characteristic of Aristotle that his God is as far from
-discharging the functions of a Providence as He is from being
-a Creator.  His "activity" is not, as Plato had made it, that
-of the great "Shepherd of the sheep."  As far as the world is
-concerned, God's only function is to be there to move its
-appetition.  For the rest, the unbroken activity of this life is
-directed wholly inward.  Aristotle expressly calls it an "activity
-of immobility."  More precisely, he tells us, it is activity of
-thought, exercised unbrokenly and everlastingly upon the only
-object adequate to exercise God's contemplation, Himself.
-His life is one of everlasting </span><em class="italics">self</em><span>-contemplation or "thinking
-of thought itself."  Like all unimpeded exercise of activity, it is
-attended by pleasure, and as the activity is continuous, so the
-pleasure of it is continuous too.  At our best, when we give
-ourselves up to the pure contemplative activity of scientific
-thought or æsthetic appreciation, we enter for a while into this
-divine life and share the happiness of God.  But that is a theme
-for our chapter on the </span><em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It is a far cry from this conception of a God untroubled by
-care for a world to which He is only related as the object of its
-aspiration to the God who cares even for the fall of the sparrow
-and of whom it is written, </span><em class="italics">Sic Deus dilexit mundum</em><span>, but it
-was the standing task of the philosophical theologians of the
-Middle Ages to fuse the two conceptions.  Plato's God, who, if
-not quite the Creator, is the "Father and Fashioner" of us all,
-and keeps providential watch over the world He has fashioned,
-would have lent Himself better to their purposes, but Plato
-was held by the mediæval church to have denied the resurrection
-of the body.  The combination of Aristotle's Theism with
-the Theism of early Christianity was effected by exquisitely
-subtle logical devices, but even in St. Thomas one cannot help
-seeing the seams.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nor can one help seeing in Aristotle's own doctrine the
-usual want of coherence between an initial anti-Platonic bias
-and a final reversion to the very Platonic positions Aristotle
-is fond of impugning.  We are told at the outset that the
-Platonic "separate forms" are empty names, and that the
-real individual thing is always a composite of matter and a
-form which only exists "in matter."  We find in the end that
-the source of the whole process by which "matter" becomes
-imbued with "form" is a being which is "pure" form and stands
-outside the whole development which its presence sets up.
-And the issue of Aristotle's warning against "poetic metaphors"
-is the doctrine that God moves the world by being "the object
-of the world's desire."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="physics"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">PHYSICS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>There is no part of Aristotle's system which has been more
-carefully thought out than his Physics; at the same time it is
-almost wholly on account of his physical doctrines that his long
-ascendancy over thought is so much to be regretted.  Aristotle's
-qualifications as a man of science have been much overrated.
-In one department, that of descriptive natural history, he shows
-himself a master of minute and careful observation who could
-obtain unqualified praise from so great a naturalist as Darwin.
-But in Astronomy and Physics proper his inferiority in
-mathematical thinking and his dislike for mechanical ways of
-explaining facts put him at a great disadvantage, as compared with
-Plato and Plato's Pythagorean friends.  Thus his authority was
-for centuries one of the chief influences which prevented the
-development of Astronomy on right lines.  Plato had himself
-both taught the mobility of the earth and denied correctly that
-the earth is at the centre of the universe, and the
-"Copernican" hypothesis in Astronomy probably originated in the
-Academy.  Aristotle, however, insists on the central position of
-the earth, and violently attacks Plato for believing in its motion.
-It is equally serious that he insists on treating the so-called
-"four elements" as ultimately unanalysable forms of matter,
-though Plato had not only observed that so far from being the
-ABC (</span><em class="italics">stoicheia</em><span> or </span><em class="italics">elementa</em><span>, literally, letters of the alphabet)
-of Nature they do not deserve to be called even "syllables,"
-but had also definitely put forward the view that it is the
-geometrical structure of the "corpuscles" of body upon which
-sensible qualities depend.  It is on this doctrine, of course, that
-all mathematical physics rests.  Aristotle reverts to the older
-theory that the differences between one "element" and another
-are qualitative differences of a sensible kind.  Even in the
-biological sciences Aristotle shows an unfortunate proneness to
-disregard established fact when it conflicts with the theories
-for which he has a personal liking.  Thus, though the
-importance of the brain as the central organ of the sensori-motor
-system had been discovered in the late sixth or early fifth
-century by the physician Alemacon of Crotona, and taught by the
-great Hippocrates in the fifth and by Plato in the fourth
-century, Aristotle's prejudices in favour of the doctrines of a
-different school of biologists led him to revert to the view that
-it is the heart which is the centre of what we now call the
-"nervous system."  It is mainly on account of these reactionary
-scientific views that he was attacked in the early seventeenth
-century by writers like our own Francis Bacon, who found in
-veneration for Aristotle one of the chief hindrances to the free
-development of natural science.  The same complaints had
-been made long before by critics belonging to the Platonic
-Academy.  It is a Platonist of the time of Marcus Aurelius
-who sums up a vigorous attack on the Aristotelian astronomy
-by the remark that Aristotle never understood that the true
-task of the physicist is not to prescribe laws to Nature, but to
-learn from observation of the facts what the laws followed by
-Nature are.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In determining the scope of Physics, we have to begin by
-considering what is the special characteristic of things
-produced by Nature as contrasted with those produced by
-"art."  The obvious distinction, intimated by the very etymology of
-the word "Nature" (</span><em class="italics">physis</em><span>, connected with </span><em class="italics">phyesthai</em><span>, to
-grow, to be born, as </span><em class="italics">natura</em><span> is with </span><em class="italics">nasci</em><span>), is that "what is by
-Nature" is born and grows, whereas what is as a result of
-artifice is </span><em class="italics">made</em><span>.  The "natural" may thus be said to consist
-of living bodies and of their constituent parts.  Hence
-inorganic matter also is included in "Nature," on the ground
-that living tissue can be analysed back into compounds of the
-"elements."  Now things which are alive and grow are
-distinguished from things which are made by "a source of motion
-and quiescence within themselves"; all of them exhibit motions,
-changes of quality, processes of growth and decline which are
-initiated from within.  Hence Nature may be defined as the
-totality of things which have a source of motion internal to
-themselves and of the constituent parts of such things.  Nature
-then comprises all beings capable of spontaneous change.
-Whatever either does not change at all, or only changes in
-consequence of external influences, is excluded from Nature.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus the fundamental fact everywhere present in Nature is
-"change," "process," "motion."  Since motion in the literal sense
-of change of position is involved as a condition of every such
-process, and such motion requires space through which to move
-and time to move in, the doctrine of space and time will also
-form part of Physics.  Hence a great part of Aristotle's special
-lectures on Physics is occupied with discussion of the nature of
-space and time, and of the continuity which we must ascribe
-to them if the "continuous motion" on which the unbroken
-life of the universe depends is to be real Aristotle knows
-nothing of the modern questions whether space and time are
-"real" or only "phenomenal," whether they are "objective"
-or "subjective."  Just as he simply assumes that bodies are
-things that really exist, whether we happen to perceive them
-or not, so he assumes that the space and time in which they
-move are real features of a world that does not depend for
-its existence on our perceiving it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His treatment of space is singularly </span><em class="italics">naïf</em><span>.  He conceives it
-as a sort of vessel, into which you can pour different liquids.
-Just as the same pot may hold first wine and then water,
-so, if you can say, "there was water here, but now there is
-air here," this implies the existence of a receptacle which once
-held the water, but now holds the air.  Hence a jug or pot
-may be called a "place that can be carried about," and space
-or place may be called "an immovable vessel."  Hence the
-"place" of a thing may be defined as the boundary, or inner
-surface, of the body which immediately surrounds the thing.
-It follows from this that there can be no empty space.  In
-the last resort, "absolute space" is the actual surface of the
-outermost "heaven" which contains everything else in itself
-but is not contained in any remoter body.  Thus all things
-whatever are "in" this "heaven."  But it is not itself "in"
-anything else.  In accord with the standing Greek identification
-of determinate character with limitation, Aristotle holds
-that this outermost heaven must be at a limited distance from
-us.  Actual space is thus finite in the sense that the volume
-of the universe could be expressed as a finite number of cubic
-miles or yards, though, since it must be "continuous," it is
-infinitely divisible.  However often you subdivide a length, an
-area, or a volume, you will always be dividing it into lesser
-lengths, &amp;c., which can once more be divided.  You will never
-by division come to "points," </span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> mere positions without
-magnitude of divisibility.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The treatment of time is more thoughtful.  Time is inseparably
-connected with movement or change.  We only perceive that
-time has elapsed when we perceive that change has occurred.
-But time is not the same as change.  For change is of different
-and incommensurate kinds, change of place, change of colour,
-&amp;c.; but to take up time is common to all these forms of
-process.  And time is not the same as motion.  For there are
-different rates of speed, but the very fact that we can compare
-these different velocities implies that there are not different
-velocities of </span><em class="italics">time</em><span>.  Time then is that in terms of which we
-</span><em class="italics">measure</em><span> motion, "the number of motion in respect of before
-and after," </span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> it is that by which we estimate the </span><em class="italics">duration</em><span>
-of processes.  Thus </span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> when we speak of </span><em class="italics">two</em><span> minutes, </span><em class="italics">two</em><span>
-days, </span><em class="italics">two</em><span> months as required for a certain process to be
-completed, we are counting something.  This something is time.
-It does not seem to occur to Aristotle that this definition
-implies that there are indivisible bits of time, though he quite
-correctly states the incompatible proposition that time is "made
-up of successive </span><em class="italics">nows</em><span>," </span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> moments which have no duration
-at all, and can no more be counted than the points on a
-straight line.  He recognises of course that the "continuity"
-of motion implies that of time as well as of space.  Since,
-however, "continuity" in his language means the same thing
-as indefinite divisibility, it ought not to be possible for him
-to regard time as "made up of </span><em class="italics">nows</em><span>"; time, like linear
-extension, ought for him to be a "length of" something.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Continuous Motion and the "Spheres."</strong><span>--The
-continuous world-process depends upon a continuous movement set
-up in the universe as a whole by the presence of an everlasting
-and unchangeable "First Mover," God.  From the self-sameness
-of God, it follows that this most universal of movements
-must be absolutely uniform.  Of what precise kind can such
-a movement be?  As the source of the movement is one,
-and the object moved is also one--viz. the compass of the
-"heaven," the movement of the </span><em class="italics">primum mobile</em><span> or "first
-moved"--the object immediately stimulated to motion by God's
-presence to it, must be mechanically simple.  Now Aristotle,
-mistakenly, held that there are two forms of movement which
-are simple and unanalysable, motion of translation along a
-straight line, and motion of rotation round an axis.  He is at
-pains to argue that rectilinear motion, which we easily
-discover to be that characteristic of bodies near the earth's surface
-when left to themselves, cannot be the kind of movement
-which belongs to the "heaven" as a whole.  For continuous
-rectilinear movement in the same direction could not go on
-for ever on his assumption that there is no space outside the
-"heaven," which is itself at a finite distance from us.  And
-motion to and fro would not be unbroken, since Aristotle
-argues that every time a moving body reached the end of its
-path, and the sense of its movement was reversed, it would
-be for two consecutive moments in the same place, and
-therefore at rest.  Reversal of sense would imply a discontinuity.
-Hence he decides that the primary unbroken movement must
-be the rotation of the "first moved"--that is, the heaven
-containing the fixed stars--round its axis.  This is the only
-movement which could go on for ever at a uniform rate and in
-the same sense.  Starting with the conviction that the earth
-is at rest in the centre of the universe, he inevitably accounts
-for the alternation of day and night as the effect of such a
-revolution of the whole universe round an axis passing
-through the centre of the earth.  The universe is thus thought
-of as bounded by a spherical surface, on the concave side of
-which are the fixed stars, which are therefore one and all at
-the same distance from us.  This sphere, under the immediate
-influence of God, revolves on its axis once in twenty-four hours,
-and this period of revolution is absolutely uniform.  Next the
-apparently irregular paths of the "planets" known to Aristotle
-(</span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> the moon, Mercury, Venus, the sun, Mars, Jupiter,
-Saturn) are resolved into combinations of similar uniform
-rotations, each planet having as many "spheres" assigned to
-it as are requisite for the analysis of its apparent path into
-perfectly circular elementary motions.  Altogether Aristotle
-holds that fifty-four such rotating spheres are required over
-and above the "first moved" itself, whose rotation is, of
-course, communicated to all the lesser "spheres" included
-within it.  As in the case of the "first moved," the uniform
-unceasing rotation of each "sphere" is explained by the
-influence on it of an unchanging immaterial "form," which
-is to its own "sphere" what God is to the universe as a
-whole.  In the Aristotelianism of the mediæval church these
-pure forms or intelligences which originate the movements of
-the various planetary spheres are naturally identified with
-angels.  It is </span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> to the angelic intelligences which "move"
-the heaven of Venus, which comes third in order counting
-outward from the earth, that Dante addresses his famous Canzone,
-</span><em class="italics">Voi ch' intendendo il terzo del movete</em><span>.  The mediæval astronomy,
-however, differs in two important respects from that of Aristotle
-himself.  (1) The number of "spheres" is different.  Increasing
-knowledge of the complexity of the paths of the planets
-showed that if their paths are to be analysed into combinations
-of circular motions, fifty-four such rotations must be an
-altogether inadequate number.  Aristotle's method of analysis
-of the heavenly movements was therefore combined with either
-or both of two others originated by pure astronomers who sat
-loose to metaphysics.  One of these methods was to account
-for a planet's path by the introduction of </span><em class="italics">epicycles</em><span>.  The
-planet was thought of not as fixed at a given point on its
-principal sphere, but as situated on the circumference of a
-lesser sphere which has its centre at a fixed point of the
-principal sphere and rotates around an axis passing through
-this centre.  If need were, this type of hypothesis could be
-further complicated by imagining any number of such epicycles
-within epicycles.  The other method was the employment of
-"eccentrics," </span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> circular movements which are described not
-about the common centre of the earth and the universe, but
-about some point in its neighbourhood.  By combinations of
-epicycles and eccentrics the mediæval astronomers contrived
-to reduce the number of principal spheres to </span><em class="italics">one</em><span> for each
-planet, the arrangement we find in Dante.  (2) Also real or
-supposed astronomical perturbations unknown to Aristotle
-led some mediæval theorists to follow the scheme devised by
-Alphonso the Wise of Castille, in which further spheres are
-inserted between that of Saturn, the outermost planet, and
-the "first moved."  In Dante, we have, excluding the
-"empyrean" or immovable heaven where God and the blessed are,
-nine "spheres," one for each of the planets, one for the fixed
-stars, and one for the "first moved," which is now distinguished
-from the heaven of the stars.  In Milton, who adopts
-the "Alphonsine" scheme, we have further a sphere called
-the "second movable" or "crystalline" introduced between
-the heaven of the fixed stars and the "first moved," to account
-for the imaginary phenomenon of "trepidation."[#]  In reading
-Dante, Shakespeare, and Milton, we have always to remember
-that none of these reproduces the Aristotelian doctrine of the
-"spheres" accurately; their astronomy is an amalgam of
-Aristotle, Ptolemy, and Hipparchus.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] </span><em class="italics small">Paradise Lost</em><span class="small">, iii. 481.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">"They pass the planets seven, and pass the fixed,
-<br />And that crystalline sphere whose balance weighs
-<br />The trepidation talked, and that first moved."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>So far, the doctrine of the fifty-five "spheres" might be no
-more than a legitimate mathematical fiction, a convenient device
-for analysing the complicated apparent movements of the heavenly
-bodies into circular components.  This was originally the part
-played by "spheres" in ancient astronomical theory, and it is
-worth while to be quite clear about the fact, as there is a
-mistaken impression widely current to-day that Aristotle's astronomy
-is typical of Greek views in general.  The truth is that it is
-peculiar to himself.  The origin of the theory was Academic.
-Plato proposed to the Academy as a subject of inquiry, to
-devise such a mathematical analysis of astronomical motions as
-will best "save the appearances," </span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> will most simply account
-for the apparent paths of the planets.  The analysis of these
-paths into resultants of several rotations was offered as a solution
-by the astronomer Eudoxus of Cnidus.  So far, the "spheres,"
-then, were a mere mathematical hypothesis.  What Aristotle
-did, and it is perhaps the most retrograde step ever taken in
-the history of a science, was to convert the mathematical
-hypothesis into physical fact.  The "spheres" become with
-him real bodies, and as none of the bodies we are familiar with
-exhibit any tendency to rotate in circles when left to themselves,
-Aristotle was forced to introduce into Physics the disastrous
-theory, which it was a great part of Galileo's life-work to
-destroy, that the stuff of which the spheres are made is a
-"fifth body," different from the "elements" of which the
-bodies among which we live are made.  Hence he makes an
-absolute distinction between two kinds of matter, "celestial
-matter," the "fifth body," and "terrestrial" or "elementary"
-matter.  The fundamental difference is that "terrestrial" or
-"elementary" matter, left to itself, follows a rectilinear path,
-"celestial" matter rotates, but it is further inferred from the
-supposed absolute uniformity of the celestial movements that
-"celestial matter" is simple, uncompounded, incapable of
-change, and consequently that no new state of things can ever
-arise in the heavens.  The spheres and planets have always
-been and will always be exactly as they are at the present
-moment.  Mutability is confined to the region of "terrestrial"
-or "elementary" matter, which only extends as far as the orbit
-of the moon, the "lowest of the celestial bodies," because it is
-only "terrestrial" things which are, as we should say, chemical
-compounds.  This is the doctrine which Galileo has in mind
-when he dwells on such newly-discovered astronomical facts as
-the existence of sun-spots and variable stars, and the signs of
-irregularity presented by the moon's surface.  The distinction
-is peculiar to Aristotle.  No one before him had ever thought
-of supposing the heavenly bodies to be made of any materials
-other than those of which "bodies terrestrial" are made.  In
-the Academic attack on Aristotle's science of which we have
-already spoken the two points singled out for reprobation are
-(1) his rejection of the principle that all moving bodies, left to
-themselves, follow a rectilinear path, and (2) his denial that
-the heavenly bodies are made of the same "elements" as
-everything else.  (It may just be mentioned in passing that our
-word </span><em class="italics">quintessence</em><span> gets its sense from the supposed special
-"nobility" of the incorruptible "fifth body.")</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Terrestrial Bodies</strong><span>.--As we have seen already, Aristotle was
-out of sympathy with the tendency to regard the sensible
-differences between bodies as consequences of more ultimate
-differences in the geometrical structure of their particles.  Hence
-his whole attitude towards the problems of that branch of
-natural science which we call physics is quite unlike any view
-to which we are accustomed.  He reverts from the mathematical
-lines of thought current in Plato's Academy to the type of view
-more natural to the "plain man," and, like the earliest
-sixth-century men of science, regards the </span><em class="italics">qualitative</em><span> differences which
-our senses apprehend as fundamental.  Among these, particular
-stress is laid on the difference in sensible temperature (the
-hot--the cold), in saturation (the dry--the moist), and in density
-(the dense--the rare).  If we consider the first two of these
-oppositions, we can make four binary combinations of the
-elementary "opposite" characters, viz. hot and dry, hot and
-moist, cold and moist, cold and dry.  These combinations are
-regarded as corresponding respectively to the sensible characteristics
-of the four bodies which Empedocles, the father of Greek
-chemistry, had treated as the ultimate components of everything.
-Fire is hot and dry, air hot and moist, water moist and cold,
-earth cold and dry.  This reflection shows us why Aristotle
-held that the most rudimentary form in which "matter" ever
-actually exists is that of one of these "elements."  Each of
-them has </span><em class="italics">one</em><span> quality in common with another, and it is in
-virtue of this that a portion of one element can be assimilated
-by and transmuted into another, a process which seems to the
-untutored eye to be constantly recurring in Nature.  We also
-observe that the order in which the "elements" appear, when
-so arranged as to form a series in which each term has one
-quality in common with each of its neighbours, is also that of
-their increasing density.  This would help to make the
-conception of their transmutability all the more natural, as it
-suggests that the process may be effected by steady condensation.
-We must remember carefully that for Aristotle, who denies the
-possibility of a vacuum, as for the mediæval alchemists,
-condensation does not mean a mere diminution of the distances
-between corpuscles which remain unchanged in character, but is
-a process of real qualitative change in the body which undergoes
-it.  Incidentally we may remark that </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> changes of quality
-are regarded by Aristotle as stages in a continuous "movement"
-from one extreme of a scale to another.  For example, colours,
-with him as with Goethe, form a series of which the "opposites"
-white and black are the end-points.  Every other colour is a
-combination of white and black according to a definite proportion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Aristotelian doctrine of weight was one of the chief
-obstacles which seventeenth-century science had to contend
-with in establishing correct notions in dynamics.  It is a
-curious feature of Greek science before Aristotle that, though
-the facts connected with gravity were well known, no one
-introduced the notion of weight to account for them.  The difference
-between heavy bodies and light bodies had been previously
-treated as secondary for science.  Plato's treatment of the
-matter is typical of the best fourth-century science.  We must
-not try to explain why the heavier bodies tend to move towards
-the earth's surface by saying that they have a "downward"
-motion; their motion is not downward but "towards the
-centre" (the earth, though not fixed at the centre of the
-universe, being nearer to it than the rest of the solar and
-sidereal system).  Plato then explains the tendency in virtue
-of which the heavier bodies move towards the "centre" as an
-attraction of like for like.  The universal tendency is for smaller
-masses of "earth," "water," "air," "fire" to be attracted
-towards the great aggregations of the same materials.  This
-is far from being a satisfactory theory in the light of facts
-which were not yet known to Plato, but it is on the right
-lines.  It starts from the conception of the facts of gravity as
-due to an "attractive force" of some kind, and it has the
-great merit of bringing the "sinking" of stones and the
-"rising" of vapours under the same explanation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Aristotle, though retaining the central idea that a body
-tends to move towards the region where the great cosmic mass
-of the same kind is congregated, introduced the entirely
-incompatible notion of an absolute distinction of "up" and "down."  He
-identified the centre of the universe with that of the earth,
-and looked on motion to this centre as "downward."  This
-led him to make a distinction between "heavy" bodies, which
-naturally tend to move "down," and "light" bodies, which
-tend to move "up" away from the centre.  The doctrine
-works out thus.  The heaviest elements tend to be massed
-together nearest the centre, the lightest to be furthest from it.
-Each element thus has its "proper place," that of water being
-immediately above earth, that of air next, and that of fire
-furthest from the centre, and nearest to the regions occupied
-by "celestial matter."  (Readers of Dante will recollect the
-ascent from the Earthly Paradise through the "sphere of fire"
-with which the </span><em class="italics">Paradiso</em><span> opens.)</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In its own "proper region" no body is heavy or light; as
-we should say any fluid loses its weight when immersed in
-itself.  When a portion of an element is out of its own region
-and surrounded by the great cosmic aggregate of another
-element, either of two cases may occur.  The body which is
-"out of its element" may be </span><em class="italics">below</em><span> its proper place, in which
-case it is "light" and tends to move perpendicularly upwards
-to its place, or it may be </span><em class="italics">above</em><span> its proper place, and then it
-is "heavy" and tends to move perpendicularly "down" until
-it reaches its place.  It was this supposed real distinction
-between motion "up" and motion "down" which made it so
-hard for the contemporaries of Galileo to understand that an
-inflated bladder rises for the same reason that a stone sinks.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Biology</strong><span>.--Of Aristotle's biology reasons of space forbid us to
-say much here.  But a remark or two may be made about his
-theory of reproduction, since it is constantly referred to in much
-modern literature and has also played its part in theology.
-An interesting point is the distinction between "perfect" and
-"imperfect" animals.  "Perfect" animals are those which
-can only be reproduced sexually.  Aristotle held, however, that
-there are some creatures, even among vertebrates, which </span><em class="italics">may</em><span>
-be produced by the vivifying effect of solar heat on decomposing
-matter, without any parents at all.  Thus malobservation
-of the facts of putrefaction led to the belief that flies and
-worms are engendered by heat from decaying bodies, and it
-was even thought that frogs and mice are produced in the
-same way from river-slime.  In this process, the so-called
-"aequivocal generation," solar heat was conceived as the
-operative efficient cause which leads to the realisation of an
-organic "form" in the decaying matter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In sexual reproduction Aristotle regards the male parent
-as the agent or efficient cause which contributes the element of
-form and organisation to the offspring.  The female parent
-supplies only the raw material of the new creature, but she
-supplies the whole of this.  No </span><em class="italics">material</em><span> is supplied by the
-male parent to the body of the offspring, a theory which
-St. Thomas found useful in defending the dogma of the Virgin
-Birth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Psychology</strong><span>.--Since the mind grows and develops, it comes
-under the class of things which have a "source of motion
-internal to themselves," and psychology is therefore, for
-Aristotle, a branch of Physics.  To understand his treatment
-of psychological questions we need bear two things in mind.
-(1) </span><em class="italics">Psyche</em><span> or "soul" means in Greek more than "consciousness"
-does to us.  Consciousness is a relatively late and highly
-developed manifestation of the principle which the Greeks
-call "soul."  That principle shows itself not merely in
-consciousness but in the whole process of nutrition and growth
-and the adaptation of motor response to an external situation.
-Thus consciousness is a more secondary feature of the "soul"
-in Greek philosophy than in most modern thought, which has
-never ceased to be affected by Descartes' selection of "thought"
-as the special characteristic of psychical life.  In common
-language the word </span><em class="italics">psyche</em><span> is constantly used where we should
-say "life" rather than "soul," and in Greek philosophy a
-work "on the </span><em class="italics">Psyche</em><span>" means what we should call one on "the
-principle of life."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>(2) It is a consequence of this way of thinking of the
-"soul" that the process of bodily and mental development is
-regarded by Aristotle as one single continuous process.  The
-growth of a man's intellect and character by which he becomes
-a thinker and a citizen is a continuation of the process by which
-his body is conceived and born and passes into physical
-manhood.  This comes out in the words of the definition of the
-soul.  "The soul is the first entelechy (or actual realisation) of
-a natural organic body."  What this means is that the soul stands
-to the living body as all form realised in matter does to the
-matter of which it is the form, or that the soul is the "form"
-of the body.  What the "organic body" is to the embryo out
-of which it has grown, that soul is to the body itself.  As the
-embryo grows into the actual living body, so the living body
-grows into a body exhibiting the actual directing presence of
-mind.  Aristotle illustrates the relation by the remark that if
-the whole body was one vast eye, seeing would be its soul.  As
-the eye is a tool for seeing with, but a living tool which is
-part of ourselves, so the body is a like tool or instrument for
-living with.  Hence we may say of the soul that it is the
-"end" of the body, the activity to which the body is
-instrumental, as seeing is the "end" to which the eye is
-instrumental.  But we must note that the soul is called only the
-"first" or initial "entelechy" of the body.  The reason is
-that the mere presence of the soul does not guarantee the full
-living of the life to which our body is but the instrument.  If
-we are to </span><em class="italics">live</em><span> in the fullest sense of the word, we must not
-merely "have" a soul; we "have" it even in sleep, in ignorance,
-in folly.  The soul itself needs further to be educated
-and trained in intelligence and character, and to exercise its
-intelligence and character efficiently on the problems of thought
-and life.  The mere "presence" of soul is only a first step in
-the progress towards fullness of life.  This is why Aristotle
-calls the soul the </span><em class="italics">first</em><span> entelechy of the living body.  The full
-and final entelechy is the life of intelligence and character
-actively functioning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From this conception of the soul's relation to the body we
-see that Aristotle's "doctrine of body and mind" does not
-readily fall into line with any of the typical theories of our
-time.  He neither thinks of the soul as a thing acting on the
-body and acted on by it, nor yet as a series of "states of mind"
-concomitant with certain "states of body."  From his point of
-view to ask whether soul and body interact, or whether they
-exhibit "parallelism," would be much the same thing as to
-ask whether life interacts with the body, or whether there
-is a "parallelism" between vital processes and bodily
-processes.  We must not ask at all how the body and soul are
-united.  They are one thing, as the matter and the form of a
-copper globe are one.  Thus they are in actual fact inseparable.
-The soul is the soul of its body and the body the body of its soul.
-We can only distinguish them by logical analysis, as we can
-distinguish the copper from the sphericity in the copper globe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Grades of Psychical Life</strong><span>.--If we consider the order of development,
-we find that some vital activities make their appearance
-earlier than others, and that it is a universal law that the
-more highly developed activities always have the less highly
-developed as their basis and precondition, though the less
-highly developed may exist apart from the more highly
-developed.  So we may arrange vital activities in general in an
-ontogenetic order, the order in which they make their appearance
-in the individual's development.  Aristotle reckons three
-such stages, the "nutritive," the "sensitive," and the
-"intelligent."  The lowest form in which life shows itself at all,
-the level of minimum distinction between the living and the
-lifeless, is the power to take in nutriment, assimilate it, and
-grow.  In vegetables the development is arrested at this point.
-With the animals we reach the next highest level, that of
-"sensitive" life.  For all animals have at least the sense of
-touch.  Thus they all show sense-perception, and it is a
-consequence of this that they exhibit "appetition," the simplest
-form of conation, and the rudiments of feeling and "temper."  For
-what has sensations can also feel pleasure and pain, and
-what can feel pleasure and pain can desire, since desire is only
-appetition of what is pleasant.  Thus in the animals we have
-the beginnings of cognition, conation, and affective and
-emotional life in general.  And Aristotle adds that locomotion
-makes its appearance at this level; animals do not, like plants,
-have to trust to their supply of nutriment coming to them;
-they can go to it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The third level, that of "intelligence," </span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> the power to
-compare, calculate, and reflect, and to order one's life by
-conscious rule, is exhibited by man.  What distinguishes life at
-this level from mere "sensitive" life is, on the intellectual side,
-the ability to cognise universal truths, on the conative, the
-power to live by rule instead of being swayed by momentary
-"appetition."  The former gives us the possibility of science,
-the latter of moral excellence.[#]</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<dl class="docutils">
-<dt class="noindent"><span class="small">[#] </span><em class="italics small">Cf.</em><span class="small"> Dante's "Fatti non foste a viver como bruti,</span></dt>
-<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span class="small">Ma per seguir virtute e conosoenza."</span></p>
-</dd>
-</dl>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">Sensation</strong><span>.--Life manifests itself at the animal level on the
-cognitive side as sense-perception, on the conative as appetition
-or desire, on the affective as feeling of pleasure or pain, and in
-such simple emotional moods as "temper," resentment, longing.
-Aristotle gives sensation a logical priority over the conative
-and emotional expression of "animal" life.  To experience
-appetition or anger or desire you must have an object which
-you crave for or desire or are angry with, and it is only when
-you have reached the level of presentations through the senses
-that you can be said to have an object.  Appetition or
-"temper" is as real a fact as perception, but you cannot crave
-for or feel angry with a thing you do not apprehend.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Aristotle's definition of sense perception is that it is a "capacity
-for discerning" or distinguishing between "the sensible qualities
-of things."  His conception of the process by which the
-discernment or distinguishing is effected is not altogether happy.
-In sense-perception the soul "takes into itself the </span><em class="italics">form</em><span> of the
-thing perceived without its </span><em class="italics">matter</em><span>, as sealing-wax receives the
-shape of an iron seal-ring without the iron."  To understand
-this, we have to remember that for Aristotle the sensible
-qualities of the external world, colour, tones, tastes, and the
-rest, are not effects of mechanical stimulation of our
-sense-organs, but real qualities of bodies.  The hardness of iron, the
-redness of a piece of red wax are all primarily "in" the iron
-or the wax.  They are "forms," or determinations by definite
-law, of the "matter" of the iron or the wax.  This will become
-clearer if we consider a definite example, the red colour of the
-wax.  In the wax the red colour is a definite combination of
-the colour-opposites white and black according to a fixed ratio.
-Now Aristotle's view of the process of sense-perception is that
-when I become aware of the red colour the same proportion of
-white to black which makes the wax red is reproduced in my
-organ of vision; my eye, while I am seeing the red, "assimilated"
-to the wax, is itself for the time actually "reddened."  But
-it does not become wax because the red thing I am looking
-at is a piece of red wax.  The eye remains a thing composed
-of living tissues.  This is what is meant by saying that in
-seeing the colours of things the eye receives "forms" without
-the "matter" of the things in which those forms are exhibited.
-Thus the process of sense-perception is one in which the organ
-of sense is temporarily assimilated to the thing apprehended in
-respect of the particular quality cognised by that organ, but in
-respect of no other.  According to Aristotle this process of
-"assimilation" always requires the presence of a "medium."  If
-an object is in immediate contact with the eye we cannot
-see its colour; if it is too near the ear, we do not discern the
-note it gives out.  Even in the case of touch and taste there
-is no immediate contact between the object perceived and the
-true organ of perception.  For in touch the "flesh" is not the
-organ of apprehension but an integument surrounding it and
-capable of acting as an intermediary between it and things.
-Thus perception is always accomplished by a "motion" set up
-in the "medium" by the external object, and by the medium
-in our sense-organs.  Aristotle thus contrives to bring correct
-apprehension by sense of the qualities of things under the
-formula of the "right mean" or "right proportion," which is
-better known from the use made of it in the philosopher's theory
-of conduct.  The colour of a surface, the pitch of the note given
-out by a vibrating string, &amp;c., depend on, and vary with,
-certain forms or ratios "in" the surface or the vibrating string;
-our correct apprehension of the qualities depends on the
-reproduction of the </span><em class="italics">same</em><span> ratios in our sense-organs, the
-establishment of the "right proportion" in </span><em class="italics">us</em><span>.  That this "right
-proportion" may be reproduced in our own sense-organs it is
-necessary (1) that the medium should have none of the sensible
-qualities for the apprehension whereof it serves as medium,
-</span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> the medium in colour-perception must be colourless.  If
-it had a colour of its own, the "motion" set up by the coloured
-bodies we apprehend would not be transmitted undistorted to
-our organs; we should see everything through a coloured haze.
-It is necessary for the same reason (2) that the percipient
-organ itself, when in a state of quiescence, should possess none
-of the qualities which can be induced in it by stimulation.
-The upshot of the whole theory is that the sense-organ is
-"potentially" what the sense-quality it apprehends is actually.
-Actual perceiving is just that special transition from the
-potential to the actual which results in making the organ for
-the time being </span><em class="italics">actually</em><span> of the same quality as the object.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Common Sensibles and the Common Sense-organ</strong><span>.--Every
-sense has a range of qualities connected with it as its
-special objects.  Colours can only be perceived by the eye,
-sounds by the ear, and so forth.  But there are certain
-characters of perceived things which we appear to apprehend
-by more than one sense.  Thus we seem to perceive size and
-shape either by touch or by sight, and number by hearing as
-well, since we can count </span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> the strokes of an unseen bell.
-Hence Aristotle distinguishes between the "special sensible
-qualities" such as colour and pitch, and what he calls the
-"common sensibles," the character of things which can be
-perceived by more than one organ.  These are enumerated as size,
-form or shape, number, motion (and its opposite rest), being.
-(The addition of this last is, of course, meant to account for
-our conviction that any perceived colour, taste, or other quality
-is a reality and not a delusion.)  The list corresponds very
-closely with one given by Plato of the "things which the mind
-perceives </span><em class="italics">by herself without the help of any organ</em><span>," </span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> of the
-leading determinations of sensible things which are due not to
-sense but to understanding.  It was an unfortunate innovation
-to regard the discernment of number or movement, which
-obviously demand intellectual processes such as counting and
-comparison, as performed immediately by "sense," and to
-assign the apprehension of number, movement, figure to a
-central "organ."  This organ he finds in the heart.  The
-theory is that when the "special organs" of the senses are
-stimulated, they in turn communicate movements to the blood
-and "animal spirits" (</span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> the vapours supposed to be produced
-from the blood by animal heat).  These movements are propagated
-inwards to the heart, where they all meet.  This is supposed to
-account for the important fact that, though our sensations are so
-many and diverse, we are conscious of our own unity as the
-subjects apprehending all this variety.  The unity of the
-perceiving subject is thus made to depend on the unity of the
-ultimate "organ of sensation," the heart.  Further, when once
-a type of motion has been set up in any sense-organ at the
-periphery of the body it will be propagated inward to the
-"common sensorium" in the heart.  The motions set up by stimulation,
-</span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> of the eye and of the skin, are partly different, partly the same
-(viz. in so far as they are determined by the number, shape,
-size, movement of the external stimuli).  Hence in the heart
-itself the stimulation on which perception of number or size
-depends is one and the same whether it has been transmitted
-from the eye or from the skin!  Awareness of lapse of time is
-also regarded as a function of the "common sense-organ," since
-it is the "common sensory" which perceives motion, and lapse
-of time is apprehended only in the apprehension of motion.
-Thus, in respect of the inclusion of geometrical form and lapse
-of time among the "common sensibles," there is a certain
-resemblance between Aristotle's doctrine and Kant's theory
-that recognition of spatial and temporal order is a function not
-of understanding but of "pure" sense.  It is further held that
-to be aware that one is perceiving (self-consciousness) and to
-discriminate between the different classes of "special"
-sense-perception must also be functions of the "common sense-organ."  Thus
-Aristotle makes the mistake of treating the most fundamental
-acts of intelligent reflection as precisely on a par, from
-the point of view of the theory of knowledge, with awareness
-of colour or sound.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A more legitimate function assigned to the "common
-sensorium" in the heart is that "fantasy," the formation of
-mental imagery, depends on its activity.  The simplest kind of
-"image," the pure memory-image left behind after the object
-directly arousing perception has ceased to stimulate, is due to
-the persistence of the movements set up in the heart after the
-sensory process in the peripheral organ is over.  Since Aristotle
-denies the possibility of thinking without the aid of
-memory-images, this function of the "common sensorium" is the
-indispensable basis of mental recall, anticipation, and thought.
-Neither "experience," </span><em class="italics">i.e.</em><span> a general conviction which results
-from the frequent repetition of similar perceptions, nor thought
-can arise in any animal in which sense-stimulation does not
-leave such "traces" behind it.  Similarly "free imagery," the
-existence of trains of imagination not tied down to the reproduction
-of an actual order of sensations, is accounted for by the
-consideration that "chance coincidence" may lead to the
-stimulation of the heart in the same way in which it might have been
-stimulated by actual sensation-processes.  Sleeping and waking
-and the experiences of dream-life are likewise due to changes
-in the functioning of the "common sense-organ," brought about
-partly by fatigue in the superficial sense-organs, partly by
-qualitative changes in the blood and "animal spirits" caused
-by the processes of nutrition and digestion.  Probably Aristotle's
-best scientific work in psychology is contained in the series of
-small essays in which this theory of memory and its imagery
-is worked out.  (Aristotle's language about the "common
-sensibles" is, of course, the source of our expression "common
-sense," which, however, has an entirely different meaning.  The
-shifting of sense has apparently been effected through Cicero's
-employment of the phrase </span><em class="italics">sensus communis</em><span> to mean tactful
-sympathy, the feeling of fellowship with our kind on which the
-Stoic philosophers laid so much stress.)</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">Thought</strong><span>.--Though thinking is impossible except by the
-use of imagery, to think is not merely to possess trains of
-imagery, or even to be aware of possessing them.  Thinking
-means understanding the meaning of such mental imagery and
-arriving through the understanding at knowledge of the structure
-of the real world.  How this process of interpreting mental
-imagery and reaching valid truth is achieved with greater and
-greater success until it culminates in the apprehension of the
-supreme principles of philosophy we have seen in dealing with
-the Aristotelian theory of knowledge.  From the point of view
-of the "physicist" who is concerned with thinking simply as a
-type of natural process, the relation of "understanding" to the
-mental imagery just described is analogous to that of sensation
-to sensible qualities.  The objects which thinking apprehends
-are the universal types of relation by which the world of things
-is pervaded.  The process of thinking is one in which this
-system of universal relations is reproduced "by way of idea" in
-the mind of the thinker.  The "understanding" thus stands
-to its objects as matter to form.  The process of getting
-actually to understand the world is one in which our "thought"
-or "understanding" steadily receives completer determination
-and "form" from its contemplation of reality.  In this sense,
-the process is one in which the understanding may be said to
-be passive in knowledge.  It is passive because it is the subject
-which, at every fresh stage in the progress to knowledge, is
-being quite literally "informed" by the action of the real world
-through the sensation and imagery.  Hence Aristotle says that,
-in order that the understanding may be correctly "informed"
-by its contact with its objects, it must, before the process
-begins, have no determinate character of its own.  It must be
-simply a capacity for apprehending the types of interconnection.
-"What is called the intelligence--I mean that with which the
-soul thinks and understands--is not an actual thing until it
-thinks."  (This is meant to exclude any doctrine which credits
-the "understanding" with either </span><em class="italics">furniture</em><span> of its own such as
-"innate ideas," or a specific </span><em class="italics">structure</em><span> of its own.  If the
-results of our thinking arose partly from the structure of the
-world of objects and partly from inherent laws of the "structure
-of mind," our thought at its best would not reproduce the
-universal "forms" or "types" of interconnection as they really
-are, but would distort them, as the shapes of things are
-distorted when we see them through a lens of high refractive
-index.)  Thus, though Aristotle differs from the modern
-empiricists in holding that "universals" realty exist "in" things,
-and are the links of connection between them, he agrees with
-the empiricist that knowledge is not the resultant of a
-combination of "facts" on the one side and "fundamental laws of the
-mind's working" on the other.  At the outset the "understanding"
-has no structure; it develops a structure for itself in
-the same process, and to the same degree, in which it
-apprehends the "facts."  Hence the "understanding" only is real
-in the actual process of understanding its objects, and again in
-a sense the understanding and the things it understands are
-one.  Only we must qualify this last statement by saying that
-it is only "potentially" that the understanding is the forms
-which it apprehends.  Aristotle does not mean by this that such
-things as horses and oxen are thoughts or "ideas."  By the
-things with which "understanding" is said to be one he means
-the "forms" which we apprehend when we actually understand
-the world or any part of it, the truths of science.  His point
-then is that the actual thinking of these truths and the truths
-themselves do not exist apart from one another.  "Science"
-does not mean certain things written down in a book; it means
-a mind engaged in thinking and knowing things, and of the
-mind itself, considered out of its relation to the actual life of
-thinking the truths of science, we can say no more than that it
-is a name for the fact that we are capable of achieving such
-thought.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><strong class="bold">The Active Intelligence</strong><span>.--So far Aristotle's account
-of thought has been plain sailing.  Thought has been
-considered as the final and highest development of the vital
-functions of the organism, and hence as something inseparable
-from the lower functions of nutrition and sensitive life.
-The existence of a thought which is not a function of a living
-body, and which is not "passive," has been absolutely excluded.
-But at this point we are suddenly met by the most startling
-of all the inconsistencies between the naturalistic and the
-"spiritualist" strains in Aristotle's philosophy.  In a few
-broken lines he tells us that there is another sense of the word
-"thought" in which "thought" actually creates the truths it
-understands, just as light may be said to make the colours
-which we see by its aid.  "And </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> intelligence," he adds,
-"is separable from matter, and impassive and unmixed, being
-in its essential nature an </span><em class="italics">activity</em><span>....  It has no intermission in
-its thinking.  It is only in separation from matter that it is
-fully itself, and it alone is immortal and everlasting ... while
-the passive intelligence is perishable and does not think at all,
-apart from this."  The meaning of this is not made clear by
-Aristotle himself, and the interpretation was disputed even
-among the philosopher's personal disciples.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One important attempt to clear up the difficulty is that
-made by Alexander of Aphrodisias, the greatest of the
-commentators on Aristotle, in the second century A.D.  Alexander
-said, as Aristotle has not done, that the "active intelligence"
-is numerically the same in all men, and is identical with God.
-Thus, all that is specifically human in each of us is the
-"passive intelligence" or capacity for being enlightened by
-God's activity upon us.  The advantage of the view is, that
-it removes the "active intelligence" altogether from the
-purview of psychology, which then becomes a purely naturalistic
-science.  The great Arabian Aristotelian, Averroes (Ibn
-Roschd) of Cordova, in the twelfth century, went still further
-in the direction of naturalism.  Since the "active" and
-"passive" intelligence can only be separated by a logical
-abstraction, he inferred that men, speaking strictly, do not
-think at all; there is only one and the same individual
-intelligence in the universe, and all that we call our thinking is
-really not ours but God's.  The great Christian scholastics
-of the following century in general read Aristotle through
-the eyes of Averroes, "</span><em class="italics">the</em><span> Commentator," as St. Thomas calls
-him, "Averrois che il gran commento feo," as Dante says.
-But their theology compelled them to disavow his doctrine
-of the "active intelligence," against which they could also
-bring, as St. Thomas does, the telling argument that Aristotle
-could never have meant to say that there really is no such
-thing as human intelligence.  Hence arose a third interpretation,
-the Thomist, according to which the "active intelligence"
-is neither God nor the same for all men, but is the highest and
-most rational "part" of the individual human soul, which
-has no bodily "organ."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="practical-philosophy"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Hitherto we have been concerned with the speculative
-branches of knowledge, we have now to turn to practice.
-Practice, too, is an activity of thought, but an activity which
-is never satisfied by the process of thinking itself.  In
-practice our thinking is always directed towards the production of
-some result other than true thought itself.  As in engineering
-it is not enough to find a solution of the problem how to
-build a bridge over a given river capable of sustaining a given
-strain, so in directing our thought on the problems of human
-conduct and the organisation of society we aim at something
-more than the understanding of human life.  In the one case
-what we aim at is the construction of the bridge; in the other
-it is the production of goodness in ourselves and our
-fellow-men, and the establishment of right social relations in the
-state.  Aristotle is careful to insist on this point throughout
-his whole treatment of moral and social problems.  The principal
-object of his lectures on conduct is not to tell his hearers
-what goodness is, but to make them good, and similarly it is
-quite plain that </span><em class="italics">Politics</em><span> was intended as a text-book for
-legislators.  In close connection with this practical object stands
-his theory of the kind of truth which must be looked for
-in ethics and politics.  He warns us against expecting precepts
-which have the exact and universal rigidity of the truths of
-speculative science.  Practical science has to do with the
-affairs of men's lives, matters which are highly complex and
-variable, in a word, with "what may be otherwise."  Hence
-we must be content if we can lay down precepts which hold
-good in the main, just as in medicine we do not expect to find
-directions which will effect a cure in all cases, but are content
-with general directions which require to be adapted to special
-cases by the experience and judgment of the practitioner.  The
-object of practical science then is to formulate rules which will
-guide us in obtaining our various ends.  Now when we
-consider these ends we see at once that some are subordinate
-to others.  The manufacture of small-arms may be the end
-at which their maker aims, but it is to the military man
-a mere means to </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> end, which is the effective use of them.
-Successful use of arms is again the end of the professional soldier,
-but it is a mere means among others to the statesman.
-Further, it is the military men who use the arms from whom the
-manufacturer has to take his directions as to the kind of arms
-that are wanted, and again it is the statesman to whom the
-professional soldiers have to look for directions as to when
-and with what general objects in view they shall fight.  So
-the art which uses the things produced by another art is the
-superior and directing art; the art which makes the things,
-the inferior and subordinate art.  Hence the supreme practical
-art is politics, since it is the art which uses the products
-turned out by all other arts as means to its ends.  It is the
-business of politics, the art of the statesman, to prescribe to
-the practitioners of all other arts and professions the lines
-on which and the conditions under which they shall exercise
-their vocation with a view to securing the supreme practical
-end, the well-being of the community.  Among the other
-professions and arts which make the materials the statesman
-employs, the profession of the educator stands foremost.  The
-statesman is bound to demand certain qualities of mind and
-character in the individual citizens.  The production of these
-mental and moral qualities must therefore be the work of the
-educator.  It thus becomes an important branch of politics
-to specify the kind of mental and moral qualities which a
-statesman should require the educator to produce in his
-pupils.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It is this branch of politics which Aristotle discusses in his
-</span><em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>.  He never contemplates a study of the individual's
-good apart from politics, the study of the good of the society.
-What then is the good or the best kind of life for an individual
-member of society?  Aristotle answers that as far as the mere
-name is concerned, there is a general agreement to call the best
-life, </span><em class="italics">Eudaimonia</em><span>, Happiness.  But the real problem is one of
-fact.  What kind of life deserves to be called happiness?
-Plato had laid it down that the happy life must satisfy three
-conditions.  It must be desirable for its own sake, it must be
-sufficient of itself to satisfy us, and it must be the life a wise
-man would prefer to any other.  The question is, What general
-formula can we find which will define the life which satisfies
-these conditions?  To find the answer we have to consider what
-Plato and Aristotle call the work or function of man.  By the
-work of anything we mean what can only be done by it, or by
-it better than by anything else.  Thus the work of the eye is
-to see.  You cannot see with any other organ, and when the
-eye does this work of seeing well you say it is a good eye.  So
-we may say of any living being that its work is to live, and
-that it is a good being when it does this work of living efficiently.
-To do its own work efficiently is the excellence or virtue of the
-thing.  The excellence or virtue of a man will thus be to live
-efficiently, but since life can be manifested at different levels,
-if we would know what man's work is we must ask whether
-there is not some form of life which can </span><em class="italics">only</em><span> be lived by man.
-Now the life which consists in merely feeding and growing
-belongs to all organisms and can be lived with equal vigour by
-them all.  There is, however, a kind of life which can only be
-lived by man, the life which consists in conscious direction of
-one's actions by a rule.  It is the work of man to live this
-kind of life, and his happiness consists in living it efficiently
-and well.  So we may give as the definition of human well-being
-that it is "an active life in accord with excellence, or if
-there are more forms of excellence than one, in accord with the
-best and completest of them"; and we must add "in a
-complete life" to show that mere promise not crowned by
-performance does not suffice to entitle man's life to be called
-happy.  We can see that this definition satisfies Plato's three
-conditions.  A vigorous and active living in a way which calls
-into play the specifically human capacities of man is desirable
-for its own sake, and preferable to any other life which could be
-proposed to us.  It too is the only life which can permanently
-satisfy men, but we must add that if such a life is to be lived
-adequately certain advantages of fortune must be presupposed.
-We cannot fully live a life of this kind if we are prevented
-from exercising our capacities by lack of means or health or
-friends and associates, and even the calamities which arise in
-the course of events may be so crushing as to hinder a man,
-for a time, from putting forth his full powers.  These external
-good things are not constituents of happiness, but merely
-necessary conditions of that exercise of our own capacities which is
-the happy life.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In our definition of the happy life we said that it was one
-of activity in accord with goodness or excellence, and we left
-it an open question whether there are more kinds of such
-goodness than one.  On consideration we see that two kinds of
-goodness or excellence are required in living the happy life.
-The happy life for man is a life of conscious following of a
-rule.  To live it well, then, you need to know what the right
-rule to follow is, and you need also to follow it.  There are
-persons who deliberately follow a wrong rule of life--the
-wicked.  There are others who know what the right rule is
-but fail to follow it because their tempers and appetites are
-unruly--the morally weak.  To live the happy life, then, two
-sorts of goodness are required.  You must have a good judgment
-as to what the right rule is (or if you cannot find it out
-for yourself, you must at least be able to recognise it when it
-is laid down by some one else, the teacher or lawgiver), and
-you must have your appetites, feelings, and emotions generally
-so trained that they obey the rule.  Hence excellence, goodness,
-or virtue is divided into goodness of intellect and goodness of
-character (moral goodness), the word </span><em class="italics">character</em><span> being used for
-the complex of tempers, feelings, and the affective side of
-human nature generally.  In education goodness of character
-has to be produced by training and discipline before goodness
-of intellect can be imparted.  The young generally have to be
-trained to obey the right rule before they can see for themselves
-that it is the right rule, and if a man's tempers and passions
-are not first schooled into actual obedience to the rule he will
-in most cases never see that it is the right rule at all.  Hence
-Aristotle next goes on to discuss the general character of the
-kind of goodness he calls goodness of character, the right state
-of the feelings and passions.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The first step towards understanding what goodness of
-character is is to consider the way in which it is actually
-produced.  We are not born with this goodness of tempers and
-feelings ready made, nor yet do we obtain it by theoretical
-instruction; it is a result of a training and discipline of the
-feelings and impulses.  The possibility of such a training is
-due to the fact that feelings and impulses are rational capacities,
-and a rational capacity can be developed into either of two
-contrasted activities according to the training it receives.  You
-cannot train stones to fall upwards, but you can train a hot
-temper to display itself either in the form of righteous
-resentment of wrong-doing or in that of violent defiance of all
-authority.  Our natural emotions and impulses are in themselves
-neither good nor bad; they are the raw material out of which
-training makes good or bad character according to the direction
-it gives to them.  The effect of training is to convert the
-indeterminate tendency into a fixed habit.  We may say, then,
-that moral goodness is a fixed state of the soul produced by
-habituation.  By being trained in habits of endurance,
-self-mastery, and fair dealing, we acquire the kind of character to
-which it is pleasing to act bravely, continently, and fairly, and
-disagreeable to act unfairly, profligately, or like a coward.
-When habituation has brought about this result the moral
-excellences in question have become part of our inmost self and
-we are in full possession of goodness of character.  In a word,
-it is by repeated doing of right acts that we acquire the right
-kind of character.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But what general characteristics distinguish right acts and
-right habits from wrong ones?  Aristotle is guided in answering
-the question by an analogy which is really at the bottom
-of all Greek thinking on morality.  The thought is that goodness
-is in the soul what health and fitness are in the body, and
-that the preceptor is for the soul what the physician or the
-trainer is for the body.  Now it was a well-known medical
-theory, favoured by both Plato and Aristotle, that health in
-the body means a condition of balance or equilibration among
-the elements of which it is composed.  When the hot and the
-cold, the moist and the dry in the composition of the human
-frame exactly balance one another, the body is in perfect
-health.  Hence the object of the regimen of the physician or
-the trainer is to produce and maintain a proper balance or
-proportion between the ingredients of the body.  Any course
-which disturbs this balance is injurious to health and strength.
-You damage your health if you take too much food or exercise,
-and also if you take too little.  The same thing is true of
-health in the soul.  Our soul's health may be injured by
-allowing too much or too little play to any of our natural
-impulses or feelings.  We may lay it down, then, that the kind
-of training which gives rise to a good habit is training in the
-avoidance of the opposite errors of the too much and the too
-little.  And since the effect of training is to produce habits
-which issue in the spontaneous performance of the same kind
-of acts by which the habits were acquired, we may say not
-merely that goodness of character is produced by acts which
-exhibit a proper balance or mean, but that it is a settled habit
-of acting so as to exhibit the same balance or proportion.
-Hence the formal definition of goodness of character is that it
-is "a settled condition of the soul which wills or chooses the
-mean relatively to ourselves, this mean being determined by a
-rule or whatever we like to call that by which the wise man
-determines it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There are several points in this definition of the mean upon
-which moral virtue depends of which we must take note unless
-we are to misunderstand Aristotle seriously.  To begin with,
-the definition expressly says that "moral goodness is a state
-of will or choice."  Thus it is not enough that one should
-follow the rule of the mean outwardly in one's actions; one's
-personal will must be regulated by it.  Goodness of character
-is inward; it is not merely outward.  Next we must not
-suppose that Aristotle means that the "just enough" is the same
-for all our feelings, that every impulse has a moral right to
-the same authority in shaping our conduct as any other.  How
-much or how little is the just enough in connection with a
-given spring of action is one of the things which the wise man's
-rule has to determine, just as the wise physician's rule may
-determine that a very little quantity is the just enough in the
-case of some articles of diet or curative drugs, while in the case
-of others the just enough may be a considerable amount.  Also
-the right mean is not the same for every one.  What we have
-to attain is the mean relatively to </span><em class="italics">ourselves</em><span>, and this will be
-different for persons of different constitutions and in different
-conditions.  It is this relativity of the just enough to the
-individual's personality and circumstances which makes it
-impossible to lay down precise rules of conduct applicable alike
-to everybody, and renders the practical attainment of goodness
-so hard.  It is my duty to spend some part of my income in
-buying books on philosophy, but no general rule will tell me
-what percentage of my income is the right amount for me to
-spend in this way.  That depends on a host of considerations,
-such as the excess of my income above my necessary expenses
-and the like.  Or again, the just enough may vary with the
-same man according to the circumstances of the particular case.
-No rule of thumb application of a formula will decide such
-problems.  Hence Aristotle insists that the right mean in the
-individual case has always to be determined by immediate
-insight.  This is precisely why goodness of intellect needs to be
-added to goodness of character.  His meaning is well brought
-out by an illustration which I borrow from Professor Burnet.
-"On a given occasion there will be a temperature which is
-just right for my morning bath.  If the bath is hotter than
-this, it will be too hot; if it is colder, it will be too cold.  But
-as this just right temperature varies with the condition of my
-body, it cannot be ascertained by simply using a thermometer.
-If I am in good general health I shall, however, know by the
-feel of the water when the temperature is right.  So if I am in
-good moral health I shall know, without appealing to a formal
-code of maxims, what is the right degree, </span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> of indignation to
-show in a given case, how it should be shown and towards
-whom."  Thus we see why Aristotle demands goodness of
-character as a preliminary condition of goodness of intellect or
-judgment in moral matters.  Finally, if we ask by </span><em class="italics">what</em><span> rule
-the mean is determined, the answer will be that the rule is the
-judgment of the legislator who determines what is the right
-mean by his knowledge of the conditions on which the
-well-being of the community depends.  He then embodies his
-insight in the laws which he makes and the regulations he
-imposes on the educators of youth.  The final aim of education
-in goodness is to make our immediate judgment as to what is
-right coincide with the spirit of a wise legislation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The introduction of the reference to will or choice into the
-definition of goodness of character leads Aristotle to consider
-the relation of will to conduct.  His main object is to escape
-the paradoxical doctrine which superficial students might
-derive from the works of Plato, that wrong-doing is always
-well-meaning ignorance.  Aristotle's point is that it is the
-condition of will revealed by men's acts which is the real
-object of our approval or blame.  This is because in voluntary
-action the man himself is the efficient cause of his act.  Hence
-the law recognises only two grounds on which a man may
-plead, that he is not answerable for what he does.  (1) Actual
-physical compulsion by </span><em class="italics">force majeure</em><span>.  (2) Ignorance, not due
-to the man's own previous negligence, of some circumstances
-material to the issue.  When either of these pleas can be
-made with truth the man does not really contribute by his
-choice to the resulting act, and therefore is not really its cause.
-But a plea of ignorance of the general laws of morality does
-not excuse.  I cannot escape responsibility for a murder by
-pleading that I did not know that murder is wrong.  Such a
-plea does not exempt me from having been the cause of the
-murder; it only shows that my moral principles are depraved.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>More precisely will is a process which has both an intellectual
-and an appetitive element.  The appetitive element is
-our wish for some result.  The intellectual factor is the
-calculation of the steps by which that result may be obtained.
-When we wish for the result we begin to consider how it
-might be brought about, and we continue our analysis until
-we find that the chain of conditions requisite may be started
-by the performance of some act now in our power to do.  Will
-may thus be defined as the deliberate appetition of something
-within our power, and the very definition shows that our
-choice is an efficient cause of the acts we choose to do.  This
-is why we rightly regard men as responsible or answerable for
-their acts of choice, good and bad alike.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From the analysis of goodness of character, we proceed to
-that of goodness of intellect.  The important point is to
-decide which of all the forms of goodness of intellect is that
-which must be combined with goodness of character to make a
-man fit to be a citizen of the state.  It must be a kind of
-intellectual excellence which makes a man see what the right
-rule by which the mean is determined is.  Now when we come
-to consider the different excellences of intellect we find that
-they all fall under one of two heads, theoretical or speculative
-wisdom and practical wisdom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Theoretical wisdom is contained in the sciences which give
-us universal truths about the fixed and unalterable relations
-of the things in the universe, or, as we should say, which teach
-us the laws of Nature.  Its method is syllogism, the function
-of which is to make us see how the more complex truths are
-implied in simpler principles.  Practical wisdom is intelligence
-as employed in controlling and directing human life to the
-production of the happy life for a community, and it is this
-form of intellectual excellence which we require of the
-statesman.  It is required of him not only that he should know in
-general what things are good for man, but also that he should
-be able to judge correctly that in given circumstances such and
-such an act is the one which will secure the good.  He must
-not only know the right rule itself, which corresponds to the
-major premiss of syllogism in theoretical science, but he must
-understand the character of particular acts so as to see that
-they fall under the right rule.  Thus the method of practical
-wisdom will be analogous to that of theoretical wisdom.  In
-both cases what we have to do is to see that certain special
-facts are cases of a general law or rule.  Hence Aristotle calls
-the method of practical wisdom the practical syllogism or
-syllogism of action, since its peculiarity is that what issues
-from the putting together of the premisses is not an assertion
-but the performance of an act.  In the syllogism of action, the
-conclusion, that is to say, the performance of a given act, just
-as in the syllogism of theory, is connected with the rule given
-in the major premiss by a statement of fact; thus </span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> the
-performance of a specific act such as the writing of this book
-is connected with the general rule what helps to spread
-knowledge ought to be done by the conviction that the writing
-of this book helps to spread knowledge.  Our perception of
-such a fact is like a sense-perception in its directness and
-immediacy.  We see therefore that the kind of intellectual
-excellence which the statesman must possess embraces at once
-a right conception of the general character of the life which is
-best for man, because it calls into play his specific capacities
-as a human being, and also a sound judgment in virtue of which
-he sees correctly that particular acts are expressions of this
-good for man.  This, then, is what we mean by practical
-wisdom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So far, then, it would seem that the best life for man is just
-the life of co-operation in the life of the state, which man,
-being the only political animal or animal capable of life in a
-state, has as his peculiar work, and as if the end of all moral
-education should be to make us good and efficient citizens.
-But in the </span><em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>, as elsewhere, the end of Aristotle's
-argument has a way of forgetting the beginning.  We find that
-there is after all a still higher life open to man than that of
-public affairs.  Affairs and business of all kinds are only
-undertaken as means to getting leisure, just as civilised men
-go to war, not for the love of war itself, but to secure peace.
-The highest aim of life, then, is not the carrying on of political
-business for its own sake, but the worthy and noble employment
-of leisure, the periods in which we are our own masters.
-It has the advantage that it depends more purely on ourselves
-and our own internal resources than any other life of which
-we know, for it needs very little equipment with external goods
-as compared with any form of the life of action.  It calls into
-play the very highest of our own capacities as intelligent
-beings, and for that very reason the active living of it is
-attended with the purest of all pleasures.  In it, moreover, we
-enter at intervals and for a little while, so far as the conditions
-of our mundane existence allow, into the life which God enjoys
-through an unbroken eternity.  Thus we reach the curious
-paradox that while the life of contemplation is said to be that
-of our truest self, it is also maintained that this highest and
-happiest life is one which we live, not in respect of being
-human, but in respect of having a divine something in us.
-When we ask what this life of contemplation includes, we see
-from references in the </span><em class="italics">Politics</em><span> that it includes the genuinely
-æsthetic appreciation of good literature and music and pictorial
-and plastic art, but there can be no doubt that what bulks
-most largely in Aristotle's mind is the active pursuit of science
-for its own sake, particularly of such studies as First Philosophy
-and Physics, which deal with the fundamental structure of
-the universe.  Aristotle thus definitely ends by placing the life
-of the scholar and the student on the very summit of felicity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It is from this doctrine that mediæval Christianity derives
-its opposition between the </span><em class="italics">vita contemplativa</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">vita
-activa</em><span> and its preference for the former, though in the
-mediæval mind the contemplative life has come to mean
-generally a kind of brooding over theological speculations and of
-absorption in mystical ecstasy very foreign to the spirit of
-Aristotle.  The types by which the contrast of the two lives is
-illustrated, Rachael and Leah, Mary and Martha, are familiar
-to all readers of Christian literature.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>+The Theory of the State+.--Man is by nature a political
-animal, a being who can only develop his capacities by sharing
-in the life of a community.  Hence Aristotle definitely rejects
-the view that the state or society is a mere creature of
-convention or agreement, an institution made by compact between
-individuals for certain special ends, not growing naturally out of
-the universal demands and aspirations of humanity.  Mankind,
-he urges, have never existed at all as isolated individuals.  Some
-rudimentary form of social organisation is to be found wherever
-men are to be found.  The actual stages in the development of
-social organisation have been three--the family, the village
-community, the city state.  In the very rudest forms of social
-life known to us, the patriarchal family, not the individual, is
-the social unit.  Men lived at first in separate families under
-the control of the head of the family.  Now a family is made
-up in its simplest form of at least three persons, a man, his wife,
-and a servant or slave to do the hard work, though very poor
-men often have to replace the servant by an ox as the drudge
-of all work.  Children when they come swell the number, and
-thus we see the beginnings of complex social relations of
-subordination in the family itself.  It involves three such distinct
-relations, that of husband and wife, that of parent and child,
-that of master and man.  The family passes into the village
-community, partly by the tendency of several families of
-common descent to remain together under the direction of the
-oldest male member of the group, partly by the association of a
-number of distinct families for purposes of mutual help and
-protection against common dangers.  Neither of these forms of
-association, however, makes adequate provision for the most
-permanent needs of human nature.  Complete security for a
-permanent supply of material necessaries and adequate
-protection only come when a number of such scattered communities
-pool their resources, and surround themselves with a city wall.
-The city state, which has come into being in this way, proves
-adequate to provide from its own internal resources for all the
-spiritual as well as the material needs of its members.  Hence
-the independent city state does not grow as civilisation advances
-into any higher form of organisation, as the family and village
-grew into it.  It is the end, the last word of social progress.
-It is amazing to us that this piece of cheap conservatism should
-have been uttered at the very time when the system of
-independent city states had visibly broken down, and a former
-pupil of Aristotle himself was founding a gigantic empire to
-take their place as the vehicle of civilisation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The end for which the state exists is not merely its own
-self-perpetuation.  As we have seen, Aristotle assigns a higher
-value to the life of the student than to the life of practical
-affairs.  Since it is only in the civilised state that the student
-can pursue his vocation, the ultimate reason for which the state
-exists is to educate its citizens in such a way as shall fit them
-to make the noble use of leisure.  In the end the state itself is
-a means to the spiritual cultivation of its individual members.
-This implies that the chosen few, who have a vocation to make
-full use of the opportunities provided for leading this life of noble
-leisure, are the real end for the sake of which society exists.
-The other citizens who have no qualification for any life higher
-than that of business and affairs are making the most of
-themselves in devoting their lives to the conduct and maintenance
-of the organisation whose full advantages they are unequal to
-share in.  It is from this point of view also that Aristotle treats
-the social problem of the existence of a class whose whole life
-is spent in doing the hard work of society, and thus setting the
-citizen body free to make the best use it can of leisure.  In the
-conditions of life in the Greek world this class consisted mainly
-of slaves, and thus the problem Aristotle has to face is the
-moral justifiability of slavery.  We must remember that he
-knew slavery only in its comparatively humane Hellenic form.
-The slaves of whom he speaks were household servants and
-assistants in small businesses.  He had not before his eyes the
-system of enormous industries carried on by huge gangs of
-slaves under conditions of revolting degradation which disgraced
-the later Roman Republic and the early Roman Empire, or the
-Southern States of North America.  His problems are in all
-essentials much the same as those which concern us to-day in
-connection with the social position of the classes who do the
-hard bodily work of the community.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Much consideration is given in the </span><em class="italics">Politics</em><span> to the classification
-of the different types of constitution possible for the
-city-state.  The current view was that there are three main types
-distinguished by the number of persons who form the sovereign
-political authority, monarchy, in which sovereign power belongs
-to a single person; oligarchy, in which it is in the hands of a
-select few; democracy, in which it is enjoyed by the whole body
-of the citizens.  Aristotle observes, correctly, that the really
-fundamental distinction between a Greek oligarchy and a
-Greek democracy was that the former was government by the
-propertied classes, the latter government by the masses.  Hence
-the watchword of democracy was always that all political
-rights should belong equally to all citizens, that of oligarchy
-that a man's political status should be graded according to his
-"stake in the country."  Both ideals are, according to him,
-equally mistaken, since the real end of government, which both
-overlook, is the promotion of the "good life."  In a state
-which recognises this ideal, an aristocracy or government by
-the best, only the "best" men will possess the full rights of
-citizenship, whether they are many or few.  There might even
-be a monarch at the head of such a state, if it happened to
-contain some one man of outstanding intellectual and moral
-worth.  Such a state should be the very opposite of a great
-imperial power.  It should, that its cultivation may be the
-more intensive, be as small as is compatible with complete
-independence of outside communities for its material and
-spiritual sustenance, and its territory should only be large
-enough to provide its members with the permanent possibility
-of ample leisure, so long as they are content with plain and
-frugal living.  Though it ought not, for military and other
-reasons, to be cut off from communication with the sea, the
-great military and commercial high road of the Greek world, it
-ought not to be near enough to the coast to run any risk of
-imperilling its moral cultivation by becoming a great emporium,
-like the Athens of Pericles.  In the organisation of the society
-care should be taken to exclude the agricultural and industrial
-population from full citizenship, which carries with it the
-right to appoint and to be appointed as administrative
-magistrates.  This is because these classes, having no opportunity
-for the worthy employment of leisure, cannot be trusted to
-administer the state for the high ends which it is its true
-function to further.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus Aristotle's political ideal is that of a small but leisured
-and highly cultivated aristocracy, without large fortunes or any
-remarkable differences in material wealth, free from the spirit
-of adventure and enterprise, pursuing the arts and sciences
-quietly while its material needs are supplied by the labour of
-a class excluded from citizenship, kindly treated but without
-prospects.  Weimar, in the days when Thackeray knew it
-as a lad, would apparently reproduce the ideal better than any
-other modern state one can think of.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The object of the </span><em class="italics">Politics</em><span> is, however, not merely to discuss
-the ideal state but to give practical advice to men who might
-be looking forward to actual political life, and would therefore
-largely have to be content with making the best of existing
-institutions.  In the absence of the ideal aristocracy, Aristotle's
-preference is for what he calls Polity or constitutional
-government, a sort of compromise between oligarchy and democracy.
-Of course a practical statesman may have to work with a
-theoretically undesirable constitution, such as an oligarchy or an
-unqualified democracy.  But it is only in an ideal constitution
-that the education which makes its subject a good man, in the
-philosopher's sense of the word, will also make him a good
-citizen.  If the constitution is bad, then the education best
-fitted to make a man loyal to it may have to be very different
-from that which you would choose to make him a good man.
-The discussion of the kind of education desirable for the best
-kind of state, in which to be a loyal citizen and to be a good
-man are the same thing, is perhaps the most permanently
-valuable part of the </span><em class="italics">Politics</em><span>.  Though Aristotle's writings on
-"practical" philosophy have been more read in modern times
-than any other part of his works, they are far from being his
-best and most thorough performances.  In no department of
-his thought is he quite so slavishly dependent on his master
-Plato as in the theory of the "good for man" and the character
-of "moral" excellence.  No Aristotelian work is quite so
-commonplace in its handling of a vast subject as the </span><em class="italics">Politics</em><span>.
-In truth his interest in these social questions is not of the
-deepest.  He is, in accordance with his view of the superiority
-of "theoretical science," entirely devoid of the spirit of the
-social reformer.  What he really cares about is "theology"
-and "physics," and the fact that the objects of the educational
-regulations of the </span><em class="italics">Politics</em><span> are all designed to encourage the
-study of these "theoretical" sciences, makes this section of the
-</span><em class="italics">Politics</em><span> still one of the most valuable expositions of the aims
-and requirements of a "liberal" education.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>All education must be under public control, and education
-must be universal and compulsory.  Public control is necessary,
-not merely to avoid educational anarchy, but because it is
-a matter of importance to the community that its future
-citizens should be trained in the way which will make them
-most loyal to the constitution and the ends it is designed to
-subserve.  Even in one of the "bad" types of state, where
-the life which the constitution tends to foster is not the
-highest, the legislator's business is to see that education is
-directed towards fostering the "spirit of the constitution."  There
-is to be an "atmosphere" which impregnates the whole
-of the teaching, and it is to be an "atmosphere" of public
-spirit.  The only advantage which Aristotle sees in private
-education is that it allows of more modification of programme
-to meet the special needs of the individual pupil than a
-rigid state education which is to be the same for all.  The
-actual regulations which Aristotle lays down are not very
-different from those of Plato.  Both philosophers hold that
-"primary" education, in the early years of life, should aim
-partly at promoting bodily health and growth by a proper
-system of physical exercises, partly at influencing character and
-giving a refined and elevated tone to the mind by the study
-of letters, art, and music.  Both agree that this should be
-followed in the later "teens" by two or three years of specially
-rigorous systematic military training combined with a taste
-of actual service in the less exhausting and less dangerous
-parts of a soldier's duty.  It is only after this, at about the
-age at which young men now take a "university" course, that
-Plato and Aristotle would have the serious scientific training
-of the intellect begun.  The </span><em class="italics">Politics</em><span> leaves the subject just at
-the point where the young men are ready to undergo their
-special military training.  Thus we do not know with certainty
-what scientific curriculum Aristotle would have recommended,
-though we may safely guess that it would have contained
-comparatively little pure mathematics, but a great deal of
-astronomy, cosmology, and biology.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With respect to the "primary" education Aristotle has a
-good deal to say.  As "forcing" is always injurious, it should
-not be begun too soon.  For the first five years a child's life
-should be given up to healthy play.  Great care must be taken
-that children are not allowed to be too much with "servants,"
-from whom they may imbibe low tastes, and that they are
-protected against any familiarity with indecency.  From five
-to seven a child may begin to make a first easy acquaintance
-with the life of the school by looking on at the lessons of its
-elders.  The real work of school education is to begin at seven
-and not before.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We next have to consider what should be the staple subjects
-of an education meant not for those who are to follow some
-particular calling, but for all the full citizens of a state.
-Aristotle's view is that some "useful" subjects must, of course,
-be taught.  Reading and writing, for instance, are useful for
-the discharge of the business of life, though their commercial
-utility is not the highest value which they have for us.  But
-care must be taken that only those "useful" studies which are
-also "liberal" should be taught; "illiberal" or "mechanical"
-subjects must not have any place in the curriculum.  A
-"liberal" education means, as the name shows, one which will
-tend to make its recipient a "free man," and not a slave in
-body and soul.  The mechanical crafts were felt by Aristotle
-to be illiberal because they leave a man no leisure to make the
-best of body and mind; practice of them sets a stamp on the
-body and narrows the mind's outlook.  In principle then, no
-study should form a subject of the universal curriculum if its
-only value is that it prepares a man for a profession followed
-as a means of making a living.  General education, all-round
-training which aims at the development of body and mind for
-its own sake, must be kept free from the intrusion of everything
-which has a merely commercial value and tends to contract
-the mental vision.  It is the same principle which we rightly
-employ ourselves when we maintain that a university education
-ought not to include specialisation on merely "technical" or
-"professional" studies.  The useful subjects which have at the
-same time a higher value as contributing to the formation of
-taste and character and serving to elevate and refine the mind
-include, besides reading and writing, which render great
-literature accessible to us, bodily culture (the true object of which
-is not merely to make the body strong and hardy, but to
-develop the moral qualities of grace and courage), music, and
-drawing.  Aristotle holds that the real reason for making
-children learn music is (1) that the artistic appreciation of
-really great music is one of the ways in which "leisure" may
-be worthily employed, and to appreciate music rightly we must
-have some personal training in musical execution; (2) that all
-art, and music in particular, has a direct influence on character.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Plato and Aristotle, though they differ on certain points of
-detail, are agreed that the influence of music on character, for
-good or bad, is enormous.  Music, they say, is the most
-imitative of all the arts.  The various rhythms, times, and scales
-imitate different tempers and emotional moods, and it is a
-fundamental law of our nature that we grow like what we take
-pleasure in seeing or having imitated or represented for us.
-Hence if we are early accustomed to take pleasure in the imitation
-of the manly, resolute, and orderly, these qualities will in
-time become part of our own nature.  This is why right
-musical education is so important that Plato declared that the
-revolutionary spirit always makes its first appearance in
-innovations on established musical form.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There is, however, one important difference between the two
-philosophers which must be noted, because it concerns Aristotle's
-chief contribution to the philosophy of fine art.  Plato
-had in the </span><em class="italics">Republic</em><span> proposed to expel florid, languishing, or
-unduly exciting forms of music not only from the schoolroom,
-but from life altogether, on the ground of their unwholesome
-tendency to foster an unstable and morbid character in those
-who enjoy them.  For the same reason he had proposed the
-entire suppression of tragic drama.  Aristotle has a theory
-which is directly aimed against this overstrained Puritanism.
-He holds that the exciting and sensational art which would be
-very bad as daily food may be very useful as an occasional
-medicine for the soul.  He would retain even the most sensational
-forms of music on account of what he calls their "purgative"
-value.  In the same spirit he asserts that the function
-of tragedy, with its sensational representations of the calamities
-of its heroes, is "by the vehicle of fear and pity to purge our
-minds of those and similar emotions."  The explanation of the
-theory is to be sought in the literal sense of the medical term
-"purgative."  According to the medical view which we have
-already found influencing his ethical doctrine, health consists
-in the maintenance of an equality between the various
-ingredients of the body.  Every now and again it happens that
-there arise superfluous accretions of some one ingredient, which
-are not carried away in the normal routine of bodily life.
-These give rise to serious derangement of function and may
-permanently injure the working of the organism, unless they
-are removed in time by a medicine which acts as a purge, and
-clears the body of a superfluous accumulation.  The same thing
-also happens in the life of the soul.  So long as we are in good
-spiritual health our various feelings and emotional moods will
-be readily discharged in action, in the course of our daily life.
-But there is always the possibility of an excessive accumulation
-of emotional "moods" for which the routine of daily life does
-not provide an adequate discharge in action.  Unless this
-tendency is checked we may contract dangerously morbid habits
-of soul.  Thus we need some medicine for the soul against this
-danger, which may be to it what a purgative is to the body.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Now it was a well-known fact, observed in connection with
-some of the more extravagant religious cults, that persons
-suffering from an excess of religious frenzy might be cured
-homoeopathically, so to say, by artificially arousing the very
-emotion in question by the use of exciting music.  Aristotle
-extends the principle by suggesting that in the artificial
-excitement aroused by violently stimulating music or in the
-transports of sympathetic apprehension and pity with which we
-follow the disasters of the stage-hero, we have a safe and ready
-means of ridding ourselves of morbid emotional strain which
-might otherwise have worked havoc with the efficient conduct
-of real life.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The great value of this defence of the occasional employment
-of sensation as a medicine for the soul is obvious.  Unhappily
-it would seem to have so dominated Aristotle's thought on the
-functions of dramatic art as to blind him to what we are
-accustomed to think the nobler functions of tragedy.  No book
-has had a more curious fate than the little manual for intending
-composers of tragedies which is all that remains to us of
-Aristotle's lectures on Poetry.  This is not the place to tell
-the story of the way in which the great classical French
-playwrights, who hopelessly misunderstood the meaning of Aristotle's
-chief special directions, but quite correctly divined that
-his lectures were meant to be an actual </span><em class="italics">Vade Mecum</em><span> for
-the dramatist, deliberately constructed their masterpieces in
-absolute submission to regulations for which they had no better
-reasons than that they had once been given magisterially by an
-ancient Greek philosopher.  But it may be worth while to
-remark that the worth of Aristotle's account of tragedy as
-art-criticism has probably been vastly overrated.  From first to
-last the standpoint he assumes, in his verdicts on the great
-tragic poets, is that of the gallery.  What he insists on all
-through, probably because he has the purgative effect of the
-play always in his mind, is a well-woven plot with plenty of
-melodramatic surprise in the incidents and a thoroughly
-sensational culmination in a sense of unrelieved catastrophe over
-which the spectator can have a good cry, and so get well
-"purged" of his superfluous emotion.  It is clear from his
-repeated allusions that the play he admired above all others
-was the </span><em class="italics">King Oedipus</em><span> of Sophocles, but it is equally clear
-that he admired it not for the profound insight into human life
-and destiny or the deep sense of the mystery of things which
-some modern critics have found in it, but because its plot is
-the best and most startling detective story ever devised, and
-its finale a triumph of melodramatic horror.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="bibliography"><span class="bold large">BIBLIOGRAPHY</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The English reader who wishes for further information about
-Aristotle and his philosophy may be referred to any or all of the
-following works:--</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>E. Zeller.--</span><em class="italics">Aristotle and the Earlier Peripatetics</em><span>.  English
-translation in 2 vols. by B. F. C. Costelloe and J. H. Muirhead.
-London.  Longmans &amp; Co.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>*E. Wallace.--</span><em class="italics">Outlines of the Philosophy of Aristotle</em><span>.  Cambridge
-University Press.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>G. Grote.--</span><em class="italics">Aristotle</em><span>.  London.  John Murray.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>*W. D. Ross.--</span><em class="italics">The Works of Aristotle translated into English</em><span>,
-vol. viii., </span><em class="italics">Metaphysics</em><span>.  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>*A. E. Taylor.--</span><em class="italics">Aristotle on his Predecessor</em><span>.  (</span><em class="italics">Metaphysics</em><span>, Bk. I.,
-translated with notes, &amp;c.) Chicago.  Open Court Publishing Co.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>G. D. Hicks.--</span><em class="italics">Aristotle de Anima</em><span> (Greek text, English translation,
-Commentary).  Cambridge University Press.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>*D. P. Chase.--</span><em class="italics">The Ethics of Aristotle</em><span>.  Walter Scott Co.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>*J. Burnet.--</span><em class="italics">Aristotle on Education</em><span>.  (English translation of </span><em class="italics">Ethics</em><span>,
-Bks. I.-III. 5, X. 6 to end; </span><em class="italics">Politics</em><span>, VIII. 17, VIII.)
-Cambridge University Press.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>*B. Jowett.--</span><em class="italics">The Politics of Aristotle</em><span>.  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>*I. Bywater.--</span><em class="italics">Aristotle on the Art of Poetry</em><span>.  (Greek Text, English
-Translation, Commentary.)  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>J. I. Beare and W. D. Ross.--</span><em class="italics">The Works of Aristotle translated into
-English</em><span>, Pt. I.  (</span><em class="italics">Parvu Naturalia</em><span>, the minor psychological
-works.)  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>J. I. Beare.--</span><em class="italics">Greek Theories of Elementary Cognition from Alemacon
-to Aristotle</em><span>.  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The works marked by an asterisk will probably be found most
-useful for the beginner.  No works in foreign languages and no
-editions not accompanied by an English translation have been
-mentioned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There is at present no satisfactory complete translation of
-Aristotle into English.  One, of which two volumes have been
-mentioned above, is in course of production at the Clarendon Press,
-Oxford, under the editorship of J. A. Smith and W. D. Ross.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON &amp; Co.
-<br />Edinburgh &amp; London</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>*      *      *      *      *      *      *      *</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">"We have nothing but the highest praise for these
-<br />little books, and no one who examines them will have
-<br />anything else."--</span><em class="italics small">Westminster Gazette</em><span class="small">, 22nd June 1912.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">THE PEOPLE'S BOOKS</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold">THE FIRST NINETY VOLUMES</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span>The volumes issued are marked with an asterisk</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">SCIENCE</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span>1. The Foundations of Science . . . By W. C. D. Whetham, M.A., F.R.S.
-<br />2. Embryology--The Beginnings of Life . . . By Prof. Gerald Leighton, M.D.
-<br />3. Biology . . . By Prof. W. D. Henderson, M.A.
-<br />4. Zoology: The Study of Animal Life . . . By Prof. E. W. MacBride, M.A., F.R.S.
-<br />5. Botany; The Modern Study of Plants . . . By M. C. Stopes, D.Sc., Ph.D., F.L.S.
-<br />7. The Structure of the Earth . . . By Prof. T. G. Bonney, F.R.S.
-<br />8. Evolution . . . By E. S. Goodrich, M.A., F.R.S.
-<br />10. Heredity . . . By J. A. S. Watson, B.Sc.
-<br />11. Inorganic Chemistry . . . By Prof. E. C. C. Baly, F.R.S.
-<br />12. Organic Chemistry . . . By Prof. J. B. Cohen, B.Sc., F.R.S.
-<br />13. The Principles of Electricity . . . By Norman K. Campbell, M.A.
-<br />14. Radiation . . . By P. Phillips, D.Sc.
-<br />15. The Science of the Stars . . . By E. W. Maunder, F.R.A.S.
-<br />16. The Science of Light . . . By P. Phillips, D.Sc.
-<br />17. Weather Science . . . By R. G. K. Lempfert, M.A.
-<br />18. Hypnotism and Self-Education . . . By A. M. Hutchison, M.D.
-<br />19. The Baby: A Mother's Book . . . By a University Woman.
-<br />20. Youth and Sex--Dangers and Safeguards for Boys and Girls . . . By Mary Scharlieb, M.D., M.S., and F. Arthur Sibly, M.A., LL.D.
-<br />21. Marriage and Motherhood . . . By H. S. Davidson, M.B., F.R.C.S.E.
-<br />22. Lord Kelvin . . . By A. Russell, M.A., D.Sc., M.I.E.E.
-<br />23. Huxley . . . By Professor G. Leighton, M.D.
-<br />24. Sir William Huggins and Spectroscopic Astronomy . . . By E. W. Maunder, F.R.A.S., of the Royal Observatory, Greenwich.
-<br />62. Practical Astronomy . . . By H. Macpherson, Jr., F.R.A.S.
-<br />63. Aviation . . . By Sydney F. Walker, R.N.
-<br />64. Navigation . . . By William Hall, R.N., B.A.
-<br />65. Pond Life . . . By E. C. Ash, M.R.A.C.
-<br />66. Dietetics . . . By Alex. Bryce, M.D., D.P.H.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span>25. The Meaning of Philosophy . . . By Prof. A. E. Taylor, M.A., F.B.A.
-<br />26. Henri Bergson . . . By H. Wildon Carr, Litt.D.
-<br />27. Psychology . . . By H. J. Watt, M.A., Ph.D., D.Phil.
-<br />28. Ethics . . . By Canon Rashdall, D.Litt., F.B.A.
-<br />29. Kant's Philosophy . . . By A. D. Lindsay, M.A.
-<br />30. The Teaching of Plato . . . By A. D. Lindsay, M.A.
-<br />67. Aristotle . . . By Prof. A. E. Taylor, M.A., F.B.A.
-<br />68. Friedrich Nietzsche . . . By M. A. Mügge.
-<br />69. Eucken: A Philosophy of Life . . . By A. J. Jones, M.A., B.Sc., Ph.D.
-<br />70. The Experimental Psychology of Beauty . . . By C. W. Valentine, B.A., D.Phil.
-<br />71. The Problem of Truth . . . By H. Wildon Carr, Litt.D.
-<br />31. Buddhism . . . By Prof. T. W. Rhys Davids, M.A., F.B.A.
-<br />32. Roman Catholicism . . . By H. B. Coxon.  Preface, Mgr. R. H. Benson.
-<br />33. The Oxford Movement . . . By Wilfrid Ward.
-<br />34. The Bible and Criticism . . . By W. H. Bennett, D.D., Litt.P., and W. F. Adeney, D.D.
-<br />35. Cardinal Newman . . . By Wilfrid Meynell.
-<br />72. The Church of England . . . By Rev. Canon Masterman.
-<br />73. Anglo-Catholicism . . . By A. E. Manning Foster.
-<br />74. The Free Churches . . . By Rev. Edward Shillito, M.A.
-<br />75. Judaism . . . By Ephraim Levine, M.A.
-<br />76. Theosophy . . . By Annie Besant.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">HISTORY</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span>36. The Growth of Freedom . . . By H. W. Nevinson.
-<br />37. Bismarck and the Origin of the German Empire . . . By Professor F. M. Powicke.
-<br />38. Oliver Cromwell . . . By Hilda Johnstone, M.A.
-<br />39. Mary Queen of Scots . . . By E. O'Neill, M.A.
-<br />40. Cecil John Rhodes, 1853-1902 . . . By Ian D. Colvin.
-<br />41. Julius Cæsar . . . By Hilary Hardinge.
-<br />42. England in the Making . . . By Prof. F. J. C. Hearnshaw, M.A., LL.D.
-<br />43. England in the Middle Ages . . . By E. O'Neill, M.A.
-<br />44. The Monarchy and the People . . . By W. T. Waugh, M.A.
-<br />45. The Industrial Revolution . . . By Arthur Jones, M.A.
-<br />46. Empire and Democracy . . . By G. S. Veitch, M.A., Litt.D.
-<br />61. Home Rule . . . By L. G. Redmond Howard.  Preface by Robert Harcourt, M.P.
-<br />77. Nelson . . . By H. W. Wilson.
-<br />78. Wellington and Waterloo . . . By Major G. W. Redway.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">SOCIAL AND ECONOMIC</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span>47. Women's Suffrage . . . By M. G. Fawcett, LL.D.
-<br />48. The Working of the British System of Government to-day . . . By Prof. Ramsay Muir, M.A.
-<br />49. An Introduction to Economic Science . . . By Prof H. O. Meredith. M.A.
-<br />50. Socialism . . . By B. B. Kirkman, B.A.
-<br />79. Mediæval Socialism . . . By Bede Jarrett, O.P., M.A.
-<br />80. Syndicalism . . . By J. H. Harley, M.A.
-<br />81. Labour and Wages . . . By H. M. Hallsworth, M.A., B.Sc.
-<br />82. Co-operation . . . By Joseph Clayton.
-<br />83. Insurance as a Means of Investment . . . By W. A. Robertson, F.F.A.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">LETTERS</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span>51. Shakespeare . . . By Prof. C. H. Herford, Litt.D.
-<br />52. Wordsworth . . . By Rosaline Masson.
-<br />53. Pure Gold--A Choice of Lyrics and Sonnets . . . by H. C. O'Neill
-<br />54. Francis Bacon . . . By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A.
-<br />55. The Brontës . . . By Flora Masson.
-<br />56. Carlyle . . . By L. MacLean Watt.
-<br />57. Dante . . . By A. G. Ferrers Howell.
-<br />58. Ruskin . . . By A. Blyth Webster, M.A.
-<br />59. Common Faults in Writing English . . . By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A.
-<br />60. A Dictionary of Synonyms . . . By Austin K. Gray, B.A.
-<br />84. History of English Literature . . . By A. Compton-Rickett.
-<br />85. A History of English Literature . . . By A. Compton-Rickett, LL.D.
-<br />86. Browning . . . By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A.
-<br />87. Charles Lamb . . . By Flora Masson.
-<br />88. Goethe . . . By Prof. C. H. Herford, Litt.D.
-<br />90. Rousseau . . . By F. B. Kirkman, B.A.
-<br />91. Ibsen . . . By Hilary Hardinge.</span></p>
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-.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

-

-.. meta::

-   :PG.Id: 48002

-   :PG.Title: Aristotle

-   :PG.Released: 2015-01-16

-   :PG.Rights: Public Domain

-   :PG.Producer: Al Haines

-   :DC.Creator: \A. \E. Taylor

-   :DC.Title: Aristotle

-   :DC.Language: en

-   :DC.Created: 1912

-   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

-

-=========

-ARISTOTLE

-=========

-

-.. clearpage::

-

-.. pgheader::

-

-.. container:: frontispiece

-

-   .. vspace:: 4

-

-   .. figure:: images/img-front.jpg

-      :figclass: white-space-pre-line

-      :align: center

-      :alt: Aristotle

-

-      Aristotle

-

-   .. vspace:: 4

-

-.. container:: titlepage center white-space-pre-line

-

-   .. class:: xx-large bold

-

-      ARISTOTLE

-

-   .. vspace:: 2

-

-   .. class:: medium

-

-      BY \A. \E. TAYLOR, M.A., D.LITT., F.B.A.

-

-   .. vspace:: 3

-

-   .. class:: medium

-

-      LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK

-      67 LONG ACRE, W.C., AND EDINBURGH

-      NEW YORK: DODGE PUBLISHING CO.

-

-   .. vspace:: 4

-

-.. class:: center large bold

-

-   CONTENTS

-

-.. class:: noindent small

-

-   CHAP.

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\I. `LIFE AND WORKS`_

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\II. `THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES: SCIENTIFIC METHOD`_

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\III. `FIRST PHILOSOPHY`_

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\IV. `PHYSICS`_

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\V. `PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY`_

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-`BIBLIOGRAPHY`_

-

-.. vspace:: 4

-

-.. _`LIFE AND WORKS`:

-

-.. class:: center x-large bold

-

-   ARISTOTLE

-

-.. vspace:: 3

-

-.. class:: center large bold

-

-   CHAPTER I

-

-.. class:: center medium bold

-

-   LIFE AND WORKS

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-It has not commonly been the lot of philosophers, as it is of

-great poets, that their names should become household words.

-We should hardly call an Englishman well read if he had not

-heard the name of Sophocles or Molière.  An educated man is

-expected to know at least who these great writers were, and

-to understand an allusion to the *Antigone* or *Le Misanthrope*.

-But we call a man well read if his mind is stored with the

-verse of poets and the prose of historians, even though he were

-ignorant of the name of Descartes or Kant.  Yet there are a

-few philosophers whose influence on thought and language has

-been so extensive that no one who reads can be ignorant of

-their names, and that every man who speaks the language

-of educated Europeans is constantly using their vocabulary.

-Among this few Aristotle holds not the lowest place.  We have

-all heard of him, as we have all heard of Homer.  He has left

-his impress so firmly on theology that many of the formulae of the

-Churches are unintelligible without acquaintance with his

-conception of the universe.  If we are interested in the growth of

-modern science we shall readily discover for ourselves that some

-knowledge of Aristotelianism is necessary for the understanding

-of Bacon and Galileo and the other great anti-Aristotelians who

-created the "modern scientific" view of Nature.  If we turn to

-the imaginative literature of the modern languages, Dante is a

-sealed book, and many a passage of Chaucer and Shakespeare

-and Milton is half unmeaning to us unless we are at home

-in the outlines of Aristotle's philosophy.  And if we turn to

-ordinary language, we find that many of the familiar turns of

-modern speech cannot be fully understood without a knowledge

-of the doctrines they were first forged to express.  An Englishman

-who speaks of the "golden mean" or of "liberal education,"

-or contrasts the "matter" of a work of literature with its

-"form," or the "essential" features of a situation or a scheme

-of policy with its "accidents," or "theory" with "practice,"

-is using words which derive their significance from the part

-they play in the vocabulary of Aristotle.  The unambitious

-object of this little book is, then, to help the English reader to

-a better understanding of such familiar language and a fuller

-comprehension of much that he will find in Dante and

-Shakespeare and Bacon.

-

-**Life of Aristotle.**--The main facts of Aristotle's life may be

-briefly told.  He was born in 385-4 B.C. at Stagirus, a little

-city of the Chalcidic peninsula, still called, almost by its

-ancient name, Chalcis, and died at the age of sixty-two at

-Chalcis in Euboea.  Thus he is a contemporary of Demosthenes,

-his manhood witnessed the struggle which ended in the

-establishment of the Macedonian monarchy as the dominant power

-in Hellas, and his later years the campaigns in which his pupil

-Alexander the Great overthrew the Persian Empire and carried

-Greek civilisation to the banks of the Jumna.  In studying

-the constitutional theories of Aristotle, it is necessary to bear

-these facts in mind.  They help to explain certain limitations

-of outlook which might otherwise appear strange in so great a

-man.  It throws a great deal of light on the philosopher's

-intense conviction of the natural inferiority of the "barbarian"

-intellect and character to remember that he grew up in an

-outlying region where the "barbarian" was seen to disadvantage

-in the ordinary course of life.  Hence the distinction between

-Greek and "barbarian" came to mean for him much what the

-"colour-line" does to an American brought up in a Southern

-State.  So, again, when we are struck by his "provincialism,"

-his apparent satisfaction with the ideal of a small self-contained

-city-state with a decently oligarchical government, a good

-system of public education, and no "social problems," but

-devoid alike of great traditions and far-reaching ambitions, we

-must remember that the philosopher himself belonged to just

-such a tiny community without a past and without a future.

-The Chalcidic cities had been first founded, as the name of the

-peninsula implies, as colonies from the town of Chalcis in

-Euboea; Corinth had also been prominent in establishing

-settlements in the same region.  At the height of Athenian

-Imperial prosperity in the age of Pericles the district had fallen

-politically under Athenian control, but had been detached again

-from Athens, in the last years of the Archidamian war, by the

-genius of the great Spartan soldier and diplomat Brasidas.

-Early in the fourth century the Chalcidic cities had attempted

-to form themselves into an independent federation, but the

-movement had been put down by Sparta, and the cities had

-fallen under the control of the rising Macedonian monarchy,

-when Aristotle was a baby.  A generation later, a double

-intrigue of the cities with Philip of Macedon and Athens failed

-of its effect, and the peninsula was finally incorporated with

-the Macedonian kingdom.  It is also important to note that

-the philosopher belonged by birth to a guild, the Asclepiadae,

-in which the medical profession was hereditary.  His father

-Nicomachus was court physician to Amyntas II., the king for

-whose benefit the Spartans had put down the Chalcidic league.

-This early connection with medicine and with the Macedonian

-court explains largely both the predominantly biological cast of

-Aristotle's philosophical thought and the intense dislike of

-"princes" and courts to which he more than once gives

-expression.  At the age of eighteen, in 367-6, Aristotle was sent to

-Athens for "higher" education in philosophy and science, and

-entered the famous Platonic Academy, where he remained as a

-member of the scientific group gathered round the master for

-twenty years, until Plato's death in 347-6.  For the three

-years immediately following Aristotle was in Asia Minor with

-his friend and fellow-student Hermeias, who had become by

-force of sheer capacity monarch of the city of Atarneus in the

-Troad, and was maintaining himself with much energy against

-the Persian king.  Pythias, the niece of Hermeias, became the

-philosopher's wife, and it seems that the marriage was happy.

-Examination of Aristotle's contributions to marine biology has

-shown that his knowledge of the subject is specially good for

-the Aeolic coast and the shores of the adjacent islands.  This

-throws light on his occupations during his residence with

-Hermeias, and suggests that Plato had discerned the bent of

-his distinguished pupil's mind, and that his special share in

-the researches of the Academy had, like that of Speusippus,

-Plato's nephew and successor in the headship of the school, been

-largely of a biological kind.  We also know that, presumably

-shortly after Plato's death, Aristotle had been one of the group

-of disciples who edited their teacher's unpublished lectures.

-In 343 Hermeias was assassinated at the instigation of Persia;

-Aristotle honoured his memory by a hymn setting forth the

-godlikeness of virtue as illustrated by the life of his friend.

-Aristotle now removed to the Macedonian court, where he

-received the position of tutor to the Crown Prince, afterwards

-Alexander the Great, at this time (343 B.C.) a boy of thirteen.

-The association of the great philosopher and the great king as

-tutor and pupil has naturally struck the imagination of later

-ages; even in Plutarch's *Life of Alexander* we meet already

-with the full-blown legend of the influence of Aristotle's

-philosophical speculations on Alexander.  It is, however, improbable

-that Aristotle's influence counted for much in forming the

-character of Alexander.  Aristotle's dislike of monarchies and

-their accessories is written large on many a page of his *Ethics*

-and *Politics*; the small self-contained city-state with no political

-ambitions for which he reserves his admiration would have

-seemed a mere relic of antiquity to Philip and Alexander.  The

-only piece of contemporary evidence as to the relations between

-the master and the pupil is a sentence in a letter to the young

-Alexander from the Athenian publicist Isocrates who maliciously

-congratulates the prince on his preference for "rhetoric,"

-the art of efficient public speech, and his indifference to

-"logic-choppers."  How little sympathy Aristotle can have had with his

-pupil's ambitions is shown by the fact that though his political

-theories must have been worked out during the very years in

-which Alexander was revolutionising Hellenism by the foundation

-of his world-empire, they contain no allusion to so momentous

-a change in the social order.  For all that Aristotle tells

-us, Alexander might never have existed, and the small

-city-state might have been the last word of Hellenic political

-development.  Hence it is probable that the selection of Aristotle,

-who had not yet appeared before the world as an independent

-thinker, to take part in the education of the Crown Prince was

-due less to personal reputation than to the connection of his

-family with the court, taken together with his own position as

-a pupil of Plato, whose intervention in the public affairs of

-Sicily had caused the Academy to be regarded as the special

-home of scientific interest in politics and jurisprudence.  It

-may be true that Alexander found time in the midst of his

-conquests to supply his old tutor with zoological specimens;

-it is as certain as such a thing can be that the ideals and

-characters of the two men were too different to allow of any

-intimate influence of either on the other.

-

-When Alexander was suddenly called to the Macedonian

-throne by the murder of his father in 336 B.C., Aristotle's

-services were no longer needed; he returned to Athens and

-gave himself to purely scientific work.  Just at this juncture

-the presidency of the Academy was vacant by the death of

-Speusippus, Aristotle's old associate in biological research.

-Possibly Aristotle thought himself injured when the school

-passed him over and elected Xenocrates of Chalcedon as its new

-president.  At any rate, though he appears never to have

-wholly severed his connection with the Academy, in 335 he

-opened a rival institution in the Lyceum, or gymnasium attached

-to the temple of Apollo Lyceus, to which he was followed by

-some of the most distinguished members of the Academy.  From

-the fact that his instruction was given in the *peripatos* or

-covered portico of the gymnasium the school has derived its

-name of Peripatetic.  For the next twelve years he was occupied

-in the organisation of the school as an abode for the prosecution

-of speculation and research in every department of inquiry, and

-in the composition of numerous courses of lectures on scientific

-and philosophical questions.  The chief difference in general

-character between the new school and the Academy is that

-while the scientific interests of the Platonists centred in

-mathematics, the main contributions of the Lyceum to science lay in

-the departments of biology and history.

-

-Towards the end of Alexander's life his attention was

-unfavourably directed on his old teacher.  A relative of Aristotle

-named Callisthenes had attended Alexander in his campaigns as

-historiographer, and had provoked disfavour by his censure of

-the King's attempts to invest his semi-constitutional position

-towards his Hellenic subjects with the pomp of an Oriental

-despotism.  The historian's independence proved fatal.  He

-was accused of instigating an assassination plot among

-Alexander's pages, and hanged, or, as some said, thrown into a

-prison where he died before trial.  Alexander is reported to

-have held Aristotle responsible for his relative's treason, and to

-have meditated revenge.  If this is so, he was fortunately

-diverted from the commission of a crime by preoccupation with

-the invasion of India.

-

-On the death of Alexander in 323 a brief but vigorous

-anti-Macedonian agitation broke out at Athens.  Aristotle, from his

-Macedonian connections, naturally fell a victim, in spite of his

-want of sympathy with the ideals of Philip and Alexander.

-Like Socrates, he was indicted on the capital charge of "impiety,"

-the pretext being that his poem on the death of Hermeias,

-written twenty years before, was a virtual deification of his

-friend.  This was, however, only a pretext; the real offence

-was political, and lay in his connection with the Macedonian

-leader Antipater.  As condemnation was certain, the philosopher

-anticipated it by withdrawing with his disciples to Chalcis, the

-mother city of his native Stagirus.  Here he died in the

-following year, at the age of sixty-two or sixty-three.

-

-The features of Aristotle, familiar to us from busts and

-intaglios, are handsome, but indicate refinement and acuteness

-rather than originality, an impression in keeping with what we

-should expect from a study of his writings.  The anecdotes

-related of him reveal a kindly, affectionate character, and show

-little trace of the self-importance which appears in his work.

-His will, which has been preserved, exhibits the same traits in

-its references to his happy family life and its solicitous care for

-the future of his children and servants.  He was twice married,

-first to Pythias, and secondly to a certain Herpyllis, by whom

-he left a son Nicomachus and a daughter.  The "goodness" of

-Herpyllis to her husband is specially mentioned in the clauses

-of the will which make provision for her, while the warmth of

-the writer's feelings for Pythias is shown by the direction that

-her remains are to be placed in the same tomb with his own.

-The list of servants remembered and the bequests enumerated

-show the philosopher to have been in easier circumstances than

-Plato.

-

-**The Works of Aristotle**.--The so-called works of Aristotle

-present us with a curious problem.  When we turn from Plato

-to his pupil we seem to have passed into a different

-atmosphere.  The *Discourses of Socrates* exhibit a prose style

-which is perhaps the most marvellous of all literary

-achievements.  Nowhere else do we meet with quite the same

-combination of eloquence, imaginative splendour, incisive logic, and

-irresistible wit and humour.  The manner of Aristotle is dry

-and formal.  His language bristles with technicalities, makes

-little appeal to the emotions, disdains graces of style, and

-frequently defies the simplest rules of composition.  Our

-surprise is all the greater that we find later writers of antiquity,

-such as Cicero, commending Aristotle for his copious and golden

-eloquence, a characteristic which is conspicuously wanting in

-the Aristotelian writings we possess.  The explanation of the

-puzzle is, however, simple.  Plato and Aristotle were at once

-what we should call professors and men of letters; both wrote

-works for general circulation, and both delivered courses of

-lectures to special students.  But while Plato's lectures have

-perished, his books have come down to us.  Aristotle's books

-have almost wholly been lost, but we possess many of his lectures.

-The "works" of Aristotle praised by Cicero for their eloquence

-were philosophical dialogues, and formed the model for Cicero's

-own compositions in this kind.  None of them have survived,

-though some passages have been preserved in quotations by

-later writers.  That the "works" are actually the MSS. of a

-lecturer posthumously edited by his pupils seems clear from

-external as well as from internal evidence.  In one instance we

-have the advantage of a double recension.  Aristotle's *Ethics*

-or *Discourses on Conduct* have come down to us in two

-forms--the so-called *Nicomachean Ethics*, a redaction by the

-philosopher's son, Nicomachus, preserving all the characteristics

-of an oral course of lectures; and a freer and more readable recast

-by a pupil, the mathematician Eudemus, known as the *Eudemian

-Ethics*.  In recent years we have also recovered from the sands

-of Egypt what appears to be our one specimen of a "work" of

-Aristotle, intended to be read by the public at large, the essay

-on the Constitution of Athens.  The style of this essay is easy,

-flowing, and popular, and shows that Aristotle could write well

-and gracefully when he thought fit.

-

-

-

-

-

-.. vspace:: 4

-

-.. _`THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES: SCIENTIFIC METHOD`:

-

-.. class:: center large bold

-

-   CHAPTER II

-

-

-.. class:: center medium bold

-

-   THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES: SCIENTIFIC METHOD

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-Philosophy, as understood by Aristotle, may be said to be

-the organised whole of disinterested knowledge, that is,

-knowledge which we seek for the satisfaction which it carries with

-itself, and not as a mere means to utilitarian ends.  The impulse

-which receives this satisfaction is curiosity or wonder, which

-Aristotle regards as innate in man, though it does not get full

-play until civilisation has advanced far enough to make secure

-provision for the immediate material needs of life.  Human

-curiosity was naturally directed first to the outstanding

-"marvellous works" of the physical world, the planets, the

-periodicity of their movements, the return of the seasons,

-winds, thunder and lightning, and the like.  Hence the earliest

-Greek speculation was concerned with problems of astronomy

-and meteorology.  Then, as reflection developed, men speculated

-about geometrical figure, and number, the possibility of

-having assured knowledge at all, the character of the common

-principles assumed in all branches of study or of the special

-principles assumed in some one branch, and thus philosophy

-has finally become the disinterested study of every department

-of Being or Reality.  Since Aristotle, like Hegel, thought that

-his own doctrine was, in essentials, the last word of speculation,

-the complete expression of the principles by which his

-predecessors had been unconsciously guided, he believes himself

-in a position to make a final classification of the branches of

-science, showing how they are related and how they are

-discriminated from one another.  This classification we have now

-to consider.

-

-**Classification of the Sciences**.--To begin with, we have to

-discriminate Philosophy from two rivals with which it might

-be confounded on a superficial view, Dialectic and Sophistry.

-Dialectic is the art of reasoning accurately from given premisses,

-true or false.  This art has its proper uses, and of one of these

-we shall have to speak.  But in itself it is indifferent to the

-truth of its premisses.  You may reason dialectically from

-premisses which you believe to be false, for the express purpose of

-showing the absurd conclusions to which they lead.  Or you

-may reason from premisses which you assume tentatively to see

-what conclusions you are committed to if you adopt them.  In

-either case your object is not directly to secure truth, but

-only to secure consistency.  Science or Philosophy aims directly

-at *truth*, and hence requires to start with true and certain

-premisses.  Thus the distinction between Science and Dialectic

-is that Science reasons from true premisses, Dialectic only from

-"probable" or "plausible" premisses.  Sophistry differs from

-Science in virtue of its moral character.  It is the profession

-of making a living by the abuse of reasoning, the trick of

-employing logical skill for the apparent demonstration of

-scientific or ethical falsehoods.  "The sophist is one who

-earns a living from an apparent but unreal wisdom."  (The

-emphasis thus falls on the notion of making an "unreal

-wisdom" into a *trade*.  The sophist's real concern is to get

-his fee.)  Science or Philosophy is thus the disinterested

-employment of the understanding in the discovery of truth.

-

-We may now distinguish the different branches of science as

-defined.  The first and most important division to be made is

-that between Speculative or Theoretical Science and Practical

-Science.  The broad distinction is that which we should now

-draw between the Sciences and the Arts (*i.e.* the industrial

-and technical, not the "fine" arts).  Speculative or Theoretical

-Philosophy differs from Practical Philosophy in its purpose, and,

-in consequence, in its subject-matter, and its formal logical

-character.  The purpose of the former is the disinterested

-contemplation of truths which are what they are independently

-of our own volition; its end is to *know* and only to *know*.

-The object of "practical" Science is to know, but not only to

-know but also to turn our knowledge to account in devising

-ways of successful interference with the course of events.  (The

-real importance of the distinction comes out in Aristotle's

-treatment of the problems of moral and social science.  Since we

-require knowledge of the moral and social nature of men not

-merely to satisfy an intellectual interest, but as a basis for a

-sound system of education and government, Politics, the theory

-of government, and Ethics, the theory of goodness of conduct,

-which for Aristotle is only a subordinate branch of Politics,

-belong to Practical, not to Theoretical Philosophy, a view

-which is attended by important consequences.)

-

-It follows that there is a corresponding difference in the objects

-investigated by the two branches of Philosophy.  Speculative or

-Theoretical Philosophy is concerned with "that which cannot

-possibly be other than it is," truths and relations independent

-of human volition for their subsistence, and calling simply for

-*recognition* on our part.  Practical Philosophy has to do with

-relations which human volition can modify, "things which

-may be other than they are," the contingent.  (Thus *e.g.*

-not only politics, but medicine and economics will belong to

-Practical Science.)

-

-Hence again arises a logical difference between the conclusions

-of Theoretical and those of Practical Philosophy.  Those

-of the former are universal truths deducible with logical

-necessity from self-evident[#] principles.  Those of the latter,

-because they relate to what "can be otherwise," are never

-rigidly universal; they are *general* rules which hold good "in

-the majority of cases," but are liable to occasional exceptions

-owing to the contingent character of the facts with which they

-deal.  It is a proof of a philosopher's lack of grounding in

-logic that he looks to the results of a practical science (*e.g.* to

-the detailed precepts of medicine or ethics) for a higher degree

-of certainty and validity than the nature of the subject-matter

-allows.  Thus for Aristotle the distinction between the

-necessary and the contingent is real and not merely apparent, and

-"probability is the guide" in studies which have to do with

-the direction of life.

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-.. class:: noindent small

-

-[#] Self-evident, that is, in a purely logical sense.

-When you apprehend

-the principles in question, you *see* at once

-that they are true, and do not

-require to have them *proved*.

-It is not meant that any and every man

-*does*, in point of fact, always apprehend the principles,

-or that they can

-be apprehended without preliminary mental discipline.

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-We proceed to the question how many subdivisions there

-are within "theoretical" Philosophy itself.  Plato had held

-that there are none.  All the sciences are deductions from a

-single set of ultimate principles which it is the business of

-that supreme science to which Plato had given the name of

-Dialectic to establish.  This is not Aristotle's view.  According

-to him, "theoretical" Philosophy falls into a number of

-distinct though not co-ordinate branches, each with its own

-special subjects of investigation and its own special axiomatic

-principles.  Of these branches there are three, First Philosophy,

-Mathematics, and Physics.  First Philosophy--afterwards

-to be known to the Middle Ages as Metaphysics[#]--treats, to

-use Aristotle's own expression, of "Being *quà* Being."  This

-means that it is concerned with the universal characteristics

-which belong to the system of knowable reality as such, and

-the principles of its organisation in their full universality.

-First Philosophy alone investigates the character of those

-causative factors in the system which are without body or

-shape and exempt from all mutability.  Since in Aristotle's

-system God is the supreme Cause of this kind, First Philosophy

-culminates in the knowledge of God, and is hence frequently

-called Theology.  It thus includes an element which would

-to-day be assigned to the theory of knowledge, as well as one

-which we should ascribe to metaphysics, since it deals at once

-with the ultimate postulates of knowledge and the ultimate

-causes of the order of real existence.

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-.. class:: noindent small

-

-[#] The origin of this name seems to be

-that Aristotle's lectures on First

-Philosophy came to be studied as

-a continuation of his course on Physics.

-Hence the lectures got the name

-*Metaphysica* because they came *after*

-(*meta*) those on Physics.

-Finally the name was transferred (as in the

-case of *Ethics*) from the lectures

-to the subject of which they treat.

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-Mathematics is of narrower scope.  What it studies is no

-longer "real being as such," but only real being in so far as it

-exhibits number and geometrical form.  Since Aristotle holds

-the view that number and figure only exist as determinations

-of objects given in perception (though by a convenient fiction

-the mathematician treats of them in abstraction from the

-perceived objects which they qualify), he marks the difference

-between Mathematics and First Philosophy by saying that

-"whereas the objects of First Philosophy are separate from

-matter and devoid of motion, those of Mathematics, though

-incapable of motion, have no separable existence but are

-inherent in matter."  Physics is concerned with the study of

-objects which are both material and capable of motion.  Thus

-the principle of the distinction is the presence or absence of

-initial restrictions of the range of the different branches of

-Science.  First Philosophy has the widest range, since its

-contemplation covers the whole ground of the real and knowable;

-Physics the narrowest, because it is confined to a "universe

-of discourse" restricted by the double qualification that its

-members are all material and capable of displacement.  Mathematics

-holds an intermediate position, since in it, one of these

-qualifications is removed, but the other still remains, for

-the geometer's figures are boundaries and limits of sensible

-bodies, and the arithmetician's numbers properties of collections

-of concrete objects.  It follows also that the initial axioms or

-postulates of Mathematics form a less simple system than those

-of First Philosophy, and those of Physics than those of

-Mathematics.  Mathematics requires as initial assumptions not only

-those which hold good for *all* thought, but certain other special

-axioms which are only valid and significant for the realm of

-figure and number; Physics requires yet further axioms which

-are only applicable to "what is in motion."  This is why,

-though the three disciplines are treated as distinct, they are

-not strictly co-ordinate, and "First Philosophy," though

-"first," is only *prima inter pares*.

-

-We thus get the following diagrammatic scheme of the

-classification of sciences:--

-

-::

-

-                              Science

-                                 | 

-                     +-----------+------------+

-                     |                        |  

-                Theoretical               Practical

-                     |

-                 +---+---------+-----------+

-                 |             |           |

-        First Philosophy     Mathe-     Physics

-               or            matics

-            Theology

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-Practical Philosophy is not subjected by Aristotle to any

-similar subdivision.  Later students were accustomed to recognise

-a threefold division into Ethics (the theory of individual

-conduct), Economics (the theory of the management of the

-household), Politics (the theory of the management of the

-State).  Aristotle himself does not make these distinctions.

-His general name for the theory of conduct is Politics, the

-doctrine of individual conduct being for him inseparable from

-that of the right ordering of society.  Though he composed a

-separate course of lectures on individual conduct (the *Ethics*),

-he takes care to open the course by stating that the science of

-which it treats is Politics, and offers an apology for dealing

-with the education of individual character apart from the more

-general doctrine of the organisation of society.  No special

-recognition is given in Aristotle's own classification to the

-Philosophy of Art.  Modern students of Aristotle have tried

-to fill in the omission by adding artistic creation to

-contemplation and practice as a third fundamental form of mental

-activity, and thus making a threefold division of Philosophy

-into Theoretical, Practical, and Productive.  The object of this

-is to find a place in the classification for Aristotle's famous

-*Poetics* and his work on Rhetoric, the art of effective speech

-and writing.  But the admission of the third division of

-Science has no warrant in the text of Aristotle, nor are the

-*Rhetoric* and *Poetics*, properly speaking, a contribution to

-Philosophy.  They are intended as collections of practical rules

-for the composition of a pamphlet or a tragedy, not as a critical

-examination of the canons of literary taste.  This was correctly

-seen by the dramatic theorists of the seventeenth century.  They

-exaggerated the value of Aristotle's directions and entirely

-misunderstood the meaning of some of them, but they were right

-in their view that the *Poetics* was meant to be a collection

-of rules by obeying which the craftsman might make sure

-of turning out a successful play.  So far as Aristotle has a

-Philosophy of Fine Art at all, it forms part of his more general

-theory of education and must be looked for in the general

-discussion of the aims of education contained in his *Politics*.

-

-**The Methods of Science**.--No place has been assigned in

-the scheme to what we call logic and Aristotle called *Analytics*,

-the theory of scientific method, or of proof and the estimation

-of evidence.  The reason is that since the fundamental character

-of proof is the same in all science, Aristotle looks upon

-logic as a study of the methods common to all science.  At a

-later date it became a hotly debated question whether logic

-should be regarded in this way as a study of the methods

-instrumental to proof in all sciences, or as itself a special

-constituent division of philosophy.  The Aristotelian view was

-concisely indicated by the name which became attached to the

-collection of Aristotle's logical works.  They were called the

-*Organon*, that is, the "instrument," or the body of rules of

-method employed by Science.  The thought implied is thus

-that logic furnishes the *tools* with which every science has to

-work in establishing its results.  Our space will only permit of

-a brief statement as to the points in which the Aristotelian

-formal logic appears to be really original, and the main

-peculiarities of Aristotle's theory of knowledge.

-

-(a) **Formal Logic**.--In compass the Aristotelian logic corresponds

-roughly with the contents of modern elementary treatises

-on the same subject, with the omission of the sections which

-deal with the so-called Conditional Syllogism.  The inclusion

-of arguments of this type in mediæval and modern expositions

-of formal logic is principally due to the Stoics, who preferred to

-throw their reasoning into these forms and subjected them to

-minute scrutiny.  In his treatment of the doctrine of Terms,

-Aristotle avoids the mistake of treating the isolated name as

-though it had significance apart from the enunciations in which

-it occurs.  He is quite clear on the all-important point that

-the unit of thought is the proposition in which something is

-affirmed or denied, the one thought-form which can be properly

-called "true" or "false."  Such an assertion he analyses into

-two factors, that about which something is affirmed or denied (the

-Subject), and that which is affirmed or denied of it (the Predicate).

-Consequently his doctrine of the classification of Terms is

-based on a classification of Predicates, or of Propositions

-according to the special kind of connection between the Subject and

-Predicate which they affirm or deny.  Two such classifications,

-which cannot be made to fit into one another, meet us in Aristotle's

-logical writings, the scheme of the ten "Categories," and

-that which was afterwards known in the Middle Ages as the list

-of "Predicaments" or "Heads of Predicates," or again as the

-"Five Words."  The list of "Categories" reveals itself as an

-attempt to answer the question in how many different senses the

-words "is a" or "are" are employed when we assert that "*x* is

-*y*" or "*x* is a *y*" or "*x*\s are *y*\s."  Such a statement may tell us

-(1) what *x* is, as if I say "*x* is a lion"; the predicate is then

-said to fall under the category of Substance; (2) what *x* is

-like, as when I say "*x* is white, or *x* is wise,"--the category

-of Quality; (3) how much or how many *x* is, as when I say

-"*x* is tall" or "*x* is five feet long,"--the category of Quantity;

-(4) how *x* is related to something else, as when I say "*x* is to

-the right of *y*," "*x* is the father of *y*,"--the category of

-Relation.  These are the four chief "categories" discussed by

-Aristotle.  The remainder are (5) Place, (6) Time, (7) and

-(8) Condition or State, as when I say "*x* is sitting down" or

-"*x* has his armour on,"--(the only distinction between the two

-cases seems to be that (7) denotes a more permanent state of *x*

-than (8)); (9) Action or Activity, as when I say "*x* is cutting,"

-or generally "*x* is doing something to *y*"; (10) Passivity, as

-when I say "*x* is being cut," or more generally, "so-and-so

-is being done to *x*."  No attempt is made to show that this

-list of "figures of predication" is complete, or to point out any

-principle which has been followed in its construction.  It also

-happens that much the same enumeration is incidentally made

-in one or two passages of Plato.  Hence it is not unlikely

-that the list was taken over by Aristotle as one which would be

-familiar to pupils who had read their Plato, and therefore

-convenient for practical purposes.  The fivefold classification

-does depend on a principle pointed out by Aristotle which

-guarantees its completeness, and is therefore likely to have

-been thought out by him for himself, and to be the genuine

-Aristotelian scheme.  Consider an ordinary universal affirmative

-proposition of the form "all *x*\s are *y*\s."  Now if this

-statement is true it may also be true that "all *y*\s are *x*\s," or

-it may not.  On the first supposition we have two possible

-cases, (1) the predicate may state precisely what the subject

-defined *is*; then *y* is the Definition of *x*, as when I say that "men

-are mortal animals, capable of discourse."  Here it is also true

-to say that "mortal animals capable of discourse are men,"

-and Aristotle regards the predicate "mortal animal capable of

-discourse" as expressing the inmost nature of man.  (2) The

-predicate may not express the inmost nature of the subject,

-and yet may belong only to the class denoted by the subject

-and to every member of that class.  The predicate is then

-called a Proprium or property, an exclusive attribute of the

-class in question.  Thus it was held that "all men are capable

-of laughter" and "all beings capable of laughter are men," but

-that the capacity for laughter is no part of the inmost nature

-or "real essence" of humanity.  It is therefore reckoned as a

-Proprium.

-

-Again in the case where it is true that "all *x*\s are *y*\s," but

-not true that all "*y*\s are *x*\s," *y* may be part of the definition

-of *x* or it may not.  If it is part of the definition of *x* it will

-be either (3) a genus or wider class of which *x* forms a

-subdivision, as when I say, "All men are animals," or (4) a

-difference, that is, one of the distinctive marks by which the *x*\s

-are distinguished from other sub-classes or species of the same

-genus, as when I say, "All men are capable of discourse."  Or

-finally (5) *y* may be no part of the definition of *x*, but a

-characteristic which belongs both to the *x*\s and some things

-other than *x*\s.  The predicate is then called an Accident.  We

-have now exhausted all the possible cases, and may say that

-the predicate of a universal affirmative proposition is always

-either a definition, a proprium, a genus, a difference, or an

-accident.  This classification reached the Middle Ages not in the

-precise form in which it is given by Aristotle, but with

-modifications mainly due to the Neo-Platonic philosopher Porphyry.

-In its modified form it is regarded as a classification of terms

-generally.  Definition disappears from the list, as the definition

-is regarded as a complex made up of the genus, or next highest

-class to which the class to be defined belongs, and the differences

-which mark off this particular species or sub-class.  The species

-itself which figures as the subject-term in a definition is added,

-and thus the "Five Words" of mediæval logic are enumerated

-as genus, species, difference, proprium, accident.

-

-The one point of philosophical interest about this doctrine

-appears alike in the scheme of the "Categories" in the presence

-of a category of "substance," and in the list of "Predicaments"

-in the sharp distinction drawn between "definition" and

-"proprium."  From a logical point of view it does not appear

-why *any* proprium, *any* character belonging to all the members

-of a class and to them alone, should not be taken as defining

-the class.  Why should it be assumed that there is only *one*

-predicate, viz. *man*, which precisely answers the question,

-"What is Socrates?"  Why should it not be equally correct

-to answer, "a Greek," or "a philosopher"?  The explanation

-is that Aristotle takes it for granted that not all the distinctions

-we can make between "kinds" of things are arbitrary and

-subjective.  Nature herself has made certain hard and fast

-divisions between kinds which it is the business of our thought

-to recognise and follow.  Thus according to Aristotle there is

-a real gulf, a genuine difference in kind, between the horse and

-the ass, and this is illustrated by the fact that the mule, the

-offspring of a horse and an ass, is not capable of reproduction.

-It is thus a sort of imperfect being, a kind of "monster"

-existing *contra naturam*.  Such differences as we find when

-we compare *e.g.* Egyptians with Greeks do not amount to a

-difference in "kind."  To say that Socrates is a man tells me

-what Socrates is, because the statement places Socrates in the

-real kind to which he actually belongs; to say that he is wise,

-or old, or a philosopher merely tells me some of his attributes.

-It follows from this belief in "real" or "natural" kinds that

-the problem of definition acquires an enormous importance for

-science.  We, who are accustomed to regard the whole business

-of classification as a matter of making a grouping of our

-materials such as is most pertinent to the special question we

-have in hand, tend to look upon any predicate which belongs

-universally and exclusively to the members of a group, as a

-sufficient basis for a possible definition of the group.  Hence

-we are prone to take the "nominalist" view of definition, *i.e.*

-to look upon a definition as no more than a declaration of the

-sense which we intend henceforward to put on a word or other

-symbol.  And consequently we readily admit that there may

-be as many definitions of a class as it has different propria.

-But in a philosophy like that of Aristotle, in which it is held

-that a true classification must not only be formally satisfactory,

-but must also conform to the actual lines of cleavage which

-Nature has established between kind and kind, the task of

-classificatory science becomes much more difficult.  Science

-is called on to supply not merely a definition but *the* definition

-of the classes it considers, *the* definition which faithfully reflects

-the "lines of cleavage" in Nature.  This is why the Aristotelian

-view is that a true definition should always be *per genus et

-differentias*.  It should "place" a given class by mentioning

-the wider class next above it in the objective hierarchy, and

-then enumerating the most deep-seated distinctions by which

-Nature herself marks off this class from others belonging to

-the same wider class.  Modern evolutionary thought may

-possibly bring us back to this Aristotelian standpoint.  Modern

-evolutionary science differs from Aristotelianism on one point

-of the first importance.  It regards the difference between

-kinds, not as a primary fact of Nature, but as produced by a

-long process of accumulation of slight differences.  But a

-world in which the process has progressed far enough will

-exhibit much the same character as the Nature of Aristotle.

-As the intermediate links between "species" drop out because

-they are less thoroughly adapted to maintain themselves than

-the extremes between which they form links, the world produced

-approximates more and more to a system of species between

-which there are unbridgeable chasms; evolution tends more and

-more to the final establishment of "real kinds," marked by

-the fact that there is no permanent possibility of cross-breeding

-between them.  This makes it once more possible to

-distinguish between a "nominal" definition and a "real"

-definition.  From an evolutionary point of view, a "real" definition

-would be one which specifies not merely enough characters

-to mark off the group defined from others, but selects also

-for the purpose those characters which indicate the line of

-historical development by which the group has successively

-separated itself from other groups descended from the same

-ancestors.  We shall learn yet more of the significance of this

-conception of a "real kind" as we go on to make acquaintance

-with the outlines of First Philosophy.  Over the rest of the

-formal logic of Aristotle we must be content to pass more

-rapidly.  In connection with the doctrine of Propositions,

-Aristotle lays down the familiar distinction between the four

-types of proposition according to their quantity (as universal

-or particular) and quality (as affirmative or negative), and

-treats of their contrary and contradictory opposition in a way

-which still forms the basis of the handling of the subject in

-elementary works on formal logic.  He also considers at

-great length a subject nowadays commonly excluded from the

-elementary books, the modal distinction between the Problematic

-proposition (*x* may be *y*), the Assertory (*x* is *y*), and the

-Necessary (*x* must be *y*), and the way in which all these forms

-may be contradicted.  For him, modality is a formal distinction

-like quantity or quality, because he believes that

-contingency and necessity are not merely relative to the state

-of our knowledge, but represent real and objective features of

-the order of Nature.

-

-In connection with the doctrine of Inference, it is worth

-while to give his definition of Syllogism or Inference (literally

-"computation") in his own words.  "Syllogism is a discourse

-wherein certain things (viz. the premisses) being admitted,

-something else, different from what has been admitted, follows

-of necessity because the admissions are what they are."  The

-last clause shows that Aristotle is aware that the all-important

-thing in an inference is not that the conclusion should be novel

-but that it should be proved.  We may have known the

-conclusion as a fact before; what the inference does for us is to

-connect it with the rest of our knowledge, and thus to show

-*why* it is true.  He also formulates the axiom upon which

-syllogistic inference rests, that "if A is predicated universally

-of B and B of C, A is necessarily predicated universally of

-C."  Stated in the language of class-inclusion, and adapted to

-include the case where B is denied of C this becomes the formula,

-"whatever is asserted universally, whether positively or

-negatively, of a class B is asserted in like manner of any class C

-which is wholly contained in B," the axiom *de omni et nullo*

-of mediæval logic.  The syllogism of the "first figure," to

-which this principle immediately applies, is accordingly

-regarded by Aristotle as the natural and perfect form of

-inference.  Syllogisms of the second and third figures can only

-be shown to fall under the dictum by a process of "reduction"

-or transformation into corresponding arguments in the first

-"figure," and are therefore called "imperfect" or "incomplete,"

-because they do not exhibit the conclusive force of the reasoning

-with equal clearness, and also because no universal affirmative

-conclusion can be proved in them, and the aim of science

-is always to establish such affirmatives.  The list of "moods"

-of the three figures, and the doctrine of the methods by which

-each mood of the imperfect figures can be replaced by an

-equivalent mood of the first is worked out substantially as in our

-current text-books.  The so-called "fourth" figure is not

-recognised, its moods being regarded merely as unnatural and

-distorted statements of those of the first figure.

-

-**Induction**.--Of the use of "induction" in Aristotle's

-philosophy we shall speak under the head of "Theory of

-Knowledge."  Formally it is called "the way of proceeding from

-particular facts to universals," and Aristotle insists that the

-conclusion is only proved if *all* the particulars have been

-examined.  Thus he gives as an example the following argument,

-"*x*, *y*, *z* are long-lived species of animals; *x*, *y*, *z* are the only

-species which have no gall; *ergo* all animals which have no

-gall are long-lived."  This is the "induction by simple

-enumeration" denounced by Francis Bacon on the ground that it

-may always be discredited by the production of a single

-"contrary instance," *e.g.* a single instance of an animal which has

-no gall and yet is not long-lived.  Aristotle is quite aware

-that his "induction" does not establish its conclusion unless

-all the cases have been included in the examination.  In fact,

-as his own example shows, an induction which gives certainty

-does not start with "particular facts" at all.  It is a method

-of arguing that what has been proved true of each sub-class

-of a wider class will be true of the wider class as a whole.

-The premisses are strictly universal throughout.  In general,

-Aristotle does not regard "induction" as *proof* at all.

-Historically "induction" is held by Aristotle to have been first

-made prominent in philosophy by Socrates, who constantly

-employed the method in his attempts to establish universal

-results in moral science.  Thus he gives, as a characteristic

-argument for the famous Socratic doctrine that knowledge

-is the one thing needful, the "induction," "he who understands

-the theory of navigation is the best navigator, he who

-understands the theory of chariot-driving the best driver; from

-these examples we see that universally he who understands

-the theory of a thing is the best practitioner," where it is

-evident that *all* the relevant cases have *not* been examined,

-and consequently that the reasoning does not amount to proof.

-Mill's so-called reasoning from particulars to particulars finds

-a place in Aristotle's theory under the name of "arguing from

-an example."  He gives as an illustration, "A war between

-Athens and Thebes will be a bad thing, for we see that the

-war between Thebes and Phocis was so."  He is careful to

-point out that the whole force of the argument depends on

-the *implied* assumption of a universal proposition which covers

-both cases, such as "wars between *neighbours* are bad things."

-Hence he calls such appeals to example "rhetorical" reasoning,

-because the politician is accustomed to leave his hearers to

-supply the relevant universal consideration for themselves.

-

-**Theory of Knowledge**.--Here, as everywhere in Aristotle's

-philosophy, we are confronted by an initial and insuperable

-difficulty.  Aristotle is always anxious to insist on the

-difference between his own doctrines and those of Plato, and his

-bias in this direction regularly leads him to speak as though

-he held a thorough-going naturalistic and empirical theory with

-no "transcendental moonshine" about it.  Yet his final

-conclusions on all points of importance are hardly distinguishable

-from those of Plato except by the fact that, as they are so

-much at variance with the naturalistic side of his philosophy,

-they have the appearance of being sudden lapses into an

-alogical mysticism.  We shall find the presence of this "fault"

-more pronouncedly in his metaphysics, psychology, and ethics

-than in his theory of knowledge, but it is not absent from any

-part of his philosophy.  He is everywhere a Platonist *malgré

-lui*, and it is just the Platonic element in his thought to which

-it owes its hold over men's minds.

-

-Plato's doctrine on the subject may be stated with enough

-accuracy for our purpose as follows.  There is a radical

-distinction between sense-perception and scientific knowledge.

-A scientific truth is exact and definite, it is also true once and

-for all, and never becomes truer or falser with the lapse of

-time.  This is the character of the propositions of the science

-which Plato regarded as the type of what true science ought to

-be, pure mathematics.  It is very different with the judgments

-which we try to base on our sense-perceptions of the visible

-and tangible world.  The colours, tastes, shapes of sensible

-things seem different to different percipients, and moreover they

-are constantly changing in incalculable ways.  We can never be

-certain that two lines which seem to our senses to be equal

-are really so; it may be that the inequality is merely too

-slight to be perceptible to our senses.  No figure which we

-can draw and see actually has the exact properties ascribed by

-the mathematician to a circle or a square.  Hence Plato

-concludes that if the word science be taken in its fullest sense,

-there can be no science about the world which our senses

-reveal.  We can have only an approximate knowledge, a

-knowledge which is after all, at best, probable opinion.  The

-objects of which the mathematician has certain, exact, and

-final knowledge cannot be anything which the senses reveal.

-They are objects of *thought*, and the function of visible models

-and diagrams in mathematics is not to present *examples* of

-them to us, but only to show us imperfect *approximations* to

-them and so to "remind" the soul of objects and relations

-between them which she has never cognised with the bodily

-senses.  Thus mathematical straightness is never actually

-beheld, but when we see lines of less and more approximate

-straightness we are "put in mind" of that absolute straightness

-to which sense-perception only approximates.  So in the

-moral sciences, the various "virtues" are not presented in

-their perfection by the course of daily life.  We do not meet

-with men who are perfectly brave or just, but the experience

-that one man is braver or juster than another "calls into our

-mind" the thought of the absolute standard of courage or

-justice implied in the conviction that one man comes nearer

-to it than another, and it is these absolute standards which

-are the real objects of our attention when we try to define the

-terms by which we describe the moral life.  This is the

-"epistemological" side of the famous doctrine of the "Ideas."  The

-main points are two, (1) that strict science deals throughout

-with objects and relations between objects which are of a

-purely intellectual or conceptual order, no sense-data entering

-into their constitution; (2) since the objects of science are of

-this character, it follows that the "Idea" or "concept" or

-"universal" is not arrived at by any process of "abstracting"

-from our experience of sensible things the features common to

-them all.  As the particular fact never actually exhibits the

-"universal" except approximately, the "universal" cannot be

-simply disentangled from particulars by abstraction.  As Plato

-puts it, it is "apart from" particulars, or, as we might reword

-his thought, the pure concepts of science represent "upper

-limits" to which the comparative series which we can form out

-of sensible data continually approximate but do not reach them.

-

-In his theory of knowledge Aristotle begins by brushing aside

-the Platonic view.  Science requires no such "Ideas,"

-transcending sense-experience, as Plato had spoken of; they are, in

-fact, no more than "poetic metaphors."  What is required for

-science is not that there should be a "one over and above the

-many" (that is, such pure concepts, unrealised in the world of

-actual perception, as Plato had spoken of), but only that it

-should be possible to predicate one term universally of many

-others.  This, by itself, means that the "universal" is looked

-on as a mere residue of the characteristics found in each member

-of a group, got by abstraction, *i.e.* by leaving out of view the

-characteristics which are peculiar to some of the group and

-retaining only those which are common to all.  If Aristotle had

-held consistently to this point of view, his theory of knowledge

-would have been a purely empirical one.  He would have had

-to say that, since all the objects of knowledge are particular

-facts given in sense-perception, the universal laws of science are

-a mere convenient way of describing the observed uniformities

-in the behaviour of sensible things.  But, since it is obvious

-that in pure mathematics we are not concerned with the actual

-relations between sensible data or the actual ways in which

-they behave, but with so-called "pure cases" or ideals to which

-the perceived world only approximately conforms, he would also

-have had to say that the propositions of mathematics are not

-strictly true.  In modern times consistent empiricists have said

-this, but it is not a position possible to one who had passed

-twenty years in association with the mathematicians of the

-Academy, and Aristotle's theory only begins in naturalism to

-end in Platonism.  We may condense its most striking positions

-into the following statement.  By science we mean *proved*

-knowledge.  And proved knowledge is always "mediated";

-it is the knowledge of *conclusions* from premisses.  A truth

-that is scientifically known does not stand alone.  The "proof"

-is simply the pointing out of the connection between the truth

-we call the conclusion, and other truths which we call the

-premisses of our demonstration.  Science points out the *reason

-why* of things, and this is what is meant by the Aristotelian

-principle that to have science is to know things through their

-*causes* or *reasons why*.  In an ordered digest of scientific truths,

-the proper arrangement is to begin with the simplest and most

-widely extended principles and to reason down, through successive

-inferences, to the most complex propositions, the *reason why*

-of which can only be exhibited by long chains of deductions.  This

-is the order of logical dependence, and is described by Aristotle

-as reasoning *from* what is "more knowable in its own nature,"[#]

-the simple, to what is usually "more familiar to *us*," because

-less removed from the infinite wealth of sense-perception, the

-complex.  In *discovery* we have usually to reverse the

-process and argue from "the familiar to us," highly complex

-facts, to "the more knowable in its own nature," the simpler

-principles implied in the facts.

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-.. class:: noindent small

-

-[#] This simple expression acquires a

-mysterious appearance in mediæval

-philosophy from the standing mistranslation *notiora

-naturæ*, "better known to nature."

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-It follows that Aristotle, after all, admits the disparateness

-of sense-perception and scientific knowledge.  Sense-perception

-of itself never gives us scientific truth, because it can only assure

-us that a fact is so; it cannot *explain* the fact by showing its

-connection with the rest of the system of facts, "it does not

-give the *reason* for the fact."  Knowledge of perception is

-always "immediate," and for that very reason is never scientific.

-If we stood on the moon and saw the earth, interposing between

-us and the sun, we should still not have scientific knowledge

-about the eclipse, because "we should still have to ask for the

-*reason why*."  (In fact, we should not know the reason *why*

-without a theory of light including the proposition that

-light-waves are propagated in straight lines and several others.)

-Similarly Aristotle insists that Induction does not yield scientific

-truth.  "He who makes an induction points out something,

-but does not demonstrate anything."

-

-For instance, if we know that *each* species of animal which

-is without a gall is long-lived, we may make the induction that

-*all* animals without a gall are long-lived, but in doing so we

-have got no nearer to seeing *why* or *how* the absence of a gall

-makes for longevity.  The question which we may raise in

-science may all be reduced to four heads, (1) Does this thing

-exist? (2) Does this event occur? (3) If the thing exists, precisely

-what is it? and (4) If the event occurs, *why* does it occur? and

-science has not completed its task unless it can advance from

-the solution of the first two questions to that of the latter two.

-Science is no mere catalogue of things and events, it consists

-of inquiries into the "real essences" and characteristics of things

-and the laws of connection between events.

-

-Looking at scientific reasoning, then, from the point of view

-of its formal character, we may say that all science consists in

-the search for "middle terms" of syllogisms, by which to

-connect the truth which appears as a conclusion with the less

-complex truths which appear as the premisses from which it is

-drawn.  When we ask, "does such a thing exist?" or "does

-such an event happen?" we are asking, "is there a middle term

-which can connect the thing or event in question with the rest

-of known reality?"  Since it is a rule of the syllogism that the

-middle term must be taken universally, at least once in the

-premisses, the search for middle terms may also be described as

-the search for universals, and we may speak of science as

-knowledge of the universal interconnections between facts and

-events.

-

-A science, then, may be analysed into three constituents.

-These are: (1) a determinate class of objects which form the

-subject-matter of its inquiries.  In an orderly exhibition of

-the contents of the science, these appear, as in Euclid, as the

-initial data about which the science reasons; (2) a number of

-principles, postulates, and axioms, from which our demonstrations

-must start.  Some of these will be principles employed

-in all scientific reasoning.  Others will be specific to the

-subject-matter with which a particular science is concerned;

-(3) certain characteristics of the objects under study which can

-be shown by means of our axioms and postulates to follow from

-our initial definitions, the *accidentia per se* of the objects

-defined.  It is these last which are expressed by the

-conclusions of scientific demonstration.  We are said to know

-scientifically that B is true of A when we show that this

-follows, in virtue of the principles of some science, from the

-initial definition of A.  Thus if we convinced ourselves that

-the sum of the angles of a plane triangle is equal to two right

-angles by measurement, we could not be said to have scientific

-knowledge of the proposition.  But if we show that the same

-proposition follows from the definition of a plane triangle by

-repeated applications of admitted axioms or postulates of geometry,

-our knowledge is genuinely scientific.  We now know that it

-is so, and we see *why* it is so; we see the connection of this

-truth with the simple initial truths of geometry.

-

-This leads us to the consideration of the most characteristic

-point of Aristotle's whole theory.  Science is demonstrated

-knowledge, that is, it is the knowledge that certain truths

-follow from still simpler truths.  Hence the simplest of all the

-truths of any science cannot themselves be capable of being

-known by inference.  You cannot infer that the axioms of

-geometry are true because its conclusions are true, since the

-truth of the conclusions is itself a consequence of the truth of

-the axioms.  Nor yet must you ask for demonstration of the

-axioms as consequences of still simpler premisses, because if all

-truths can be proved, they ought to be proved, and you would

-therefore require an infinity of successive demonstrations to

-prove anything whatever.  But under such conditions all

-knowledge of demonstrated truth would be impossible.  The first

-principles of any science must therefore be indemonstrable.

-They must be known, as facts of sense-perception are known,

-immediately and not mediately.  How then do we come by our

-knowledge of them?  Aristotle's answer to this question appears

-at first sight curiously contradictory.  He seems to say that

-these simplest truths are apprehended intuitively, or on

-inspection, as self-evident by Intelligence or Mind.  On the other

-hand, he also says that they are known *to us* as a result of

-induction from sense-experience.  Thus he *seems* to be either a

-Platonist or an empiricist, according as you choose to remember

-one set of his utterances or another, and this apparent

-inconsistency has led to his authority being claimed in their favour

-by thinkers of the most widely different types.  But more

-careful study will show that the seeming confusion is due to

-the fact that he tries to combine in one statement his answers

-to two quite different questions, (1) how we come to reflect

-on the axioms, (2) what evidence there is for their truth.  To

-the first question he replies, "by induction from experience,"

-and so far he might seem to be a precursor of John Stuart

-Mill.  Successive repetitions of the same sense-perceptions give

-rise to a single experience, and it is by reflection on experience

-that we become aware of the most ultimate simple and universal

-principles.  We might illustrate his point by considering

-how the thought that two and two are four may be brought

-before a child's mind.  We might first take two apples, and

-two other apples and set the child to count them.  By repeating

-the process with different apples we may teach the child

-to dissociate the result of the counting from the particular

-apples employed, and to advance to the thought, "any two

-apples and any two other apples make four apples."  Then we

-might substitute pears or cherries for the apples, so as to

-suggest the thought, "two fruits and two fruits make four

-fruits."  And by similar methods we should in the end evoke

-the thought, "any two objects whatever and any other two

-objects whatever make four objects."  This exactly illustrates

-Aristotle's conception of the function of induction, or comparison

-of instances, in fixing attention on a universal principle of

-which one had not been conscious before the comparison was

-made.

-

-Now comes in the point where Aristotle differs wholly from

-all empiricists, later and earlier.  Mill regards the instances

-produced in the induction as having a double function; they

-not merely fix the attention on the principle, they also are the

-evidence of its truth.  This gives rise to the greatest difficulty

-in his whole logical theory.  Induction by imperfect enumeration

-is pronounced to be (as it clearly is) fallacious, yet the

-principle of the uniformity of Nature which Mill regards as the

-ultimate premiss of all science, is itself supposed to be proved

-by this radically fallacious method.  Aristotle avoids a similar

-inconsistency by holding that the sole function of the induction

-is to fix our attention on a principle which it does not prove.

-He holds that ultimate principles neither permit of nor require

-proof.  When the induction has done its work in calling

-attention to the principle, you have to see for yourself that the

-principle is true.  You see that it is true by immediate

-inspection just as in sense-perception you have to see that the

-colour before your eyes is red or blue.  This is why Aristotle

-holds that the knowledge of the principles of science is not

-itself science (demonstrated knowledge), but what he calls

-intelligence, and we may call intellectual intuition.  Thus his

-doctrine is sharply distinguished not only from empiricism

-(the doctrine that universal principles are proved by particular

-facts), but also from all theories of the Hegelian type which

-regard the principles and the facts as somehow reciprocally

-proving each other, and from the doctrine of some eminent

-modern logicians who hold that "self-evidence" is not required

-in the ultimate principles of science, as we are only concerned

-in logic with the question what consequences follow from our

-initial assumptions, and not with the truth or falsehood of the

-assumptions themselves.

-

-The result is that Aristotle does little more than repeat the

-Platonic view of the nature of science.  Science consists of

-deductions from universal principles which sensible experience

-"suggests," but into which, as they are apprehended by a

-purely intellectual inspection, no sense-data enter as constituents.

-The apparent rejection of "transcendental moonshine" has,

-after all, led to nothing.  The only difference between Plato

-and his scholar lies in the clearness of intellectual vision which

-Plato shows when he expressly maintains in plain words

-that the universals of exact science are not "in" our

-sense-perceptions and therefore to be extracted from them by a

-process of abstraction, but are "apart from" or "over" them, and

-form an ideal system of interconnected concepts which the

-experiences of sense merely "imitate" or make approximation to.

-

-One more point remains to be considered to complete our

-outline of the Aristotelian theory of knowledge.  The sciences

-have "principles" which are discerned to be true by immediate

-inspection.  But what if one man professes to see the

-self-evident truth of such an alleged principle, while another is

-doubtful of its truth, or even denies it?  There can be no

-question of silencing the objector by a demonstration, since no

-genuine simple principle admits of demonstration.  All that

-can be done, *e.g.* if a man doubts whether things equal to the

-same thing are equal to one another, or whether the law of

-contradiction is true, is to examine the consequences of a denial

-of the axiom and to show that they include some which

-are false, or which your antagonist at least considers false.  In

-this way, by showing the falsity of consequences which follow

-from the denial of a given "principle," you indirectly establish

-its truth.  Now reasoning of this kind differs from "science"

-precisely in the point that you take as your major premiss, not

-what you regard as true, but the opposite thesis of your

-antagonist, which you regard as false.  Your object is not to prove

-a true conclusion but to show your opponent that *his* premisses

-lead to false conclusions.  This is "dialectical" reasoning in

-Aristotle's sense of the word, *i.e.* reasoning not from your own

-but from some one else's premisses.  Hence the chief philosophical

-importance which Aristotle ascribes to "dialectic" is

-that it provides a method of defending the undemonstrable

-axioms against objections.  Dialectic of this kind became highly

-important in the mediæval Aristotelianism of the schoolmen,

-with whom it became a regular method, as may be seen *e.g.* in

-the *Summa* of St. Thomas, to begin their consideration of a

-doctrine by a preliminary rehearsal of all the arguments they

-could find or devise against the conclusion they meant to adopt.

-Thus the first division of any article in the *Summa Theologiæ*

-of Thomas is regularly constituted by arguments based on the

-premisses of actual or possible antagonists, and is strictly

-dialectical.  (To be quite accurate Aristotle should, of course,

-have observed that this dialectical method of defending a

-principle becomes useless in the case of a logical axiom which is

-presupposed by all deduction.  For this reason Aristotle falls

-into fallacy when he tries to defend the law of contradiction by

-dialectic.  It is true that if the law be denied, then any and

-every predicate may be indifferently ascribed to any subject.

-But until the law of contradiction has been admitted, you

-have no right to regard it as absurd to ascribe all predicates

-indiscriminately to all subjects.  Thus, it is only assumed laws

-which are *not* ultimate laws of logic that admit of dialectical

-justification.  If a truth is so ultimate that it has either to be

-recognised by direct inspection or not at all, there can be no

-arguing at all with one who cannot or will not see it.)

-

-

-

-

-

-.. vspace:: 4

-

-.. _`FIRST PHILOSOPHY`:

-

-.. class:: center large bold

-

-   CHAPTER III

-

-

-.. class:: center medium bold

-

-   FIRST PHILOSOPHY

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-First Philosophy is defined by Aristotle as a "science which

-considers What Is simply in its character of Being, and the

-properties which it has as such."  That there is, or ought to

-be, such a science is urged on the ground that every "special"

-science deals only with some restricted department of what is,

-and thus considers its subject-matter not universally in its

-character of being, or being real, but as determined by some more

-special condition.  Thus, First Philosophy, the science which

-attempts to discover the most ultimate reasons of, or grounds

-for, the character of things in general cannot be identified with

-any of the "departmental" sciences.  The same consideration

-explains why it is "First Philosophy" which has to disentangle

-the "principles" of the various sciences, and defend them

-by dialectic against those who impugn them.  It is no part

-of the duty of a geometer or a physicist to deal with

-objections to such universal principles of reasoning as the law of

-contradiction.  They may safely assume such principles; if

-they are attacked, it is not by specifically geometrical or physical

-considerations that they can be defended.  Even the "principles

-of the special sciences" have not to be examined and defended

-by the special sciences.  They are the starting-points of the

-sciences which employ them; these sciences are therefore justified

-in requiring that they shall be admitted as a condition of

-geometrical, or physical, or biological demonstrations.  If they are

-called in question, the defence of them is the business of logic.

-

-First Philosophy, then, is the study of "What Is simply as

-such," the universal principles of structure without which there

-could be no ordered system of knowable objects.  But the word

-"is" has more than one sense.  There are as many modes of

-being as there are types of predication.  "Substances," men,

-horses, and the like, have their own specific mode of being--they

-are things; qualities, such as green or sweet, have a different

-mode of being--they are not things, but "affections" or

-"attributes" of things.  Actions, again, such as building, killing,

-are neither things nor yet "affections" of things; their mode

-of being is that they are processes which produce or destroy

-things.  First Philosophy is concerned with the general character

-of all these modes of being, but it is specially concerned with

-that mode of being which belongs to *substances*.  For this is

-the most primary of all modes of being.  We had to introduce

-a reference to it in our attempt to say what the mode of being

-of qualities and actions is, and it would have been the same

-had our illustrations been drawn from any other "categories."  Hence

-the central and special problem of First Philosophy is

-to analyse the notion of substance and to show the causes of

-the existence of substances.

-

-Next, we have to note that the word "substance" itself

-has two senses.  When we spoke of substance as one of the

-categories we were using it in a secondary sense.  We meant

-by substances "horse," "man," and the rest of the "real

-kinds" which we find in Nature, and try to reproduce in a

-scientific classification.  In this sense of the word "substances"

-are a special class of *predicates*, as when we affirm of Plato

-that he is a man, or of Bucephalus that he is a horse.  But in

-the primary sense a substance means an absolutely individual

-thing, "*this* man," or "*this* horse."  We may therefore define

-primary substances from the logician's point of view by saying

-that they can be only subjects of predication, never predicates.

-Or again, it is peculiar to substances, that while remaining

-numerically one a substance admits of incompatible determinations,

-as Socrates, remaining one and the same Socrates, is

-successively young and old.  This is not true of "qualities,"

-"actions," and the rest.  The same colour cannot be first white

-and then black; the same act cannot be first bad and then

-good.  Thus we may say that individual substances are the

-fixed and permanent factors in the world of mutability, the

-invariants of existence.  Processes go on in them, they run

-the gamut of changes from birth to decay, processes take place

-*among* them, they act on and are acted on by one another, they

-fluctuate in their qualities and their magnitude, but so long

-as a substance exists it remains numerically one and the same

-throughout all these changes.  Their existence is the first

-and most fundamental condition of the existence of the universe,

-since they are the bearers of all qualities, the terms of all

-relations, and the agents and patients in all interaction.

-

-The point to note is that Aristotle begins his investigation

-into the structure of What Is and the causes by which it is

-produced by starting from the existence of individual things

-belonging to the physical order and perceived by the senses.

-About any such thing we may ask two questions, (1) into

-what constituent factors can it be logically analysed? (2) and

-how has it come to exhibit the character which our analysis

-shows it to have?  The answer to these questions will appear

-from a consideration of two standing antitheses which run

-through Aristotle's philosophy, the contrast between Matter and

-Form, and that between Potential and Actual, followed by a

-recapitulation of his doctrine of the Four Causes, or four senses

-of the word Cause.

-

-**Matter and Form**.--Consider any completely developed

-individual thing, whether it is the product of human

-manufacture, as a copper bowl, or of natural reproduction, as

-an oak-tree or a horse.  We shall see at once that the bowl

-is like other articles made of the same metal, candlesticks,

-coal-vases, in being made of the same stuff, and unlike them

-in having the special shape or structure which renders it fit

-for being used as a bowl and not for holding a candle or

-containing coals.  So a botanist or a chemist will tell you that

-the constituent tissues of an oak or horse, or the chemical

-elements out of which these tissues are built up are of the

-same kind as those of an ash or an ox, but the oak differs

-from the ash or the horse from the ox in characteristic structure.

-We see thus that in any individual thing we can distinguish

-two components, the stuff of which it consists--which may be

-identical in kind with the stuff of which things of a very

-different kind consist--and the structural law of formation

-or arrangement which is peculiar to the "special" kind of

-thing under consideration.  In the actual individual thing

-these two are inseparably united; they do not exist side

-by side, as chemists say the atoms of hydrogen and oxygen

-do in a drop of water; the law of organisation or structure

-is manifested in and through the copper, or the various tissues

-of the living body.  Aristotle expresses this by saying that

-you can distinguish two aspects in an individual, its Matter,

-(*hyle, materia*) and its Form (*eidos, forma*).  The individual

-is the matter as organised in accord with a determinate

-principle of structure, the form.  Of these terms, the former,

-*hyle* (*materia*, matter) means literally timber, and more

-specifically ship's timbers, and his selection of it to mean

-what is most exactly rendered by our own word "stuff" may

-perhaps be due to a reminiscence of an old Pythagorean fancy

-which looked on the universe as a ship.  The word for form

-is the same as Plato's, and its philosophical uses are closely

-connected with its mathematical sense, "regular figure," also

-a Pythagorean technicality which still survives in certain

-stereotyped phrases in Euclid.  Aristotle extends the analysis

-into Matter and Form by analogy beyond the range of

-individual substances to everything in which we can distinguish

-a relatively indeterminate "somewhat" and a law or type

-of order and arrangement giving it determination.  Thus if

-you consider the relatively fixed or "formed" character of a

-man in adult life, we may look upon this character as produced

-out of the "raw material" of tendencies and dispositions,

-which have received a specific development along definite

-lines, according to the kind of training to which the mind has

-been subjected in the "formative" period of its growth.  We

-may therefore speak of native disposition as the matter or

-stuff of which character is made, and the practical problem

-of education is to devise a system of training which shall

-impress on this matter precisely the form required if the grown

-man is to be a good citizen of a good state.  Since a man's

-character itself is not a substance but a complex of habits or

-fixed ways of reacting upon suggestions coming from the world

-around him, this is a good instance of the extension of the

-antithesis of Matter and Form beyond the category of

-substance.  We see then that Matter in the Aristotelian sense

-must not be confounded with body; the relatively undetermined

-factor which receives completer determination by the

-structural law or Form is Matter, whether it is corporeal or not.

-This comes out with particular clearness in the metaphysical

-interpretation put on the logical process of definition by genus

-and difference.  When I define any real kind by specifying

-a higher and wider class of which it is a sub-kind, and adding

-the peculiar characteristics which distinguish the sub-kind

-under consideration from the other sub-kinds of the same

-genus, the genus may be said to stand to the "differences"

-as Matter, the relatively indeterminate, to the Form which

-gives it its structure.

-

-We further observe that Matter and Form are strictly

-correlative.  The matter is called so relatively to the form which

-gives it further determination.  When the words are used in

-their strictest sense, with reference to an individual thing, the

-Form is taken to mean the *last* determination by which the

-thing acquires its complete character, and the Matter is that

-which has yet to receive this last determination.  Thus in the

-case of a copper globe, the spherical figure is said to be its

-Form, the copper its material.  In the case of the human body,

-the Matter is the various tissues, muscles, bones, skin, &c.

-But each of these things which are counted as belonging to the

-Matter of the globe or the human body has, according to

-Aristotle, a development behind it.  Copper is not an "element"

-but a specific combination of "elements," and the same thing

-is even more true of the highly elaborate tissues of the living

-body.  Thus what is Matter relatively to the globe or living

-body is Matter already determined by Form if we consider it

-relatively to its own constituents.  The so-called "elements"

-of Empedocles, earth, water, air, fire, are the matter of all

-chemical compounds, the Form of each compound being its

-specific law of composition; the immediate or "proximate"

-Matter of the tissues of the animal body is, according to

-Aristotle's biology, the "superfluous" blood of the female parent,

-out of which the various tissues in the offspring are developed,

-and the Matter of this blood is in turn the various substances

-which are taken into the body of the parent as food and

-converted by assimilation into blood.  Their Matter, once more,

-is the earth, air, fire, and water of which they are composed.

-Thus at every stage of a process of manufacture or growth a

-fresh Form is superinduced on, or developed within, a Matter

-which is already itself a combination of Matter and Form

-relatively to the process by which it has itself been originated.

-Fully thought out, such a view would lead to the conclusion

-that in the end the simple ultimate matter of all individual

-things is one and the same throughout the universe, and has

-absolutely no definite structure at all.  The introduction of

-Form or determinate structure of any kind would then have to

-be thought of as coming from an outside source, since structureless

-Matter cannot be supposed to give itself all sorts of specific

-determinations, as has been demonstrated in our own times by

-the collapse of the "Synthetic Philosophy."  Aristotle avoids

-the difficulty by holding that "pure Matter" is a creation of

-our thought.  In actual fact the crudest form in which matter

-is found is that of the "elements."  Since the transmutability

-of the "elements" is an indispensable tenet in Aristotle's

-Physics, we cannot avoid regarding earth, water, fire air as

-themselves determinations by specific Form of a still simpler

-Matter, though this "prime Matter" "all alone, before a rag of

-Form is on," is never to be found existing in its simplicity.[#]

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-.. class:: noindent small

-

-[#] *Hudibras*, Pt. 1, Canto 1, 560.

-

-.. class:: noindent small white-space-pre-line

-

-       "He had First Matter seen undressed;

-       He took her naked all alone,

-       Before one rag of Form was on."

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-**The Potential and the Actual**.--So far we have been looking

-at the analysis of the individual thing, as the current jargon

-puts it, statically; we have arrived at the antithesis of

-Matter and Form by contrasting an unfinished condition of

-anything with its finished condition.  But we may study the

-same contrast dynamically, with special reference to the process

-of making or growth by which the relatively undetermined or

-unfinished becomes determined or finished.  The contrast of

-Matter with Form then passes into the contrast between

-Potentiality and Actuality.  What this antithesis means we

-can best see from the case of the growth of a living organism.

-Consider the embryos of two animals, or the seeds of two

-plants.  Even a botanist or a physiologist may be unable to

-pronounce with certainty on the species to which the germ

-submitted to him belongs, and chemical analysis may be equally at

-a loss.  Even at a later stage of development, the embryo of

-one vertebrate animal may be indistinguishable from that of

-another.  Yet it is certain that one of two originally

-indistinguishable germs will grow into an oak and the other into an

-elm, or one into a chimpanzee and the other into a man.

-However indistinguishable, they therefore may be said to have

-different latent tendencies or possibilities of development within

-them.  Hence we may say of a given germ, "though this is

-not yet actually an oak, it is potentially an oak," meaning not

-merely that, if uninterfered with, it will in time be an oak,

-but also that by no interference can it be made to grow into

-an elm or a beech.  So we may look upon all processes of

-production or development as processes by which what at first

-possessed only the tendency to grow along certain lines or to

-be worked up into a certain form, has become actually endowed

-with the character to which it possessed the tendency.  The

-acorn becomes in process of time an actual oak, the baby an

-actual man, the copper is made into an actual vase, right education

-brings out into active exercise the special capacities of the

-learner.  Hence the distinction between Matter and Form may

-also be expressed by saying that the Matter is the persistent

-underlying *substratum* in which the development of the Form

-takes place, or that the individual when finally determined by

-the Form is the Actuality of which the undeveloped Matter

-was the Potentiality.  The process of conception, birth, and

-growth to maturity in Nature, or of the production of a finished

-article by the "arts" whose business it is to "imitate" Nature,

-may be said to be one of continuous advance towards the

-actual embodiment of a Form, or law of organisation, in a

-Matter having the latent potentiality of developing along those

-special lines.  When Aristotle is speaking most strictly he

-distinguishes the process by which a Form is realised, which he

-calls Energeia, from the manifestation of the realised Form,

-calling the latter Entelechy (literally "finished" or

-"completed" condition).  Often, however, he uses the word Energeia

-more loosely for the actual manifestation of the Form itself,

-and in this he is followed by the scholastic writers, who render

-Energeia by *actus* or *actus purus*.

-

-One presupposition of this process must be specially noted.

-It is not an unending process of development of unrealised

-capacities, but always has an End in the perfectly simple

-sense of a last stage.  We see this best in the case of growth.

-The acorn grows into the sapling and the sapling into the oak,

-but there is nothing related to the oak as the oak is to the

-sapling.  The oak does not grow into something else.  The

-process of development from potential to actual in this special

-case comes to an end with the emergence of the mature oak.

-In the organic world the end or last state is recognised by the

-fact that the organism can now exercise the power of reproducing

-its like.  This tendency of organic process to culminate

-in a last stage of complete maturity is the key to the

-treatment of the problem of the "true end" of life in Aristotle's

-*Ethics*.

-

-**The Four Causes**.--The conception of the world involved

-in these antitheses of Form and Matter, Potential and Actual,

-finds its fullest expression in Aristotle's doctrine of the Four

-Causes or conditions of the production of things.  This doctrine

-is looked on by Aristotle as the final solution of the problem

-which had always been the central one for Greek philosophy,

-What are the causes of the world-order?  All the previous

-philosophies he regards as inadequate attempts to formulate

-the answer to this question which is only given completely by

-his own system.  Hence the doctrine requires to be stated

-with some fullness.  We may best approach it by starting from

-the literal meaning of the Greek terms *aitia*, *aition*, which

-Aristotle uses to convey the notion of cause.  *Aition* is properly

-an adjective used substantially, and means "that on which

-the legal responsibility for a given state of affairs can be laid."

-Similarly *aitia*, the substantive, means the "credit" for good

-or bad, the legal "responsibility," for an act.  Now when we

-ask, "what is responsible for the fact that such and such

-a state of things now exists?" there are four partial answers

-which may be given, and each of these corresponds to one of

-the "causes."  A complete answer requires the enumeration

-of them all.  We may mention (1) the *matter* or *material*

-cause of the thing, (2) the law according to which it has grown

-or developed, the *form* or *formal* cause, (3) the agent with

-whose initial impulse the development began--the "starting-point

-of the process," or, as the later Aristotelians call it, the

-*efficient* cause, (4) the completed result of the whole process,

-which is present in the case of human manufacture as a

-preconceived idea determining the maker's whole method of

-handling his material, and in organic development in Nature

-as implied in and determining the successive stages of

-growth--the *end* or *final* cause.  If any one of these had been

-different, the resultant state of things would also have been

-different.  Hence all four must be specified in completely

-accounting for it.  Obvious illustrations can be given from

-artificial products of human skill, but it seems clear that it

-was rather reflection on the biological process of reproduction

-and growth which originally suggested the analysis.  Suppose

-we ask what was requisite in order that there should be now an

-oak on a given spot.  There must have been (1) a germ from

-which the oak has grown, and this germ must have had the

-latent tendencies towards development which are characteristic

-of oaks.  This is the material cause of the oak.  (2) This

-germ must have followed a definite law of growth; it must

-have had a tendency to grow in the way characteristic of oaks

-and to develop the structure of an oak, not that of a plane or

-an ash.  This is form or formal cause.  (3) Also the germ of

-the oak did not come from nowhere; it grew on a parent oak.

-The parent oak and its acorn-bearing activity thus constitute

-the *efficient* cause of the present oak.  (4) And there must be

-a final stage to which the whole process of growth is relative,

-in which the germ or sapling is no longer becoming but is an

-adult oak bearing fresh acorns.  This is the *end* of the process.

-One would not be going far wrong in saying that Aristotle's

-biological cast of thought leads him to conceive of this "end"

-in the case of reproduction as a sub-conscious purpose, just as

-the workman's thought of the result to be attained by his

-action forms a conscious directing purpose in the case of

-manufacture.  Both in Nature and in "art" the "form," the

-"efficient cause," and the "end" tend to coalesce.  Thus in

-Nature "a man begets a man," organic beings give birth to

-other organic beings of the same kind, or, in the technical

-language of the Aristotelian theory of Causation, the efficient

-cause produces, as the "end" of its action, a second being

-having the same "form" as itself, though realised in different

-"matter," and numerically distinct from itself.  Thus the

-efficient cause (*i.e.* the parent) is a "form" realised in

-matter, and the "end" is the same "form" realised in other

-matter.  So in "products of art" the true "source of the

-process" is the "form" the realisation of which is the "end"

-or final cause, only with this difference, that as efficient cause

-the "form" exists not in the material but by way of "idea"

-or "representation" in the mind of the craftsman.  A house

-does not produce another house, but the house as existing in

-"idea" in the builder's mind sets him at work building, and

-so produces a corresponding house in brick or stone.  Thus

-the ultimate opposition is between the "cause as matter," a

-passive and inert substratum of change and development and

-the "formal" cause which, in the sense just explained, is one

-with both the "efficient" or starting-point, and the "end"

-or goal of development.  It will, of course, be seen that

-individual bearers of "forms" are indispensable in the theory;

-hence the notion of *activity* is essential to the causal relation.

-It is a relation between things, not between events.  Aristotle

-has no sense of the word cause corresponding to Mill's

-conception of a cause as an event which is the uniform precursor

-of another event.

-

-Two more remarks may be made in this connection.  (1)

-The prominence of the notion of "end" gives Aristotle's

-philosophy a thorough-going "ideological" character.  God

-and Nature, he tells us, do nothing aimlessly.  We should

-probably be mistaken if we took this to mean that "God and

-Nature" act everywhere with conscious design.  The meaning

-is rather that every natural process has a last stage in which

-the "form" which was to begin with present in the agent or

-"source of change" is fully realised in the matter in which

-the agent has set up the process of change.  The normal thing

-is *e.g.* for animals to reproduce "their kind"; if the reproduction

-is imperfect or distorted, as in monstrous births, this is

-an exception due to the occasional presence in "matter" of

-imperfections which hinder the course of development, and

-must be regarded as "contrary to the normal course of Nature."  So

-hybrid reproduction is exceptional and "against Nature,"

-and this is shown by the sterility of hybrids, a sort of lesser

-monstrosity.  Even females, being "arrested developments,"

-are a sort of still minor deviation from principle.  (2) It may

-just be mentioned that Aristotle has a classification of efficient

-causes under the three heads of Nature, Intelligence (or Man),

-and Chance.  The difference between Nature and Man or

-Intelligence as efficient causes has already been illustrated.  It

-is that in causation by Nature, such as sexual reproduction, or

-the assimilation of nutriment, or the conversion of one element

-into another in which Aristotle believed, the form which is

-superinduced on the matter by the agent already exists in the

-agent itself as *its* form.  The oak springs from a parent oak,

-the conversion of nutriment into organic tissue is due to the

-agency of already existing organic tissue.  In the case of human

-intelligence or art, the "form" to be superinduced exists in

-the agent not as *his* characteristic form, but by way of

-representation, as a contemplated design.  The man who builds a

-house is not himself a house; the form characteristic of a house

-is very different from that characteristic of a man, but it is

-present in contemplation to the builder before it is embodied

-in the actual house.  A word may be added about the third

-sort of efficient causality, causation by chance.  This is confined

-to cases which are exceptions from the general course of Nature,

-remarkable coincidences.  It is what we may call "simulated

-purposiveness."  When something in human affairs happens

-in a way which subserves the achievement of a result but was

-not really brought about by any intention to secure the result,

-we speak of it as a remarkable coincidence.  Thus it would be

-a coincidence if a man should be held to ransom by brigands

-and his best friend should, without knowing anything of the

-matter, turn up on the spot with the means of ransoming him.

-The events could not have happened more opportunely if they

-had been planned, and yet they were not planned but merely

-fell out so: and since such a combination of circumstances

-simulating design is unusual, it is not proper to say that the

-events happened "in the course of Nature."  We therefore

-say it happened by chance.  This doctrine of chance has its

-significance for mediæval Ethics.  In an age when the

-Protestant superstition that worldly success is proof of nearness

-to God had not yet been invented, the want of correspondence

-between men's "deserts" and their prosperity was accounted

-for by the view that the distribution of worldly goods is, as a

-rule, the work of Fortune or Chance in the Aristotelian sense;

-that is, it is due to special coincidences which may look like

-deliberate design but are not really so.  (See the elaborate

-exposition of this in Dante, *Inferno*, vii. 67-97.)

-

-**Motion**.--We have seen that causation, natural or artificial,

-requires the production in a certain "matter" of a certain

-"form" under the influence of a certain "agent."  What is

-the character of the process set up by the agent in the matter

-and culminating in the appearance of the form?  Aristotle

-answers that it is Motion (*kinesis*).  The effect of the agent

-on the matter is to set up in it a motion which ends in its

-assuming a definite form.  The important point to be noted

-here is that Aristotle regards this motion as falling wholly

-within the matter which is to assume the form.  It is not

-necessary that the agent should itself be in motion, but only

-that it should induce motion in something else.  Thus in all

-cases of intentional action the ultimate efficient cause is the

-"idea of the result to be attained," but this idea does not

-move about.  By its presence to the mind it sets something

-else (the members of the body) moving.  This conception of

-an efficient cause which, not moving itself, by its mere presence

-induces movement in that to which it is present, is of the

-highest importance in Aristotle's theology.  Of course it follows

-that since the motion by which the transition from potentiality

-to actuality is achieved falls wholly within the matter acted

-upon, Aristotle is not troubled with any of the questions as to

-the way in which motion can be transferred from one body to

-another which were so much agitated in the early days of the

-modern mechanical interpretation of natural processes.

-Aristotle's way of conceiving Nature is thoroughly non-mechanical,

-and approximates to what would now be called the ascription

-of vital or quasi-vital characteristics to the inorganic.  As, in

-the causality of "art" the mere presence of the "form" to be

-embodied in a given material to the mind of the craftsman

-brings about and directs the process of manufacture, so in some

-analogous fashion the presence of an efficient cause in Nature to

-that on which it works is thought of as itself constituting the

-"efficiency" of the cause.  As Lotze phrases it, things "take

-note of" one another's compresence in the universe, or we

-might say the efficient cause and that on which it exercises

-its efficiency are *en rapport*.  "Matter" is sensitive to the

-presence of the "efficient cause," and in response to this

-sensitivity, puts forth successive determinations, expands its

-latent tendencies on definite lines.

-

-The name "motion" has a wider sense for Aristotle than it

-has for ourselves.  He includes under the one common name

-all the processes by which things come to be what they are or

-cease to be what they have been.  Thus he distinguishes the

-following varieties of "motion": *generation* (the coming of an

-individual thing into being), with its opposite *decay* or *corruption*

-(the passing of a thing out of being), *alteration* (change of *quality*

-in a thing), *augmentation* and *diminution* (change in the *magnitude*

-of a thing), *motion through space* (of which latter he recognises

-two sub-species, rectilinear *transference* and *rotation* in a

-circular orbit about an axis).  It is this last variety, motion

-through space, which is the most fundamental of all, since its

-occurrence is involved in that of any of the other types of

-process mentioned, though Aristotle does not hold the

-thorough-going mechanical view that the other processes are only

-apparent, and that, as we should put it, qualitative change is

-a mere disguise which mechanical motion wears for our senses.

-

-**The Eternity of Motion**.--Certain very important consequences

-follow from the conception of efficient causation which

-we have been describing.  Aristotle has no sympathy with the

-"evolutionist" views which had been favoured by some of his

-predecessors.  According to his theory of organic generation,

-"it takes a man to beget a man "; where there is a baby, there

-must have been a father.  Biological kinds representing real

-clefts in Nature, the process of the production of a young

-generation by an already adult generation must be thought of

-as without beginning and without end.  There can be no

-natural "evolution" of animals of one species from individuals

-of a different kind.  Nor does it occur to Aristotle to take into

-account the possibility of "Creationism," the sudden coming

-into being of a fully fledged first generation at a stroke.  This

-possibility is excluded by the doctrine that the "matter" of

-a thing must exist beforehand as an indispensable condition of

-the production of that thing.  Every baby, as we said, must

-have had a father, but that father must also have been a baby

-before he was a full-grown man.  Hence the perpetuation of

-unchanging species must be without beginning and without end.

-And it is implied that all the various processes, within and

-without the organism, apart from which its life could not

-be kept up, must be equally without beginning and without

-end.  The "cosmos," or orderly world of natural processes, is

-strictly "eternal"; "motion" is everlasting and continuous,

-or unbroken.  Even the great Christian theologians who built

-upon Aristotle could not absolutely break with him on this

-point.  St. Thomas, though obliged to admit that the world

-was actually created a few thousand years before his own time,

-maintains that this can only be known to be true from revelation,

-philosophically it is equably tenable that the world should

-have been "created from all eternity."  And it is the general

-doctrine of scholasticism that the expression "creation" only

-denotes the absolute dependence of the world on God for its

-being.  When we say "God created the world out of nothing,"

-we mean that He did not make it out of pre-existing matter,

-that it depends for its being on Him only; the expression is

-purely negative in its import.

-

-**God**.--With the doctrine of the eternity of the world and

-the processes which make up its life we come close to the

-culminating theory of Aristotelian First Philosophy, its doctrine

-of God, as the eternal, unchanging source of all change,

-movement, and process.  All motion is a process within matter by

-which the forms latent in it are brought into actual manifestation.

-And the process only takes place in the presence of an

-adequate efficient cause or source of motion.  Hence the eternity

-of natural processes involves the existence of one or more

-eternal sources of motion.  For, if we do not admit the

-existence of an unoriginated and ever-present source or sources of

-motion, our only alternative is to hold that the world-process

-is due to a series of sources of motion existing successively.

-But such a view would leave the unity and unbroken continuity

-of the world-process unaccounted for.  It would give us a

-succession of processes, temporally contiguous, not one unbroken

-process.  Hence we argue from the continuity of motion to its

-dependence on a source or sources which are permanent and

-present throughout the whole everlasting world-process.  And

-when we come to the question whether there is only one such

-ultimate source of movement for the whole universe, or several,

-Aristotle's answer is that the supreme "Unmoved Mover" is

-one.  One is enough for the purpose, and the law of parcimony

-forbids us to assume the superfluous.  This then is the

-Aristotelian conception of God and God's relation to the world.  God

-is the one supreme unchanging being to whose presence the

-world responds with the whole process of cosmic development,

-the ultimate educer of the series of "forms" latent in the

-"matter" of the world into actual manifestation.  Standing,

-as He does, outside the whole process which by His mere

-presence He initiates in Nature, He is not himself a composite

-of "form" and "matter," as the products of development are.

-He is a pure individual "form" or "actuality," with no history

-of gradual development behind it.  Thus He is a purely

-immaterial being, indispensable to the world's existence but

-transcending it and standing outside it.  *How* His presence inspires

-the world to move Aristotle tries to explain by the metaphor

-of appetition.  Just as the good I desire and conceive, without

-itself "moving" "moves" my appetition, so God moves the

-universe by being its good.  This directly brings about a uniform

-unbroken rotation of the whole universe round its axis (in fact,

-the alternation of day and night).  And since this rotation is

-communicated from the outermost "sphere" of heaven to all

-the lesser "spheres" between it and the immovable centre,

-the effects of God's presence are felt universally.  At the same

-time, we must note that though God is the supreme Mover of

-the Universe, He is not regarded by Aristotle as its Creator,

-even in the sense in which creation can be reconciled with the

-eternity of the world.  For the effect of God's presence is simply

-to lead to the development of "form" in an already existing

-"matter."  Without God there could be no "form" or order

-in things, not even as much as is implied in the differentiation

-of matter into the four "elements," yet "primary matter" is

-no less than God a precondition of all that happens.

-

-It is characteristic of Aristotle that his God is as far from

-discharging the functions of a Providence as He is from being

-a Creator.  His "activity" is not, as Plato had made it, that

-of the great "Shepherd of the sheep."  As far as the world is

-concerned, God's only function is to be there to move its

-appetition.  For the rest, the unbroken activity of this life is

-directed wholly inward.  Aristotle expressly calls it an "activity

-of immobility."  More precisely, he tells us, it is activity of

-thought, exercised unbrokenly and everlastingly upon the only

-object adequate to exercise God's contemplation, Himself.

-His life is one of everlasting *self*-contemplation or "thinking

-of thought itself."  Like all unimpeded exercise of activity, it is

-attended by pleasure, and as the activity is continuous, so the

-pleasure of it is continuous too.  At our best, when we give

-ourselves up to the pure contemplative activity of scientific

-thought or æsthetic appreciation, we enter for a while into this

-divine life and share the happiness of God.  But that is a theme

-for our chapter on the *Ethics*.

-

-It is a far cry from this conception of a God untroubled by

-care for a world to which He is only related as the object of its

-aspiration to the God who cares even for the fall of the sparrow

-and of whom it is written, *Sic Deus dilexit mundum*, but it

-was the standing task of the philosophical theologians of the

-Middle Ages to fuse the two conceptions.  Plato's God, who, if

-not quite the Creator, is the "Father and Fashioner" of us all,

-and keeps providential watch over the world He has fashioned,

-would have lent Himself better to their purposes, but Plato

-was held by the mediæval church to have denied the resurrection

-of the body.  The combination of Aristotle's Theism with

-the Theism of early Christianity was effected by exquisitely

-subtle logical devices, but even in St. Thomas one cannot help

-seeing the seams.

-

-Nor can one help seeing in Aristotle's own doctrine the

-usual want of coherence between an initial anti-Platonic bias

-and a final reversion to the very Platonic positions Aristotle

-is fond of impugning.  We are told at the outset that the

-Platonic "separate forms" are empty names, and that the

-real individual thing is always a composite of matter and a

-form which only exists "in matter."  We find in the end that

-the source of the whole process by which "matter" becomes

-imbued with "form" is a being which is "pure" form and stands

-outside the whole development which its presence sets up.

-And the issue of Aristotle's warning against "poetic metaphors"

-is the doctrine that God moves the world by being "the object

-of the world's desire."

-

-

-

-

-

-.. vspace:: 4

-

-.. _`PHYSICS`:

-

-.. class:: center large bold

-

-   CHAPTER IV

-

-

-.. class:: center medium bold

-

-   PHYSICS

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-There is no part of Aristotle's system which has been more

-carefully thought out than his Physics; at the same time it is

-almost wholly on account of his physical doctrines that his long

-ascendancy over thought is so much to be regretted.  Aristotle's

-qualifications as a man of science have been much overrated.

-In one department, that of descriptive natural history, he shows

-himself a master of minute and careful observation who could

-obtain unqualified praise from so great a naturalist as Darwin.

-But in Astronomy and Physics proper his inferiority in

-mathematical thinking and his dislike for mechanical ways of

-explaining facts put him at a great disadvantage, as compared with

-Plato and Plato's Pythagorean friends.  Thus his authority was

-for centuries one of the chief influences which prevented the

-development of Astronomy on right lines.  Plato had himself

-both taught the mobility of the earth and denied correctly that

-the earth is at the centre of the universe, and the

-"Copernican" hypothesis in Astronomy probably originated in the

-Academy.  Aristotle, however, insists on the central position of

-the earth, and violently attacks Plato for believing in its motion.

-It is equally serious that he insists on treating the so-called

-"four elements" as ultimately unanalysable forms of matter,

-though Plato had not only observed that so far from being the

-ABC (*stoicheia* or *elementa*, literally, letters of the alphabet)

-of Nature they do not deserve to be called even "syllables,"

-but had also definitely put forward the view that it is the

-geometrical structure of the "corpuscles" of body upon which

-sensible qualities depend.  It is on this doctrine, of course, that

-all mathematical physics rests.  Aristotle reverts to the older

-theory that the differences between one "element" and another

-are qualitative differences of a sensible kind.  Even in the

-biological sciences Aristotle shows an unfortunate proneness to

-disregard established fact when it conflicts with the theories

-for which he has a personal liking.  Thus, though the

-importance of the brain as the central organ of the sensori-motor

-system had been discovered in the late sixth or early fifth

-century by the physician Alemacon of Crotona, and taught by the

-great Hippocrates in the fifth and by Plato in the fourth

-century, Aristotle's prejudices in favour of the doctrines of a

-different school of biologists led him to revert to the view that

-it is the heart which is the centre of what we now call the

-"nervous system."  It is mainly on account of these reactionary

-scientific views that he was attacked in the early seventeenth

-century by writers like our own Francis Bacon, who found in

-veneration for Aristotle one of the chief hindrances to the free

-development of natural science.  The same complaints had

-been made long before by critics belonging to the Platonic

-Academy.  It is a Platonist of the time of Marcus Aurelius

-who sums up a vigorous attack on the Aristotelian astronomy

-by the remark that Aristotle never understood that the true

-task of the physicist is not to prescribe laws to Nature, but to

-learn from observation of the facts what the laws followed by

-Nature are.

-

-In determining the scope of Physics, we have to begin by

-considering what is the special characteristic of things

-produced by Nature as contrasted with those produced by

-"art."  The obvious distinction, intimated by the very etymology of

-the word "Nature" (*physis*, connected with *phyesthai*, to

-grow, to be born, as *natura* is with *nasci*), is that "what is by

-Nature" is born and grows, whereas what is as a result of

-artifice is *made*.  The "natural" may thus be said to consist

-of living bodies and of their constituent parts.  Hence

-inorganic matter also is included in "Nature," on the ground

-that living tissue can be analysed back into compounds of the

-"elements."  Now things which are alive and grow are

-distinguished from things which are made by "a source of motion

-and quiescence within themselves"; all of them exhibit motions,

-changes of quality, processes of growth and decline which are

-initiated from within.  Hence Nature may be defined as the

-totality of things which have a source of motion internal to

-themselves and of the constituent parts of such things.  Nature

-then comprises all beings capable of spontaneous change.

-Whatever either does not change at all, or only changes in

-consequence of external influences, is excluded from Nature.

-

-Thus the fundamental fact everywhere present in Nature is

-"change," "process," "motion."  Since motion in the literal sense

-of change of position is involved as a condition of every such

-process, and such motion requires space through which to move

-and time to move in, the doctrine of space and time will also

-form part of Physics.  Hence a great part of Aristotle's special

-lectures on Physics is occupied with discussion of the nature of

-space and time, and of the continuity which we must ascribe

-to them if the "continuous motion" on which the unbroken

-life of the universe depends is to be real Aristotle knows

-nothing of the modern questions whether space and time are

-"real" or only "phenomenal," whether they are "objective"

-or "subjective."  Just as he simply assumes that bodies are

-things that really exist, whether we happen to perceive them

-or not, so he assumes that the space and time in which they

-move are real features of a world that does not depend for

-its existence on our perceiving it.

-

-His treatment of space is singularly *naïf*.  He conceives it

-as a sort of vessel, into which you can pour different liquids.

-Just as the same pot may hold first wine and then water,

-so, if you can say, "there was water here, but now there is

-air here," this implies the existence of a receptacle which once

-held the water, but now holds the air.  Hence a jug or pot

-may be called a "place that can be carried about," and space

-or place may be called "an immovable vessel."  Hence the

-"place" of a thing may be defined as the boundary, or inner

-surface, of the body which immediately surrounds the thing.

-It follows from this that there can be no empty space.  In

-the last resort, "absolute space" is the actual surface of the

-outermost "heaven" which contains everything else in itself

-but is not contained in any remoter body.  Thus all things

-whatever are "in" this "heaven."  But it is not itself "in"

-anything else.  In accord with the standing Greek identification

-of determinate character with limitation, Aristotle holds

-that this outermost heaven must be at a limited distance from

-us.  Actual space is thus finite in the sense that the volume

-of the universe could be expressed as a finite number of cubic

-miles or yards, though, since it must be "continuous," it is

-infinitely divisible.  However often you subdivide a length, an

-area, or a volume, you will always be dividing it into lesser

-lengths, &c., which can once more be divided.  You will never

-by division come to "points," *i.e.* mere positions without

-magnitude of divisibility.

-

-The treatment of time is more thoughtful.  Time is inseparably

-connected with movement or change.  We only perceive that

-time has elapsed when we perceive that change has occurred.

-But time is not the same as change.  For change is of different

-and incommensurate kinds, change of place, change of colour,

-&c.; but to take up time is common to all these forms of

-process.  And time is not the same as motion.  For there are

-different rates of speed, but the very fact that we can compare

-these different velocities implies that there are not different

-velocities of *time*.  Time then is that in terms of which we

-*measure* motion, "the number of motion in respect of before

-and after," *i.e.* it is that by which we estimate the *duration*

-of processes.  Thus *e.g.* when we speak of *two* minutes, *two*

-days, *two* months as required for a certain process to be

-completed, we are counting something.  This something is time.

-It does not seem to occur to Aristotle that this definition

-implies that there are indivisible bits of time, though he quite

-correctly states the incompatible proposition that time is "made

-up of successive *nows*," *i.e.* moments which have no duration

-at all, and can no more be counted than the points on a

-straight line.  He recognises of course that the "continuity"

-of motion implies that of time as well as of space.  Since,

-however, "continuity" in his language means the same thing

-as indefinite divisibility, it ought not to be possible for him

-to regard time as "made up of *nows*"; time, like linear

-extension, ought for him to be a "length of" something.

-

-**The Continuous Motion and the "Spheres."**--The

-continuous world-process depends upon a continuous movement set

-up in the universe as a whole by the presence of an everlasting

-and unchangeable "First Mover," God.  From the self-sameness

-of God, it follows that this most universal of movements

-must be absolutely uniform.  Of what precise kind can such

-a movement be?  As the source of the movement is one,

-and the object moved is also one--viz. the compass of the

-"heaven," the movement of the *primum mobile* or "first

-moved"--the object immediately stimulated to motion by God's

-presence to it, must be mechanically simple.  Now Aristotle,

-mistakenly, held that there are two forms of movement which

-are simple and unanalysable, motion of translation along a

-straight line, and motion of rotation round an axis.  He is at

-pains to argue that rectilinear motion, which we easily

-discover to be that characteristic of bodies near the earth's surface

-when left to themselves, cannot be the kind of movement

-which belongs to the "heaven" as a whole.  For continuous

-rectilinear movement in the same direction could not go on

-for ever on his assumption that there is no space outside the

-"heaven," which is itself at a finite distance from us.  And

-motion to and fro would not be unbroken, since Aristotle

-argues that every time a moving body reached the end of its

-path, and the sense of its movement was reversed, it would

-be for two consecutive moments in the same place, and

-therefore at rest.  Reversal of sense would imply a discontinuity.

-Hence he decides that the primary unbroken movement must

-be the rotation of the "first moved"--that is, the heaven

-containing the fixed stars--round its axis.  This is the only

-movement which could go on for ever at a uniform rate and in

-the same sense.  Starting with the conviction that the earth

-is at rest in the centre of the universe, he inevitably accounts

-for the alternation of day and night as the effect of such a

-revolution of the whole universe round an axis passing

-through the centre of the earth.  The universe is thus thought

-of as bounded by a spherical surface, on the concave side of

-which are the fixed stars, which are therefore one and all at

-the same distance from us.  This sphere, under the immediate

-influence of God, revolves on its axis once in twenty-four hours,

-and this period of revolution is absolutely uniform.  Next the

-apparently irregular paths of the "planets" known to Aristotle

-(*i.e.* the moon, Mercury, Venus, the sun, Mars, Jupiter,

-Saturn) are resolved into combinations of similar uniform

-rotations, each planet having as many "spheres" assigned to

-it as are requisite for the analysis of its apparent path into

-perfectly circular elementary motions.  Altogether Aristotle

-holds that fifty-four such rotating spheres are required over

-and above the "first moved" itself, whose rotation is, of

-course, communicated to all the lesser "spheres" included

-within it.  As in the case of the "first moved," the uniform

-unceasing rotation of each "sphere" is explained by the

-influence on it of an unchanging immaterial "form," which

-is to its own "sphere" what God is to the universe as a

-whole.  In the Aristotelianism of the mediæval church these

-pure forms or intelligences which originate the movements of

-the various planetary spheres are naturally identified with

-angels.  It is *e.g.* to the angelic intelligences which "move"

-the heaven of Venus, which comes third in order counting

-outward from the earth, that Dante addresses his famous Canzone,

-*Voi ch' intendendo il terzo del movete*.  The mediæval astronomy,

-however, differs in two important respects from that of Aristotle

-himself.  (1) The number of "spheres" is different.  Increasing

-knowledge of the complexity of the paths of the planets

-showed that if their paths are to be analysed into combinations

-of circular motions, fifty-four such rotations must be an

-altogether inadequate number.  Aristotle's method of analysis

-of the heavenly movements was therefore combined with either

-or both of two others originated by pure astronomers who sat

-loose to metaphysics.  One of these methods was to account

-for a planet's path by the introduction of *epicycles*.  The

-planet was thought of not as fixed at a given point on its

-principal sphere, but as situated on the circumference of a

-lesser sphere which has its centre at a fixed point of the

-principal sphere and rotates around an axis passing through

-this centre.  If need were, this type of hypothesis could be

-further complicated by imagining any number of such epicycles

-within epicycles.  The other method was the employment of

-"eccentrics," *i.e.* circular movements which are described not

-about the common centre of the earth and the universe, but

-about some point in its neighbourhood.  By combinations of

-epicycles and eccentrics the mediæval astronomers contrived

-to reduce the number of principal spheres to *one* for each

-planet, the arrangement we find in Dante.  (2) Also real or

-supposed astronomical perturbations unknown to Aristotle

-led some mediæval theorists to follow the scheme devised by

-Alphonso the Wise of Castille, in which further spheres are

-inserted between that of Saturn, the outermost planet, and

-the "first moved."  In Dante, we have, excluding the

-"empyrean" or immovable heaven where God and the blessed are,

-nine "spheres," one for each of the planets, one for the fixed

-stars, and one for the "first moved," which is now distinguished

-from the heaven of the stars.  In Milton, who adopts

-the "Alphonsine" scheme, we have further a sphere called

-the "second movable" or "crystalline" introduced between

-the heaven of the fixed stars and the "first moved," to account

-for the imaginary phenomenon of "trepidation."[#]  In reading

-Dante, Shakespeare, and Milton, we have always to remember

-that none of these reproduces the Aristotelian doctrine of the

-"spheres" accurately; their astronomy is an amalgam of

-Aristotle, Ptolemy, and Hipparchus.

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-.. class:: noindent small

-

-[#] *Paradise Lost*, iii. 481.

-

-.. class:: noindent small white-space-pre-line

-

-       "They pass the planets seven, and pass the fixed,

-       And that crystalline sphere whose balance weighs

-       The trepidation talked, and that first moved."

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-So far, the doctrine of the fifty-five "spheres" might be no

-more than a legitimate mathematical fiction, a convenient device

-for analysing the complicated apparent movements of the heavenly

-bodies into circular components.  This was originally the part

-played by "spheres" in ancient astronomical theory, and it is

-worth while to be quite clear about the fact, as there is a

-mistaken impression widely current to-day that Aristotle's astronomy

-is typical of Greek views in general.  The truth is that it is

-peculiar to himself.  The origin of the theory was Academic.

-Plato proposed to the Academy as a subject of inquiry, to

-devise such a mathematical analysis of astronomical motions as

-will best "save the appearances," *i.e.* will most simply account

-for the apparent paths of the planets.  The analysis of these

-paths into resultants of several rotations was offered as a solution

-by the astronomer Eudoxus of Cnidus.  So far, the "spheres,"

-then, were a mere mathematical hypothesis.  What Aristotle

-did, and it is perhaps the most retrograde step ever taken in

-the history of a science, was to convert the mathematical

-hypothesis into physical fact.  The "spheres" become with

-him real bodies, and as none of the bodies we are familiar with

-exhibit any tendency to rotate in circles when left to themselves,

-Aristotle was forced to introduce into Physics the disastrous

-theory, which it was a great part of Galileo's life-work to

-destroy, that the stuff of which the spheres are made is a

-"fifth body," different from the "elements" of which the

-bodies among which we live are made.  Hence he makes an

-absolute distinction between two kinds of matter, "celestial

-matter," the "fifth body," and "terrestrial" or "elementary"

-matter.  The fundamental difference is that "terrestrial" or

-"elementary" matter, left to itself, follows a rectilinear path,

-"celestial" matter rotates, but it is further inferred from the

-supposed absolute uniformity of the celestial movements that

-"celestial matter" is simple, uncompounded, incapable of

-change, and consequently that no new state of things can ever

-arise in the heavens.  The spheres and planets have always

-been and will always be exactly as they are at the present

-moment.  Mutability is confined to the region of "terrestrial"

-or "elementary" matter, which only extends as far as the orbit

-of the moon, the "lowest of the celestial bodies," because it is

-only "terrestrial" things which are, as we should say, chemical

-compounds.  This is the doctrine which Galileo has in mind

-when he dwells on such newly-discovered astronomical facts as

-the existence of sun-spots and variable stars, and the signs of

-irregularity presented by the moon's surface.  The distinction

-is peculiar to Aristotle.  No one before him had ever thought

-of supposing the heavenly bodies to be made of any materials

-other than those of which "bodies terrestrial" are made.  In

-the Academic attack on Aristotle's science of which we have

-already spoken the two points singled out for reprobation are

-(1) his rejection of the principle that all moving bodies, left to

-themselves, follow a rectilinear path, and (2) his denial that

-the heavenly bodies are made of the same "elements" as

-everything else.  (It may just be mentioned in passing that our

-word *quintessence* gets its sense from the supposed special

-"nobility" of the incorruptible "fifth body.")

-

-**Terrestrial Bodies**.--As we have seen already, Aristotle was

-out of sympathy with the tendency to regard the sensible

-differences between bodies as consequences of more ultimate

-differences in the geometrical structure of their particles.  Hence

-his whole attitude towards the problems of that branch of

-natural science which we call physics is quite unlike any view

-to which we are accustomed.  He reverts from the mathematical

-lines of thought current in Plato's Academy to the type of view

-more natural to the "plain man," and, like the earliest

-sixth-century men of science, regards the *qualitative* differences which

-our senses apprehend as fundamental.  Among these, particular

-stress is laid on the difference in sensible temperature (the

-hot--the cold), in saturation (the dry--the moist), and in density

-(the dense--the rare).  If we consider the first two of these

-oppositions, we can make four binary combinations of the

-elementary "opposite" characters, viz. hot and dry, hot and

-moist, cold and moist, cold and dry.  These combinations are

-regarded as corresponding respectively to the sensible characteristics

-of the four bodies which Empedocles, the father of Greek

-chemistry, had treated as the ultimate components of everything.

-Fire is hot and dry, air hot and moist, water moist and cold,

-earth cold and dry.  This reflection shows us why Aristotle

-held that the most rudimentary form in which "matter" ever

-actually exists is that of one of these "elements."  Each of

-them has *one* quality in common with another, and it is in

-virtue of this that a portion of one element can be assimilated

-by and transmuted into another, a process which seems to the

-untutored eye to be constantly recurring in Nature.  We also

-observe that the order in which the "elements" appear, when

-so arranged as to form a series in which each term has one

-quality in common with each of its neighbours, is also that of

-their increasing density.  This would help to make the

-conception of their transmutability all the more natural, as it

-suggests that the process may be effected by steady condensation.

-We must remember carefully that for Aristotle, who denies the

-possibility of a vacuum, as for the mediæval alchemists,

-condensation does not mean a mere diminution of the distances

-between corpuscles which remain unchanged in character, but is

-a process of real qualitative change in the body which undergoes

-it.  Incidentally we may remark that *all* changes of quality

-are regarded by Aristotle as stages in a continuous "movement"

-from one extreme of a scale to another.  For example, colours,

-with him as with Goethe, form a series of which the "opposites"

-white and black are the end-points.  Every other colour is a

-combination of white and black according to a definite proportion.

-

-The Aristotelian doctrine of weight was one of the chief

-obstacles which seventeenth-century science had to contend

-with in establishing correct notions in dynamics.  It is a

-curious feature of Greek science before Aristotle that, though

-the facts connected with gravity were well known, no one

-introduced the notion of weight to account for them.  The difference

-between heavy bodies and light bodies had been previously

-treated as secondary for science.  Plato's treatment of the

-matter is typical of the best fourth-century science.  We must

-not try to explain why the heavier bodies tend to move towards

-the earth's surface by saying that they have a "downward"

-motion; their motion is not downward but "towards the

-centre" (the earth, though not fixed at the centre of the

-universe, being nearer to it than the rest of the solar and

-sidereal system).  Plato then explains the tendency in virtue

-of which the heavier bodies move towards the "centre" as an

-attraction of like for like.  The universal tendency is for smaller

-masses of "earth," "water," "air," "fire" to be attracted

-towards the great aggregations of the same materials.  This

-is far from being a satisfactory theory in the light of facts

-which were not yet known to Plato, but it is on the right

-lines.  It starts from the conception of the facts of gravity as

-due to an "attractive force" of some kind, and it has the

-great merit of bringing the "sinking" of stones and the

-"rising" of vapours under the same explanation.

-

-Aristotle, though retaining the central idea that a body

-tends to move towards the region where the great cosmic mass

-of the same kind is congregated, introduced the entirely

-incompatible notion of an absolute distinction of "up" and "down."  He

-identified the centre of the universe with that of the earth,

-and looked on motion to this centre as "downward."  This

-led him to make a distinction between "heavy" bodies, which

-naturally tend to move "down," and "light" bodies, which

-tend to move "up" away from the centre.  The doctrine

-works out thus.  The heaviest elements tend to be massed

-together nearest the centre, the lightest to be furthest from it.

-Each element thus has its "proper place," that of water being

-immediately above earth, that of air next, and that of fire

-furthest from the centre, and nearest to the regions occupied

-by "celestial matter."  (Readers of Dante will recollect the

-ascent from the Earthly Paradise through the "sphere of fire"

-with which the *Paradiso* opens.)

-

-In its own "proper region" no body is heavy or light; as

-we should say any fluid loses its weight when immersed in

-itself.  When a portion of an element is out of its own region

-and surrounded by the great cosmic aggregate of another

-element, either of two cases may occur.  The body which is

-"out of its element" may be *below* its proper place, in which

-case it is "light" and tends to move perpendicularly upwards

-to its place, or it may be *above* its proper place, and then it

-is "heavy" and tends to move perpendicularly "down" until

-it reaches its place.  It was this supposed real distinction

-between motion "up" and motion "down" which made it so

-hard for the contemporaries of Galileo to understand that an

-inflated bladder rises for the same reason that a stone sinks.

-

-**Biology**.--Of Aristotle's biology reasons of space forbid us to

-say much here.  But a remark or two may be made about his

-theory of reproduction, since it is constantly referred to in much

-modern literature and has also played its part in theology.

-An interesting point is the distinction between "perfect" and

-"imperfect" animals.  "Perfect" animals are those which

-can only be reproduced sexually.  Aristotle held, however, that

-there are some creatures, even among vertebrates, which *may*

-be produced by the vivifying effect of solar heat on decomposing

-matter, without any parents at all.  Thus malobservation

-of the facts of putrefaction led to the belief that flies and

-worms are engendered by heat from decaying bodies, and it

-was even thought that frogs and mice are produced in the

-same way from river-slime.  In this process, the so-called

-"aequivocal generation," solar heat was conceived as the

-operative efficient cause which leads to the realisation of an

-organic "form" in the decaying matter.

-

-In sexual reproduction Aristotle regards the male parent

-as the agent or efficient cause which contributes the element of

-form and organisation to the offspring.  The female parent

-supplies only the raw material of the new creature, but she

-supplies the whole of this.  No *material* is supplied by the

-male parent to the body of the offspring, a theory which

-St. Thomas found useful in defending the dogma of the Virgin

-Birth.

-

-**Psychology**.--Since the mind grows and develops, it comes

-under the class of things which have a "source of motion

-internal to themselves," and psychology is therefore, for

-Aristotle, a branch of Physics.  To understand his treatment

-of psychological questions we need bear two things in mind.

-(1) *Psyche* or "soul" means in Greek more than "consciousness"

-does to us.  Consciousness is a relatively late and highly

-developed manifestation of the principle which the Greeks

-call "soul."  That principle shows itself not merely in

-consciousness but in the whole process of nutrition and growth

-and the adaptation of motor response to an external situation.

-Thus consciousness is a more secondary feature of the "soul"

-in Greek philosophy than in most modern thought, which has

-never ceased to be affected by Descartes' selection of "thought"

-as the special characteristic of psychical life.  In common

-language the word *psyche* is constantly used where we should

-say "life" rather than "soul," and in Greek philosophy a

-work "on the *Psyche*" means what we should call one on "the

-principle of life."

-

-(2) It is a consequence of this way of thinking of the

-"soul" that the process of bodily and mental development is

-regarded by Aristotle as one single continuous process.  The

-growth of a man's intellect and character by which he becomes

-a thinker and a citizen is a continuation of the process by which

-his body is conceived and born and passes into physical

-manhood.  This comes out in the words of the definition of the

-soul.  "The soul is the first entelechy (or actual realisation) of

-a natural organic body."  What this means is that the soul stands

-to the living body as all form realised in matter does to the

-matter of which it is the form, or that the soul is the "form"

-of the body.  What the "organic body" is to the embryo out

-of which it has grown, that soul is to the body itself.  As the

-embryo grows into the actual living body, so the living body

-grows into a body exhibiting the actual directing presence of

-mind.  Aristotle illustrates the relation by the remark that if

-the whole body was one vast eye, seeing would be its soul.  As

-the eye is a tool for seeing with, but a living tool which is

-part of ourselves, so the body is a like tool or instrument for

-living with.  Hence we may say of the soul that it is the

-"end" of the body, the activity to which the body is

-instrumental, as seeing is the "end" to which the eye is

-instrumental.  But we must note that the soul is called only the

-"first" or initial "entelechy" of the body.  The reason is

-that the mere presence of the soul does not guarantee the full

-living of the life to which our body is but the instrument.  If

-we are to *live* in the fullest sense of the word, we must not

-merely "have" a soul; we "have" it even in sleep, in ignorance,

-in folly.  The soul itself needs further to be educated

-and trained in intelligence and character, and to exercise its

-intelligence and character efficiently on the problems of thought

-and life.  The mere "presence" of soul is only a first step in

-the progress towards fullness of life.  This is why Aristotle

-calls the soul the *first* entelechy of the living body.  The full

-and final entelechy is the life of intelligence and character

-actively functioning.

-

-From this conception of the soul's relation to the body we

-see that Aristotle's "doctrine of body and mind" does not

-readily fall into line with any of the typical theories of our

-time.  He neither thinks of the soul as a thing acting on the

-body and acted on by it, nor yet as a series of "states of mind"

-concomitant with certain "states of body."  From his point of

-view to ask whether soul and body interact, or whether they

-exhibit "parallelism," would be much the same thing as to

-ask whether life interacts with the body, or whether there

-is a "parallelism" between vital processes and bodily

-processes.  We must not ask at all how the body and soul are

-united.  They are one thing, as the matter and the form of a

-copper globe are one.  Thus they are in actual fact inseparable.

-The soul is the soul of its body and the body the body of its soul.

-We can only distinguish them by logical analysis, as we can

-distinguish the copper from the sphericity in the copper globe.

-

-**Grades of Psychical Life**.--If we consider the order of development,

-we find that some vital activities make their appearance

-earlier than others, and that it is a universal law that the

-more highly developed activities always have the less highly

-developed as their basis and precondition, though the less

-highly developed may exist apart from the more highly

-developed.  So we may arrange vital activities in general in an

-ontogenetic order, the order in which they make their appearance

-in the individual's development.  Aristotle reckons three

-such stages, the "nutritive," the "sensitive," and the

-"intelligent."  The lowest form in which life shows itself at all,

-the level of minimum distinction between the living and the

-lifeless, is the power to take in nutriment, assimilate it, and

-grow.  In vegetables the development is arrested at this point.

-With the animals we reach the next highest level, that of

-"sensitive" life.  For all animals have at least the sense of

-touch.  Thus they all show sense-perception, and it is a

-consequence of this that they exhibit "appetition," the simplest

-form of conation, and the rudiments of feeling and "temper."  For

-what has sensations can also feel pleasure and pain, and

-what can feel pleasure and pain can desire, since desire is only

-appetition of what is pleasant.  Thus in the animals we have

-the beginnings of cognition, conation, and affective and

-emotional life in general.  And Aristotle adds that locomotion

-makes its appearance at this level; animals do not, like plants,

-have to trust to their supply of nutriment coming to them;

-they can go to it.

-

-The third level, that of "intelligence," *i.e.* the power to

-compare, calculate, and reflect, and to order one's life by

-conscious rule, is exhibited by man.  What distinguishes life at

-this level from mere "sensitive" life is, on the intellectual side,

-the ability to cognise universal truths, on the conative, the

-power to live by rule instead of being swayed by momentary

-"appetition."  The former gives us the possibility of science,

-the latter of moral excellence.[#]

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-.. class:: noindent small white-space-pre-line

-

-[#] *Cf.* Dante's "Fatti non foste a viver como bruti,

-                   Ma per seguir virtute e conosoenza."

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-**Sensation**.--Life manifests itself at the animal level on the

-cognitive side as sense-perception, on the conative as appetition

-or desire, on the affective as feeling of pleasure or pain, and in

-such simple emotional moods as "temper," resentment, longing.

-Aristotle gives sensation a logical priority over the conative

-and emotional expression of "animal" life.  To experience

-appetition or anger or desire you must have an object which

-you crave for or desire or are angry with, and it is only when

-you have reached the level of presentations through the senses

-that you can be said to have an object.  Appetition or

-"temper" is as real a fact as perception, but you cannot crave

-for or feel angry with a thing you do not apprehend.

-

-Aristotle's definition of sense perception is that it is a "capacity

-for discerning" or distinguishing between "the sensible qualities

-of things."  His conception of the process by which the

-discernment or distinguishing is effected is not altogether happy.

-In sense-perception the soul "takes into itself the *form* of the

-thing perceived without its *matter*, as sealing-wax receives the

-shape of an iron seal-ring without the iron."  To understand

-this, we have to remember that for Aristotle the sensible

-qualities of the external world, colour, tones, tastes, and the

-rest, are not effects of mechanical stimulation of our

-sense-organs, but real qualities of bodies.  The hardness of iron, the

-redness of a piece of red wax are all primarily "in" the iron

-or the wax.  They are "forms," or determinations by definite

-law, of the "matter" of the iron or the wax.  This will become

-clearer if we consider a definite example, the red colour of the

-wax.  In the wax the red colour is a definite combination of

-the colour-opposites white and black according to a fixed ratio.

-Now Aristotle's view of the process of sense-perception is that

-when I become aware of the red colour the same proportion of

-white to black which makes the wax red is reproduced in my

-organ of vision; my eye, while I am seeing the red, "assimilated"

-to the wax, is itself for the time actually "reddened."  But

-it does not become wax because the red thing I am looking

-at is a piece of red wax.  The eye remains a thing composed

-of living tissues.  This is what is meant by saying that in

-seeing the colours of things the eye receives "forms" without

-the "matter" of the things in which those forms are exhibited.

-Thus the process of sense-perception is one in which the organ

-of sense is temporarily assimilated to the thing apprehended in

-respect of the particular quality cognised by that organ, but in

-respect of no other.  According to Aristotle this process of

-"assimilation" always requires the presence of a "medium."  If

-an object is in immediate contact with the eye we cannot

-see its colour; if it is too near the ear, we do not discern the

-note it gives out.  Even in the case of touch and taste there

-is no immediate contact between the object perceived and the

-true organ of perception.  For in touch the "flesh" is not the

-organ of apprehension but an integument surrounding it and

-capable of acting as an intermediary between it and things.

-Thus perception is always accomplished by a "motion" set up

-in the "medium" by the external object, and by the medium

-in our sense-organs.  Aristotle thus contrives to bring correct

-apprehension by sense of the qualities of things under the

-formula of the "right mean" or "right proportion," which is

-better known from the use made of it in the philosopher's theory

-of conduct.  The colour of a surface, the pitch of the note given

-out by a vibrating string, &c., depend on, and vary with,

-certain forms or ratios "in" the surface or the vibrating string;

-our correct apprehension of the qualities depends on the

-reproduction of the *same* ratios in our sense-organs, the

-establishment of the "right proportion" in *us*.  That this "right

-proportion" may be reproduced in our own sense-organs it is

-necessary (1) that the medium should have none of the sensible

-qualities for the apprehension whereof it serves as medium,

-*e.g.* the medium in colour-perception must be colourless.  If

-it had a colour of its own, the "motion" set up by the coloured

-bodies we apprehend would not be transmitted undistorted to

-our organs; we should see everything through a coloured haze.

-It is necessary for the same reason (2) that the percipient

-organ itself, when in a state of quiescence, should possess none

-of the qualities which can be induced in it by stimulation.

-The upshot of the whole theory is that the sense-organ is

-"potentially" what the sense-quality it apprehends is actually.

-Actual perceiving is just that special transition from the

-potential to the actual which results in making the organ for

-the time being *actually* of the same quality as the object.

-

-**The Common Sensibles and the Common Sense-organ**.--Every

-sense has a range of qualities connected with it as its

-special objects.  Colours can only be perceived by the eye,

-sounds by the ear, and so forth.  But there are certain

-characters of perceived things which we appear to apprehend

-by more than one sense.  Thus we seem to perceive size and

-shape either by touch or by sight, and number by hearing as

-well, since we can count *e.g.* the strokes of an unseen bell.

-Hence Aristotle distinguishes between the "special sensible

-qualities" such as colour and pitch, and what he calls the

-"common sensibles," the character of things which can be

-perceived by more than one organ.  These are enumerated as size,

-form or shape, number, motion (and its opposite rest), being.

-(The addition of this last is, of course, meant to account for

-our conviction that any perceived colour, taste, or other quality

-is a reality and not a delusion.)  The list corresponds very

-closely with one given by Plato of the "things which the mind

-perceives *by herself without the help of any organ*," *i.e.* of the

-leading determinations of sensible things which are due not to

-sense but to understanding.  It was an unfortunate innovation

-to regard the discernment of number or movement, which

-obviously demand intellectual processes such as counting and

-comparison, as performed immediately by "sense," and to

-assign the apprehension of number, movement, figure to a

-central "organ."  This organ he finds in the heart.  The

-theory is that when the "special organs" of the senses are

-stimulated, they in turn communicate movements to the blood

-and "animal spirits" (*i.e.* the vapours supposed to be produced

-from the blood by animal heat).  These movements are propagated

-inwards to the heart, where they all meet.  This is supposed to

-account for the important fact that, though our sensations are so

-many and diverse, we are conscious of our own unity as the

-subjects apprehending all this variety.  The unity of the

-perceiving subject is thus made to depend on the unity of the

-ultimate "organ of sensation," the heart.  Further, when once

-a type of motion has been set up in any sense-organ at the

-periphery of the body it will be propagated inward to the

-"common sensorium" in the heart.  The motions set up by stimulation,

-*e.g.* of the eye and of the skin, are partly different, partly the same

-(viz. in so far as they are determined by the number, shape,

-size, movement of the external stimuli).  Hence in the heart

-itself the stimulation on which perception of number or size

-depends is one and the same whether it has been transmitted

-from the eye or from the skin!  Awareness of lapse of time is

-also regarded as a function of the "common sense-organ," since

-it is the "common sensory" which perceives motion, and lapse

-of time is apprehended only in the apprehension of motion.

-Thus, in respect of the inclusion of geometrical form and lapse

-of time among the "common sensibles," there is a certain

-resemblance between Aristotle's doctrine and Kant's theory

-that recognition of spatial and temporal order is a function not

-of understanding but of "pure" sense.  It is further held that

-to be aware that one is perceiving (self-consciousness) and to

-discriminate between the different classes of "special"

-sense-perception must also be functions of the "common sense-organ."  Thus

-Aristotle makes the mistake of treating the most fundamental

-acts of intelligent reflection as precisely on a par, from

-the point of view of the theory of knowledge, with awareness

-of colour or sound.

-

-A more legitimate function assigned to the "common

-sensorium" in the heart is that "fantasy," the formation of

-mental imagery, depends on its activity.  The simplest kind of

-"image," the pure memory-image left behind after the object

-directly arousing perception has ceased to stimulate, is due to

-the persistence of the movements set up in the heart after the

-sensory process in the peripheral organ is over.  Since Aristotle

-denies the possibility of thinking without the aid of

-memory-images, this function of the "common sensorium" is the

-indispensable basis of mental recall, anticipation, and thought.

-Neither "experience," *i.e.* a general conviction which results

-from the frequent repetition of similar perceptions, nor thought

-can arise in any animal in which sense-stimulation does not

-leave such "traces" behind it.  Similarly "free imagery," the

-existence of trains of imagination not tied down to the reproduction

-of an actual order of sensations, is accounted for by the

-consideration that "chance coincidence" may lead to the

-stimulation of the heart in the same way in which it might have been

-stimulated by actual sensation-processes.  Sleeping and waking

-and the experiences of dream-life are likewise due to changes

-in the functioning of the "common sense-organ," brought about

-partly by fatigue in the superficial sense-organs, partly by

-qualitative changes in the blood and "animal spirits" caused

-by the processes of nutrition and digestion.  Probably Aristotle's

-best scientific work in psychology is contained in the series of

-small essays in which this theory of memory and its imagery

-is worked out.  (Aristotle's language about the "common

-sensibles" is, of course, the source of our expression "common

-sense," which, however, has an entirely different meaning.  The

-shifting of sense has apparently been effected through Cicero's

-employment of the phrase *sensus communis* to mean tactful

-sympathy, the feeling of fellowship with our kind on which the

-Stoic philosophers laid so much stress.)

-

-**Thought**.--Though thinking is impossible except by the

-use of imagery, to think is not merely to possess trains of

-imagery, or even to be aware of possessing them.  Thinking

-means understanding the meaning of such mental imagery and

-arriving through the understanding at knowledge of the structure

-of the real world.  How this process of interpreting mental

-imagery and reaching valid truth is achieved with greater and

-greater success until it culminates in the apprehension of the

-supreme principles of philosophy we have seen in dealing with

-the Aristotelian theory of knowledge.  From the point of view

-of the "physicist" who is concerned with thinking simply as a

-type of natural process, the relation of "understanding" to the

-mental imagery just described is analogous to that of sensation

-to sensible qualities.  The objects which thinking apprehends

-are the universal types of relation by which the world of things

-is pervaded.  The process of thinking is one in which this

-system of universal relations is reproduced "by way of idea" in

-the mind of the thinker.  The "understanding" thus stands

-to its objects as matter to form.  The process of getting

-actually to understand the world is one in which our "thought"

-or "understanding" steadily receives completer determination

-and "form" from its contemplation of reality.  In this sense,

-the process is one in which the understanding may be said to

-be passive in knowledge.  It is passive because it is the subject

-which, at every fresh stage in the progress to knowledge, is

-being quite literally "informed" by the action of the real world

-through the sensation and imagery.  Hence Aristotle says that,

-in order that the understanding may be correctly "informed"

-by its contact with its objects, it must, before the process

-begins, have no determinate character of its own.  It must be

-simply a capacity for apprehending the types of interconnection.

-"What is called the intelligence--I mean that with which the

-soul thinks and understands--is not an actual thing until it

-thinks."  (This is meant to exclude any doctrine which credits

-the "understanding" with either *furniture* of its own such as

-"innate ideas," or a specific *structure* of its own.  If the

-results of our thinking arose partly from the structure of the

-world of objects and partly from inherent laws of the "structure

-of mind," our thought at its best would not reproduce the

-universal "forms" or "types" of interconnection as they really

-are, but would distort them, as the shapes of things are

-distorted when we see them through a lens of high refractive

-index.)  Thus, though Aristotle differs from the modern

-empiricists in holding that "universals" realty exist "in" things,

-and are the links of connection between them, he agrees with

-the empiricist that knowledge is not the resultant of a

-combination of "facts" on the one side and "fundamental laws of the

-mind's working" on the other.  At the outset the "understanding"

-has no structure; it develops a structure for itself in

-the same process, and to the same degree, in which it

-apprehends the "facts."  Hence the "understanding" only is real

-in the actual process of understanding its objects, and again in

-a sense the understanding and the things it understands are

-one.  Only we must qualify this last statement by saying that

-it is only "potentially" that the understanding is the forms

-which it apprehends.  Aristotle does not mean by this that such

-things as horses and oxen are thoughts or "ideas."  By the

-things with which "understanding" is said to be one he means

-the "forms" which we apprehend when we actually understand

-the world or any part of it, the truths of science.  His point

-then is that the actual thinking of these truths and the truths

-themselves do not exist apart from one another.  "Science"

-does not mean certain things written down in a book; it means

-a mind engaged in thinking and knowing things, and of the

-mind itself, considered out of its relation to the actual life of

-thinking the truths of science, we can say no more than that it

-is a name for the fact that we are capable of achieving such

-thought.

-

-**The Active Intelligence**.--So far Aristotle's account

-of thought has been plain sailing.  Thought has been

-considered as the final and highest development of the vital

-functions of the organism, and hence as something inseparable

-from the lower functions of nutrition and sensitive life.

-The existence of a thought which is not a function of a living

-body, and which is not "passive," has been absolutely excluded.

-But at this point we are suddenly met by the most startling

-of all the inconsistencies between the naturalistic and the

-"spiritualist" strains in Aristotle's philosophy.  In a few

-broken lines he tells us that there is another sense of the word

-"thought" in which "thought" actually creates the truths it

-understands, just as light may be said to make the colours

-which we see by its aid.  "And *this* intelligence," he adds,

-"is separable from matter, and impassive and unmixed, being

-in its essential nature an *activity*....  It has no intermission in

-its thinking.  It is only in separation from matter that it is

-fully itself, and it alone is immortal and everlasting ... while

-the passive intelligence is perishable and does not think at all,

-apart from this."  The meaning of this is not made clear by

-Aristotle himself, and the interpretation was disputed even

-among the philosopher's personal disciples.

-

-One important attempt to clear up the difficulty is that

-made by Alexander of Aphrodisias, the greatest of the

-commentators on Aristotle, in the second century A.D.  Alexander

-said, as Aristotle has not done, that the "active intelligence"

-is numerically the same in all men, and is identical with God.

-Thus, all that is specifically human in each of us is the

-"passive intelligence" or capacity for being enlightened by

-God's activity upon us.  The advantage of the view is, that

-it removes the "active intelligence" altogether from the

-purview of psychology, which then becomes a purely naturalistic

-science.  The great Arabian Aristotelian, Averroes (Ibn

-Roschd) of Cordova, in the twelfth century, went still further

-in the direction of naturalism.  Since the "active" and

-"passive" intelligence can only be separated by a logical

-abstraction, he inferred that men, speaking strictly, do not

-think at all; there is only one and the same individual

-intelligence in the universe, and all that we call our thinking is

-really not ours but God's.  The great Christian scholastics

-of the following century in general read Aristotle through

-the eyes of Averroes, "*the* Commentator," as St. Thomas calls

-him, "Averrois che il gran commento feo," as Dante says.

-But their theology compelled them to disavow his doctrine

-of the "active intelligence," against which they could also

-bring, as St. Thomas does, the telling argument that Aristotle

-could never have meant to say that there really is no such

-thing as human intelligence.  Hence arose a third interpretation,

-the Thomist, according to which the "active intelligence"

-is neither God nor the same for all men, but is the highest and

-most rational "part" of the individual human soul, which

-has no bodily "organ."

-

-

-

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-.. _`PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY`:

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-   CHAPTER V

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-   PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY

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-

-Hitherto we have been concerned with the speculative

-branches of knowledge, we have now to turn to practice.

-Practice, too, is an activity of thought, but an activity which

-is never satisfied by the process of thinking itself.  In

-practice our thinking is always directed towards the production of

-some result other than true thought itself.  As in engineering

-it is not enough to find a solution of the problem how to

-build a bridge over a given river capable of sustaining a given

-strain, so in directing our thought on the problems of human

-conduct and the organisation of society we aim at something

-more than the understanding of human life.  In the one case

-what we aim at is the construction of the bridge; in the other

-it is the production of goodness in ourselves and our

-fellow-men, and the establishment of right social relations in the

-state.  Aristotle is careful to insist on this point throughout

-his whole treatment of moral and social problems.  The principal

-object of his lectures on conduct is not to tell his hearers

-what goodness is, but to make them good, and similarly it is

-quite plain that *Politics* was intended as a text-book for

-legislators.  In close connection with this practical object stands

-his theory of the kind of truth which must be looked for

-in ethics and politics.  He warns us against expecting precepts

-which have the exact and universal rigidity of the truths of

-speculative science.  Practical science has to do with the

-affairs of men's lives, matters which are highly complex and

-variable, in a word, with "what may be otherwise."  Hence

-we must be content if we can lay down precepts which hold

-good in the main, just as in medicine we do not expect to find

-directions which will effect a cure in all cases, but are content

-with general directions which require to be adapted to special

-cases by the experience and judgment of the practitioner.  The

-object of practical science then is to formulate rules which will

-guide us in obtaining our various ends.  Now when we

-consider these ends we see at once that some are subordinate

-to others.  The manufacture of small-arms may be the end

-at which their maker aims, but it is to the military man

-a mere means to *his* end, which is the effective use of them.

-Successful use of arms is again the end of the professional soldier,

-but it is a mere means among others to the statesman.

-Further, it is the military men who use the arms from whom the

-manufacturer has to take his directions as to the kind of arms

-that are wanted, and again it is the statesman to whom the

-professional soldiers have to look for directions as to when

-and with what general objects in view they shall fight.  So

-the art which uses the things produced by another art is the

-superior and directing art; the art which makes the things,

-the inferior and subordinate art.  Hence the supreme practical

-art is politics, since it is the art which uses the products

-turned out by all other arts as means to its ends.  It is the

-business of politics, the art of the statesman, to prescribe to

-the practitioners of all other arts and professions the lines

-on which and the conditions under which they shall exercise

-their vocation with a view to securing the supreme practical

-end, the well-being of the community.  Among the other

-professions and arts which make the materials the statesman

-employs, the profession of the educator stands foremost.  The

-statesman is bound to demand certain qualities of mind and

-character in the individual citizens.  The production of these

-mental and moral qualities must therefore be the work of the

-educator.  It thus becomes an important branch of politics

-to specify the kind of mental and moral qualities which a

-statesman should require the educator to produce in his

-pupils.

-

-It is this branch of politics which Aristotle discusses in his

-*Ethics*.  He never contemplates a study of the individual's

-good apart from politics, the study of the good of the society.

-What then is the good or the best kind of life for an individual

-member of society?  Aristotle answers that as far as the mere

-name is concerned, there is a general agreement to call the best

-life, *Eudaimonia*, Happiness.  But the real problem is one of

-fact.  What kind of life deserves to be called happiness?

-Plato had laid it down that the happy life must satisfy three

-conditions.  It must be desirable for its own sake, it must be

-sufficient of itself to satisfy us, and it must be the life a wise

-man would prefer to any other.  The question is, What general

-formula can we find which will define the life which satisfies

-these conditions?  To find the answer we have to consider what

-Plato and Aristotle call the work or function of man.  By the

-work of anything we mean what can only be done by it, or by

-it better than by anything else.  Thus the work of the eye is

-to see.  You cannot see with any other organ, and when the

-eye does this work of seeing well you say it is a good eye.  So

-we may say of any living being that its work is to live, and

-that it is a good being when it does this work of living efficiently.

-To do its own work efficiently is the excellence or virtue of the

-thing.  The excellence or virtue of a man will thus be to live

-efficiently, but since life can be manifested at different levels,

-if we would know what man's work is we must ask whether

-there is not some form of life which can *only* be lived by man.

-Now the life which consists in merely feeding and growing

-belongs to all organisms and can be lived with equal vigour by

-them all.  There is, however, a kind of life which can only be

-lived by man, the life which consists in conscious direction of

-one's actions by a rule.  It is the work of man to live this

-kind of life, and his happiness consists in living it efficiently

-and well.  So we may give as the definition of human well-being

-that it is "an active life in accord with excellence, or if

-there are more forms of excellence than one, in accord with the

-best and completest of them"; and we must add "in a

-complete life" to show that mere promise not crowned by

-performance does not suffice to entitle man's life to be called

-happy.  We can see that this definition satisfies Plato's three

-conditions.  A vigorous and active living in a way which calls

-into play the specifically human capacities of man is desirable

-for its own sake, and preferable to any other life which could be

-proposed to us.  It too is the only life which can permanently

-satisfy men, but we must add that if such a life is to be lived

-adequately certain advantages of fortune must be presupposed.

-We cannot fully live a life of this kind if we are prevented

-from exercising our capacities by lack of means or health or

-friends and associates, and even the calamities which arise in

-the course of events may be so crushing as to hinder a man,

-for a time, from putting forth his full powers.  These external

-good things are not constituents of happiness, but merely

-necessary conditions of that exercise of our own capacities which is

-the happy life.

-

-In our definition of the happy life we said that it was one

-of activity in accord with goodness or excellence, and we left

-it an open question whether there are more kinds of such

-goodness than one.  On consideration we see that two kinds of

-goodness or excellence are required in living the happy life.

-The happy life for man is a life of conscious following of a

-rule.  To live it well, then, you need to know what the right

-rule to follow is, and you need also to follow it.  There are

-persons who deliberately follow a wrong rule of life--the

-wicked.  There are others who know what the right rule is

-but fail to follow it because their tempers and appetites are

-unruly--the morally weak.  To live the happy life, then, two

-sorts of goodness are required.  You must have a good judgment

-as to what the right rule is (or if you cannot find it out

-for yourself, you must at least be able to recognise it when it

-is laid down by some one else, the teacher or lawgiver), and

-you must have your appetites, feelings, and emotions generally

-so trained that they obey the rule.  Hence excellence, goodness,

-or virtue is divided into goodness of intellect and goodness of

-character (moral goodness), the word *character* being used for

-the complex of tempers, feelings, and the affective side of

-human nature generally.  In education goodness of character

-has to be produced by training and discipline before goodness

-of intellect can be imparted.  The young generally have to be

-trained to obey the right rule before they can see for themselves

-that it is the right rule, and if a man's tempers and passions

-are not first schooled into actual obedience to the rule he will

-in most cases never see that it is the right rule at all.  Hence

-Aristotle next goes on to discuss the general character of the

-kind of goodness he calls goodness of character, the right state

-of the feelings and passions.

-

-The first step towards understanding what goodness of

-character is is to consider the way in which it is actually

-produced.  We are not born with this goodness of tempers and

-feelings ready made, nor yet do we obtain it by theoretical

-instruction; it is a result of a training and discipline of the

-feelings and impulses.  The possibility of such a training is

-due to the fact that feelings and impulses are rational capacities,

-and a rational capacity can be developed into either of two

-contrasted activities according to the training it receives.  You

-cannot train stones to fall upwards, but you can train a hot

-temper to display itself either in the form of righteous

-resentment of wrong-doing or in that of violent defiance of all

-authority.  Our natural emotions and impulses are in themselves

-neither good nor bad; they are the raw material out of which

-training makes good or bad character according to the direction

-it gives to them.  The effect of training is to convert the

-indeterminate tendency into a fixed habit.  We may say, then,

-that moral goodness is a fixed state of the soul produced by

-habituation.  By being trained in habits of endurance,

-self-mastery, and fair dealing, we acquire the kind of character to

-which it is pleasing to act bravely, continently, and fairly, and

-disagreeable to act unfairly, profligately, or like a coward.

-When habituation has brought about this result the moral

-excellences in question have become part of our inmost self and

-we are in full possession of goodness of character.  In a word,

-it is by repeated doing of right acts that we acquire the right

-kind of character.

-

-But what general characteristics distinguish right acts and

-right habits from wrong ones?  Aristotle is guided in answering

-the question by an analogy which is really at the bottom

-of all Greek thinking on morality.  The thought is that goodness

-is in the soul what health and fitness are in the body, and

-that the preceptor is for the soul what the physician or the

-trainer is for the body.  Now it was a well-known medical

-theory, favoured by both Plato and Aristotle, that health in

-the body means a condition of balance or equilibration among

-the elements of which it is composed.  When the hot and the

-cold, the moist and the dry in the composition of the human

-frame exactly balance one another, the body is in perfect

-health.  Hence the object of the regimen of the physician or

-the trainer is to produce and maintain a proper balance or

-proportion between the ingredients of the body.  Any course

-which disturbs this balance is injurious to health and strength.

-You damage your health if you take too much food or exercise,

-and also if you take too little.  The same thing is true of

-health in the soul.  Our soul's health may be injured by

-allowing too much or too little play to any of our natural

-impulses or feelings.  We may lay it down, then, that the kind

-of training which gives rise to a good habit is training in the

-avoidance of the opposite errors of the too much and the too

-little.  And since the effect of training is to produce habits

-which issue in the spontaneous performance of the same kind

-of acts by which the habits were acquired, we may say not

-merely that goodness of character is produced by acts which

-exhibit a proper balance or mean, but that it is a settled habit

-of acting so as to exhibit the same balance or proportion.

-Hence the formal definition of goodness of character is that it

-is "a settled condition of the soul which wills or chooses the

-mean relatively to ourselves, this mean being determined by a

-rule or whatever we like to call that by which the wise man

-determines it."

-

-There are several points in this definition of the mean upon

-which moral virtue depends of which we must take note unless

-we are to misunderstand Aristotle seriously.  To begin with,

-the definition expressly says that "moral goodness is a state

-of will or choice."  Thus it is not enough that one should

-follow the rule of the mean outwardly in one's actions; one's

-personal will must be regulated by it.  Goodness of character

-is inward; it is not merely outward.  Next we must not

-suppose that Aristotle means that the "just enough" is the same

-for all our feelings, that every impulse has a moral right to

-the same authority in shaping our conduct as any other.  How

-much or how little is the just enough in connection with a

-given spring of action is one of the things which the wise man's

-rule has to determine, just as the wise physician's rule may

-determine that a very little quantity is the just enough in the

-case of some articles of diet or curative drugs, while in the case

-of others the just enough may be a considerable amount.  Also

-the right mean is not the same for every one.  What we have

-to attain is the mean relatively to *ourselves*, and this will be

-different for persons of different constitutions and in different

-conditions.  It is this relativity of the just enough to the

-individual's personality and circumstances which makes it

-impossible to lay down precise rules of conduct applicable alike

-to everybody, and renders the practical attainment of goodness

-so hard.  It is my duty to spend some part of my income in

-buying books on philosophy, but no general rule will tell me

-what percentage of my income is the right amount for me to

-spend in this way.  That depends on a host of considerations,

-such as the excess of my income above my necessary expenses

-and the like.  Or again, the just enough may vary with the

-same man according to the circumstances of the particular case.

-No rule of thumb application of a formula will decide such

-problems.  Hence Aristotle insists that the right mean in the

-individual case has always to be determined by immediate

-insight.  This is precisely why goodness of intellect needs to be

-added to goodness of character.  His meaning is well brought

-out by an illustration which I borrow from Professor Burnet.

-"On a given occasion there will be a temperature which is

-just right for my morning bath.  If the bath is hotter than

-this, it will be too hot; if it is colder, it will be too cold.  But

-as this just right temperature varies with the condition of my

-body, it cannot be ascertained by simply using a thermometer.

-If I am in good general health I shall, however, know by the

-feel of the water when the temperature is right.  So if I am in

-good moral health I shall know, without appealing to a formal

-code of maxims, what is the right degree, *e.g.* of indignation to

-show in a given case, how it should be shown and towards

-whom."  Thus we see why Aristotle demands goodness of

-character as a preliminary condition of goodness of intellect or

-judgment in moral matters.  Finally, if we ask by *what* rule

-the mean is determined, the answer will be that the rule is the

-judgment of the legislator who determines what is the right

-mean by his knowledge of the conditions on which the

-well-being of the community depends.  He then embodies his

-insight in the laws which he makes and the regulations he

-imposes on the educators of youth.  The final aim of education

-in goodness is to make our immediate judgment as to what is

-right coincide with the spirit of a wise legislation.

-

-The introduction of the reference to will or choice into the

-definition of goodness of character leads Aristotle to consider

-the relation of will to conduct.  His main object is to escape

-the paradoxical doctrine which superficial students might

-derive from the works of Plato, that wrong-doing is always

-well-meaning ignorance.  Aristotle's point is that it is the

-condition of will revealed by men's acts which is the real

-object of our approval or blame.  This is because in voluntary

-action the man himself is the efficient cause of his act.  Hence

-the law recognises only two grounds on which a man may

-plead, that he is not answerable for what he does.  (1) Actual

-physical compulsion by *force majeure*.  (2) Ignorance, not due

-to the man's own previous negligence, of some circumstances

-material to the issue.  When either of these pleas can be

-made with truth the man does not really contribute by his

-choice to the resulting act, and therefore is not really its cause.

-But a plea of ignorance of the general laws of morality does

-not excuse.  I cannot escape responsibility for a murder by

-pleading that I did not know that murder is wrong.  Such a

-plea does not exempt me from having been the cause of the

-murder; it only shows that my moral principles are depraved.

-

-More precisely will is a process which has both an intellectual

-and an appetitive element.  The appetitive element is

-our wish for some result.  The intellectual factor is the

-calculation of the steps by which that result may be obtained.

-When we wish for the result we begin to consider how it

-might be brought about, and we continue our analysis until

-we find that the chain of conditions requisite may be started

-by the performance of some act now in our power to do.  Will

-may thus be defined as the deliberate appetition of something

-within our power, and the very definition shows that our

-choice is an efficient cause of the acts we choose to do.  This

-is why we rightly regard men as responsible or answerable for

-their acts of choice, good and bad alike.

-

-From the analysis of goodness of character, we proceed to

-that of goodness of intellect.  The important point is to

-decide which of all the forms of goodness of intellect is that

-which must be combined with goodness of character to make a

-man fit to be a citizen of the state.  It must be a kind of

-intellectual excellence which makes a man see what the right

-rule by which the mean is determined is.  Now when we come

-to consider the different excellences of intellect we find that

-they all fall under one of two heads, theoretical or speculative

-wisdom and practical wisdom.

-

-Theoretical wisdom is contained in the sciences which give

-us universal truths about the fixed and unalterable relations

-of the things in the universe, or, as we should say, which teach

-us the laws of Nature.  Its method is syllogism, the function

-of which is to make us see how the more complex truths are

-implied in simpler principles.  Practical wisdom is intelligence

-as employed in controlling and directing human life to the

-production of the happy life for a community, and it is this

-form of intellectual excellence which we require of the

-statesman.  It is required of him not only that he should know in

-general what things are good for man, but also that he should

-be able to judge correctly that in given circumstances such and

-such an act is the one which will secure the good.  He must

-not only know the right rule itself, which corresponds to the

-major premiss of syllogism in theoretical science, but he must

-understand the character of particular acts so as to see that

-they fall under the right rule.  Thus the method of practical

-wisdom will be analogous to that of theoretical wisdom.  In

-both cases what we have to do is to see that certain special

-facts are cases of a general law or rule.  Hence Aristotle calls

-the method of practical wisdom the practical syllogism or

-syllogism of action, since its peculiarity is that what issues

-from the putting together of the premisses is not an assertion

-but the performance of an act.  In the syllogism of action, the

-conclusion, that is to say, the performance of a given act, just

-as in the syllogism of theory, is connected with the rule given

-in the major premiss by a statement of fact; thus *e.g.* the

-performance of a specific act such as the writing of this book

-is connected with the general rule what helps to spread

-knowledge ought to be done by the conviction that the writing

-of this book helps to spread knowledge.  Our perception of

-such a fact is like a sense-perception in its directness and

-immediacy.  We see therefore that the kind of intellectual

-excellence which the statesman must possess embraces at once

-a right conception of the general character of the life which is

-best for man, because it calls into play his specific capacities

-as a human being, and also a sound judgment in virtue of which

-he sees correctly that particular acts are expressions of this

-good for man.  This, then, is what we mean by practical

-wisdom.

-

-So far, then, it would seem that the best life for man is just

-the life of co-operation in the life of the state, which man,

-being the only political animal or animal capable of life in a

-state, has as his peculiar work, and as if the end of all moral

-education should be to make us good and efficient citizens.

-But in the *Ethics*, as elsewhere, the end of Aristotle's

-argument has a way of forgetting the beginning.  We find that

-there is after all a still higher life open to man than that of

-public affairs.  Affairs and business of all kinds are only

-undertaken as means to getting leisure, just as civilised men

-go to war, not for the love of war itself, but to secure peace.

-The highest aim of life, then, is not the carrying on of political

-business for its own sake, but the worthy and noble employment

-of leisure, the periods in which we are our own masters.

-It has the advantage that it depends more purely on ourselves

-and our own internal resources than any other life of which

-we know, for it needs very little equipment with external goods

-as compared with any form of the life of action.  It calls into

-play the very highest of our own capacities as intelligent

-beings, and for that very reason the active living of it is

-attended with the purest of all pleasures.  In it, moreover, we

-enter at intervals and for a little while, so far as the conditions

-of our mundane existence allow, into the life which God enjoys

-through an unbroken eternity.  Thus we reach the curious

-paradox that while the life of contemplation is said to be that

-of our truest self, it is also maintained that this highest and

-happiest life is one which we live, not in respect of being

-human, but in respect of having a divine something in us.

-When we ask what this life of contemplation includes, we see

-from references in the *Politics* that it includes the genuinely

-æsthetic appreciation of good literature and music and pictorial

-and plastic art, but there can be no doubt that what bulks

-most largely in Aristotle's mind is the active pursuit of science

-for its own sake, particularly of such studies as First Philosophy

-and Physics, which deal with the fundamental structure of

-the universe.  Aristotle thus definitely ends by placing the life

-of the scholar and the student on the very summit of felicity.

-

-It is from this doctrine that mediæval Christianity derives

-its opposition between the *vita contemplativa* and *vita

-activa* and its preference for the former, though in the

-mediæval mind the contemplative life has come to mean

-generally a kind of brooding over theological speculations and of

-absorption in mystical ecstasy very foreign to the spirit of

-Aristotle.  The types by which the contrast of the two lives is

-illustrated, Rachael and Leah, Mary and Martha, are familiar

-to all readers of Christian literature.

-

-+The Theory of the State+.--Man is by nature a political

-animal, a being who can only develop his capacities by sharing

-in the life of a community.  Hence Aristotle definitely rejects

-the view that the state or society is a mere creature of

-convention or agreement, an institution made by compact between

-individuals for certain special ends, not growing naturally out of

-the universal demands and aspirations of humanity.  Mankind,

-he urges, have never existed at all as isolated individuals.  Some

-rudimentary form of social organisation is to be found wherever

-men are to be found.  The actual stages in the development of

-social organisation have been three--the family, the village

-community, the city state.  In the very rudest forms of social

-life known to us, the patriarchal family, not the individual, is

-the social unit.  Men lived at first in separate families under

-the control of the head of the family.  Now a family is made

-up in its simplest form of at least three persons, a man, his wife,

-and a servant or slave to do the hard work, though very poor

-men often have to replace the servant by an ox as the drudge

-of all work.  Children when they come swell the number, and

-thus we see the beginnings of complex social relations of

-subordination in the family itself.  It involves three such distinct

-relations, that of husband and wife, that of parent and child,

-that of master and man.  The family passes into the village

-community, partly by the tendency of several families of

-common descent to remain together under the direction of the

-oldest male member of the group, partly by the association of a

-number of distinct families for purposes of mutual help and

-protection against common dangers.  Neither of these forms of

-association, however, makes adequate provision for the most

-permanent needs of human nature.  Complete security for a

-permanent supply of material necessaries and adequate

-protection only come when a number of such scattered communities

-pool their resources, and surround themselves with a city wall.

-The city state, which has come into being in this way, proves

-adequate to provide from its own internal resources for all the

-spiritual as well as the material needs of its members.  Hence

-the independent city state does not grow as civilisation advances

-into any higher form of organisation, as the family and village

-grew into it.  It is the end, the last word of social progress.

-It is amazing to us that this piece of cheap conservatism should

-have been uttered at the very time when the system of

-independent city states had visibly broken down, and a former

-pupil of Aristotle himself was founding a gigantic empire to

-take their place as the vehicle of civilisation.

-

-The end for which the state exists is not merely its own

-self-perpetuation.  As we have seen, Aristotle assigns a higher

-value to the life of the student than to the life of practical

-affairs.  Since it is only in the civilised state that the student

-can pursue his vocation, the ultimate reason for which the state

-exists is to educate its citizens in such a way as shall fit them

-to make the noble use of leisure.  In the end the state itself is

-a means to the spiritual cultivation of its individual members.

-This implies that the chosen few, who have a vocation to make

-full use of the opportunities provided for leading this life of noble

-leisure, are the real end for the sake of which society exists.

-The other citizens who have no qualification for any life higher

-than that of business and affairs are making the most of

-themselves in devoting their lives to the conduct and maintenance

-of the organisation whose full advantages they are unequal to

-share in.  It is from this point of view also that Aristotle treats

-the social problem of the existence of a class whose whole life

-is spent in doing the hard work of society, and thus setting the

-citizen body free to make the best use it can of leisure.  In the

-conditions of life in the Greek world this class consisted mainly

-of slaves, and thus the problem Aristotle has to face is the

-moral justifiability of slavery.  We must remember that he

-knew slavery only in its comparatively humane Hellenic form.

-The slaves of whom he speaks were household servants and

-assistants in small businesses.  He had not before his eyes the

-system of enormous industries carried on by huge gangs of

-slaves under conditions of revolting degradation which disgraced

-the later Roman Republic and the early Roman Empire, or the

-Southern States of North America.  His problems are in all

-essentials much the same as those which concern us to-day in

-connection with the social position of the classes who do the

-hard bodily work of the community.

-

-Much consideration is given in the *Politics* to the classification

-of the different types of constitution possible for the

-city-state.  The current view was that there are three main types

-distinguished by the number of persons who form the sovereign

-political authority, monarchy, in which sovereign power belongs

-to a single person; oligarchy, in which it is in the hands of a

-select few; democracy, in which it is enjoyed by the whole body

-of the citizens.  Aristotle observes, correctly, that the really

-fundamental distinction between a Greek oligarchy and a

-Greek democracy was that the former was government by the

-propertied classes, the latter government by the masses.  Hence

-the watchword of democracy was always that all political

-rights should belong equally to all citizens, that of oligarchy

-that a man's political status should be graded according to his

-"stake in the country."  Both ideals are, according to him,

-equally mistaken, since the real end of government, which both

-overlook, is the promotion of the "good life."  In a state

-which recognises this ideal, an aristocracy or government by

-the best, only the "best" men will possess the full rights of

-citizenship, whether they are many or few.  There might even

-be a monarch at the head of such a state, if it happened to

-contain some one man of outstanding intellectual and moral

-worth.  Such a state should be the very opposite of a great

-imperial power.  It should, that its cultivation may be the

-more intensive, be as small as is compatible with complete

-independence of outside communities for its material and

-spiritual sustenance, and its territory should only be large

-enough to provide its members with the permanent possibility

-of ample leisure, so long as they are content with plain and

-frugal living.  Though it ought not, for military and other

-reasons, to be cut off from communication with the sea, the

-great military and commercial high road of the Greek world, it

-ought not to be near enough to the coast to run any risk of

-imperilling its moral cultivation by becoming a great emporium,

-like the Athens of Pericles.  In the organisation of the society

-care should be taken to exclude the agricultural and industrial

-population from full citizenship, which carries with it the

-right to appoint and to be appointed as administrative

-magistrates.  This is because these classes, having no opportunity

-for the worthy employment of leisure, cannot be trusted to

-administer the state for the high ends which it is its true

-function to further.

-

-Thus Aristotle's political ideal is that of a small but leisured

-and highly cultivated aristocracy, without large fortunes or any

-remarkable differences in material wealth, free from the spirit

-of adventure and enterprise, pursuing the arts and sciences

-quietly while its material needs are supplied by the labour of

-a class excluded from citizenship, kindly treated but without

-prospects.  Weimar, in the days when Thackeray knew it

-as a lad, would apparently reproduce the ideal better than any

-other modern state one can think of.

-

-The object of the *Politics* is, however, not merely to discuss

-the ideal state but to give practical advice to men who might

-be looking forward to actual political life, and would therefore

-largely have to be content with making the best of existing

-institutions.  In the absence of the ideal aristocracy, Aristotle's

-preference is for what he calls Polity or constitutional

-government, a sort of compromise between oligarchy and democracy.

-Of course a practical statesman may have to work with a

-theoretically undesirable constitution, such as an oligarchy or an

-unqualified democracy.  But it is only in an ideal constitution

-that the education which makes its subject a good man, in the

-philosopher's sense of the word, will also make him a good

-citizen.  If the constitution is bad, then the education best

-fitted to make a man loyal to it may have to be very different

-from that which you would choose to make him a good man.

-The discussion of the kind of education desirable for the best

-kind of state, in which to be a loyal citizen and to be a good

-man are the same thing, is perhaps the most permanently

-valuable part of the *Politics*.  Though Aristotle's writings on

-"practical" philosophy have been more read in modern times

-than any other part of his works, they are far from being his

-best and most thorough performances.  In no department of

-his thought is he quite so slavishly dependent on his master

-Plato as in the theory of the "good for man" and the character

-of "moral" excellence.  No Aristotelian work is quite so

-commonplace in its handling of a vast subject as the *Politics*.

-In truth his interest in these social questions is not of the

-deepest.  He is, in accordance with his view of the superiority

-of "theoretical science," entirely devoid of the spirit of the

-social reformer.  What he really cares about is "theology"

-and "physics," and the fact that the objects of the educational

-regulations of the *Politics* are all designed to encourage the

-study of these "theoretical" sciences, makes this section of the

-*Politics* still one of the most valuable expositions of the aims

-and requirements of a "liberal" education.

-

-All education must be under public control, and education

-must be universal and compulsory.  Public control is necessary,

-not merely to avoid educational anarchy, but because it is

-a matter of importance to the community that its future

-citizens should be trained in the way which will make them

-most loyal to the constitution and the ends it is designed to

-subserve.  Even in one of the "bad" types of state, where

-the life which the constitution tends to foster is not the

-highest, the legislator's business is to see that education is

-directed towards fostering the "spirit of the constitution."  There

-is to be an "atmosphere" which impregnates the whole

-of the teaching, and it is to be an "atmosphere" of public

-spirit.  The only advantage which Aristotle sees in private

-education is that it allows of more modification of programme

-to meet the special needs of the individual pupil than a

-rigid state education which is to be the same for all.  The

-actual regulations which Aristotle lays down are not very

-different from those of Plato.  Both philosophers hold that

-"primary" education, in the early years of life, should aim

-partly at promoting bodily health and growth by a proper

-system of physical exercises, partly at influencing character and

-giving a refined and elevated tone to the mind by the study

-of letters, art, and music.  Both agree that this should be

-followed in the later "teens" by two or three years of specially

-rigorous systematic military training combined with a taste

-of actual service in the less exhausting and less dangerous

-parts of a soldier's duty.  It is only after this, at about the

-age at which young men now take a "university" course, that

-Plato and Aristotle would have the serious scientific training

-of the intellect begun.  The *Politics* leaves the subject just at

-the point where the young men are ready to undergo their

-special military training.  Thus we do not know with certainty

-what scientific curriculum Aristotle would have recommended,

-though we may safely guess that it would have contained

-comparatively little pure mathematics, but a great deal of

-astronomy, cosmology, and biology.

-

-With respect to the "primary" education Aristotle has a

-good deal to say.  As "forcing" is always injurious, it should

-not be begun too soon.  For the first five years a child's life

-should be given up to healthy play.  Great care must be taken

-that children are not allowed to be too much with "servants,"

-from whom they may imbibe low tastes, and that they are

-protected against any familiarity with indecency.  From five

-to seven a child may begin to make a first easy acquaintance

-with the life of the school by looking on at the lessons of its

-elders.  The real work of school education is to begin at seven

-and not before.

-

-We next have to consider what should be the staple subjects

-of an education meant not for those who are to follow some

-particular calling, but for all the full citizens of a state.

-Aristotle's view is that some "useful" subjects must, of course,

-be taught.  Reading and writing, for instance, are useful for

-the discharge of the business of life, though their commercial

-utility is not the highest value which they have for us.  But

-care must be taken that only those "useful" studies which are

-also "liberal" should be taught; "illiberal" or "mechanical"

-subjects must not have any place in the curriculum.  A

-"liberal" education means, as the name shows, one which will

-tend to make its recipient a "free man," and not a slave in

-body and soul.  The mechanical crafts were felt by Aristotle

-to be illiberal because they leave a man no leisure to make the

-best of body and mind; practice of them sets a stamp on the

-body and narrows the mind's outlook.  In principle then, no

-study should form a subject of the universal curriculum if its

-only value is that it prepares a man for a profession followed

-as a means of making a living.  General education, all-round

-training which aims at the development of body and mind for

-its own sake, must be kept free from the intrusion of everything

-which has a merely commercial value and tends to contract

-the mental vision.  It is the same principle which we rightly

-employ ourselves when we maintain that a university education

-ought not to include specialisation on merely "technical" or

-"professional" studies.  The useful subjects which have at the

-same time a higher value as contributing to the formation of

-taste and character and serving to elevate and refine the mind

-include, besides reading and writing, which render great

-literature accessible to us, bodily culture (the true object of which

-is not merely to make the body strong and hardy, but to

-develop the moral qualities of grace and courage), music, and

-drawing.  Aristotle holds that the real reason for making

-children learn music is (1) that the artistic appreciation of

-really great music is one of the ways in which "leisure" may

-be worthily employed, and to appreciate music rightly we must

-have some personal training in musical execution; (2) that all

-art, and music in particular, has a direct influence on character.

-

-Plato and Aristotle, though they differ on certain points of

-detail, are agreed that the influence of music on character, for

-good or bad, is enormous.  Music, they say, is the most

-imitative of all the arts.  The various rhythms, times, and scales

-imitate different tempers and emotional moods, and it is a

-fundamental law of our nature that we grow like what we take

-pleasure in seeing or having imitated or represented for us.

-Hence if we are early accustomed to take pleasure in the imitation

-of the manly, resolute, and orderly, these qualities will in

-time become part of our own nature.  This is why right

-musical education is so important that Plato declared that the

-revolutionary spirit always makes its first appearance in

-innovations on established musical form.

-

-There is, however, one important difference between the two

-philosophers which must be noted, because it concerns Aristotle's

-chief contribution to the philosophy of fine art.  Plato

-had in the *Republic* proposed to expel florid, languishing, or

-unduly exciting forms of music not only from the schoolroom,

-but from life altogether, on the ground of their unwholesome

-tendency to foster an unstable and morbid character in those

-who enjoy them.  For the same reason he had proposed the

-entire suppression of tragic drama.  Aristotle has a theory

-which is directly aimed against this overstrained Puritanism.

-He holds that the exciting and sensational art which would be

-very bad as daily food may be very useful as an occasional

-medicine for the soul.  He would retain even the most sensational

-forms of music on account of what he calls their "purgative"

-value.  In the same spirit he asserts that the function

-of tragedy, with its sensational representations of the calamities

-of its heroes, is "by the vehicle of fear and pity to purge our

-minds of those and similar emotions."  The explanation of the

-theory is to be sought in the literal sense of the medical term

-"purgative."  According to the medical view which we have

-already found influencing his ethical doctrine, health consists

-in the maintenance of an equality between the various

-ingredients of the body.  Every now and again it happens that

-there arise superfluous accretions of some one ingredient, which

-are not carried away in the normal routine of bodily life.

-These give rise to serious derangement of function and may

-permanently injure the working of the organism, unless they

-are removed in time by a medicine which acts as a purge, and

-clears the body of a superfluous accumulation.  The same thing

-also happens in the life of the soul.  So long as we are in good

-spiritual health our various feelings and emotional moods will

-be readily discharged in action, in the course of our daily life.

-But there is always the possibility of an excessive accumulation

-of emotional "moods" for which the routine of daily life does

-not provide an adequate discharge in action.  Unless this

-tendency is checked we may contract dangerously morbid habits

-of soul.  Thus we need some medicine for the soul against this

-danger, which may be to it what a purgative is to the body.

-

-Now it was a well-known fact, observed in connection with

-some of the more extravagant religious cults, that persons

-suffering from an excess of religious frenzy might be cured

-homoeopathically, so to say, by artificially arousing the very

-emotion in question by the use of exciting music.  Aristotle

-extends the principle by suggesting that in the artificial

-excitement aroused by violently stimulating music or in the

-transports of sympathetic apprehension and pity with which we

-follow the disasters of the stage-hero, we have a safe and ready

-means of ridding ourselves of morbid emotional strain which

-might otherwise have worked havoc with the efficient conduct

-of real life.

-

-The great value of this defence of the occasional employment

-of sensation as a medicine for the soul is obvious.  Unhappily

-it would seem to have so dominated Aristotle's thought on the

-functions of dramatic art as to blind him to what we are

-accustomed to think the nobler functions of tragedy.  No book

-has had a more curious fate than the little manual for intending

-composers of tragedies which is all that remains to us of

-Aristotle's lectures on Poetry.  This is not the place to tell

-the story of the way in which the great classical French

-playwrights, who hopelessly misunderstood the meaning of Aristotle's

-chief special directions, but quite correctly divined that

-his lectures were meant to be an actual *Vade Mecum* for

-the dramatist, deliberately constructed their masterpieces in

-absolute submission to regulations for which they had no better

-reasons than that they had once been given magisterially by an

-ancient Greek philosopher.  But it may be worth while to

-remark that the worth of Aristotle's account of tragedy as

-art-criticism has probably been vastly overrated.  From first to

-last the standpoint he assumes, in his verdicts on the great

-tragic poets, is that of the gallery.  What he insists on all

-through, probably because he has the purgative effect of the

-play always in his mind, is a well-woven plot with plenty of

-melodramatic surprise in the incidents and a thoroughly

-sensational culmination in a sense of unrelieved catastrophe over

-which the spectator can have a good cry, and so get well

-"purged" of his superfluous emotion.  It is clear from his

-repeated allusions that the play he admired above all others

-was the *King Oedipus* of Sophocles, but it is equally clear

-that he admired it not for the profound insight into human life

-and destiny or the deep sense of the mystery of things which

-some modern critics have found in it, but because its plot is

-the best and most startling detective story ever devised, and

-its finale a triumph of melodramatic horror.

-

-

-

-

-

-.. vspace:: 4

-

-.. _`BIBLIOGRAPHY`:

-

-.. class:: center large bold

-

-   BIBLIOGRAPHY

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-The English reader who wishes for further information about

-Aristotle and his philosophy may be referred to any or all of the

-following works:--

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\E. Zeller.--*Aristotle and the Earlier Peripatetics*.  English

-translation in 2 vols. by B. F. C. Costelloe and J. H. Muirhead.

-London.  Longmans & Co.

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\*E. Wallace.--*Outlines of the Philosophy of Aristotle*.  Cambridge

-University Press.

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\G. Grote.--*Aristotle*.  London.  John Murray.

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\*W. D. Ross.--*The Works of Aristotle translated into English*,

-vol. viii., *Metaphysics*.  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\*A. E. Taylor.--*Aristotle on his Predecessor*.  (*Metaphysics*, Bk. I.,

-translated with notes, &c.) Chicago.  Open Court Publishing Co.

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\G. D. Hicks.--*Aristotle de Anima* (Greek text, English translation,

-Commentary).  Cambridge University Press.

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\*D. P. Chase.--*The Ethics of Aristotle*.  Walter Scott Co.

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\*J. Burnet.--*Aristotle on Education*.  (English translation of *Ethics*,

-Bks. I.-III. 5, X. 6 to end; *Politics*, VIII. 17, VIII.)

-Cambridge University Press.

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\*B. Jowett.--*The Politics of Aristotle*.  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\*I. Bywater.--*Aristotle on the Art of Poetry*.  (Greek Text, English

-Translation, Commentary.)  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\J. I. Beare and W. D. Ross.--*The Works of Aristotle translated into

-English*, Pt. I.  (*Parvu Naturalia*, the minor psychological

-works.)  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-\J. I. Beare.--*Greek Theories of Elementary Cognition from Alemacon

-to Aristotle*.  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.

-

-.. vspace:: 1

-

-The works marked by an asterisk will probably be found most

-useful for the beginner.  No works in foreign languages and no

-editions not accompanied by an English translation have been

-mentioned.

-

-There is at present no satisfactory complete translation of

-Aristotle into English.  One, of which two volumes have been

-mentioned above, is in course of production at the Clarendon Press,

-Oxford, under the editorship of J. A. Smith and W. D. Ross.

-

-.. vspace:: 4

-

-.. class:: center small white-space-pre-line

-

-   Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co.

-   Edinburgh & London

-

-.. vspace:: 4

-

-.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

-

-   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

-

-.. vspace:: 4

-

-.. class:: center small white-space-pre-line

-

-   "We have nothing but the highest praise for these

-   little books, and no one who examines them will have

-   anything else."--*Westminster Gazette*, 22nd June 1912.

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-.. class:: center x-large bold

-

-THE PEOPLE'S BOOKS

-

-.. class:: center bold

-

-THE FIRST NINETY VOLUMES

-

-.. class:: center 

-

-The volumes issued are marked with an asterisk

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-.. class:: center bold

-

-   SCIENCE

-

-.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

-

-  \1. The Foundations of Science . . . By W. C. D. Whetham, M.A., F.R.S.

-  \2. Embryology--The Beginnings of Life . . . By Prof. Gerald Leighton, M.D.

-  \3. Biology . . . By Prof. W. D. Henderson, M.A.

-  \4. Zoology: The Study of Animal Life . . . By Prof. E. W. MacBride, M.A., F.R.S.

-  \5. Botany; The Modern Study of Plants . . . By M. C. Stopes, D.Sc., Ph.D., F.L.S.

-  \7. The Structure of the Earth . . . By Prof. T. G. Bonney, F.R.S.

-  \8. Evolution . . . By E. S. Goodrich, M.A., F.R.S.

-  \10. Heredity . . . By J. A. S. Watson, B.Sc.

-  \11. Inorganic Chemistry . . . By Prof. E. C. C. Baly, F.R.S.

-  \12. Organic Chemistry . . . By Prof. J. B. Cohen, B.Sc., F.R.S.

-  \13. The Principles of Electricity . . . By Norman K. Campbell, M.A.

-  \14. Radiation . . . By P. Phillips, D.Sc.

-  \15. The Science of the Stars . . . By E. W. Maunder, F.R.A.S.

-  \16. The Science of Light . . . By P. Phillips, D.Sc.

-  \17. Weather Science . . . By R. G. K. Lempfert, M.A.

-  \18. Hypnotism and Self-Education . . . By A. M. Hutchison, M.D.

-  \19. The Baby: A Mother's Book . . . By a University Woman.

-  \20. Youth and Sex--Dangers and Safeguards for Boys and Girls . . . By Mary Scharlieb, M.D., M.S., and F. Arthur Sibly, M.A., LL.D.

-  \21. Marriage and Motherhood . . . By H. S. Davidson, M.B., F.R.C.S.E.

-  \22. Lord Kelvin . . . By A. Russell, M.A., D.Sc., M.I.E.E.

-  \23. Huxley . . . By Professor G. Leighton, M.D.

-  \24. Sir William Huggins and Spectroscopic Astronomy . . . By E. W. Maunder, F.R.A.S., of the Royal Observatory, Greenwich.

-  \62. Practical Astronomy . . . By H. Macpherson, Jr., F.R.A.S.

-  \63. Aviation . . . By Sydney F. Walker, R.N.

-  \64. Navigation . . . By William Hall, R.N., B.A.

-  \65. Pond Life . . . By E. C. Ash, M.R.A.C.

-  \66. Dietetics . . . By Alex. Bryce, M.D., D.P.H.

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-.. class:: center bold

-   

-PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION

-

-.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

-

-  \25. The Meaning of Philosophy . . . By Prof. A. E. Taylor, M.A., F.B.A.

-  \26. Henri Bergson . . . By H. Wildon Carr, Litt.D.

-  \27. Psychology . . . By H. J. Watt, M.A., Ph.D., D.Phil.

-  \28. Ethics . . . By Canon Rashdall, D.Litt., F.B.A.

-  \29. Kant's Philosophy . . . By A. D. Lindsay, M.A.

-  \30. The Teaching of Plato . . . By A. D. Lindsay, M.A.

-  \67. Aristotle . . . By Prof. A. E. Taylor, M.A., F.B.A.

-  \68. Friedrich Nietzsche . . . By M. A. Mügge.

-  \69. Eucken: A Philosophy of Life . . . By A. J. Jones, M.A., B.Sc., Ph.D.

-  \70. The Experimental Psychology of Beauty . . . By C. W. Valentine, B.A., D.Phil.

-  \71. The Problem of Truth . . . By H. Wildon Carr, Litt.D.

-  \31. Buddhism . . . By Prof. T. W. Rhys Davids, M.A., F.B.A.

-  \32. Roman Catholicism . . . By H. B. Coxon.  Preface, Mgr. R. H. Benson.

-  \33. The Oxford Movement . . . By Wilfrid Ward.

-  \34. The Bible and Criticism . . . By W. H. Bennett, D.D., Litt.P., and W. F. Adeney, D.D.

-  \35. Cardinal Newman . . . By Wilfrid Meynell.

-  \72. The Church of England . . . By Rev. Canon Masterman.

-  \73. Anglo-Catholicism . . . By A. E. Manning Foster.

-  \74. The Free Churches . . . By Rev. Edward Shillito, M.A.

-  \75. Judaism . . . By Ephraim Levine, M.A.

-  \76. Theosophy . . . By Annie Besant.

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-.. class:: center bold

-

-   HISTORY

-

-.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

-

-  \36. The Growth of Freedom . . . By H. W. Nevinson.

-  \37. Bismarck and the Origin of the German Empire . . . By Professor F. M. Powicke.

-  \38. Oliver Cromwell . . . By Hilda Johnstone, M.A.

-  \39. Mary Queen of Scots . . . By E. O'Neill, M.A.

-  \40. Cecil John Rhodes, 1853-1902 . . . By Ian D. Colvin.

-  \41. Julius Cæsar . . . By Hilary Hardinge.

-  \42. England in the Making . . . By Prof. F. J. C. Hearnshaw, M.A., LL.D.

-  \43. England in the Middle Ages . . . By E. O'Neill, M.A.

-  \44. The Monarchy and the People . . . By W. T. Waugh, M.A.

-  \45. The Industrial Revolution . . . By Arthur Jones, M.A.

-  \46. Empire and Democracy . . . By G. S. Veitch, M.A., Litt.D.

-  \61. Home Rule . . . By L. G. Redmond Howard.  Preface by Robert Harcourt, M.P.

-  \77. Nelson . . . By H. W. Wilson.

-  \78. Wellington and Waterloo . . . By Major G. W. Redway.

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-.. class:: center bold

-

-   SOCIAL AND ECONOMIC

-

-.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

-

-  \47. Women's Suffrage . . . By M. G. Fawcett, LL.D.

-  \48. The Working of the British System of Government to-day . . . By Prof. Ramsay Muir, M.A.

-  \49. An Introduction to Economic Science . . . By Prof H. O. Meredith. M.A.

-  \50. Socialism . . . By B. B. Kirkman, B.A.

-  \79. Mediæval Socialism . . . By Bede Jarrett, O.P., M.A.

-  \80. Syndicalism . . . By J. H. Harley, M.A.

-  \81. Labour and Wages . . . By H. M. Hallsworth, M.A., B.Sc.

-  \82. Co-operation . . . By Joseph Clayton.

-  \83. Insurance as a Means of Investment . . . By W. A. Robertson, F.F.A.

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-.. class:: center bold

-

-   LETTERS

-

-.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

-

-  \51. Shakespeare . . . By Prof. C. H. Herford, Litt.D.

-  \52. Wordsworth . . . By Rosaline Masson.

-  \53. Pure Gold--A Choice of Lyrics and Sonnets . . . by H. C. O'Neill

-  \54. Francis Bacon . . . By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A.

-  \55. The Brontës . . . By Flora Masson.

-  \56. Carlyle . . . By L. MacLean Watt.

-  \57. Dante . . . By A. G. Ferrers Howell.

-  \58. Ruskin . . . By A. Blyth Webster, M.A.

-  \59. Common Faults in Writing English . . . By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A.

-  \60. A Dictionary of Synonyms . . . By Austin K. Gray, B.A.

-  \84. History of English Literature . . . By A. Compton-Rickett.

-  \85. A History of English Literature . . . By A. Compton-Rickett, LL.D.

-  \86. Browning . . . By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A.

-  \87. Charles Lamb . . . By Flora Masson.

-  \88. Goethe . . . By Prof. C. H. Herford, Litt.D.

-  \90. Rousseau . . . By F. B. Kirkman, B.A.

-  \91. Ibsen . . . By Hilary Hardinge.

-

-.. vspace:: 2

-

-.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line

-

-   LONDON AND EDINBURGH: T. C. & E. C. JACK

-   NEW YORK: DODGE PUBLISHING CO.

-

-.. vspace:: 6

-

-.. pgfooter::

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-                               ARISTOTLE
-
-
-
-
-This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at
-http://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United
-States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are
-located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: Aristotle
-Author: A. E. Taylor
-Release Date: January 16, 2015 [EBook #48002]
-Language: English
-Character set encoding: US-ASCII
-
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARISTOTLE ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Al Haines.
-
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration: Aristotle]
-
-
-
-
-                              *ARISTOTLE*
-
-
-                 BY A. E. TAYLOR, M.A., D.LITT., F.B.A.
-
-
-
-                       LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
-                   67 LONG ACRE, W.C., AND EDINBURGH
-                     NEW YORK: DODGE PUBLISHING CO.
-
-
-
-
-                               *CONTENTS*
-
-CHAP.
-
-I. LIFE AND WORKS
-
-II. THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES: SCIENTIFIC METHOD
-
-III. FIRST PHILOSOPHY
-
-IV. PHYSICS
-
-V. PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY
-
-BIBLIOGRAPHY
-
-
-
-
-                              *ARISTOTLE*
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER I*
-
-                            *LIFE AND WORKS*
-
-
-It has not commonly been the lot of philosophers, as it is of great
-poets, that their names should become household words. We should hardly
-call an Englishman well read if he had not heard the name of Sophocles
-or Moliere.  An educated man is expected to know at least who these
-great writers were, and to understand an allusion to the _Antigone_ or
-_Le Misanthrope_. But we call a man well read if his mind is stored with
-the verse of poets and the prose of historians, even though he were
-ignorant of the name of Descartes or Kant.  Yet there are a few
-philosophers whose influence on thought and language has been so
-extensive that no one who reads can be ignorant of their names, and that
-every man who speaks the language of educated Europeans is constantly
-using their vocabulary. Among this few Aristotle holds not the lowest
-place.  We have all heard of him, as we have all heard of Homer.  He has
-left his impress so firmly on theology that many of the formulae of the
-Churches are unintelligible without acquaintance with his conception of
-the universe.  If we are interested in the growth of modern science we
-shall readily discover for ourselves that some knowledge of
-Aristotelianism is necessary for the understanding of Bacon and Galileo
-and the other great anti-Aristotelians who created the "modern
-scientific" view of Nature.  If we turn to the imaginative literature of
-the modern languages, Dante is a sealed book, and many a passage of
-Chaucer and Shakespeare and Milton is half unmeaning to us unless we are
-at home in the outlines of Aristotle's philosophy.  And if we turn to
-ordinary language, we find that many of the familiar turns of modern
-speech cannot be fully understood without a knowledge of the doctrines
-they were first forged to express.  An Englishman who speaks of the
-"golden mean" or of "liberal education," or contrasts the "matter" of a
-work of literature with its "form," or the "essential" features of a
-situation or a scheme of policy with its "accidents," or "theory" with
-"practice," is using words which derive their significance from the part
-they play in the vocabulary of Aristotle.  The unambitious object of
-this little book is, then, to help the English reader to a better
-understanding of such familiar language and a fuller comprehension of
-much that he will find in Dante and Shakespeare and Bacon.
-
-*Life of Aristotle.*--The main facts of Aristotle's life may be briefly
-told.  He was born in 385-4 B.C. at Stagirus, a little city of the
-Chalcidic peninsula, still called, almost by its ancient name, Chalcis,
-and died at the age of sixty-two at Chalcis in Euboea.  Thus he is a
-contemporary of Demosthenes, his manhood witnessed the struggle which
-ended in the establishment of the Macedonian monarchy as the dominant
-power in Hellas, and his later years the campaigns in which his pupil
-Alexander the Great overthrew the Persian Empire and carried Greek
-civilisation to the banks of the Jumna.  In studying the constitutional
-theories of Aristotle, it is necessary to bear these facts in mind.
-They help to explain certain limitations of outlook which might
-otherwise appear strange in so great a man.  It throws a great deal of
-light on the philosopher's intense conviction of the natural inferiority
-of the "barbarian" intellect and character to remember that he grew up
-in an outlying region where the "barbarian" was seen to disadvantage in
-the ordinary course of life.  Hence the distinction between Greek and
-"barbarian" came to mean for him much what the "colour-line" does to an
-American brought up in a Southern State.  So, again, when we are struck
-by his "provincialism," his apparent satisfaction with the ideal of a
-small self-contained city-state with a decently oligarchical government,
-a good system of public education, and no "social problems," but devoid
-alike of great traditions and far-reaching ambitions, we must remember
-that the philosopher himself belonged to just such a tiny community
-without a past and without a future. The Chalcidic cities had been first
-founded, as the name of the peninsula implies, as colonies from the town
-of Chalcis in Euboea; Corinth had also been prominent in establishing
-settlements in the same region.  At the height of Athenian Imperial
-prosperity in the age of Pericles the district had fallen politically
-under Athenian control, but had been detached again from Athens, in the
-last years of the Archidamian war, by the genius of the great Spartan
-soldier and diplomat Brasidas. Early in the fourth century the Chalcidic
-cities had attempted to form themselves into an independent federation,
-but the movement had been put down by Sparta, and the cities had fallen
-under the control of the rising Macedonian monarchy, when Aristotle was
-a baby.  A generation later, a double intrigue of the cities with Philip
-of Macedon and Athens failed of its effect, and the peninsula was
-finally incorporated with the Macedonian kingdom.  It is also important
-to note that the philosopher belonged by birth to a guild, the
-Asclepiadae, in which the medical profession was hereditary.  His father
-Nicomachus was court physician to Amyntas II., the king for whose
-benefit the Spartans had put down the Chalcidic league. This early
-connection with medicine and with the Macedonian court explains largely
-both the predominantly biological cast of Aristotle's philosophical
-thought and the intense dislike of "princes" and courts to which he more
-than once gives expression.  At the age of eighteen, in 367-6, Aristotle
-was sent to Athens for "higher" education in philosophy and science, and
-entered the famous Platonic Academy, where he remained as a member of
-the scientific group gathered round the master for twenty years, until
-Plato's death in 347-6.  For the three years immediately following
-Aristotle was in Asia Minor with his friend and fellow-student Hermeias,
-who had become by force of sheer capacity monarch of the city of
-Atarneus in the Troad, and was maintaining himself with much energy
-against the Persian king.  Pythias, the niece of Hermeias, became the
-philosopher's wife, and it seems that the marriage was happy.
-Examination of Aristotle's contributions to marine biology has shown
-that his knowledge of the subject is specially good for the Aeolic coast
-and the shores of the adjacent islands.  This throws light on his
-occupations during his residence with Hermeias, and suggests that Plato
-had discerned the bent of his distinguished pupil's mind, and that his
-special share in the researches of the Academy had, like that of
-Speusippus, Plato's nephew and successor in the headship of the school,
-been largely of a biological kind.  We also know that, presumably
-shortly after Plato's death, Aristotle had been one of the group of
-disciples who edited their teacher's unpublished lectures. In 343
-Hermeias was assassinated at the instigation of Persia; Aristotle
-honoured his memory by a hymn setting forth the godlikeness of virtue as
-illustrated by the life of his friend. Aristotle now removed to the
-Macedonian court, where he received the position of tutor to the Crown
-Prince, afterwards Alexander the Great, at this time (343 B.C.) a boy of
-thirteen. The association of the great philosopher and the great king as
-tutor and pupil has naturally struck the imagination of later ages; even
-in Plutarch's _Life of Alexander_ we meet already with the full-blown
-legend of the influence of Aristotle's philosophical speculations on
-Alexander.  It is, however, improbable that Aristotle's influence
-counted for much in forming the character of Alexander.  Aristotle's
-dislike of monarchies and their accessories is written large on many a
-page of his _Ethics_ and _Politics_; the small self-contained city-state
-with no political ambitions for which he reserves his admiration would
-have seemed a mere relic of antiquity to Philip and Alexander.  The only
-piece of contemporary evidence as to the relations between the master
-and the pupil is a sentence in a letter to the young Alexander from the
-Athenian publicist Isocrates who maliciously congratulates the prince on
-his preference for "rhetoric," the art of efficient public speech, and
-his indifference to "logic-choppers."  How little sympathy Aristotle can
-have had with his pupil's ambitions is shown by the fact that though his
-political theories must have been worked out during the very years in
-which Alexander was revolutionising Hellenism by the foundation of his
-world-empire, they contain no allusion to so momentous a change in the
-social order.  For all that Aristotle tells us, Alexander might never
-have existed, and the small city-state might have been the last word of
-Hellenic political development.  Hence it is probable that the selection
-of Aristotle, who had not yet appeared before the world as an
-independent thinker, to take part in the education of the Crown Prince
-was due less to personal reputation than to the connection of his family
-with the court, taken together with his own position as a pupil of
-Plato, whose intervention in the public affairs of Sicily had caused the
-Academy to be regarded as the special home of scientific interest in
-politics and jurisprudence.  It may be true that Alexander found time in
-the midst of his conquests to supply his old tutor with zoological
-specimens; it is as certain as such a thing can be that the ideals and
-characters of the two men were too different to allow of any intimate
-influence of either on the other.
-
-When Alexander was suddenly called to the Macedonian throne by the
-murder of his father in 336 B.C., Aristotle's services were no longer
-needed; he returned to Athens and gave himself to purely scientific
-work.  Just at this juncture the presidency of the Academy was vacant by
-the death of Speusippus, Aristotle's old associate in biological
-research. Possibly Aristotle thought himself injured when the school
-passed him over and elected Xenocrates of Chalcedon as its new
-president.  At any rate, though he appears never to have wholly severed
-his connection with the Academy, in 335 he opened a rival institution in
-the Lyceum, or gymnasium attached to the temple of Apollo Lyceus, to
-which he was followed by some of the most distinguished members of the
-Academy.  From the fact that his instruction was given in the
-_peripatos_ or covered portico of the gymnasium the school has derived
-its name of Peripatetic.  For the next twelve years he was occupied in
-the organisation of the school as an abode for the prosecution of
-speculation and research in every department of inquiry, and in the
-composition of numerous courses of lectures on scientific and
-philosophical questions.  The chief difference in general character
-between the new school and the Academy is that while the scientific
-interests of the Platonists centred in mathematics, the main
-contributions of the Lyceum to science lay in the departments of biology
-and history.
-
-Towards the end of Alexander's life his attention was unfavourably
-directed on his old teacher.  A relative of Aristotle named Callisthenes
-had attended Alexander in his campaigns as historiographer, and had
-provoked disfavour by his censure of the King's attempts to invest his
-semi-constitutional position towards his Hellenic subjects with the pomp
-of an Oriental despotism.  The historian's independence proved fatal.
-He was accused of instigating an assassination plot among Alexander's
-pages, and hanged, or, as some said, thrown into a prison where he died
-before trial.  Alexander is reported to have held Aristotle responsible
-for his relative's treason, and to have meditated revenge.  If this is
-so, he was fortunately diverted from the commission of a crime by
-preoccupation with the invasion of India.
-
-On the death of Alexander in 323 a brief but vigorous anti-Macedonian
-agitation broke out at Athens.  Aristotle, from his Macedonian
-connections, naturally fell a victim, in spite of his want of sympathy
-with the ideals of Philip and Alexander. Like Socrates, he was indicted
-on the capital charge of "impiety," the pretext being that his poem on
-the death of Hermeias, written twenty years before, was a virtual
-deification of his friend.  This was, however, only a pretext; the real
-offence was political, and lay in his connection with the Macedonian
-leader Antipater.  As condemnation was certain, the philosopher
-anticipated it by withdrawing with his disciples to Chalcis, the mother
-city of his native Stagirus.  Here he died in the following year, at the
-age of sixty-two or sixty-three.
-
-The features of Aristotle, familiar to us from busts and intaglios, are
-handsome, but indicate refinement and acuteness rather than originality,
-an impression in keeping with what we should expect from a study of his
-writings.  The anecdotes related of him reveal a kindly, affectionate
-character, and show little trace of the self-importance which appears in
-his work. His will, which has been preserved, exhibits the same traits
-in its references to his happy family life and its solicitous care for
-the future of his children and servants.  He was twice married, first to
-Pythias, and secondly to a certain Herpyllis, by whom he left a son
-Nicomachus and a daughter.  The "goodness" of Herpyllis to her husband
-is specially mentioned in the clauses of the will which make provision
-for her, while the warmth of the writer's feelings for Pythias is shown
-by the direction that her remains are to be placed in the same tomb with
-his own. The list of servants remembered and the bequests enumerated
-show the philosopher to have been in easier circumstances than Plato.
-
-*The Works of Aristotle*.--The so-called works of Aristotle present us
-with a curious problem.  When we turn from Plato to his pupil we seem to
-have passed into a different atmosphere.  The _Discourses of Socrates_
-exhibit a prose style which is perhaps the most marvellous of all
-literary achievements.  Nowhere else do we meet with quite the same
-combination of eloquence, imaginative splendour, incisive logic, and
-irresistible wit and humour.  The manner of Aristotle is dry and formal.
-His language bristles with technicalities, makes little appeal to the
-emotions, disdains graces of style, and frequently defies the simplest
-rules of composition.  Our surprise is all the greater that we find
-later writers of antiquity, such as Cicero, commending Aristotle for his
-copious and golden eloquence, a characteristic which is conspicuously
-wanting in the Aristotelian writings we possess.  The explanation of the
-puzzle is, however, simple.  Plato and Aristotle were at once what we
-should call professors and men of letters; both wrote works for general
-circulation, and both delivered courses of lectures to special students.
-But while Plato's lectures have perished, his books have come down to
-us.  Aristotle's books have almost wholly been lost, but we possess many
-of his lectures. The "works" of Aristotle praised by Cicero for their
-eloquence were philosophical dialogues, and formed the model for
-Cicero's own compositions in this kind.  None of them have survived,
-though some passages have been preserved in quotations by later writers.
-That the "works" are actually the MSS. of a lecturer posthumously edited
-by his pupils seems clear from external as well as from internal
-evidence.  In one instance we have the advantage of a double recension.
-Aristotle's _Ethics_ or _Discourses on Conduct_ have come down to us in
-two forms--the so-called _Nicomachean Ethics_, a redaction by the
-philosopher's son, Nicomachus, preserving all the characteristics of an
-oral course of lectures; and a freer and more readable recast by a
-pupil, the mathematician Eudemus, known as the _Eudemian Ethics_.  In
-recent years we have also recovered from the sands of Egypt what appears
-to be our one specimen of a "work" of Aristotle, intended to be read by
-the public at large, the essay on the Constitution of Athens.  The style
-of this essay is easy, flowing, and popular, and shows that Aristotle
-could write well and gracefully when he thought fit.
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER II*
-
-        *THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES: SCIENTIFIC METHOD*
-
-
-Philosophy, as understood by Aristotle, may be said to be the organised
-whole of disinterested knowledge, that is, knowledge which we seek for
-the satisfaction which it carries with itself, and not as a mere means
-to utilitarian ends.  The impulse which receives this satisfaction is
-curiosity or wonder, which Aristotle regards as innate in man, though it
-does not get full play until civilisation has advanced far enough to
-make secure provision for the immediate material needs of life.  Human
-curiosity was naturally directed first to the outstanding "marvellous
-works" of the physical world, the planets, the periodicity of their
-movements, the return of the seasons, winds, thunder and lightning, and
-the like.  Hence the earliest Greek speculation was concerned with
-problems of astronomy and meteorology.  Then, as reflection developed,
-men speculated about geometrical figure, and number, the possibility of
-having assured knowledge at all, the character of the common principles
-assumed in all branches of study or of the special principles assumed in
-some one branch, and thus philosophy has finally become the
-disinterested study of every department of Being or Reality.  Since
-Aristotle, like Hegel, thought that his own doctrine was, in essentials,
-the last word of speculation, the complete expression of the principles
-by which his predecessors had been unconsciously guided, he believes
-himself in a position to make a final classification of the branches of
-science, showing how they are related and how they are discriminated
-from one another.  This classification we have now to consider.
-
-*Classification of the Sciences*.--To begin with, we have to
-discriminate Philosophy from two rivals with which it might be
-confounded on a superficial view, Dialectic and Sophistry. Dialectic is
-the art of reasoning accurately from given premisses, true or false.
-This art has its proper uses, and of one of these we shall have to
-speak.  But in itself it is indifferent to the truth of its premisses.
-You may reason dialectically from premisses which you believe to be
-false, for the express purpose of showing the absurd conclusions to
-which they lead.  Or you may reason from premisses which you assume
-tentatively to see what conclusions you are committed to if you adopt
-them.  In either case your object is not directly to secure truth, but
-only to secure consistency.  Science or Philosophy aims directly at
-_truth_, and hence requires to start with true and certain premisses.
-Thus the distinction between Science and Dialectic is that Science
-reasons from true premisses, Dialectic only from "probable" or
-"plausible" premisses.  Sophistry differs from Science in virtue of its
-moral character.  It is the profession of making a living by the abuse
-of reasoning, the trick of employing logical skill for the apparent
-demonstration of scientific or ethical falsehoods.  "The sophist is one
-who earns a living from an apparent but unreal wisdom."  (The emphasis
-thus falls on the notion of making an "unreal wisdom" into a _trade_.
-The sophist's real concern is to get his fee.)  Science or Philosophy is
-thus the disinterested employment of the understanding in the discovery
-of truth.
-
-We may now distinguish the different branches of science as defined.
-The first and most important division to be made is that between
-Speculative or Theoretical Science and Practical Science.  The broad
-distinction is that which we should now draw between the Sciences and
-the Arts (_i.e._ the industrial and technical, not the "fine" arts).
-Speculative or Theoretical Philosophy differs from Practical Philosophy
-in its purpose, and, in consequence, in its subject-matter, and its
-formal logical character.  The purpose of the former is the
-disinterested contemplation of truths which are what they are
-independently of our own volition; its end is to _know_ and only to
-_know_. The object of "practical" Science is to know, but not only to
-know but also to turn our knowledge to account in devising ways of
-successful interference with the course of events.  (The real importance
-of the distinction comes out in Aristotle's treatment of the problems of
-moral and social science.  Since we require knowledge of the moral and
-social nature of men not merely to satisfy an intellectual interest, but
-as a basis for a sound system of education and government, Politics, the
-theory of government, and Ethics, the theory of goodness of conduct,
-which for Aristotle is only a subordinate branch of Politics, belong to
-Practical, not to Theoretical Philosophy, a view which is attended by
-important consequences.)
-
-It follows that there is a corresponding difference in the objects
-investigated by the two branches of Philosophy.  Speculative or
-Theoretical Philosophy is concerned with "that which cannot possibly be
-other than it is," truths and relations independent of human volition
-for their subsistence, and calling simply for _recognition_ on our part.
-Practical Philosophy has to do with relations which human volition can
-modify, "things which may be other than they are," the contingent.
-(Thus _e.g._ not only politics, but medicine and economics will belong
-to Practical Science.)
-
-Hence again arises a logical difference between the conclusions of
-Theoretical and those of Practical Philosophy.  Those of the former are
-universal truths deducible with logical necessity from self-evident[#]
-principles.  Those of the latter, because they relate to what "can be
-otherwise," are never rigidly universal; they are _general_ rules which
-hold good "in the majority of cases," but are liable to occasional
-exceptions owing to the contingent character of the facts with which
-they deal.  It is a proof of a philosopher's lack of grounding in logic
-that he looks to the results of a practical science (_e.g._ to the
-detailed precepts of medicine or ethics) for a higher degree of
-certainty and validity than the nature of the subject-matter allows.
-Thus for Aristotle the distinction between the necessary and the
-contingent is real and not merely apparent, and "probability is the
-guide" in studies which have to do with the direction of life.
-
-
-[#] Self-evident, that is, in a purely logical sense. When you apprehend
-the principles in question, you _see_ at once that they are true, and do
-not require to have them _proved_. It is not meant that any and every
-man _does_, in point of fact, always apprehend the principles, or that
-they can be apprehended without preliminary mental discipline.
-
-
-We proceed to the question how many subdivisions there are within
-"theoretical" Philosophy itself.  Plato had held that there are none.
-All the sciences are deductions from a single set of ultimate principles
-which it is the business of that supreme science to which Plato had
-given the name of Dialectic to establish.  This is not Aristotle's view.
-According to him, "theoretical" Philosophy falls into a number of
-distinct though not co-ordinate branches, each with its own special
-subjects of investigation and its own special axiomatic principles.  Of
-these branches there are three, First Philosophy, Mathematics, and
-Physics.  First Philosophy--afterwards to be known to the Middle Ages as
-Metaphysics[#]--treats, to use Aristotle's own expression, of "Being
-_qua_ Being."  This means that it is concerned with the universal
-characteristics which belong to the system of knowable reality as such,
-and the principles of its organisation in their full universality. First
-Philosophy alone investigates the character of those causative factors
-in the system which are without body or shape and exempt from all
-mutability.  Since in Aristotle's system God is the supreme Cause of
-this kind, First Philosophy culminates in the knowledge of God, and is
-hence frequently called Theology.  It thus includes an element which
-would to-day be assigned to the theory of knowledge, as well as one
-which we should ascribe to metaphysics, since it deals at once with the
-ultimate postulates of knowledge and the ultimate causes of the order of
-real existence.
-
-
-[#] The origin of this name seems to be that Aristotle's lectures on
-First Philosophy came to be studied as a continuation of his course on
-Physics. Hence the lectures got the name _Metaphysica_ because they came
-_after_ (_meta_) those on Physics. Finally the name was transferred (as
-in the case of _Ethics_) from the lectures to the subject of which they
-treat.
-
-
-Mathematics is of narrower scope.  What it studies is no longer "real
-being as such," but only real being in so far as it exhibits number and
-geometrical form.  Since Aristotle holds the view that number and figure
-only exist as determinations of objects given in perception (though by a
-convenient fiction the mathematician treats of them in abstraction from
-the perceived objects which they qualify), he marks the difference
-between Mathematics and First Philosophy by saying that "whereas the
-objects of First Philosophy are separate from matter and devoid of
-motion, those of Mathematics, though incapable of motion, have no
-separable existence but are inherent in matter."  Physics is concerned
-with the study of objects which are both material and capable of motion.
-Thus the principle of the distinction is the presence or absence of
-initial restrictions of the range of the different branches of Science.
-First Philosophy has the widest range, since its contemplation covers
-the whole ground of the real and knowable; Physics the narrowest,
-because it is confined to a "universe of discourse" restricted by the
-double qualification that its members are all material and capable of
-displacement.  Mathematics holds an intermediate position, since in it,
-one of these qualifications is removed, but the other still remains, for
-the geometer's figures are boundaries and limits of sensible bodies, and
-the arithmetician's numbers properties of collections of concrete
-objects.  It follows also that the initial axioms or postulates of
-Mathematics form a less simple system than those of First Philosophy,
-and those of Physics than those of Mathematics.  Mathematics requires as
-initial assumptions not only those which hold good for _all_ thought,
-but certain other special axioms which are only valid and significant
-for the realm of figure and number; Physics requires yet further axioms
-which are only applicable to "what is in motion."  This is why, though
-the three disciplines are treated as distinct, they are not strictly
-co-ordinate, and "First Philosophy," though "first," is only _prima
-inter pares_.
-
-We thus get the following diagrammatic scheme of the classification of
-sciences:--
-
-                          Science
-                             |
-                 +-----------+------------+
-                 |                        |
-            Theoretical               Practical
-                 |
-             +---+---------+-----------+
-             |             |           |
-    First Philosophy     Mathe-     Physics
-           or            matics
-        Theology
-
-
-Practical Philosophy is not subjected by Aristotle to any similar
-subdivision.  Later students were accustomed to recognise a threefold
-division into Ethics (the theory of individual conduct), Economics (the
-theory of the management of the household), Politics (the theory of the
-management of the State).  Aristotle himself does not make these
-distinctions. His general name for the theory of conduct is Politics,
-the doctrine of individual conduct being for him inseparable from that
-of the right ordering of society.  Though he composed a separate course
-of lectures on individual conduct (the _Ethics_), he takes care to open
-the course by stating that the science of which it treats is Politics,
-and offers an apology for dealing with the education of individual
-character apart from the more general doctrine of the organisation of
-society.  No special recognition is given in Aristotle's own
-classification to the Philosophy of Art.  Modern students of Aristotle
-have tried to fill in the omission by adding artistic creation to
-contemplation and practice as a third fundamental form of mental
-activity, and thus making a threefold division of Philosophy into
-Theoretical, Practical, and Productive.  The object of this is to find a
-place in the classification for Aristotle's famous _Poetics_ and his
-work on Rhetoric, the art of effective speech and writing.  But the
-admission of the third division of Science has no warrant in the text of
-Aristotle, nor are the _Rhetoric_ and _Poetics_, properly speaking, a
-contribution to Philosophy.  They are intended as collections of
-practical rules for the composition of a pamphlet or a tragedy, not as a
-critical examination of the canons of literary taste.  This was
-correctly seen by the dramatic theorists of the seventeenth century.
-They exaggerated the value of Aristotle's directions and entirely
-misunderstood the meaning of some of them, but they were right in their
-view that the _Poetics_ was meant to be a collection of rules by obeying
-which the craftsman might make sure of turning out a successful play.
-So far as Aristotle has a Philosophy of Fine Art at all, it forms part
-of his more general theory of education and must be looked for in the
-general discussion of the aims of education contained in his _Politics_.
-
-*The Methods of Science*.--No place has been assigned in the scheme to
-what we call logic and Aristotle called _Analytics_, the theory of
-scientific method, or of proof and the estimation of evidence.  The
-reason is that since the fundamental character of proof is the same in
-all science, Aristotle looks upon logic as a study of the methods common
-to all science.  At a later date it became a hotly debated question
-whether logic should be regarded in this way as a study of the methods
-instrumental to proof in all sciences, or as itself a special
-constituent division of philosophy.  The Aristotelian view was concisely
-indicated by the name which became attached to the collection of
-Aristotle's logical works.  They were called the _Organon_, that is, the
-"instrument," or the body of rules of method employed by Science.  The
-thought implied is thus that logic furnishes the _tools_ with which
-every science has to work in establishing its results.  Our space will
-only permit of a brief statement as to the points in which the
-Aristotelian formal logic appears to be really original, and the main
-peculiarities of Aristotle's theory of knowledge.
-
-(a) *Formal Logic*.--In compass the Aristotelian logic corresponds
-roughly with the contents of modern elementary treatises on the same
-subject, with the omission of the sections which deal with the so-called
-Conditional Syllogism.  The inclusion of arguments of this type in
-mediaeval and modern expositions of formal logic is principally due to
-the Stoics, who preferred to throw their reasoning into these forms and
-subjected them to minute scrutiny.  In his treatment of the doctrine of
-Terms, Aristotle avoids the mistake of treating the isolated name as
-though it had significance apart from the enunciations in which it
-occurs.  He is quite clear on the all-important point that the unit of
-thought is the proposition in which something is affirmed or denied, the
-one thought-form which can be properly called "true" or "false."  Such
-an assertion he analyses into two factors, that about which something is
-affirmed or denied (the Subject), and that which is affirmed or denied
-of it (the Predicate). Consequently his doctrine of the classification
-of Terms is based on a classification of Predicates, or of Propositions
-according to the special kind of connection between the Subject and
-Predicate which they affirm or deny.  Two such classifications, which
-cannot be made to fit into one another, meet us in Aristotle's logical
-writings, the scheme of the ten "Categories," and that which was
-afterwards known in the Middle Ages as the list of "Predicaments" or
-"Heads of Predicates," or again as the "Five Words."  The list of
-"Categories" reveals itself as an attempt to answer the question in how
-many different senses the words "is a" or "are" are employed when we
-assert that "_x_ is _y_" or "_x_ is a _y_" or "_x_s are _y_s."  Such a
-statement may tell us (1) what _x_ is, as if I say "_x_ is a lion"; the
-predicate is then said to fall under the category of Substance; (2) what
-_x_ is like, as when I say "_x_ is white, or _x_ is wise,"--the category
-of Quality; (3) how much or how many _x_ is, as when I say "_x_ is tall"
-or "_x_ is five feet long,"--the category of Quantity; (4) how _x_ is
-related to something else, as when I say "_x_ is to the right of _y_,"
-"_x_ is the father of _y_,"--the category of Relation.  These are the
-four chief "categories" discussed by Aristotle.  The remainder are (5)
-Place, (6) Time, (7) and (8) Condition or State, as when I say "_x_ is
-sitting down" or "_x_ has his armour on,"--(the only distinction between
-the two cases seems to be that (7) denotes a more permanent state of _x_
-than (8)); (9) Action or Activity, as when I say "_x_ is cutting," or
-generally "_x_ is doing something to _y_"; (10) Passivity, as when I say
-"_x_ is being cut," or more generally, "so-and-so is being done to _x_."
-No attempt is made to show that this list of "figures of predication" is
-complete, or to point out any principle which has been followed in its
-construction.  It also happens that much the same enumeration is
-incidentally made in one or two passages of Plato.  Hence it is not
-unlikely that the list was taken over by Aristotle as one which would be
-familiar to pupils who had read their Plato, and therefore convenient
-for practical purposes.  The fivefold classification does depend on a
-principle pointed out by Aristotle which guarantees its completeness,
-and is therefore likely to have been thought out by him for himself, and
-to be the genuine Aristotelian scheme.  Consider an ordinary universal
-affirmative proposition of the form "all _x_s are _y_s."  Now if this
-statement is true it may also be true that "all _y_s are _x_s," or it
-may not.  On the first supposition we have two possible cases, (1) the
-predicate may state precisely what the subject defined _is_; then _y_ is
-the Definition of _x_, as when I say that "men are mortal animals,
-capable of discourse."  Here it is also true to say that "mortal animals
-capable of discourse are men," and Aristotle regards the predicate
-"mortal animal capable of discourse" as expressing the inmost nature of
-man.  (2) The predicate may not express the inmost nature of the
-subject, and yet may belong only to the class denoted by the subject and
-to every member of that class.  The predicate is then called a Proprium
-or property, an exclusive attribute of the class in question.  Thus it
-was held that "all men are capable of laughter" and "all beings capable
-of laughter are men," but that the capacity for laughter is no part of
-the inmost nature or "real essence" of humanity.  It is therefore
-reckoned as a Proprium.
-
-Again in the case where it is true that "all _x_s are _y_s," but not
-true that all "_y_s are _x_s," _y_ may be part of the definition of _x_
-or it may not.  If it is part of the definition of _x_ it will be either
-(3) a genus or wider class of which _x_ forms a subdivision, as when I
-say, "All men are animals," or (4) a difference, that is, one of the
-distinctive marks by which the _x_s are distinguished from other
-sub-classes or species of the same genus, as when I say, "All men are
-capable of discourse."  Or finally (5) _y_ may be no part of the
-definition of _x_, but a characteristic which belongs both to the _x_s
-and some things other than _x_s.  The predicate is then called an
-Accident.  We have now exhausted all the possible cases, and may say
-that the predicate of a universal affirmative proposition is always
-either a definition, a proprium, a genus, a difference, or an accident.
-This classification reached the Middle Ages not in the precise form in
-which it is given by Aristotle, but with modifications mainly due to the
-Neo-Platonic philosopher Porphyry. In its modified form it is regarded
-as a classification of terms generally.  Definition disappears from the
-list, as the definition is regarded as a complex made up of the genus,
-or next highest class to which the class to be defined belongs, and the
-differences which mark off this particular species or sub-class.  The
-species itself which figures as the subject-term in a definition is
-added, and thus the "Five Words" of mediaeval logic are enumerated as
-genus, species, difference, proprium, accident.
-
-The one point of philosophical interest about this doctrine appears
-alike in the scheme of the "Categories" in the presence of a category of
-"substance," and in the list of "Predicaments" in the sharp distinction
-drawn between "definition" and "proprium."  From a logical point of view
-it does not appear why _any_ proprium, _any_ character belonging to all
-the members of a class and to them alone, should not be taken as
-defining the class.  Why should it be assumed that there is only _one_
-predicate, viz. _man_, which precisely answers the question, "What is
-Socrates?"  Why should it not be equally correct to answer, "a Greek,"
-or "a philosopher"?  The explanation is that Aristotle takes it for
-granted that not all the distinctions we can make between "kinds" of
-things are arbitrary and subjective.  Nature herself has made certain
-hard and fast divisions between kinds which it is the business of our
-thought to recognise and follow.  Thus according to Aristotle there is a
-real gulf, a genuine difference in kind, between the horse and the ass,
-and this is illustrated by the fact that the mule, the offspring of a
-horse and an ass, is not capable of reproduction. It is thus a sort of
-imperfect being, a kind of "monster" existing _contra naturam_.  Such
-differences as we find when we compare _e.g._ Egyptians with Greeks do
-not amount to a difference in "kind."  To say that Socrates is a man
-tells me what Socrates is, because the statement places Socrates in the
-real kind to which he actually belongs; to say that he is wise, or old,
-or a philosopher merely tells me some of his attributes. It follows from
-this belief in "real" or "natural" kinds that the problem of definition
-acquires an enormous importance for science.  We, who are accustomed to
-regard the whole business of classification as a matter of making a
-grouping of our materials such as is most pertinent to the special
-question we have in hand, tend to look upon any predicate which belongs
-universally and exclusively to the members of a group, as a sufficient
-basis for a possible definition of the group.  Hence we are prone to
-take the "nominalist" view of definition, _i.e._ to look upon a
-definition as no more than a declaration of the sense which we intend
-henceforward to put on a word or other symbol.  And consequently we
-readily admit that there may be as many definitions of a class as it has
-different propria. But in a philosophy like that of Aristotle, in which
-it is held that a true classification must not only be formally
-satisfactory, but must also conform to the actual lines of cleavage
-which Nature has established between kind and kind, the task of
-classificatory science becomes much more difficult.  Science is called
-on to supply not merely a definition but _the_ definition of the classes
-it considers, _the_ definition which faithfully reflects the "lines of
-cleavage" in Nature.  This is why the Aristotelian view is that a true
-definition should always be _per genus et differentias_.  It should
-"place" a given class by mentioning the wider class next above it in the
-objective hierarchy, and then enumerating the most deep-seated
-distinctions by which Nature herself marks off this class from others
-belonging to the same wider class.  Modern evolutionary thought may
-possibly bring us back to this Aristotelian standpoint.  Modern
-evolutionary science differs from Aristotelianism on one point of the
-first importance.  It regards the difference between kinds, not as a
-primary fact of Nature, but as produced by a long process of
-accumulation of slight differences.  But a world in which the process
-has progressed far enough will exhibit much the same character as the
-Nature of Aristotle. As the intermediate links between "species" drop
-out because they are less thoroughly adapted to maintain themselves than
-the extremes between which they form links, the world produced
-approximates more and more to a system of species between which there
-are unbridgeable chasms; evolution tends more and more to the final
-establishment of "real kinds," marked by the fact that there is no
-permanent possibility of cross-breeding between them.  This makes it
-once more possible to distinguish between a "nominal" definition and a
-"real" definition.  From an evolutionary point of view, a "real"
-definition would be one which specifies not merely enough characters to
-mark off the group defined from others, but selects also for the purpose
-those characters which indicate the line of historical development by
-which the group has successively separated itself from other groups
-descended from the same ancestors.  We shall learn yet more of the
-significance of this conception of a "real kind" as we go on to make
-acquaintance with the outlines of First Philosophy.  Over the rest of
-the formal logic of Aristotle we must be content to pass more rapidly.
-In connection with the doctrine of Propositions, Aristotle lays down the
-familiar distinction between the four types of proposition according to
-their quantity (as universal or particular) and quality (as affirmative
-or negative), and treats of their contrary and contradictory opposition
-in a way which still forms the basis of the handling of the subject in
-elementary works on formal logic.  He also considers at great length a
-subject nowadays commonly excluded from the elementary books, the modal
-distinction between the Problematic proposition (_x_ may be _y_), the
-Assertory (_x_ is _y_), and the Necessary (_x_ must be _y_), and the way
-in which all these forms may be contradicted.  For him, modality is a
-formal distinction like quantity or quality, because he believes that
-contingency and necessity are not merely relative to the state of our
-knowledge, but represent real and objective features of the order of
-Nature.
-
-In connection with the doctrine of Inference, it is worth while to give
-his definition of Syllogism or Inference (literally "computation") in
-his own words.  "Syllogism is a discourse wherein certain things (viz.
-the premisses) being admitted, something else, different from what has
-been admitted, follows of necessity because the admissions are what they
-are."  The last clause shows that Aristotle is aware that the
-all-important thing in an inference is not that the conclusion should be
-novel but that it should be proved.  We may have known the conclusion as
-a fact before; what the inference does for us is to connect it with the
-rest of our knowledge, and thus to show _why_ it is true.  He also
-formulates the axiom upon which syllogistic inference rests, that "if A
-is predicated universally of B and B of C, A is necessarily predicated
-universally of C."  Stated in the language of class-inclusion, and
-adapted to include the case where B is denied of C this becomes the
-formula, "whatever is asserted universally, whether positively or
-negatively, of a class B is asserted in like manner of any class C which
-is wholly contained in B," the axiom _de omni et nullo_ of mediaeval
-logic.  The syllogism of the "first figure," to which this principle
-immediately applies, is accordingly regarded by Aristotle as the natural
-and perfect form of inference.  Syllogisms of the second and third
-figures can only be shown to fall under the dictum by a process of
-"reduction" or transformation into corresponding arguments in the first
-"figure," and are therefore called "imperfect" or "incomplete," because
-they do not exhibit the conclusive force of the reasoning with equal
-clearness, and also because no universal affirmative conclusion can be
-proved in them, and the aim of science is always to establish such
-affirmatives.  The list of "moods" of the three figures, and the
-doctrine of the methods by which each mood of the imperfect figures can
-be replaced by an equivalent mood of the first is worked out
-substantially as in our current text-books.  The so-called "fourth"
-figure is not recognised, its moods being regarded merely as unnatural
-and distorted statements of those of the first figure.
-
-*Induction*.--Of the use of "induction" in Aristotle's philosophy we
-shall speak under the head of "Theory of Knowledge."  Formally it is
-called "the way of proceeding from particular facts to universals," and
-Aristotle insists that the conclusion is only proved if _all_ the
-particulars have been examined.  Thus he gives as an example the
-following argument, "_x_, _y_, _z_ are long-lived species of animals;
-_x_, _y_, _z_ are the only species which have no gall; _ergo_ all
-animals which have no gall are long-lived."  This is the "induction by
-simple enumeration" denounced by Francis Bacon on the ground that it may
-always be discredited by the production of a single "contrary instance,"
-_e.g._ a single instance of an animal which has no gall and yet is not
-long-lived.  Aristotle is quite aware that his "induction" does not
-establish its conclusion unless all the cases have been included in the
-examination.  In fact, as his own example shows, an induction which
-gives certainty does not start with "particular facts" at all.  It is a
-method of arguing that what has been proved true of each sub-class of a
-wider class will be true of the wider class as a whole. The premisses
-are strictly universal throughout.  In general, Aristotle does not
-regard "induction" as _proof_ at all. Historically "induction" is held
-by Aristotle to have been first made prominent in philosophy by
-Socrates, who constantly employed the method in his attempts to
-establish universal results in moral science.  Thus he gives, as a
-characteristic argument for the famous Socratic doctrine that knowledge
-is the one thing needful, the "induction," "he who understands the
-theory of navigation is the best navigator, he who understands the
-theory of chariot-driving the best driver; from these examples we see
-that universally he who understands the theory of a thing is the best
-practitioner," where it is evident that _all_ the relevant cases have
-_not_ been examined, and consequently that the reasoning does not amount
-to proof. Mill's so-called reasoning from particulars to particulars
-finds a place in Aristotle's theory under the name of "arguing from an
-example."  He gives as an illustration, "A war between Athens and Thebes
-will be a bad thing, for we see that the war between Thebes and Phocis
-was so."  He is careful to point out that the whole force of the
-argument depends on the _implied_ assumption of a universal proposition
-which covers both cases, such as "wars between _neighbours_ are bad
-things." Hence he calls such appeals to example "rhetorical" reasoning,
-because the politician is accustomed to leave his hearers to supply the
-relevant universal consideration for themselves.
-
-*Theory of Knowledge*.--Here, as everywhere in Aristotle's philosophy,
-we are confronted by an initial and insuperable difficulty.  Aristotle
-is always anxious to insist on the difference between his own doctrines
-and those of Plato, and his bias in this direction regularly leads him
-to speak as though he held a thorough-going naturalistic and empirical
-theory with no "transcendental moonshine" about it.  Yet his final
-conclusions on all points of importance are hardly distinguishable from
-those of Plato except by the fact that, as they are so much at variance
-with the naturalistic side of his philosophy, they have the appearance
-of being sudden lapses into an alogical mysticism.  We shall find the
-presence of this "fault" more pronouncedly in his metaphysics,
-psychology, and ethics than in his theory of knowledge, but it is not
-absent from any part of his philosophy.  He is everywhere a Platonist
-_malgre lui_, and it is just the Platonic element in his thought to
-which it owes its hold over men's minds.
-
-Plato's doctrine on the subject may be stated with enough accuracy for
-our purpose as follows.  There is a radical distinction between
-sense-perception and scientific knowledge. A scientific truth is exact
-and definite, it is also true once and for all, and never becomes truer
-or falser with the lapse of time.  This is the character of the
-propositions of the science which Plato regarded as the type of what
-true science ought to be, pure mathematics.  It is very different with
-the judgments which we try to base on our sense-perceptions of the
-visible and tangible world.  The colours, tastes, shapes of sensible
-things seem different to different percipients, and moreover they are
-constantly changing in incalculable ways.  We can never be certain that
-two lines which seem to our senses to be equal are really so; it may be
-that the inequality is merely too slight to be perceptible to our
-senses.  No figure which we can draw and see actually has the exact
-properties ascribed by the mathematician to a circle or a square.  Hence
-Plato concludes that if the word science be taken in its fullest sense,
-there can be no science about the world which our senses reveal.  We can
-have only an approximate knowledge, a knowledge which is after all, at
-best, probable opinion.  The objects of which the mathematician has
-certain, exact, and final knowledge cannot be anything which the senses
-reveal. They are objects of _thought_, and the function of visible
-models and diagrams in mathematics is not to present _examples_ of them
-to us, but only to show us imperfect _approximations_ to them and so to
-"remind" the soul of objects and relations between them which she has
-never cognised with the bodily senses.  Thus mathematical straightness
-is never actually beheld, but when we see lines of less and more
-approximate straightness we are "put in mind" of that absolute
-straightness to which sense-perception only approximates.  So in the
-moral sciences, the various "virtues" are not presented in their
-perfection by the course of daily life.  We do not meet with men who are
-perfectly brave or just, but the experience that one man is braver or
-juster than another "calls into our mind" the thought of the absolute
-standard of courage or justice implied in the conviction that one man
-comes nearer to it than another, and it is these absolute standards
-which are the real objects of our attention when we try to define the
-terms by which we describe the moral life.  This is the
-"epistemological" side of the famous doctrine of the "Ideas."  The main
-points are two, (1) that strict science deals throughout with objects
-and relations between objects which are of a purely intellectual or
-conceptual order, no sense-data entering into their constitution; (2)
-since the objects of science are of this character, it follows that the
-"Idea" or "concept" or "universal" is not arrived at by any process of
-"abstracting" from our experience of sensible things the features common
-to them all.  As the particular fact never actually exhibits the
-"universal" except approximately, the "universal" cannot be simply
-disentangled from particulars by abstraction.  As Plato puts it, it is
-"apart from" particulars, or, as we might reword his thought, the pure
-concepts of science represent "upper limits" to which the comparative
-series which we can form out of sensible data continually approximate
-but do not reach them.
-
-In his theory of knowledge Aristotle begins by brushing aside the
-Platonic view.  Science requires no such "Ideas," transcending
-sense-experience, as Plato had spoken of; they are, in fact, no more
-than "poetic metaphors."  What is required for science is not that there
-should be a "one over and above the many" (that is, such pure concepts,
-unrealised in the world of actual perception, as Plato had spoken of),
-but only that it should be possible to predicate one term universally of
-many others.  This, by itself, means that the "universal" is looked on
-as a mere residue of the characteristics found in each member of a
-group, got by abstraction, _i.e._ by leaving out of view the
-characteristics which are peculiar to some of the group and retaining
-only those which are common to all.  If Aristotle had held consistently
-to this point of view, his theory of knowledge would have been a purely
-empirical one.  He would have had to say that, since all the objects of
-knowledge are particular facts given in sense-perception, the universal
-laws of science are a mere convenient way of describing the observed
-uniformities in the behaviour of sensible things.  But, since it is
-obvious that in pure mathematics we are not concerned with the actual
-relations between sensible data or the actual ways in which they behave,
-but with so-called "pure cases" or ideals to which the perceived world
-only approximately conforms, he would also have had to say that the
-propositions of mathematics are not strictly true.  In modern times
-consistent empiricists have said this, but it is not a position possible
-to one who had passed twenty years in association with the
-mathematicians of the Academy, and Aristotle's theory only begins in
-naturalism to end in Platonism.  We may condense its most striking
-positions into the following statement.  By science we mean _proved_
-knowledge.  And proved knowledge is always "mediated"; it is the
-knowledge of _conclusions_ from premisses.  A truth that is
-scientifically known does not stand alone.  The "proof" is simply the
-pointing out of the connection between the truth we call the conclusion,
-and other truths which we call the premisses of our demonstration.
-Science points out the _reason why_ of things, and this is what is meant
-by the Aristotelian principle that to have science is to know things
-through their _causes_ or _reasons why_.  In an ordered digest of
-scientific truths, the proper arrangement is to begin with the simplest
-and most widely extended principles and to reason down, through
-successive inferences, to the most complex propositions, the _reason
-why_ of which can only be exhibited by long chains of deductions.  This
-is the order of logical dependence, and is described by Aristotle as
-reasoning _from_ what is "more knowable in its own nature,"[#] the
-simple, to what is usually "more familiar to _us_," because less removed
-from the infinite wealth of sense-perception, the complex.  In
-_discovery_ we have usually to reverse the process and argue from "the
-familiar to us," highly complex facts, to "the more knowable in its own
-nature," the simpler principles implied in the facts.
-
-
-[#] This simple expression acquires a mysterious appearance in mediaeval
-philosophy from the standing mistranslation _notiora naturae_, "better
-known to nature."
-
-
-It follows that Aristotle, after all, admits the disparateness of
-sense-perception and scientific knowledge.  Sense-perception of itself
-never gives us scientific truth, because it can only assure us that a
-fact is so; it cannot _explain_ the fact by showing its connection with
-the rest of the system of facts, "it does not give the _reason_ for the
-fact."  Knowledge of perception is always "immediate," and for that very
-reason is never scientific. If we stood on the moon and saw the earth,
-interposing between us and the sun, we should still not have scientific
-knowledge about the eclipse, because "we should still have to ask for
-the _reason why_."  (In fact, we should not know the reason _why_
-without a theory of light including the proposition that light-waves are
-propagated in straight lines and several others.) Similarly Aristotle
-insists that Induction does not yield scientific truth.  "He who makes
-an induction points out something, but does not demonstrate anything."
-
-For instance, if we know that _each_ species of animal which is without
-a gall is long-lived, we may make the induction that _all_ animals
-without a gall are long-lived, but in doing so we have got no nearer to
-seeing _why_ or _how_ the absence of a gall makes for longevity.  The
-question which we may raise in science may all be reduced to four heads,
-(1) Does this thing exist? (2) Does this event occur? (3) If the thing
-exists, precisely what is it? and (4) If the event occurs, _why_ does it
-occur? and science has not completed its task unless it can advance from
-the solution of the first two questions to that of the latter two.
-Science is no mere catalogue of things and events, it consists of
-inquiries into the "real essences" and characteristics of things and the
-laws of connection between events.
-
-Looking at scientific reasoning, then, from the point of view of its
-formal character, we may say that all science consists in the search for
-"middle terms" of syllogisms, by which to connect the truth which
-appears as a conclusion with the less complex truths which appear as the
-premisses from which it is drawn.  When we ask, "does such a thing
-exist?" or "does such an event happen?" we are asking, "is there a
-middle term which can connect the thing or event in question with the
-rest of known reality?"  Since it is a rule of the syllogism that the
-middle term must be taken universally, at least once in the premisses,
-the search for middle terms may also be described as the search for
-universals, and we may speak of science as knowledge of the universal
-interconnections between facts and events.
-
-A science, then, may be analysed into three constituents. These are: (1)
-a determinate class of objects which form the subject-matter of its
-inquiries.  In an orderly exhibition of the contents of the science,
-these appear, as in Euclid, as the initial data about which the science
-reasons; (2) a number of principles, postulates, and axioms, from which
-our demonstrations must start.  Some of these will be principles
-employed in all scientific reasoning.  Others will be specific to the
-subject-matter with which a particular science is concerned; (3) certain
-characteristics of the objects under study which can be shown by means
-of our axioms and postulates to follow from our initial definitions, the
-_accidentia per se_ of the objects defined.  It is these last which are
-expressed by the conclusions of scientific demonstration.  We are said
-to know scientifically that B is true of A when we show that this
-follows, in virtue of the principles of some science, from the initial
-definition of A.  Thus if we convinced ourselves that the sum of the
-angles of a plane triangle is equal to two right angles by measurement,
-we could not be said to have scientific knowledge of the proposition.
-But if we show that the same proposition follows from the definition of
-a plane triangle by repeated applications of admitted axioms or
-postulates of geometry, our knowledge is genuinely scientific.  We now
-know that it is so, and we see _why_ it is so; we see the connection of
-this truth with the simple initial truths of geometry.
-
-This leads us to the consideration of the most characteristic point of
-Aristotle's whole theory.  Science is demonstrated knowledge, that is,
-it is the knowledge that certain truths follow from still simpler
-truths.  Hence the simplest of all the truths of any science cannot
-themselves be capable of being known by inference.  You cannot infer
-that the axioms of geometry are true because its conclusions are true,
-since the truth of the conclusions is itself a consequence of the truth
-of the axioms.  Nor yet must you ask for demonstration of the axioms as
-consequences of still simpler premisses, because if all truths can be
-proved, they ought to be proved, and you would therefore require an
-infinity of successive demonstrations to prove anything whatever.  But
-under such conditions all knowledge of demonstrated truth would be
-impossible.  The first principles of any science must therefore be
-indemonstrable. They must be known, as facts of sense-perception are
-known, immediately and not mediately.  How then do we come by our
-knowledge of them?  Aristotle's answer to this question appears at first
-sight curiously contradictory.  He seems to say that these simplest
-truths are apprehended intuitively, or on inspection, as self-evident by
-Intelligence or Mind.  On the other hand, he also says that they are
-known _to us_ as a result of induction from sense-experience.  Thus he
-_seems_ to be either a Platonist or an empiricist, according as you
-choose to remember one set of his utterances or another, and this
-apparent inconsistency has led to his authority being claimed in their
-favour by thinkers of the most widely different types.  But more careful
-study will show that the seeming confusion is due to the fact that he
-tries to combine in one statement his answers to two quite different
-questions, (1) how we come to reflect on the axioms, (2) what evidence
-there is for their truth.  To the first question he replies, "by
-induction from experience," and so far he might seem to be a precursor
-of John Stuart Mill.  Successive repetitions of the same
-sense-perceptions give rise to a single experience, and it is by
-reflection on experience that we become aware of the most ultimate
-simple and universal principles.  We might illustrate his point by
-considering how the thought that two and two are four may be brought
-before a child's mind.  We might first take two apples, and two other
-apples and set the child to count them.  By repeating the process with
-different apples we may teach the child to dissociate the result of the
-counting from the particular apples employed, and to advance to the
-thought, "any two apples and any two other apples make four apples."
-Then we might substitute pears or cherries for the apples, so as to
-suggest the thought, "two fruits and two fruits make four fruits."  And
-by similar methods we should in the end evoke the thought, "any two
-objects whatever and any other two objects whatever make four objects."
-This exactly illustrates Aristotle's conception of the function of
-induction, or comparison of instances, in fixing attention on a
-universal principle of which one had not been conscious before the
-comparison was made.
-
-Now comes in the point where Aristotle differs wholly from all
-empiricists, later and earlier.  Mill regards the instances produced in
-the induction as having a double function; they not merely fix the
-attention on the principle, they also are the evidence of its truth.
-This gives rise to the greatest difficulty in his whole logical theory.
-Induction by imperfect enumeration is pronounced to be (as it clearly
-is) fallacious, yet the principle of the uniformity of Nature which Mill
-regards as the ultimate premiss of all science, is itself supposed to be
-proved by this radically fallacious method.  Aristotle avoids a similar
-inconsistency by holding that the sole function of the induction is to
-fix our attention on a principle which it does not prove. He holds that
-ultimate principles neither permit of nor require proof.  When the
-induction has done its work in calling attention to the principle, you
-have to see for yourself that the principle is true.  You see that it is
-true by immediate inspection just as in sense-perception you have to see
-that the colour before your eyes is red or blue.  This is why Aristotle
-holds that the knowledge of the principles of science is not itself
-science (demonstrated knowledge), but what he calls intelligence, and we
-may call intellectual intuition.  Thus his doctrine is sharply
-distinguished not only from empiricism (the doctrine that universal
-principles are proved by particular facts), but also from all theories
-of the Hegelian type which regard the principles and the facts as
-somehow reciprocally proving each other, and from the doctrine of some
-eminent modern logicians who hold that "self-evidence" is not required
-in the ultimate principles of science, as we are only concerned in logic
-with the question what consequences follow from our initial assumptions,
-and not with the truth or falsehood of the assumptions themselves.
-
-The result is that Aristotle does little more than repeat the Platonic
-view of the nature of science.  Science consists of deductions from
-universal principles which sensible experience "suggests," but into
-which, as they are apprehended by a purely intellectual inspection, no
-sense-data enter as constituents. The apparent rejection of
-"transcendental moonshine" has, after all, led to nothing.  The only
-difference between Plato and his scholar lies in the clearness of
-intellectual vision which Plato shows when he expressly maintains in
-plain words that the universals of exact science are not "in" our
-sense-perceptions and therefore to be extracted from them by a process
-of abstraction, but are "apart from" or "over" them, and form an ideal
-system of interconnected concepts which the experiences of sense merely
-"imitate" or make approximation to.
-
-One more point remains to be considered to complete our outline of the
-Aristotelian theory of knowledge.  The sciences have "principles" which
-are discerned to be true by immediate inspection.  But what if one man
-professes to see the self-evident truth of such an alleged principle,
-while another is doubtful of its truth, or even denies it?  There can be
-no question of silencing the objector by a demonstration, since no
-genuine simple principle admits of demonstration.  All that can be done,
-_e.g._ if a man doubts whether things equal to the same thing are equal
-to one another, or whether the law of contradiction is true, is to
-examine the consequences of a denial of the axiom and to show that they
-include some which are false, or which your antagonist at least
-considers false.  In this way, by showing the falsity of consequences
-which follow from the denial of a given "principle," you indirectly
-establish its truth.  Now reasoning of this kind differs from "science"
-precisely in the point that you take as your major premiss, not what you
-regard as true, but the opposite thesis of your antagonist, which you
-regard as false.  Your object is not to prove a true conclusion but to
-show your opponent that _his_ premisses lead to false conclusions.  This
-is "dialectical" reasoning in Aristotle's sense of the word, _i.e._
-reasoning not from your own but from some one else's premisses.  Hence
-the chief philosophical importance which Aristotle ascribes to
-"dialectic" is that it provides a method of defending the undemonstrable
-axioms against objections.  Dialectic of this kind became highly
-important in the mediaeval Aristotelianism of the schoolmen, with whom
-it became a regular method, as may be seen _e.g._ in the _Summa_ of St.
-Thomas, to begin their consideration of a doctrine by a preliminary
-rehearsal of all the arguments they could find or devise against the
-conclusion they meant to adopt. Thus the first division of any article
-in the _Summa Theologiae_ of Thomas is regularly constituted by
-arguments based on the premisses of actual or possible antagonists, and
-is strictly dialectical.  (To be quite accurate Aristotle should, of
-course, have observed that this dialectical method of defending a
-principle becomes useless in the case of a logical axiom which is
-presupposed by all deduction.  For this reason Aristotle falls into
-fallacy when he tries to defend the law of contradiction by dialectic.
-It is true that if the law be denied, then any and every predicate may
-be indifferently ascribed to any subject. But until the law of
-contradiction has been admitted, you have no right to regard it as
-absurd to ascribe all predicates indiscriminately to all subjects.
-Thus, it is only assumed laws which are _not_ ultimate laws of logic
-that admit of dialectical justification.  If a truth is so ultimate that
-it has either to be recognised by direct inspection or not at all, there
-can be no arguing at all with one who cannot or will not see it.)
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER III*
-
-                           *FIRST PHILOSOPHY*
-
-
-First Philosophy is defined by Aristotle as a "science which considers
-What Is simply in its character of Being, and the properties which it
-has as such."  That there is, or ought to be, such a science is urged on
-the ground that every "special" science deals only with some restricted
-department of what is, and thus considers its subject-matter not
-universally in its character of being, or being real, but as determined
-by some more special condition.  Thus, First Philosophy, the science
-which attempts to discover the most ultimate reasons of, or grounds for,
-the character of things in general cannot be identified with any of the
-"departmental" sciences.  The same consideration explains why it is
-"First Philosophy" which has to disentangle the "principles" of the
-various sciences, and defend them by dialectic against those who impugn
-them.  It is no part of the duty of a geometer or a physicist to deal
-with objections to such universal principles of reasoning as the law of
-contradiction.  They may safely assume such principles; if they are
-attacked, it is not by specifically geometrical or physical
-considerations that they can be defended.  Even the "principles of the
-special sciences" have not to be examined and defended by the special
-sciences.  They are the starting-points of the sciences which employ
-them; these sciences are therefore justified in requiring that they
-shall be admitted as a condition of geometrical, or physical, or
-biological demonstrations.  If they are called in question, the defence
-of them is the business of logic.
-
-First Philosophy, then, is the study of "What Is simply as such," the
-universal principles of structure without which there could be no
-ordered system of knowable objects.  But the word "is" has more than one
-sense.  There are as many modes of being as there are types of
-predication.  "Substances," men, horses, and the like, have their own
-specific mode of being--they are things; qualities, such as green or
-sweet, have a different mode of being--they are not things, but
-"affections" or "attributes" of things.  Actions, again, such as
-building, killing, are neither things nor yet "affections" of things;
-their mode of being is that they are processes which produce or destroy
-things.  First Philosophy is concerned with the general character of all
-these modes of being, but it is specially concerned with that mode of
-being which belongs to _substances_.  For this is the most primary of
-all modes of being.  We had to introduce a reference to it in our
-attempt to say what the mode of being of qualities and actions is, and
-it would have been the same had our illustrations been drawn from any
-other "categories."  Hence the central and special problem of First
-Philosophy is to analyse the notion of substance and to show the causes
-of the existence of substances.
-
-Next, we have to note that the word "substance" itself has two senses.
-When we spoke of substance as one of the categories we were using it in
-a secondary sense.  We meant by substances "horse," "man," and the rest
-of the "real kinds" which we find in Nature, and try to reproduce in a
-scientific classification.  In this sense of the word "substances" are a
-special class of _predicates_, as when we affirm of Plato that he is a
-man, or of Bucephalus that he is a horse.  But in the primary sense a
-substance means an absolutely individual thing, "_this_ man," or "_this_
-horse."  We may therefore define primary substances from the logician's
-point of view by saying that they can be only subjects of predication,
-never predicates. Or again, it is peculiar to substances, that while
-remaining numerically one a substance admits of incompatible
-determinations, as Socrates, remaining one and the same Socrates, is
-successively young and old.  This is not true of "qualities," "actions,"
-and the rest.  The same colour cannot be first white and then black; the
-same act cannot be first bad and then good.  Thus we may say that
-individual substances are the fixed and permanent factors in the world
-of mutability, the invariants of existence.  Processes go on in them,
-they run the gamut of changes from birth to decay, processes take place
-_among_ them, they act on and are acted on by one another, they
-fluctuate in their qualities and their magnitude, but so long as a
-substance exists it remains numerically one and the same throughout all
-these changes.  Their existence is the first and most fundamental
-condition of the existence of the universe, since they are the bearers
-of all qualities, the terms of all relations, and the agents and
-patients in all interaction.
-
-The point to note is that Aristotle begins his investigation into the
-structure of What Is and the causes by which it is produced by starting
-from the existence of individual things belonging to the physical order
-and perceived by the senses. About any such thing we may ask two
-questions, (1) into what constituent factors can it be logically
-analysed? (2) and how has it come to exhibit the character which our
-analysis shows it to have?  The answer to these questions will appear
-from a consideration of two standing antitheses which run through
-Aristotle's philosophy, the contrast between Matter and Form, and that
-between Potential and Actual, followed by a recapitulation of his
-doctrine of the Four Causes, or four senses of the word Cause.
-
-*Matter and Form*.--Consider any completely developed individual thing,
-whether it is the product of human manufacture, as a copper bowl, or of
-natural reproduction, as an oak-tree or a horse.  We shall see at once
-that the bowl is like other articles made of the same metal,
-candlesticks, coal-vases, in being made of the same stuff, and unlike
-them in having the special shape or structure which renders it fit for
-being used as a bowl and not for holding a candle or containing coals.
-So a botanist or a chemist will tell you that the constituent tissues of
-an oak or horse, or the chemical elements out of which these tissues are
-built up are of the same kind as those of an ash or an ox, but the oak
-differs from the ash or the horse from the ox in characteristic
-structure. We see thus that in any individual thing we can distinguish
-two components, the stuff of which it consists--which may be identical
-in kind with the stuff of which things of a very different kind
-consist--and the structural law of formation or arrangement which is
-peculiar to the "special" kind of thing under consideration.  In the
-actual individual thing these two are inseparably united; they do not
-exist side by side, as chemists say the atoms of hydrogen and oxygen do
-in a drop of water; the law of organisation or structure is manifested
-in and through the copper, or the various tissues of the living body.
-Aristotle expresses this by saying that you can distinguish two aspects
-in an individual, its Matter, (_hyle, materia_) and its Form (_eidos,
-forma_).  The individual is the matter as organised in accord with a
-determinate principle of structure, the form.  Of these terms, the
-former, _hyle_ (_materia_, matter) means literally timber, and more
-specifically ship's timbers, and his selection of it to mean what is
-most exactly rendered by our own word "stuff" may perhaps be due to a
-reminiscence of an old Pythagorean fancy which looked on the universe as
-a ship.  The word for form is the same as Plato's, and its philosophical
-uses are closely connected with its mathematical sense, "regular
-figure," also a Pythagorean technicality which still survives in certain
-stereotyped phrases in Euclid.  Aristotle extends the analysis into
-Matter and Form by analogy beyond the range of individual substances to
-everything in which we can distinguish a relatively indeterminate
-"somewhat" and a law or type of order and arrangement giving it
-determination.  Thus if you consider the relatively fixed or "formed"
-character of a man in adult life, we may look upon this character as
-produced out of the "raw material" of tendencies and dispositions, which
-have received a specific development along definite lines, according to
-the kind of training to which the mind has been subjected in the
-"formative" period of its growth.  We may therefore speak of native
-disposition as the matter or stuff of which character is made, and the
-practical problem of education is to devise a system of training which
-shall impress on this matter precisely the form required if the grown
-man is to be a good citizen of a good state.  Since a man's character
-itself is not a substance but a complex of habits or fixed ways of
-reacting upon suggestions coming from the world around him, this is a
-good instance of the extension of the antithesis of Matter and Form
-beyond the category of substance.  We see then that Matter in the
-Aristotelian sense must not be confounded with body; the relatively
-undetermined factor which receives completer determination by the
-structural law or Form is Matter, whether it is corporeal or not. This
-comes out with particular clearness in the metaphysical interpretation
-put on the logical process of definition by genus and difference.  When
-I define any real kind by specifying a higher and wider class of which
-it is a sub-kind, and adding the peculiar characteristics which
-distinguish the sub-kind under consideration from the other sub-kinds of
-the same genus, the genus may be said to stand to the "differences" as
-Matter, the relatively indeterminate, to the Form which gives it its
-structure.
-
-We further observe that Matter and Form are strictly correlative.  The
-matter is called so relatively to the form which gives it further
-determination.  When the words are used in their strictest sense, with
-reference to an individual thing, the Form is taken to mean the _last_
-determination by which the thing acquires its complete character, and
-the Matter is that which has yet to receive this last determination.
-Thus in the case of a copper globe, the spherical figure is said to be
-its Form, the copper its material.  In the case of the human body, the
-Matter is the various tissues, muscles, bones, skin, &c. But each of
-these things which are counted as belonging to the Matter of the globe
-or the human body has, according to Aristotle, a development behind it.
-Copper is not an "element" but a specific combination of "elements," and
-the same thing is even more true of the highly elaborate tissues of the
-living body.  Thus what is Matter relatively to the globe or living body
-is Matter already determined by Form if we consider it relatively to its
-own constituents.  The so-called "elements" of Empedocles, earth, water,
-air, fire, are the matter of all chemical compounds, the Form of each
-compound being its specific law of composition; the immediate or
-"proximate" Matter of the tissues of the animal body is, according to
-Aristotle's biology, the "superfluous" blood of the female parent, out
-of which the various tissues in the offspring are developed, and the
-Matter of this blood is in turn the various substances which are taken
-into the body of the parent as food and converted by assimilation into
-blood.  Their Matter, once more, is the earth, air, fire, and water of
-which they are composed. Thus at every stage of a process of manufacture
-or growth a fresh Form is superinduced on, or developed within, a Matter
-which is already itself a combination of Matter and Form relatively to
-the process by which it has itself been originated. Fully thought out,
-such a view would lead to the conclusion that in the end the simple
-ultimate matter of all individual things is one and the same throughout
-the universe, and has absolutely no definite structure at all.  The
-introduction of Form or determinate structure of any kind would then
-have to be thought of as coming from an outside source, since
-structureless Matter cannot be supposed to give itself all sorts of
-specific determinations, as has been demonstrated in our own times by
-the collapse of the "Synthetic Philosophy."  Aristotle avoids the
-difficulty by holding that "pure Matter" is a creation of our thought.
-In actual fact the crudest form in which matter is found is that of the
-"elements."  Since the transmutability of the "elements" is an
-indispensable tenet in Aristotle's Physics, we cannot avoid regarding
-earth, water, fire air as themselves determinations by specific Form of
-a still simpler Matter, though this "prime Matter" "all alone, before a
-rag of Form is on," is never to be found existing in its simplicity.[#]
-
-
-[#] _Hudibras_, Pt. 1, Canto 1, 560.
-
-"He had First Matter seen undressed;
-He took her naked all alone,
-Before one rag of Form was on."
-
-
-*The Potential and the Actual*.--So far we have been looking at the
-analysis of the individual thing, as the current jargon puts it,
-statically; we have arrived at the antithesis of Matter and Form by
-contrasting an unfinished condition of anything with its finished
-condition.  But we may study the same contrast dynamically, with special
-reference to the process of making or growth by which the relatively
-undetermined or unfinished becomes determined or finished.  The contrast
-of Matter with Form then passes into the contrast between Potentiality
-and Actuality.  What this antithesis means we can best see from the case
-of the growth of a living organism. Consider the embryos of two animals,
-or the seeds of two plants.  Even a botanist or a physiologist may be
-unable to pronounce with certainty on the species to which the germ
-submitted to him belongs, and chemical analysis may be equally at a
-loss.  Even at a later stage of development, the embryo of one
-vertebrate animal may be indistinguishable from that of another.  Yet it
-is certain that one of two originally indistinguishable germs will grow
-into an oak and the other into an elm, or one into a chimpanzee and the
-other into a man. However indistinguishable, they therefore may be said
-to have different latent tendencies or possibilities of development
-within them.  Hence we may say of a given germ, "though this is not yet
-actually an oak, it is potentially an oak," meaning not merely that, if
-uninterfered with, it will in time be an oak, but also that by no
-interference can it be made to grow into an elm or a beech.  So we may
-look upon all processes of production or development as processes by
-which what at first possessed only the tendency to grow along certain
-lines or to be worked up into a certain form, has become actually
-endowed with the character to which it possessed the tendency.  The
-acorn becomes in process of time an actual oak, the baby an actual man,
-the copper is made into an actual vase, right education brings out into
-active exercise the special capacities of the learner.  Hence the
-distinction between Matter and Form may also be expressed by saying that
-the Matter is the persistent underlying _substratum_ in which the
-development of the Form takes place, or that the individual when finally
-determined by the Form is the Actuality of which the undeveloped Matter
-was the Potentiality.  The process of conception, birth, and growth to
-maturity in Nature, or of the production of a finished article by the
-"arts" whose business it is to "imitate" Nature, may be said to be one
-of continuous advance towards the actual embodiment of a Form, or law of
-organisation, in a Matter having the latent potentiality of developing
-along those special lines.  When Aristotle is speaking most strictly he
-distinguishes the process by which a Form is realised, which he calls
-Energeia, from the manifestation of the realised Form, calling the
-latter Entelechy (literally "finished" or "completed" condition).
-Often, however, he uses the word Energeia more loosely for the actual
-manifestation of the Form itself, and in this he is followed by the
-scholastic writers, who render Energeia by _actus_ or _actus purus_.
-
-One presupposition of this process must be specially noted. It is not an
-unending process of development of unrealised capacities, but always has
-an End in the perfectly simple sense of a last stage.  We see this best
-in the case of growth. The acorn grows into the sapling and the sapling
-into the oak, but there is nothing related to the oak as the oak is to
-the sapling.  The oak does not grow into something else.  The process of
-development from potential to actual in this special case comes to an
-end with the emergence of the mature oak. In the organic world the end
-or last state is recognised by the fact that the organism can now
-exercise the power of reproducing its like.  This tendency of organic
-process to culminate in a last stage of complete maturity is the key to
-the treatment of the problem of the "true end" of life in Aristotle's
-_Ethics_.
-
-*The Four Causes*.--The conception of the world involved in these
-antitheses of Form and Matter, Potential and Actual, finds its fullest
-expression in Aristotle's doctrine of the Four Causes or conditions of
-the production of things.  This doctrine is looked on by Aristotle as
-the final solution of the problem which had always been the central one
-for Greek philosophy, What are the causes of the world-order?  All the
-previous philosophies he regards as inadequate attempts to formulate the
-answer to this question which is only given completely by his own
-system.  Hence the doctrine requires to be stated with some fullness.
-We may best approach it by starting from the literal meaning of the
-Greek terms _aitia_, _aition_, which Aristotle uses to convey the notion
-of cause.  _Aition_ is properly an adjective used substantially, and
-means "that on which the legal responsibility for a given state of
-affairs can be laid." Similarly _aitia_, the substantive, means the
-"credit" for good or bad, the legal "responsibility," for an act.  Now
-when we ask, "what is responsible for the fact that such and such a
-state of things now exists?" there are four partial answers which may be
-given, and each of these corresponds to one of the "causes."  A complete
-answer requires the enumeration of them all.  We may mention (1) the
-_matter_ or _material_ cause of the thing, (2) the law according to
-which it has grown or developed, the _form_ or _formal_ cause, (3) the
-agent with whose initial impulse the development began--the
-"starting-point of the process," or, as the later Aristotelians call it,
-the _efficient_ cause, (4) the completed result of the whole process,
-which is present in the case of human manufacture as a preconceived idea
-determining the maker's whole method of handling his material, and in
-organic development in Nature as implied in and determining the
-successive stages of growth--the _end_ or _final_ cause.  If any one of
-these had been different, the resultant state of things would also have
-been different.  Hence all four must be specified in completely
-accounting for it.  Obvious illustrations can be given from artificial
-products of human skill, but it seems clear that it was rather
-reflection on the biological process of reproduction and growth which
-originally suggested the analysis.  Suppose we ask what was requisite in
-order that there should be now an oak on a given spot.  There must have
-been (1) a germ from which the oak has grown, and this germ must have
-had the latent tendencies towards development which are characteristic
-of oaks.  This is the material cause of the oak.  (2) This germ must
-have followed a definite law of growth; it must have had a tendency to
-grow in the way characteristic of oaks and to develop the structure of
-an oak, not that of a plane or an ash.  This is form or formal cause.
-(3) Also the germ of the oak did not come from nowhere; it grew on a
-parent oak. The parent oak and its acorn-bearing activity thus
-constitute the _efficient_ cause of the present oak.  (4) And there must
-be a final stage to which the whole process of growth is relative, in
-which the germ or sapling is no longer becoming but is an adult oak
-bearing fresh acorns.  This is the _end_ of the process. One would not
-be going far wrong in saying that Aristotle's biological cast of thought
-leads him to conceive of this "end" in the case of reproduction as a
-sub-conscious purpose, just as the workman's thought of the result to be
-attained by his action forms a conscious directing purpose in the case
-of manufacture.  Both in Nature and in "art" the "form," the "efficient
-cause," and the "end" tend to coalesce.  Thus in Nature "a man begets a
-man," organic beings give birth to other organic beings of the same
-kind, or, in the technical language of the Aristotelian theory of
-Causation, the efficient cause produces, as the "end" of its action, a
-second being having the same "form" as itself, though realised in
-different "matter," and numerically distinct from itself.  Thus the
-efficient cause (_i.e._ the parent) is a "form" realised in matter, and
-the "end" is the same "form" realised in other matter.  So in "products
-of art" the true "source of the process" is the "form" the realisation
-of which is the "end" or final cause, only with this difference, that as
-efficient cause the "form" exists not in the material but by way of
-"idea" or "representation" in the mind of the craftsman.  A house does
-not produce another house, but the house as existing in "idea" in the
-builder's mind sets him at work building, and so produces a
-corresponding house in brick or stone.  Thus the ultimate opposition is
-between the "cause as matter," a passive and inert substratum of change
-and development and the "formal" cause which, in the sense just
-explained, is one with both the "efficient" or starting-point, and the
-"end" or goal of development.  It will, of course, be seen that
-individual bearers of "forms" are indispensable in the theory; hence the
-notion of _activity_ is essential to the causal relation. It is a
-relation between things, not between events.  Aristotle has no sense of
-the word cause corresponding to Mill's conception of a cause as an event
-which is the uniform precursor of another event.
-
-Two more remarks may be made in this connection.  (1) The prominence of
-the notion of "end" gives Aristotle's philosophy a thorough-going
-"ideological" character.  God and Nature, he tells us, do nothing
-aimlessly.  We should probably be mistaken if we took this to mean that
-"God and Nature" act everywhere with conscious design.  The meaning is
-rather that every natural process has a last stage in which the "form"
-which was to begin with present in the agent or "source of change" is
-fully realised in the matter in which the agent has set up the process
-of change.  The normal thing is _e.g._ for animals to reproduce "their
-kind"; if the reproduction is imperfect or distorted, as in monstrous
-births, this is an exception due to the occasional presence in "matter"
-of imperfections which hinder the course of development, and must be
-regarded as "contrary to the normal course of Nature."  So hybrid
-reproduction is exceptional and "against Nature," and this is shown by
-the sterility of hybrids, a sort of lesser monstrosity.  Even females,
-being "arrested developments," are a sort of still minor deviation from
-principle.  (2) It may just be mentioned that Aristotle has a
-classification of efficient causes under the three heads of Nature,
-Intelligence (or Man), and Chance.  The difference between Nature and
-Man or Intelligence as efficient causes has already been illustrated.
-It is that in causation by Nature, such as sexual reproduction, or the
-assimilation of nutriment, or the conversion of one element into another
-in which Aristotle believed, the form which is superinduced on the
-matter by the agent already exists in the agent itself as _its_ form.
-The oak springs from a parent oak, the conversion of nutriment into
-organic tissue is due to the agency of already existing organic tissue.
-In the case of human intelligence or art, the "form" to be superinduced
-exists in the agent not as _his_ characteristic form, but by way of
-representation, as a contemplated design.  The man who builds a house is
-not himself a house; the form characteristic of a house is very
-different from that characteristic of a man, but it is present in
-contemplation to the builder before it is embodied in the actual house.
-A word may be added about the third sort of efficient causality,
-causation by chance.  This is confined to cases which are exceptions
-from the general course of Nature, remarkable coincidences.  It is what
-we may call "simulated purposiveness."  When something in human affairs
-happens in a way which subserves the achievement of a result but was not
-really brought about by any intention to secure the result, we speak of
-it as a remarkable coincidence.  Thus it would be a coincidence if a man
-should be held to ransom by brigands and his best friend should, without
-knowing anything of the matter, turn up on the spot with the means of
-ransoming him. The events could not have happened more opportunely if
-they had been planned, and yet they were not planned but merely fell out
-so: and since such a combination of circumstances simulating design is
-unusual, it is not proper to say that the events happened "in the course
-of Nature."  We therefore say it happened by chance.  This doctrine of
-chance has its significance for mediaeval Ethics.  In an age when the
-Protestant superstition that worldly success is proof of nearness to God
-had not yet been invented, the want of correspondence between men's
-"deserts" and their prosperity was accounted for by the view that the
-distribution of worldly goods is, as a rule, the work of Fortune or
-Chance in the Aristotelian sense; that is, it is due to special
-coincidences which may look like deliberate design but are not really
-so.  (See the elaborate exposition of this in Dante, _Inferno_, vii.
-67-97.)
-
-*Motion*.--We have seen that causation, natural or artificial, requires
-the production in a certain "matter" of a certain "form" under the
-influence of a certain "agent."  What is the character of the process
-set up by the agent in the matter and culminating in the appearance of
-the form?  Aristotle answers that it is Motion (_kinesis_).  The effect
-of the agent on the matter is to set up in it a motion which ends in its
-assuming a definite form.  The important point to be noted here is that
-Aristotle regards this motion as falling wholly within the matter which
-is to assume the form.  It is not necessary that the agent should itself
-be in motion, but only that it should induce motion in something else.
-Thus in all cases of intentional action the ultimate efficient cause is
-the "idea of the result to be attained," but this idea does not move
-about.  By its presence to the mind it sets something else (the members
-of the body) moving.  This conception of an efficient cause which, not
-moving itself, by its mere presence induces movement in that to which it
-is present, is of the highest importance in Aristotle's theology.  Of
-course it follows that since the motion by which the transition from
-potentiality to actuality is achieved falls wholly within the matter
-acted upon, Aristotle is not troubled with any of the questions as to
-the way in which motion can be transferred from one body to another
-which were so much agitated in the early days of the modern mechanical
-interpretation of natural processes. Aristotle's way of conceiving
-Nature is thoroughly non-mechanical, and approximates to what would now
-be called the ascription of vital or quasi-vital characteristics to the
-inorganic.  As, in the causality of "art" the mere presence of the
-"form" to be embodied in a given material to the mind of the craftsman
-brings about and directs the process of manufacture, so in some
-analogous fashion the presence of an efficient cause in Nature to that
-on which it works is thought of as itself constituting the "efficiency"
-of the cause.  As Lotze phrases it, things "take note of" one another's
-compresence in the universe, or we might say the efficient cause and
-that on which it exercises its efficiency are _en rapport_.  "Matter" is
-sensitive to the presence of the "efficient cause," and in response to
-this sensitivity, puts forth successive determinations, expands its
-latent tendencies on definite lines.
-
-The name "motion" has a wider sense for Aristotle than it has for
-ourselves.  He includes under the one common name all the processes by
-which things come to be what they are or cease to be what they have
-been.  Thus he distinguishes the following varieties of "motion":
-_generation_ (the coming of an individual thing into being), with its
-opposite _decay_ or _corruption_ (the passing of a thing out of being),
-_alteration_ (change of _quality_ in a thing), _augmentation_ and
-_diminution_ (change in the _magnitude_ of a thing), _motion through
-space_ (of which latter he recognises two sub-species, rectilinear
-_transference_ and _rotation_ in a circular orbit about an axis).  It is
-this last variety, motion through space, which is the most fundamental
-of all, since its occurrence is involved in that of any of the other
-types of process mentioned, though Aristotle does not hold the
-thorough-going mechanical view that the other processes are only
-apparent, and that, as we should put it, qualitative change is a mere
-disguise which mechanical motion wears for our senses.
-
-*The Eternity of Motion*.--Certain very important consequences follow
-from the conception of efficient causation which we have been
-describing.  Aristotle has no sympathy with the "evolutionist" views
-which had been favoured by some of his predecessors.  According to his
-theory of organic generation, "it takes a man to beget a man "; where
-there is a baby, there must have been a father.  Biological kinds
-representing real clefts in Nature, the process of the production of a
-young generation by an already adult generation must be thought of as
-without beginning and without end.  There can be no natural "evolution"
-of animals of one species from individuals of a different kind.  Nor
-does it occur to Aristotle to take into account the possibility of
-"Creationism," the sudden coming into being of a fully fledged first
-generation at a stroke.  This possibility is excluded by the doctrine
-that the "matter" of a thing must exist beforehand as an indispensable
-condition of the production of that thing.  Every baby, as we said, must
-have had a father, but that father must also have been a baby before he
-was a full-grown man.  Hence the perpetuation of unchanging species must
-be without beginning and without end. And it is implied that all the
-various processes, within and without the organism, apart from which its
-life could not be kept up, must be equally without beginning and without
-end.  The "cosmos," or orderly world of natural processes, is strictly
-"eternal"; "motion" is everlasting and continuous, or unbroken.  Even
-the great Christian theologians who built upon Aristotle could not
-absolutely break with him on this point.  St. Thomas, though obliged to
-admit that the world was actually created a few thousand years before
-his own time, maintains that this can only be known to be true from
-revelation, philosophically it is equably tenable that the world should
-have been "created from all eternity."  And it is the general doctrine
-of scholasticism that the expression "creation" only denotes the
-absolute dependence of the world on God for its being.  When we say "God
-created the world out of nothing," we mean that He did not make it out
-of pre-existing matter, that it depends for its being on Him only; the
-expression is purely negative in its import.
-
-*God*.--With the doctrine of the eternity of the world and the processes
-which make up its life we come close to the culminating theory of
-Aristotelian First Philosophy, its doctrine of God, as the eternal,
-unchanging source of all change, movement, and process.  All motion is a
-process within matter by which the forms latent in it are brought into
-actual manifestation. And the process only takes place in the presence
-of an adequate efficient cause or source of motion.  Hence the eternity
-of natural processes involves the existence of one or more eternal
-sources of motion.  For, if we do not admit the existence of an
-unoriginated and ever-present source or sources of motion, our only
-alternative is to hold that the world-process is due to a series of
-sources of motion existing successively. But such a view would leave the
-unity and unbroken continuity of the world-process unaccounted for.  It
-would give us a succession of processes, temporally contiguous, not one
-unbroken process.  Hence we argue from the continuity of motion to its
-dependence on a source or sources which are permanent and present
-throughout the whole everlasting world-process.  And when we come to the
-question whether there is only one such ultimate source of movement for
-the whole universe, or several, Aristotle's answer is that the supreme
-"Unmoved Mover" is one.  One is enough for the purpose, and the law of
-parcimony forbids us to assume the superfluous.  This then is the
-Aristotelian conception of God and God's relation to the world.  God is
-the one supreme unchanging being to whose presence the world responds
-with the whole process of cosmic development, the ultimate educer of the
-series of "forms" latent in the "matter" of the world into actual
-manifestation.  Standing, as He does, outside the whole process which by
-His mere presence He initiates in Nature, He is not himself a composite
-of "form" and "matter," as the products of development are. He is a pure
-individual "form" or "actuality," with no history of gradual development
-behind it.  Thus He is a purely immaterial being, indispensable to the
-world's existence but transcending it and standing outside it.  _How_
-His presence inspires the world to move Aristotle tries to explain by
-the metaphor of appetition.  Just as the good I desire and conceive,
-without itself "moving" "moves" my appetition, so God moves the universe
-by being its good.  This directly brings about a uniform unbroken
-rotation of the whole universe round its axis (in fact, the alternation
-of day and night).  And since this rotation is communicated from the
-outermost "sphere" of heaven to all the lesser "spheres" between it and
-the immovable centre, the effects of God's presence are felt
-universally.  At the same time, we must note that though God is the
-supreme Mover of the Universe, He is not regarded by Aristotle as its
-Creator, even in the sense in which creation can be reconciled with the
-eternity of the world.  For the effect of God's presence is simply to
-lead to the development of "form" in an already existing "matter."
-Without God there could be no "form" or order in things, not even as
-much as is implied in the differentiation of matter into the four
-"elements," yet "primary matter" is no less than God a precondition of
-all that happens.
-
-It is characteristic of Aristotle that his God is as far from
-discharging the functions of a Providence as He is from being a Creator.
-His "activity" is not, as Plato had made it, that of the great "Shepherd
-of the sheep."  As far as the world is concerned, God's only function is
-to be there to move its appetition.  For the rest, the unbroken activity
-of this life is directed wholly inward.  Aristotle expressly calls it an
-"activity of immobility."  More precisely, he tells us, it is activity
-of thought, exercised unbrokenly and everlastingly upon the only object
-adequate to exercise God's contemplation, Himself. His life is one of
-everlasting _self_-contemplation or "thinking of thought itself."  Like
-all unimpeded exercise of activity, it is attended by pleasure, and as
-the activity is continuous, so the pleasure of it is continuous too.  At
-our best, when we give ourselves up to the pure contemplative activity
-of scientific thought or aesthetic appreciation, we enter for a while
-into this divine life and share the happiness of God.  But that is a
-theme for our chapter on the _Ethics_.
-
-It is a far cry from this conception of a God untroubled by care for a
-world to which He is only related as the object of its aspiration to the
-God who cares even for the fall of the sparrow and of whom it is
-written, _Sic Deus dilexit mundum_, but it was the standing task of the
-philosophical theologians of the Middle Ages to fuse the two
-conceptions.  Plato's God, who, if not quite the Creator, is the "Father
-and Fashioner" of us all, and keeps providential watch over the world He
-has fashioned, would have lent Himself better to their purposes, but
-Plato was held by the mediaeval church to have denied the resurrection
-of the body.  The combination of Aristotle's Theism with the Theism of
-early Christianity was effected by exquisitely subtle logical devices,
-but even in St. Thomas one cannot help seeing the seams.
-
-Nor can one help seeing in Aristotle's own doctrine the usual want of
-coherence between an initial anti-Platonic bias and a final reversion to
-the very Platonic positions Aristotle is fond of impugning.  We are told
-at the outset that the Platonic "separate forms" are empty names, and
-that the real individual thing is always a composite of matter and a
-form which only exists "in matter."  We find in the end that the source
-of the whole process by which "matter" becomes imbued with "form" is a
-being which is "pure" form and stands outside the whole development
-which its presence sets up. And the issue of Aristotle's warning against
-"poetic metaphors" is the doctrine that God moves the world by being
-"the object of the world's desire."
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER IV*
-
-                               *PHYSICS*
-
-
-There is no part of Aristotle's system which has been more carefully
-thought out than his Physics; at the same time it is almost wholly on
-account of his physical doctrines that his long ascendancy over thought
-is so much to be regretted.  Aristotle's qualifications as a man of
-science have been much overrated. In one department, that of descriptive
-natural history, he shows himself a master of minute and careful
-observation who could obtain unqualified praise from so great a
-naturalist as Darwin. But in Astronomy and Physics proper his
-inferiority in mathematical thinking and his dislike for mechanical ways
-of explaining facts put him at a great disadvantage, as compared with
-Plato and Plato's Pythagorean friends.  Thus his authority was for
-centuries one of the chief influences which prevented the development of
-Astronomy on right lines.  Plato had himself both taught the mobility of
-the earth and denied correctly that the earth is at the centre of the
-universe, and the "Copernican" hypothesis in Astronomy probably
-originated in the Academy.  Aristotle, however, insists on the central
-position of the earth, and violently attacks Plato for believing in its
-motion. It is equally serious that he insists on treating the so-called
-"four elements" as ultimately unanalysable forms of matter, though Plato
-had not only observed that so far from being the ABC (_stoicheia_ or
-_elementa_, literally, letters of the alphabet) of Nature they do not
-deserve to be called even "syllables," but had also definitely put
-forward the view that it is the geometrical structure of the
-"corpuscles" of body upon which sensible qualities depend.  It is on
-this doctrine, of course, that all mathematical physics rests.
-Aristotle reverts to the older theory that the differences between one
-"element" and another are qualitative differences of a sensible kind.
-Even in the biological sciences Aristotle shows an unfortunate proneness
-to disregard established fact when it conflicts with the theories for
-which he has a personal liking.  Thus, though the importance of the
-brain as the central organ of the sensori-motor system had been
-discovered in the late sixth or early fifth century by the physician
-Alemacon of Crotona, and taught by the great Hippocrates in the fifth
-and by Plato in the fourth century, Aristotle's prejudices in favour of
-the doctrines of a different school of biologists led him to revert to
-the view that it is the heart which is the centre of what we now call
-the "nervous system."  It is mainly on account of these reactionary
-scientific views that he was attacked in the early seventeenth century
-by writers like our own Francis Bacon, who found in veneration for
-Aristotle one of the chief hindrances to the free development of natural
-science.  The same complaints had been made long before by critics
-belonging to the Platonic Academy.  It is a Platonist of the time of
-Marcus Aurelius who sums up a vigorous attack on the Aristotelian
-astronomy by the remark that Aristotle never understood that the true
-task of the physicist is not to prescribe laws to Nature, but to learn
-from observation of the facts what the laws followed by Nature are.
-
-In determining the scope of Physics, we have to begin by considering
-what is the special characteristic of things produced by Nature as
-contrasted with those produced by "art."  The obvious distinction,
-intimated by the very etymology of the word "Nature" (_physis_,
-connected with _phyesthai_, to grow, to be born, as _natura_ is with
-_nasci_), is that "what is by Nature" is born and grows, whereas what is
-as a result of artifice is _made_.  The "natural" may thus be said to
-consist of living bodies and of their constituent parts.  Hence
-inorganic matter also is included in "Nature," on the ground that living
-tissue can be analysed back into compounds of the "elements."  Now
-things which are alive and grow are distinguished from things which are
-made by "a source of motion and quiescence within themselves"; all of
-them exhibit motions, changes of quality, processes of growth and
-decline which are initiated from within.  Hence Nature may be defined as
-the totality of things which have a source of motion internal to
-themselves and of the constituent parts of such things.  Nature then
-comprises all beings capable of spontaneous change. Whatever either does
-not change at all, or only changes in consequence of external
-influences, is excluded from Nature.
-
-Thus the fundamental fact everywhere present in Nature is "change,"
-"process," "motion."  Since motion in the literal sense of change of
-position is involved as a condition of every such process, and such
-motion requires space through which to move and time to move in, the
-doctrine of space and time will also form part of Physics.  Hence a
-great part of Aristotle's special lectures on Physics is occupied with
-discussion of the nature of space and time, and of the continuity which
-we must ascribe to them if the "continuous motion" on which the unbroken
-life of the universe depends is to be real Aristotle knows nothing of
-the modern questions whether space and time are "real" or only
-"phenomenal," whether they are "objective" or "subjective."  Just as he
-simply assumes that bodies are things that really exist, whether we
-happen to perceive them or not, so he assumes that the space and time in
-which they move are real features of a world that does not depend for
-its existence on our perceiving it.
-
-His treatment of space is singularly _naif_.  He conceives it as a sort
-of vessel, into which you can pour different liquids. Just as the same
-pot may hold first wine and then water, so, if you can say, "there was
-water here, but now there is air here," this implies the existence of a
-receptacle which once held the water, but now holds the air.  Hence a
-jug or pot may be called a "place that can be carried about," and space
-or place may be called "an immovable vessel."  Hence the "place" of a
-thing may be defined as the boundary, or inner surface, of the body
-which immediately surrounds the thing. It follows from this that there
-can be no empty space.  In the last resort, "absolute space" is the
-actual surface of the outermost "heaven" which contains everything else
-in itself but is not contained in any remoter body.  Thus all things
-whatever are "in" this "heaven."  But it is not itself "in" anything
-else.  In accord with the standing Greek identification of determinate
-character with limitation, Aristotle holds that this outermost heaven
-must be at a limited distance from us.  Actual space is thus finite in
-the sense that the volume of the universe could be expressed as a finite
-number of cubic miles or yards, though, since it must be "continuous,"
-it is infinitely divisible.  However often you subdivide a length, an
-area, or a volume, you will always be dividing it into lesser lengths,
-&c., which can once more be divided.  You will never by division come to
-"points," _i.e._ mere positions without magnitude of divisibility.
-
-The treatment of time is more thoughtful.  Time is inseparably connected
-with movement or change.  We only perceive that time has elapsed when we
-perceive that change has occurred. But time is not the same as change.
-For change is of different and incommensurate kinds, change of place,
-change of colour, &c.; but to take up time is common to all these forms
-of process.  And time is not the same as motion.  For there are
-different rates of speed, but the very fact that we can compare these
-different velocities implies that there are not different velocities of
-_time_.  Time then is that in terms of which we _measure_ motion, "the
-number of motion in respect of before and after," _i.e._ it is that by
-which we estimate the _duration_ of processes.  Thus _e.g._ when we
-speak of _two_ minutes, _two_ days, _two_ months as required for a
-certain process to be completed, we are counting something.  This
-something is time. It does not seem to occur to Aristotle that this
-definition implies that there are indivisible bits of time, though he
-quite correctly states the incompatible proposition that time is "made
-up of successive _nows_," _i.e._ moments which have no duration at all,
-and can no more be counted than the points on a straight line.  He
-recognises of course that the "continuity" of motion implies that of
-time as well as of space.  Since, however, "continuity" in his language
-means the same thing as indefinite divisibility, it ought not to be
-possible for him to regard time as "made up of _nows_"; time, like
-linear extension, ought for him to be a "length of" something.
-
-*The Continuous Motion and the "Spheres."*--The continuous world-process
-depends upon a continuous movement set up in the universe as a whole by
-the presence of an everlasting and unchangeable "First Mover," God.
-From the self-sameness of God, it follows that this most universal of
-movements must be absolutely uniform.  Of what precise kind can such a
-movement be?  As the source of the movement is one, and the object moved
-is also one--viz. the compass of the "heaven," the movement of the
-_primum mobile_ or "first moved"--the object immediately stimulated to
-motion by God's presence to it, must be mechanically simple.  Now
-Aristotle, mistakenly, held that there are two forms of movement which
-are simple and unanalysable, motion of translation along a straight
-line, and motion of rotation round an axis.  He is at pains to argue
-that rectilinear motion, which we easily discover to be that
-characteristic of bodies near the earth's surface when left to
-themselves, cannot be the kind of movement which belongs to the "heaven"
-as a whole.  For continuous rectilinear movement in the same direction
-could not go on for ever on his assumption that there is no space
-outside the "heaven," which is itself at a finite distance from us.  And
-motion to and fro would not be unbroken, since Aristotle argues that
-every time a moving body reached the end of its path, and the sense of
-its movement was reversed, it would be for two consecutive moments in
-the same place, and therefore at rest.  Reversal of sense would imply a
-discontinuity. Hence he decides that the primary unbroken movement must
-be the rotation of the "first moved"--that is, the heaven containing the
-fixed stars--round its axis.  This is the only movement which could go
-on for ever at a uniform rate and in the same sense.  Starting with the
-conviction that the earth is at rest in the centre of the universe, he
-inevitably accounts for the alternation of day and night as the effect
-of such a revolution of the whole universe round an axis passing through
-the centre of the earth.  The universe is thus thought of as bounded by
-a spherical surface, on the concave side of which are the fixed stars,
-which are therefore one and all at the same distance from us.  This
-sphere, under the immediate influence of God, revolves on its axis once
-in twenty-four hours, and this period of revolution is absolutely
-uniform.  Next the apparently irregular paths of the "planets" known to
-Aristotle (_i.e._ the moon, Mercury, Venus, the sun, Mars, Jupiter,
-Saturn) are resolved into combinations of similar uniform rotations,
-each planet having as many "spheres" assigned to it as are requisite for
-the analysis of its apparent path into perfectly circular elementary
-motions.  Altogether Aristotle holds that fifty-four such rotating
-spheres are required over and above the "first moved" itself, whose
-rotation is, of course, communicated to all the lesser "spheres"
-included within it.  As in the case of the "first moved," the uniform
-unceasing rotation of each "sphere" is explained by the influence on it
-of an unchanging immaterial "form," which is to its own "sphere" what
-God is to the universe as a whole.  In the Aristotelianism of the
-mediaeval church these pure forms or intelligences which originate the
-movements of the various planetary spheres are naturally identified with
-angels.  It is _e.g._ to the angelic intelligences which "move" the
-heaven of Venus, which comes third in order counting outward from the
-earth, that Dante addresses his famous Canzone, _Voi ch' intendendo il
-terzo del movete_.  The mediaeval astronomy, however, differs in two
-important respects from that of Aristotle himself.  (1) The number of
-"spheres" is different.  Increasing knowledge of the complexity of the
-paths of the planets showed that if their paths are to be analysed into
-combinations of circular motions, fifty-four such rotations must be an
-altogether inadequate number.  Aristotle's method of analysis of the
-heavenly movements was therefore combined with either or both of two
-others originated by pure astronomers who sat loose to metaphysics.  One
-of these methods was to account for a planet's path by the introduction
-of _epicycles_.  The planet was thought of not as fixed at a given point
-on its principal sphere, but as situated on the circumference of a
-lesser sphere which has its centre at a fixed point of the principal
-sphere and rotates around an axis passing through this centre.  If need
-were, this type of hypothesis could be further complicated by imagining
-any number of such epicycles within epicycles.  The other method was the
-employment of "eccentrics," _i.e._ circular movements which are
-described not about the common centre of the earth and the universe, but
-about some point in its neighbourhood.  By combinations of epicycles and
-eccentrics the mediaeval astronomers contrived to reduce the number of
-principal spheres to _one_ for each planet, the arrangement we find in
-Dante.  (2) Also real or supposed astronomical perturbations unknown to
-Aristotle led some mediaeval theorists to follow the scheme devised by
-Alphonso the Wise of Castille, in which further spheres are inserted
-between that of Saturn, the outermost planet, and the "first moved."  In
-Dante, we have, excluding the "empyrean" or immovable heaven where God
-and the blessed are, nine "spheres," one for each of the planets, one
-for the fixed stars, and one for the "first moved," which is now
-distinguished from the heaven of the stars.  In Milton, who adopts the
-"Alphonsine" scheme, we have further a sphere called the "second
-movable" or "crystalline" introduced between the heaven of the fixed
-stars and the "first moved," to account for the imaginary phenomenon of
-"trepidation."[#]  In reading Dante, Shakespeare, and Milton, we have
-always to remember that none of these reproduces the Aristotelian
-doctrine of the "spheres" accurately; their astronomy is an amalgam of
-Aristotle, Ptolemy, and Hipparchus.
-
-
-[#] _Paradise Lost_, iii. 481.
-
-"They pass the planets seven, and pass the fixed,
-And that crystalline sphere whose balance weighs
-The trepidation talked, and that first moved."
-
-
-So far, the doctrine of the fifty-five "spheres" might be no more than a
-legitimate mathematical fiction, a convenient device for analysing the
-complicated apparent movements of the heavenly bodies into circular
-components.  This was originally the part played by "spheres" in ancient
-astronomical theory, and it is worth while to be quite clear about the
-fact, as there is a mistaken impression widely current to-day that
-Aristotle's astronomy is typical of Greek views in general.  The truth
-is that it is peculiar to himself.  The origin of the theory was
-Academic. Plato proposed to the Academy as a subject of inquiry, to
-devise such a mathematical analysis of astronomical motions as will best
-"save the appearances," _i.e._ will most simply account for the apparent
-paths of the planets.  The analysis of these paths into resultants of
-several rotations was offered as a solution by the astronomer Eudoxus of
-Cnidus.  So far, the "spheres," then, were a mere mathematical
-hypothesis.  What Aristotle did, and it is perhaps the most retrograde
-step ever taken in the history of a science, was to convert the
-mathematical hypothesis into physical fact.  The "spheres" become with
-him real bodies, and as none of the bodies we are familiar with exhibit
-any tendency to rotate in circles when left to themselves, Aristotle was
-forced to introduce into Physics the disastrous theory, which it was a
-great part of Galileo's life-work to destroy, that the stuff of which
-the spheres are made is a "fifth body," different from the "elements" of
-which the bodies among which we live are made.  Hence he makes an
-absolute distinction between two kinds of matter, "celestial matter,"
-the "fifth body," and "terrestrial" or "elementary" matter.  The
-fundamental difference is that "terrestrial" or "elementary" matter,
-left to itself, follows a rectilinear path, "celestial" matter rotates,
-but it is further inferred from the supposed absolute uniformity of the
-celestial movements that "celestial matter" is simple, uncompounded,
-incapable of change, and consequently that no new state of things can
-ever arise in the heavens.  The spheres and planets have always been and
-will always be exactly as they are at the present moment.  Mutability is
-confined to the region of "terrestrial" or "elementary" matter, which
-only extends as far as the orbit of the moon, the "lowest of the
-celestial bodies," because it is only "terrestrial" things which are, as
-we should say, chemical compounds.  This is the doctrine which Galileo
-has in mind when he dwells on such newly-discovered astronomical facts
-as the existence of sun-spots and variable stars, and the signs of
-irregularity presented by the moon's surface.  The distinction is
-peculiar to Aristotle.  No one before him had ever thought of supposing
-the heavenly bodies to be made of any materials other than those of
-which "bodies terrestrial" are made.  In the Academic attack on
-Aristotle's science of which we have already spoken the two points
-singled out for reprobation are (1) his rejection of the principle that
-all moving bodies, left to themselves, follow a rectilinear path, and
-(2) his denial that the heavenly bodies are made of the same "elements"
-as everything else.  (It may just be mentioned in passing that our word
-_quintessence_ gets its sense from the supposed special "nobility" of
-the incorruptible "fifth body.")
-
-*Terrestrial Bodies*.--As we have seen already, Aristotle was out of
-sympathy with the tendency to regard the sensible differences between
-bodies as consequences of more ultimate differences in the geometrical
-structure of their particles.  Hence his whole attitude towards the
-problems of that branch of natural science which we call physics is
-quite unlike any view to which we are accustomed.  He reverts from the
-mathematical lines of thought current in Plato's Academy to the type of
-view more natural to the "plain man," and, like the earliest
-sixth-century men of science, regards the _qualitative_ differences
-which our senses apprehend as fundamental.  Among these, particular
-stress is laid on the difference in sensible temperature (the hot--the
-cold), in saturation (the dry--the moist), and in density (the
-dense--the rare).  If we consider the first two of these oppositions, we
-can make four binary combinations of the elementary "opposite"
-characters, viz. hot and dry, hot and moist, cold and moist, cold and
-dry.  These combinations are regarded as corresponding respectively to
-the sensible characteristics of the four bodies which Empedocles, the
-father of Greek chemistry, had treated as the ultimate components of
-everything. Fire is hot and dry, air hot and moist, water moist and
-cold, earth cold and dry.  This reflection shows us why Aristotle held
-that the most rudimentary form in which "matter" ever actually exists is
-that of one of these "elements."  Each of them has _one_ quality in
-common with another, and it is in virtue of this that a portion of one
-element can be assimilated by and transmuted into another, a process
-which seems to the untutored eye to be constantly recurring in Nature.
-We also observe that the order in which the "elements" appear, when so
-arranged as to form a series in which each term has one quality in
-common with each of its neighbours, is also that of their increasing
-density.  This would help to make the conception of their
-transmutability all the more natural, as it suggests that the process
-may be effected by steady condensation. We must remember carefully that
-for Aristotle, who denies the possibility of a vacuum, as for the
-mediaeval alchemists, condensation does not mean a mere diminution of
-the distances between corpuscles which remain unchanged in character,
-but is a process of real qualitative change in the body which undergoes
-it.  Incidentally we may remark that _all_ changes of quality are
-regarded by Aristotle as stages in a continuous "movement" from one
-extreme of a scale to another.  For example, colours, with him as with
-Goethe, form a series of which the "opposites" white and black are the
-end-points.  Every other colour is a combination of white and black
-according to a definite proportion.
-
-The Aristotelian doctrine of weight was one of the chief obstacles which
-seventeenth-century science had to contend with in establishing correct
-notions in dynamics.  It is a curious feature of Greek science before
-Aristotle that, though the facts connected with gravity were well known,
-no one introduced the notion of weight to account for them.  The
-difference between heavy bodies and light bodies had been previously
-treated as secondary for science.  Plato's treatment of the matter is
-typical of the best fourth-century science.  We must not try to explain
-why the heavier bodies tend to move towards the earth's surface by
-saying that they have a "downward" motion; their motion is not downward
-but "towards the centre" (the earth, though not fixed at the centre of
-the universe, being nearer to it than the rest of the solar and sidereal
-system).  Plato then explains the tendency in virtue of which the
-heavier bodies move towards the "centre" as an attraction of like for
-like.  The universal tendency is for smaller masses of "earth," "water,"
-"air," "fire" to be attracted towards the great aggregations of the same
-materials.  This is far from being a satisfactory theory in the light of
-facts which were not yet known to Plato, but it is on the right lines.
-It starts from the conception of the facts of gravity as due to an
-"attractive force" of some kind, and it has the great merit of bringing
-the "sinking" of stones and the "rising" of vapours under the same
-explanation.
-
-Aristotle, though retaining the central idea that a body tends to move
-towards the region where the great cosmic mass of the same kind is
-congregated, introduced the entirely incompatible notion of an absolute
-distinction of "up" and "down."  He identified the centre of the
-universe with that of the earth, and looked on motion to this centre as
-"downward."  This led him to make a distinction between "heavy" bodies,
-which naturally tend to move "down," and "light" bodies, which tend to
-move "up" away from the centre.  The doctrine works out thus.  The
-heaviest elements tend to be massed together nearest the centre, the
-lightest to be furthest from it. Each element thus has its "proper
-place," that of water being immediately above earth, that of air next,
-and that of fire furthest from the centre, and nearest to the regions
-occupied by "celestial matter."  (Readers of Dante will recollect the
-ascent from the Earthly Paradise through the "sphere of fire" with which
-the _Paradiso_ opens.)
-
-In its own "proper region" no body is heavy or light; as we should say
-any fluid loses its weight when immersed in itself.  When a portion of
-an element is out of its own region and surrounded by the great cosmic
-aggregate of another element, either of two cases may occur.  The body
-which is "out of its element" may be _below_ its proper place, in which
-case it is "light" and tends to move perpendicularly upwards to its
-place, or it may be _above_ its proper place, and then it is "heavy" and
-tends to move perpendicularly "down" until it reaches its place.  It was
-this supposed real distinction between motion "up" and motion "down"
-which made it so hard for the contemporaries of Galileo to understand
-that an inflated bladder rises for the same reason that a stone sinks.
-
-*Biology*.--Of Aristotle's biology reasons of space forbid us to say
-much here.  But a remark or two may be made about his theory of
-reproduction, since it is constantly referred to in much modern
-literature and has also played its part in theology. An interesting
-point is the distinction between "perfect" and "imperfect" animals.
-"Perfect" animals are those which can only be reproduced sexually.
-Aristotle held, however, that there are some creatures, even among
-vertebrates, which _may_ be produced by the vivifying effect of solar
-heat on decomposing matter, without any parents at all.  Thus
-malobservation of the facts of putrefaction led to the belief that flies
-and worms are engendered by heat from decaying bodies, and it was even
-thought that frogs and mice are produced in the same way from
-river-slime.  In this process, the so-called "aequivocal generation,"
-solar heat was conceived as the operative efficient cause which leads to
-the realisation of an organic "form" in the decaying matter.
-
-In sexual reproduction Aristotle regards the male parent as the agent or
-efficient cause which contributes the element of form and organisation
-to the offspring.  The female parent supplies only the raw material of
-the new creature, but she supplies the whole of this.  No _material_ is
-supplied by the male parent to the body of the offspring, a theory which
-St. Thomas found useful in defending the dogma of the Virgin Birth.
-
-*Psychology*.--Since the mind grows and develops, it comes under the
-class of things which have a "source of motion internal to themselves,"
-and psychology is therefore, for Aristotle, a branch of Physics.  To
-understand his treatment of psychological questions we need bear two
-things in mind. (1) _Psyche_ or "soul" means in Greek more than
-"consciousness" does to us.  Consciousness is a relatively late and
-highly developed manifestation of the principle which the Greeks call
-"soul."  That principle shows itself not merely in consciousness but in
-the whole process of nutrition and growth and the adaptation of motor
-response to an external situation. Thus consciousness is a more
-secondary feature of the "soul" in Greek philosophy than in most modern
-thought, which has never ceased to be affected by Descartes' selection
-of "thought" as the special characteristic of psychical life.  In common
-language the word _psyche_ is constantly used where we should say "life"
-rather than "soul," and in Greek philosophy a work "on the _Psyche_"
-means what we should call one on "the principle of life."
-
-(2) It is a consequence of this way of thinking of the "soul" that the
-process of bodily and mental development is regarded by Aristotle as one
-single continuous process.  The growth of a man's intellect and
-character by which he becomes a thinker and a citizen is a continuation
-of the process by which his body is conceived and born and passes into
-physical manhood.  This comes out in the words of the definition of the
-soul.  "The soul is the first entelechy (or actual realisation) of a
-natural organic body."  What this means is that the soul stands to the
-living body as all form realised in matter does to the matter of which
-it is the form, or that the soul is the "form" of the body.  What the
-"organic body" is to the embryo out of which it has grown, that soul is
-to the body itself.  As the embryo grows into the actual living body, so
-the living body grows into a body exhibiting the actual directing
-presence of mind.  Aristotle illustrates the relation by the remark that
-if the whole body was one vast eye, seeing would be its soul.  As the
-eye is a tool for seeing with, but a living tool which is part of
-ourselves, so the body is a like tool or instrument for living with.
-Hence we may say of the soul that it is the "end" of the body, the
-activity to which the body is instrumental, as seeing is the "end" to
-which the eye is instrumental.  But we must note that the soul is called
-only the "first" or initial "entelechy" of the body.  The reason is that
-the mere presence of the soul does not guarantee the full living of the
-life to which our body is but the instrument.  If we are to _live_ in
-the fullest sense of the word, we must not merely "have" a soul; we
-"have" it even in sleep, in ignorance, in folly.  The soul itself needs
-further to be educated and trained in intelligence and character, and to
-exercise its intelligence and character efficiently on the problems of
-thought and life.  The mere "presence" of soul is only a first step in
-the progress towards fullness of life.  This is why Aristotle calls the
-soul the _first_ entelechy of the living body.  The full and final
-entelechy is the life of intelligence and character actively
-functioning.
-
-From this conception of the soul's relation to the body we see that
-Aristotle's "doctrine of body and mind" does not readily fall into line
-with any of the typical theories of our time.  He neither thinks of the
-soul as a thing acting on the body and acted on by it, nor yet as a
-series of "states of mind" concomitant with certain "states of body."
-From his point of view to ask whether soul and body interact, or whether
-they exhibit "parallelism," would be much the same thing as to ask
-whether life interacts with the body, or whether there is a
-"parallelism" between vital processes and bodily processes.  We must not
-ask at all how the body and soul are united.  They are one thing, as the
-matter and the form of a copper globe are one.  Thus they are in actual
-fact inseparable. The soul is the soul of its body and the body the body
-of its soul. We can only distinguish them by logical analysis, as we can
-distinguish the copper from the sphericity in the copper globe.
-
-*Grades of Psychical Life*.--If we consider the order of development, we
-find that some vital activities make their appearance earlier than
-others, and that it is a universal law that the more highly developed
-activities always have the less highly developed as their basis and
-precondition, though the less highly developed may exist apart from the
-more highly developed.  So we may arrange vital activities in general in
-an ontogenetic order, the order in which they make their appearance in
-the individual's development.  Aristotle reckons three such stages, the
-"nutritive," the "sensitive," and the "intelligent."  The lowest form in
-which life shows itself at all, the level of minimum distinction between
-the living and the lifeless, is the power to take in nutriment,
-assimilate it, and grow.  In vegetables the development is arrested at
-this point. With the animals we reach the next highest level, that of
-"sensitive" life.  For all animals have at least the sense of touch.
-Thus they all show sense-perception, and it is a consequence of this
-that they exhibit "appetition," the simplest form of conation, and the
-rudiments of feeling and "temper."  For what has sensations can also
-feel pleasure and pain, and what can feel pleasure and pain can desire,
-since desire is only appetition of what is pleasant.  Thus in the
-animals we have the beginnings of cognition, conation, and affective and
-emotional life in general.  And Aristotle adds that locomotion makes its
-appearance at this level; animals do not, like plants, have to trust to
-their supply of nutriment coming to them; they can go to it.
-
-The third level, that of "intelligence," _i.e._ the power to compare,
-calculate, and reflect, and to order one's life by conscious rule, is
-exhibited by man.  What distinguishes life at this level from mere
-"sensitive" life is, on the intellectual side, the ability to cognise
-universal truths, on the conative, the power to live by rule instead of
-being swayed by momentary "appetition."  The former gives us the
-possibility of science, the latter of moral excellence.[#]
-
-
-[#] _Cf._ Dante's "Fatti non foste a viver como bruti,
-       Ma per seguir virtute e conosoenza."
-
-
-*Sensation*.--Life manifests itself at the animal level on the cognitive
-side as sense-perception, on the conative as appetition or desire, on
-the affective as feeling of pleasure or pain, and in such simple
-emotional moods as "temper," resentment, longing. Aristotle gives
-sensation a logical priority over the conative and emotional expression
-of "animal" life.  To experience appetition or anger or desire you must
-have an object which you crave for or desire or are angry with, and it
-is only when you have reached the level of presentations through the
-senses that you can be said to have an object.  Appetition or "temper"
-is as real a fact as perception, but you cannot crave for or feel angry
-with a thing you do not apprehend.
-
-Aristotle's definition of sense perception is that it is a "capacity for
-discerning" or distinguishing between "the sensible qualities of
-things."  His conception of the process by which the discernment or
-distinguishing is effected is not altogether happy. In sense-perception
-the soul "takes into itself the _form_ of the thing perceived without
-its _matter_, as sealing-wax receives the shape of an iron seal-ring
-without the iron."  To understand this, we have to remember that for
-Aristotle the sensible qualities of the external world, colour, tones,
-tastes, and the rest, are not effects of mechanical stimulation of our
-sense-organs, but real qualities of bodies.  The hardness of iron, the
-redness of a piece of red wax are all primarily "in" the iron or the
-wax.  They are "forms," or determinations by definite law, of the
-"matter" of the iron or the wax.  This will become clearer if we
-consider a definite example, the red colour of the wax.  In the wax the
-red colour is a definite combination of the colour-opposites white and
-black according to a fixed ratio. Now Aristotle's view of the process of
-sense-perception is that when I become aware of the red colour the same
-proportion of white to black which makes the wax red is reproduced in my
-organ of vision; my eye, while I am seeing the red, "assimilated" to the
-wax, is itself for the time actually "reddened."  But it does not become
-wax because the red thing I am looking at is a piece of red wax.  The
-eye remains a thing composed of living tissues.  This is what is meant
-by saying that in seeing the colours of things the eye receives "forms"
-without the "matter" of the things in which those forms are exhibited.
-Thus the process of sense-perception is one in which the organ of sense
-is temporarily assimilated to the thing apprehended in respect of the
-particular quality cognised by that organ, but in respect of no other.
-According to Aristotle this process of "assimilation" always requires
-the presence of a "medium."  If an object is in immediate contact with
-the eye we cannot see its colour; if it is too near the ear, we do not
-discern the note it gives out.  Even in the case of touch and taste
-there is no immediate contact between the object perceived and the true
-organ of perception.  For in touch the "flesh" is not the organ of
-apprehension but an integument surrounding it and capable of acting as
-an intermediary between it and things. Thus perception is always
-accomplished by a "motion" set up in the "medium" by the external
-object, and by the medium in our sense-organs.  Aristotle thus contrives
-to bring correct apprehension by sense of the qualities of things under
-the formula of the "right mean" or "right proportion," which is better
-known from the use made of it in the philosopher's theory of conduct.
-The colour of a surface, the pitch of the note given out by a vibrating
-string, &c., depend on, and vary with, certain forms or ratios "in" the
-surface or the vibrating string; our correct apprehension of the
-qualities depends on the reproduction of the _same_ ratios in our
-sense-organs, the establishment of the "right proportion" in _us_.  That
-this "right proportion" may be reproduced in our own sense-organs it is
-necessary (1) that the medium should have none of the sensible qualities
-for the apprehension whereof it serves as medium, _e.g._ the medium in
-colour-perception must be colourless.  If it had a colour of its own,
-the "motion" set up by the coloured bodies we apprehend would not be
-transmitted undistorted to our organs; we should see everything through
-a coloured haze. It is necessary for the same reason (2) that the
-percipient organ itself, when in a state of quiescence, should possess
-none of the qualities which can be induced in it by stimulation. The
-upshot of the whole theory is that the sense-organ is "potentially" what
-the sense-quality it apprehends is actually. Actual perceiving is just
-that special transition from the potential to the actual which results
-in making the organ for the time being _actually_ of the same quality as
-the object.
-
-*The Common Sensibles and the Common Sense-organ*.--Every sense has a
-range of qualities connected with it as its special objects.  Colours
-can only be perceived by the eye, sounds by the ear, and so forth.  But
-there are certain characters of perceived things which we appear to
-apprehend by more than one sense.  Thus we seem to perceive size and
-shape either by touch or by sight, and number by hearing as well, since
-we can count _e.g._ the strokes of an unseen bell. Hence Aristotle
-distinguishes between the "special sensible qualities" such as colour
-and pitch, and what he calls the "common sensibles," the character of
-things which can be perceived by more than one organ.  These are
-enumerated as size, form or shape, number, motion (and its opposite
-rest), being. (The addition of this last is, of course, meant to account
-for our conviction that any perceived colour, taste, or other quality is
-a reality and not a delusion.)  The list corresponds very closely with
-one given by Plato of the "things which the mind perceives _by herself
-without the help of any organ_," _i.e._ of the leading determinations of
-sensible things which are due not to sense but to understanding.  It was
-an unfortunate innovation to regard the discernment of number or
-movement, which obviously demand intellectual processes such as counting
-and comparison, as performed immediately by "sense," and to assign the
-apprehension of number, movement, figure to a central "organ."  This
-organ he finds in the heart.  The theory is that when the "special
-organs" of the senses are stimulated, they in turn communicate movements
-to the blood and "animal spirits" (_i.e._ the vapours supposed to be
-produced from the blood by animal heat).  These movements are propagated
-inwards to the heart, where they all meet.  This is supposed to account
-for the important fact that, though our sensations are so many and
-diverse, we are conscious of our own unity as the subjects apprehending
-all this variety.  The unity of the perceiving subject is thus made to
-depend on the unity of the ultimate "organ of sensation," the heart.
-Further, when once a type of motion has been set up in any sense-organ
-at the periphery of the body it will be propagated inward to the "common
-sensorium" in the heart.  The motions set up by stimulation, _e.g._ of
-the eye and of the skin, are partly different, partly the same (viz. in
-so far as they are determined by the number, shape, size, movement of
-the external stimuli).  Hence in the heart itself the stimulation on
-which perception of number or size depends is one and the same whether
-it has been transmitted from the eye or from the skin!  Awareness of
-lapse of time is also regarded as a function of the "common
-sense-organ," since it is the "common sensory" which perceives motion,
-and lapse of time is apprehended only in the apprehension of motion.
-Thus, in respect of the inclusion of geometrical form and lapse of time
-among the "common sensibles," there is a certain resemblance between
-Aristotle's doctrine and Kant's theory that recognition of spatial and
-temporal order is a function not of understanding but of "pure" sense.
-It is further held that to be aware that one is perceiving
-(self-consciousness) and to discriminate between the different classes
-of "special" sense-perception must also be functions of the "common
-sense-organ."  Thus Aristotle makes the mistake of treating the most
-fundamental acts of intelligent reflection as precisely on a par, from
-the point of view of the theory of knowledge, with awareness of colour
-or sound.
-
-A more legitimate function assigned to the "common sensorium" in the
-heart is that "fantasy," the formation of mental imagery, depends on its
-activity.  The simplest kind of "image," the pure memory-image left
-behind after the object directly arousing perception has ceased to
-stimulate, is due to the persistence of the movements set up in the
-heart after the sensory process in the peripheral organ is over.  Since
-Aristotle denies the possibility of thinking without the aid of
-memory-images, this function of the "common sensorium" is the
-indispensable basis of mental recall, anticipation, and thought. Neither
-"experience," _i.e._ a general conviction which results from the
-frequent repetition of similar perceptions, nor thought can arise in any
-animal in which sense-stimulation does not leave such "traces" behind
-it.  Similarly "free imagery," the existence of trains of imagination
-not tied down to the reproduction of an actual order of sensations, is
-accounted for by the consideration that "chance coincidence" may lead to
-the stimulation of the heart in the same way in which it might have been
-stimulated by actual sensation-processes.  Sleeping and waking and the
-experiences of dream-life are likewise due to changes in the functioning
-of the "common sense-organ," brought about partly by fatigue in the
-superficial sense-organs, partly by qualitative changes in the blood and
-"animal spirits" caused by the processes of nutrition and digestion.
-Probably Aristotle's best scientific work in psychology is contained in
-the series of small essays in which this theory of memory and its
-imagery is worked out.  (Aristotle's language about the "common
-sensibles" is, of course, the source of our expression "common sense,"
-which, however, has an entirely different meaning.  The shifting of
-sense has apparently been effected through Cicero's employment of the
-phrase _sensus communis_ to mean tactful sympathy, the feeling of
-fellowship with our kind on which the Stoic philosophers laid so much
-stress.)
-
-*Thought*.--Though thinking is impossible except by the use of imagery,
-to think is not merely to possess trains of imagery, or even to be aware
-of possessing them.  Thinking means understanding the meaning of such
-mental imagery and arriving through the understanding at knowledge of
-the structure of the real world.  How this process of interpreting
-mental imagery and reaching valid truth is achieved with greater and
-greater success until it culminates in the apprehension of the supreme
-principles of philosophy we have seen in dealing with the Aristotelian
-theory of knowledge.  From the point of view of the "physicist" who is
-concerned with thinking simply as a type of natural process, the
-relation of "understanding" to the mental imagery just described is
-analogous to that of sensation to sensible qualities.  The objects which
-thinking apprehends are the universal types of relation by which the
-world of things is pervaded.  The process of thinking is one in which
-this system of universal relations is reproduced "by way of idea" in the
-mind of the thinker.  The "understanding" thus stands to its objects as
-matter to form.  The process of getting actually to understand the world
-is one in which our "thought" or "understanding" steadily receives
-completer determination and "form" from its contemplation of reality.
-In this sense, the process is one in which the understanding may be said
-to be passive in knowledge.  It is passive because it is the subject
-which, at every fresh stage in the progress to knowledge, is being quite
-literally "informed" by the action of the real world through the
-sensation and imagery.  Hence Aristotle says that, in order that the
-understanding may be correctly "informed" by its contact with its
-objects, it must, before the process begins, have no determinate
-character of its own.  It must be simply a capacity for apprehending the
-types of interconnection. "What is called the intelligence--I mean that
-with which the soul thinks and understands--is not an actual thing until
-it thinks."  (This is meant to exclude any doctrine which credits the
-"understanding" with either _furniture_ of its own such as "innate
-ideas," or a specific _structure_ of its own.  If the results of our
-thinking arose partly from the structure of the world of objects and
-partly from inherent laws of the "structure of mind," our thought at its
-best would not reproduce the universal "forms" or "types" of
-interconnection as they really are, but would distort them, as the
-shapes of things are distorted when we see them through a lens of high
-refractive index.)  Thus, though Aristotle differs from the modern
-empiricists in holding that "universals" realty exist "in" things, and
-are the links of connection between them, he agrees with the empiricist
-that knowledge is not the resultant of a combination of "facts" on the
-one side and "fundamental laws of the mind's working" on the other.  At
-the outset the "understanding" has no structure; it develops a structure
-for itself in the same process, and to the same degree, in which it
-apprehends the "facts."  Hence the "understanding" only is real in the
-actual process of understanding its objects, and again in a sense the
-understanding and the things it understands are one.  Only we must
-qualify this last statement by saying that it is only "potentially" that
-the understanding is the forms which it apprehends.  Aristotle does not
-mean by this that such things as horses and oxen are thoughts or
-"ideas."  By the things with which "understanding" is said to be one he
-means the "forms" which we apprehend when we actually understand the
-world or any part of it, the truths of science.  His point then is that
-the actual thinking of these truths and the truths themselves do not
-exist apart from one another.  "Science" does not mean certain things
-written down in a book; it means a mind engaged in thinking and knowing
-things, and of the mind itself, considered out of its relation to the
-actual life of thinking the truths of science, we can say no more than
-that it is a name for the fact that we are capable of achieving such
-thought.
-
-*The Active Intelligence*.--So far Aristotle's account of thought has
-been plain sailing.  Thought has been considered as the final and
-highest development of the vital functions of the organism, and hence as
-something inseparable from the lower functions of nutrition and
-sensitive life. The existence of a thought which is not a function of a
-living body, and which is not "passive," has been absolutely excluded.
-But at this point we are suddenly met by the most startling of all the
-inconsistencies between the naturalistic and the "spiritualist" strains
-in Aristotle's philosophy.  In a few broken lines he tells us that there
-is another sense of the word "thought" in which "thought" actually
-creates the truths it understands, just as light may be said to make the
-colours which we see by its aid.  "And _this_ intelligence," he adds,
-"is separable from matter, and impassive and unmixed, being in its
-essential nature an _activity_....  It has no intermission in its
-thinking.  It is only in separation from matter that it is fully itself,
-and it alone is immortal and everlasting ... while the passive
-intelligence is perishable and does not think at all, apart from this."
-The meaning of this is not made clear by Aristotle himself, and the
-interpretation was disputed even among the philosopher's personal
-disciples.
-
-One important attempt to clear up the difficulty is that made by
-Alexander of Aphrodisias, the greatest of the commentators on Aristotle,
-in the second century A.D.  Alexander said, as Aristotle has not done,
-that the "active intelligence" is numerically the same in all men, and
-is identical with God. Thus, all that is specifically human in each of
-us is the "passive intelligence" or capacity for being enlightened by
-God's activity upon us.  The advantage of the view is, that it removes
-the "active intelligence" altogether from the purview of psychology,
-which then becomes a purely naturalistic science.  The great Arabian
-Aristotelian, Averroes (Ibn Roschd) of Cordova, in the twelfth century,
-went still further in the direction of naturalism.  Since the "active"
-and "passive" intelligence can only be separated by a logical
-abstraction, he inferred that men, speaking strictly, do not think at
-all; there is only one and the same individual intelligence in the
-universe, and all that we call our thinking is really not ours but
-God's.  The great Christian scholastics of the following century in
-general read Aristotle through the eyes of Averroes, "_the_
-Commentator," as St. Thomas calls him, "Averrois che il gran commento
-feo," as Dante says. But their theology compelled them to disavow his
-doctrine of the "active intelligence," against which they could also
-bring, as St. Thomas does, the telling argument that Aristotle could
-never have meant to say that there really is no such thing as human
-intelligence.  Hence arose a third interpretation, the Thomist,
-according to which the "active intelligence" is neither God nor the same
-for all men, but is the highest and most rational "part" of the
-individual human soul, which has no bodily "organ."
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER V*
-
-                         *PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY*
-
-
-Hitherto we have been concerned with the speculative branches of
-knowledge, we have now to turn to practice. Practice, too, is an
-activity of thought, but an activity which is never satisfied by the
-process of thinking itself.  In practice our thinking is always directed
-towards the production of some result other than true thought itself.
-As in engineering it is not enough to find a solution of the problem how
-to build a bridge over a given river capable of sustaining a given
-strain, so in directing our thought on the problems of human conduct and
-the organisation of society we aim at something more than the
-understanding of human life.  In the one case what we aim at is the
-construction of the bridge; in the other it is the production of
-goodness in ourselves and our fellow-men, and the establishment of right
-social relations in the state.  Aristotle is careful to insist on this
-point throughout his whole treatment of moral and social problems.  The
-principal object of his lectures on conduct is not to tell his hearers
-what goodness is, but to make them good, and similarly it is quite plain
-that _Politics_ was intended as a text-book for legislators.  In close
-connection with this practical object stands his theory of the kind of
-truth which must be looked for in ethics and politics.  He warns us
-against expecting precepts which have the exact and universal rigidity
-of the truths of speculative science.  Practical science has to do with
-the affairs of men's lives, matters which are highly complex and
-variable, in a word, with "what may be otherwise."  Hence we must be
-content if we can lay down precepts which hold good in the main, just as
-in medicine we do not expect to find directions which will effect a cure
-in all cases, but are content with general directions which require to
-be adapted to special cases by the experience and judgment of the
-practitioner.  The object of practical science then is to formulate
-rules which will guide us in obtaining our various ends.  Now when we
-consider these ends we see at once that some are subordinate to others.
-The manufacture of small-arms may be the end at which their maker aims,
-but it is to the military man a mere means to _his_ end, which is the
-effective use of them. Successful use of arms is again the end of the
-professional soldier, but it is a mere means among others to the
-statesman. Further, it is the military men who use the arms from whom
-the manufacturer has to take his directions as to the kind of arms that
-are wanted, and again it is the statesman to whom the professional
-soldiers have to look for directions as to when and with what general
-objects in view they shall fight.  So the art which uses the things
-produced by another art is the superior and directing art; the art which
-makes the things, the inferior and subordinate art.  Hence the supreme
-practical art is politics, since it is the art which uses the products
-turned out by all other arts as means to its ends.  It is the business
-of politics, the art of the statesman, to prescribe to the practitioners
-of all other arts and professions the lines on which and the conditions
-under which they shall exercise their vocation with a view to securing
-the supreme practical end, the well-being of the community.  Among the
-other professions and arts which make the materials the statesman
-employs, the profession of the educator stands foremost.  The statesman
-is bound to demand certain qualities of mind and character in the
-individual citizens.  The production of these mental and moral qualities
-must therefore be the work of the educator.  It thus becomes an
-important branch of politics to specify the kind of mental and moral
-qualities which a statesman should require the educator to produce in
-his pupils.
-
-It is this branch of politics which Aristotle discusses in his _Ethics_.
-He never contemplates a study of the individual's good apart from
-politics, the study of the good of the society. What then is the good or
-the best kind of life for an individual member of society?  Aristotle
-answers that as far as the mere name is concerned, there is a general
-agreement to call the best life, _Eudaimonia_, Happiness.  But the real
-problem is one of fact.  What kind of life deserves to be called
-happiness? Plato had laid it down that the happy life must satisfy three
-conditions.  It must be desirable for its own sake, it must be
-sufficient of itself to satisfy us, and it must be the life a wise man
-would prefer to any other.  The question is, What general formula can we
-find which will define the life which satisfies these conditions?  To
-find the answer we have to consider what Plato and Aristotle call the
-work or function of man.  By the work of anything we mean what can only
-be done by it, or by it better than by anything else.  Thus the work of
-the eye is to see.  You cannot see with any other organ, and when the
-eye does this work of seeing well you say it is a good eye.  So we may
-say of any living being that its work is to live, and that it is a good
-being when it does this work of living efficiently. To do its own work
-efficiently is the excellence or virtue of the thing.  The excellence or
-virtue of a man will thus be to live efficiently, but since life can be
-manifested at different levels, if we would know what man's work is we
-must ask whether there is not some form of life which can _only_ be
-lived by man. Now the life which consists in merely feeding and growing
-belongs to all organisms and can be lived with equal vigour by them all.
-There is, however, a kind of life which can only be lived by man, the
-life which consists in conscious direction of one's actions by a rule.
-It is the work of man to live this kind of life, and his happiness
-consists in living it efficiently and well.  So we may give as the
-definition of human well-being that it is "an active life in accord with
-excellence, or if there are more forms of excellence than one, in accord
-with the best and completest of them"; and we must add "in a complete
-life" to show that mere promise not crowned by performance does not
-suffice to entitle man's life to be called happy.  We can see that this
-definition satisfies Plato's three conditions.  A vigorous and active
-living in a way which calls into play the specifically human capacities
-of man is desirable for its own sake, and preferable to any other life
-which could be proposed to us.  It too is the only life which can
-permanently satisfy men, but we must add that if such a life is to be
-lived adequately certain advantages of fortune must be presupposed. We
-cannot fully live a life of this kind if we are prevented from
-exercising our capacities by lack of means or health or friends and
-associates, and even the calamities which arise in the course of events
-may be so crushing as to hinder a man, for a time, from putting forth
-his full powers.  These external good things are not constituents of
-happiness, but merely necessary conditions of that exercise of our own
-capacities which is the happy life.
-
-In our definition of the happy life we said that it was one of activity
-in accord with goodness or excellence, and we left it an open question
-whether there are more kinds of such goodness than one.  On
-consideration we see that two kinds of goodness or excellence are
-required in living the happy life. The happy life for man is a life of
-conscious following of a rule.  To live it well, then, you need to know
-what the right rule to follow is, and you need also to follow it.  There
-are persons who deliberately follow a wrong rule of life--the wicked.
-There are others who know what the right rule is but fail to follow it
-because their tempers and appetites are unruly--the morally weak.  To
-live the happy life, then, two sorts of goodness are required.  You must
-have a good judgment as to what the right rule is (or if you cannot find
-it out for yourself, you must at least be able to recognise it when it
-is laid down by some one else, the teacher or lawgiver), and you must
-have your appetites, feelings, and emotions generally so trained that
-they obey the rule.  Hence excellence, goodness, or virtue is divided
-into goodness of intellect and goodness of character (moral goodness),
-the word _character_ being used for the complex of tempers, feelings,
-and the affective side of human nature generally.  In education goodness
-of character has to be produced by training and discipline before
-goodness of intellect can be imparted.  The young generally have to be
-trained to obey the right rule before they can see for themselves that
-it is the right rule, and if a man's tempers and passions are not first
-schooled into actual obedience to the rule he will in most cases never
-see that it is the right rule at all.  Hence Aristotle next goes on to
-discuss the general character of the kind of goodness he calls goodness
-of character, the right state of the feelings and passions.
-
-The first step towards understanding what goodness of character is is to
-consider the way in which it is actually produced.  We are not born with
-this goodness of tempers and feelings ready made, nor yet do we obtain
-it by theoretical instruction; it is a result of a training and
-discipline of the feelings and impulses.  The possibility of such a
-training is due to the fact that feelings and impulses are rational
-capacities, and a rational capacity can be developed into either of two
-contrasted activities according to the training it receives.  You cannot
-train stones to fall upwards, but you can train a hot temper to display
-itself either in the form of righteous resentment of wrong-doing or in
-that of violent defiance of all authority.  Our natural emotions and
-impulses are in themselves neither good nor bad; they are the raw
-material out of which training makes good or bad character according to
-the direction it gives to them.  The effect of training is to convert
-the indeterminate tendency into a fixed habit.  We may say, then, that
-moral goodness is a fixed state of the soul produced by habituation.  By
-being trained in habits of endurance, self-mastery, and fair dealing, we
-acquire the kind of character to which it is pleasing to act bravely,
-continently, and fairly, and disagreeable to act unfairly, profligately,
-or like a coward. When habituation has brought about this result the
-moral excellences in question have become part of our inmost self and we
-are in full possession of goodness of character.  In a word, it is by
-repeated doing of right acts that we acquire the right kind of
-character.
-
-But what general characteristics distinguish right acts and right habits
-from wrong ones?  Aristotle is guided in answering the question by an
-analogy which is really at the bottom of all Greek thinking on morality.
-The thought is that goodness is in the soul what health and fitness are
-in the body, and that the preceptor is for the soul what the physician
-or the trainer is for the body.  Now it was a well-known medical theory,
-favoured by both Plato and Aristotle, that health in the body means a
-condition of balance or equilibration among the elements of which it is
-composed.  When the hot and the cold, the moist and the dry in the
-composition of the human frame exactly balance one another, the body is
-in perfect health.  Hence the object of the regimen of the physician or
-the trainer is to produce and maintain a proper balance or proportion
-between the ingredients of the body.  Any course which disturbs this
-balance is injurious to health and strength. You damage your health if
-you take too much food or exercise, and also if you take too little.
-The same thing is true of health in the soul.  Our soul's health may be
-injured by allowing too much or too little play to any of our natural
-impulses or feelings.  We may lay it down, then, that the kind of
-training which gives rise to a good habit is training in the avoidance
-of the opposite errors of the too much and the too little.  And since
-the effect of training is to produce habits which issue in the
-spontaneous performance of the same kind of acts by which the habits
-were acquired, we may say not merely that goodness of character is
-produced by acts which exhibit a proper balance or mean, but that it is
-a settled habit of acting so as to exhibit the same balance or
-proportion. Hence the formal definition of goodness of character is that
-it is "a settled condition of the soul which wills or chooses the mean
-relatively to ourselves, this mean being determined by a rule or
-whatever we like to call that by which the wise man determines it."
-
-There are several points in this definition of the mean upon which moral
-virtue depends of which we must take note unless we are to misunderstand
-Aristotle seriously.  To begin with, the definition expressly says that
-"moral goodness is a state of will or choice."  Thus it is not enough
-that one should follow the rule of the mean outwardly in one's actions;
-one's personal will must be regulated by it.  Goodness of character is
-inward; it is not merely outward.  Next we must not suppose that
-Aristotle means that the "just enough" is the same for all our feelings,
-that every impulse has a moral right to the same authority in shaping
-our conduct as any other.  How much or how little is the just enough in
-connection with a given spring of action is one of the things which the
-wise man's rule has to determine, just as the wise physician's rule may
-determine that a very little quantity is the just enough in the case of
-some articles of diet or curative drugs, while in the case of others the
-just enough may be a considerable amount.  Also the right mean is not
-the same for every one.  What we have to attain is the mean relatively
-to _ourselves_, and this will be different for persons of different
-constitutions and in different conditions.  It is this relativity of the
-just enough to the individual's personality and circumstances which
-makes it impossible to lay down precise rules of conduct applicable
-alike to everybody, and renders the practical attainment of goodness so
-hard.  It is my duty to spend some part of my income in buying books on
-philosophy, but no general rule will tell me what percentage of my
-income is the right amount for me to spend in this way.  That depends on
-a host of considerations, such as the excess of my income above my
-necessary expenses and the like.  Or again, the just enough may vary
-with the same man according to the circumstances of the particular case.
-No rule of thumb application of a formula will decide such problems.
-Hence Aristotle insists that the right mean in the individual case has
-always to be determined by immediate insight.  This is precisely why
-goodness of intellect needs to be added to goodness of character.  His
-meaning is well brought out by an illustration which I borrow from
-Professor Burnet. "On a given occasion there will be a temperature which
-is just right for my morning bath.  If the bath is hotter than this, it
-will be too hot; if it is colder, it will be too cold.  But as this just
-right temperature varies with the condition of my body, it cannot be
-ascertained by simply using a thermometer. If I am in good general
-health I shall, however, know by the feel of the water when the
-temperature is right.  So if I am in good moral health I shall know,
-without appealing to a formal code of maxims, what is the right degree,
-_e.g._ of indignation to show in a given case, how it should be shown
-and towards whom."  Thus we see why Aristotle demands goodness of
-character as a preliminary condition of goodness of intellect or
-judgment in moral matters.  Finally, if we ask by _what_ rule the mean
-is determined, the answer will be that the rule is the judgment of the
-legislator who determines what is the right mean by his knowledge of the
-conditions on which the well-being of the community depends.  He then
-embodies his insight in the laws which he makes and the regulations he
-imposes on the educators of youth.  The final aim of education in
-goodness is to make our immediate judgment as to what is right coincide
-with the spirit of a wise legislation.
-
-The introduction of the reference to will or choice into the definition
-of goodness of character leads Aristotle to consider the relation of
-will to conduct.  His main object is to escape the paradoxical doctrine
-which superficial students might derive from the works of Plato, that
-wrong-doing is always well-meaning ignorance.  Aristotle's point is that
-it is the condition of will revealed by men's acts which is the real
-object of our approval or blame.  This is because in voluntary action
-the man himself is the efficient cause of his act.  Hence the law
-recognises only two grounds on which a man may plead, that he is not
-answerable for what he does.  (1) Actual physical compulsion by _force
-majeure_.  (2) Ignorance, not due to the man's own previous negligence,
-of some circumstances material to the issue.  When either of these pleas
-can be made with truth the man does not really contribute by his choice
-to the resulting act, and therefore is not really its cause. But a plea
-of ignorance of the general laws of morality does not excuse.  I cannot
-escape responsibility for a murder by pleading that I did not know that
-murder is wrong.  Such a plea does not exempt me from having been the
-cause of the murder; it only shows that my moral principles are
-depraved.
-
-More precisely will is a process which has both an intellectual and an
-appetitive element.  The appetitive element is our wish for some result.
-The intellectual factor is the calculation of the steps by which that
-result may be obtained. When we wish for the result we begin to consider
-how it might be brought about, and we continue our analysis until we
-find that the chain of conditions requisite may be started by the
-performance of some act now in our power to do.  Will may thus be
-defined as the deliberate appetition of something within our power, and
-the very definition shows that our choice is an efficient cause of the
-acts we choose to do.  This is why we rightly regard men as responsible
-or answerable for their acts of choice, good and bad alike.
-
-From the analysis of goodness of character, we proceed to that of
-goodness of intellect.  The important point is to decide which of all
-the forms of goodness of intellect is that which must be combined with
-goodness of character to make a man fit to be a citizen of the state.
-It must be a kind of intellectual excellence which makes a man see what
-the right rule by which the mean is determined is.  Now when we come to
-consider the different excellences of intellect we find that they all
-fall under one of two heads, theoretical or speculative wisdom and
-practical wisdom.
-
-Theoretical wisdom is contained in the sciences which give us universal
-truths about the fixed and unalterable relations of the things in the
-universe, or, as we should say, which teach us the laws of Nature.  Its
-method is syllogism, the function of which is to make us see how the
-more complex truths are implied in simpler principles.  Practical wisdom
-is intelligence as employed in controlling and directing human life to
-the production of the happy life for a community, and it is this form of
-intellectual excellence which we require of the statesman.  It is
-required of him not only that he should know in general what things are
-good for man, but also that he should be able to judge correctly that in
-given circumstances such and such an act is the one which will secure
-the good.  He must not only know the right rule itself, which
-corresponds to the major premiss of syllogism in theoretical science,
-but he must understand the character of particular acts so as to see
-that they fall under the right rule.  Thus the method of practical
-wisdom will be analogous to that of theoretical wisdom.  In both cases
-what we have to do is to see that certain special facts are cases of a
-general law or rule.  Hence Aristotle calls the method of practical
-wisdom the practical syllogism or syllogism of action, since its
-peculiarity is that what issues from the putting together of the
-premisses is not an assertion but the performance of an act.  In the
-syllogism of action, the conclusion, that is to say, the performance of
-a given act, just as in the syllogism of theory, is connected with the
-rule given in the major premiss by a statement of fact; thus _e.g._ the
-performance of a specific act such as the writing of this book is
-connected with the general rule what helps to spread knowledge ought to
-be done by the conviction that the writing of this book helps to spread
-knowledge.  Our perception of such a fact is like a sense-perception in
-its directness and immediacy.  We see therefore that the kind of
-intellectual excellence which the statesman must possess embraces at
-once a right conception of the general character of the life which is
-best for man, because it calls into play his specific capacities as a
-human being, and also a sound judgment in virtue of which he sees
-correctly that particular acts are expressions of this good for man.
-This, then, is what we mean by practical wisdom.
-
-So far, then, it would seem that the best life for man is just the life
-of co-operation in the life of the state, which man, being the only
-political animal or animal capable of life in a state, has as his
-peculiar work, and as if the end of all moral education should be to
-make us good and efficient citizens. But in the _Ethics_, as elsewhere,
-the end of Aristotle's argument has a way of forgetting the beginning.
-We find that there is after all a still higher life open to man than
-that of public affairs.  Affairs and business of all kinds are only
-undertaken as means to getting leisure, just as civilised men go to war,
-not for the love of war itself, but to secure peace. The highest aim of
-life, then, is not the carrying on of political business for its own
-sake, but the worthy and noble employment of leisure, the periods in
-which we are our own masters. It has the advantage that it depends more
-purely on ourselves and our own internal resources than any other life
-of which we know, for it needs very little equipment with external goods
-as compared with any form of the life of action.  It calls into play the
-very highest of our own capacities as intelligent beings, and for that
-very reason the active living of it is attended with the purest of all
-pleasures.  In it, moreover, we enter at intervals and for a little
-while, so far as the conditions of our mundane existence allow, into the
-life which God enjoys through an unbroken eternity.  Thus we reach the
-curious paradox that while the life of contemplation is said to be that
-of our truest self, it is also maintained that this highest and happiest
-life is one which we live, not in respect of being human, but in respect
-of having a divine something in us. When we ask what this life of
-contemplation includes, we see from references in the _Politics_ that it
-includes the genuinely aesthetic appreciation of good literature and
-music and pictorial and plastic art, but there can be no doubt that what
-bulks most largely in Aristotle's mind is the active pursuit of science
-for its own sake, particularly of such studies as First Philosophy and
-Physics, which deal with the fundamental structure of the universe.
-Aristotle thus definitely ends by placing the life of the scholar and
-the student on the very summit of felicity.
-
-It is from this doctrine that mediaeval Christianity derives its
-opposition between the _vita contemplativa_ and _vita activa_ and its
-preference for the former, though in the mediaeval mind the
-contemplative life has come to mean generally a kind of brooding over
-theological speculations and of absorption in mystical ecstasy very
-foreign to the spirit of Aristotle.  The types by which the contrast of
-the two lives is illustrated, Rachael and Leah, Mary and Martha, are
-familiar to all readers of Christian literature.
-
-+The Theory of the State+.--Man is by nature a political animal, a being
-who can only develop his capacities by sharing in the life of a
-community.  Hence Aristotle definitely rejects the view that the state
-or society is a mere creature of convention or agreement, an institution
-made by compact between individuals for certain special ends, not
-growing naturally out of the universal demands and aspirations of
-humanity.  Mankind, he urges, have never existed at all as isolated
-individuals.  Some rudimentary form of social organisation is to be
-found wherever men are to be found.  The actual stages in the
-development of social organisation have been three--the family, the
-village community, the city state.  In the very rudest forms of social
-life known to us, the patriarchal family, not the individual, is the
-social unit.  Men lived at first in separate families under the control
-of the head of the family.  Now a family is made up in its simplest form
-of at least three persons, a man, his wife, and a servant or slave to do
-the hard work, though very poor men often have to replace the servant by
-an ox as the drudge of all work.  Children when they come swell the
-number, and thus we see the beginnings of complex social relations of
-subordination in the family itself.  It involves three such distinct
-relations, that of husband and wife, that of parent and child, that of
-master and man.  The family passes into the village community, partly by
-the tendency of several families of common descent to remain together
-under the direction of the oldest male member of the group, partly by
-the association of a number of distinct families for purposes of mutual
-help and protection against common dangers.  Neither of these forms of
-association, however, makes adequate provision for the most permanent
-needs of human nature.  Complete security for a permanent supply of
-material necessaries and adequate protection only come when a number of
-such scattered communities pool their resources, and surround themselves
-with a city wall. The city state, which has come into being in this way,
-proves adequate to provide from its own internal resources for all the
-spiritual as well as the material needs of its members.  Hence the
-independent city state does not grow as civilisation advances into any
-higher form of organisation, as the family and village grew into it.  It
-is the end, the last word of social progress. It is amazing to us that
-this piece of cheap conservatism should have been uttered at the very
-time when the system of independent city states had visibly broken down,
-and a former pupil of Aristotle himself was founding a gigantic empire
-to take their place as the vehicle of civilisation.
-
-The end for which the state exists is not merely its own
-self-perpetuation.  As we have seen, Aristotle assigns a higher value to
-the life of the student than to the life of practical affairs.  Since it
-is only in the civilised state that the student can pursue his vocation,
-the ultimate reason for which the state exists is to educate its
-citizens in such a way as shall fit them to make the noble use of
-leisure.  In the end the state itself is a means to the spiritual
-cultivation of its individual members. This implies that the chosen few,
-who have a vocation to make full use of the opportunities provided for
-leading this life of noble leisure, are the real end for the sake of
-which society exists. The other citizens who have no qualification for
-any life higher than that of business and affairs are making the most of
-themselves in devoting their lives to the conduct and maintenance of the
-organisation whose full advantages they are unequal to share in.  It is
-from this point of view also that Aristotle treats the social problem of
-the existence of a class whose whole life is spent in doing the hard
-work of society, and thus setting the citizen body free to make the best
-use it can of leisure.  In the conditions of life in the Greek world
-this class consisted mainly of slaves, and thus the problem Aristotle
-has to face is the moral justifiability of slavery.  We must remember
-that he knew slavery only in its comparatively humane Hellenic form. The
-slaves of whom he speaks were household servants and assistants in small
-businesses.  He had not before his eyes the system of enormous
-industries carried on by huge gangs of slaves under conditions of
-revolting degradation which disgraced the later Roman Republic and the
-early Roman Empire, or the Southern States of North America.  His
-problems are in all essentials much the same as those which concern us
-to-day in connection with the social position of the classes who do the
-hard bodily work of the community.
-
-Much consideration is given in the _Politics_ to the classification of
-the different types of constitution possible for the city-state.  The
-current view was that there are three main types distinguished by the
-number of persons who form the sovereign political authority, monarchy,
-in which sovereign power belongs to a single person; oligarchy, in which
-it is in the hands of a select few; democracy, in which it is enjoyed by
-the whole body of the citizens.  Aristotle observes, correctly, that the
-really fundamental distinction between a Greek oligarchy and a Greek
-democracy was that the former was government by the propertied classes,
-the latter government by the masses.  Hence the watchword of democracy
-was always that all political rights should belong equally to all
-citizens, that of oligarchy that a man's political status should be
-graded according to his "stake in the country."  Both ideals are,
-according to him, equally mistaken, since the real end of government,
-which both overlook, is the promotion of the "good life."  In a state
-which recognises this ideal, an aristocracy or government by the best,
-only the "best" men will possess the full rights of citizenship, whether
-they are many or few.  There might even be a monarch at the head of such
-a state, if it happened to contain some one man of outstanding
-intellectual and moral worth.  Such a state should be the very opposite
-of a great imperial power.  It should, that its cultivation may be the
-more intensive, be as small as is compatible with complete independence
-of outside communities for its material and spiritual sustenance, and
-its territory should only be large enough to provide its members with
-the permanent possibility of ample leisure, so long as they are content
-with plain and frugal living.  Though it ought not, for military and
-other reasons, to be cut off from communication with the sea, the great
-military and commercial high road of the Greek world, it ought not to be
-near enough to the coast to run any risk of imperilling its moral
-cultivation by becoming a great emporium, like the Athens of Pericles.
-In the organisation of the society care should be taken to exclude the
-agricultural and industrial population from full citizenship, which
-carries with it the right to appoint and to be appointed as
-administrative magistrates.  This is because these classes, having no
-opportunity for the worthy employment of leisure, cannot be trusted to
-administer the state for the high ends which it is its true function to
-further.
-
-Thus Aristotle's political ideal is that of a small but leisured and
-highly cultivated aristocracy, without large fortunes or any remarkable
-differences in material wealth, free from the spirit of adventure and
-enterprise, pursuing the arts and sciences quietly while its material
-needs are supplied by the labour of a class excluded from citizenship,
-kindly treated but without prospects.  Weimar, in the days when
-Thackeray knew it as a lad, would apparently reproduce the ideal better
-than any other modern state one can think of.
-
-The object of the _Politics_ is, however, not merely to discuss the
-ideal state but to give practical advice to men who might be looking
-forward to actual political life, and would therefore largely have to be
-content with making the best of existing institutions.  In the absence
-of the ideal aristocracy, Aristotle's preference is for what he calls
-Polity or constitutional government, a sort of compromise between
-oligarchy and democracy. Of course a practical statesman may have to
-work with a theoretically undesirable constitution, such as an oligarchy
-or an unqualified democracy.  But it is only in an ideal constitution
-that the education which makes its subject a good man, in the
-philosopher's sense of the word, will also make him a good citizen.  If
-the constitution is bad, then the education best fitted to make a man
-loyal to it may have to be very different from that which you would
-choose to make him a good man. The discussion of the kind of education
-desirable for the best kind of state, in which to be a loyal citizen and
-to be a good man are the same thing, is perhaps the most permanently
-valuable part of the _Politics_.  Though Aristotle's writings on
-"practical" philosophy have been more read in modern times than any
-other part of his works, they are far from being his best and most
-thorough performances.  In no department of his thought is he quite so
-slavishly dependent on his master Plato as in the theory of the "good
-for man" and the character of "moral" excellence.  No Aristotelian work
-is quite so commonplace in its handling of a vast subject as the
-_Politics_. In truth his interest in these social questions is not of
-the deepest.  He is, in accordance with his view of the superiority of
-"theoretical science," entirely devoid of the spirit of the social
-reformer.  What he really cares about is "theology" and "physics," and
-the fact that the objects of the educational regulations of the
-_Politics_ are all designed to encourage the study of these
-"theoretical" sciences, makes this section of the _Politics_ still one
-of the most valuable expositions of the aims and requirements of a
-"liberal" education.
-
-All education must be under public control, and education must be
-universal and compulsory.  Public control is necessary, not merely to
-avoid educational anarchy, but because it is a matter of importance to
-the community that its future citizens should be trained in the way
-which will make them most loyal to the constitution and the ends it is
-designed to subserve.  Even in one of the "bad" types of state, where
-the life which the constitution tends to foster is not the highest, the
-legislator's business is to see that education is directed towards
-fostering the "spirit of the constitution."  There is to be an
-"atmosphere" which impregnates the whole of the teaching, and it is to
-be an "atmosphere" of public spirit.  The only advantage which Aristotle
-sees in private education is that it allows of more modification of
-programme to meet the special needs of the individual pupil than a rigid
-state education which is to be the same for all.  The actual regulations
-which Aristotle lays down are not very different from those of Plato.
-Both philosophers hold that "primary" education, in the early years of
-life, should aim partly at promoting bodily health and growth by a
-proper system of physical exercises, partly at influencing character and
-giving a refined and elevated tone to the mind by the study of letters,
-art, and music.  Both agree that this should be followed in the later
-"teens" by two or three years of specially rigorous systematic military
-training combined with a taste of actual service in the less exhausting
-and less dangerous parts of a soldier's duty.  It is only after this, at
-about the age at which young men now take a "university" course, that
-Plato and Aristotle would have the serious scientific training of the
-intellect begun.  The _Politics_ leaves the subject just at the point
-where the young men are ready to undergo their special military
-training.  Thus we do not know with certainty what scientific curriculum
-Aristotle would have recommended, though we may safely guess that it
-would have contained comparatively little pure mathematics, but a great
-deal of astronomy, cosmology, and biology.
-
-With respect to the "primary" education Aristotle has a good deal to
-say.  As "forcing" is always injurious, it should not be begun too soon.
-For the first five years a child's life should be given up to healthy
-play.  Great care must be taken that children are not allowed to be too
-much with "servants," from whom they may imbibe low tastes, and that
-they are protected against any familiarity with indecency.  From five to
-seven a child may begin to make a first easy acquaintance with the life
-of the school by looking on at the lessons of its elders.  The real work
-of school education is to begin at seven and not before.
-
-We next have to consider what should be the staple subjects of an
-education meant not for those who are to follow some particular calling,
-but for all the full citizens of a state. Aristotle's view is that some
-"useful" subjects must, of course, be taught.  Reading and writing, for
-instance, are useful for the discharge of the business of life, though
-their commercial utility is not the highest value which they have for
-us.  But care must be taken that only those "useful" studies which are
-also "liberal" should be taught; "illiberal" or "mechanical" subjects
-must not have any place in the curriculum.  A "liberal" education means,
-as the name shows, one which will tend to make its recipient a "free
-man," and not a slave in body and soul.  The mechanical crafts were felt
-by Aristotle to be illiberal because they leave a man no leisure to make
-the best of body and mind; practice of them sets a stamp on the body and
-narrows the mind's outlook.  In principle then, no study should form a
-subject of the universal curriculum if its only value is that it
-prepares a man for a profession followed as a means of making a living.
-General education, all-round training which aims at the development of
-body and mind for its own sake, must be kept free from the intrusion of
-everything which has a merely commercial value and tends to contract the
-mental vision.  It is the same principle which we rightly employ
-ourselves when we maintain that a university education ought not to
-include specialisation on merely "technical" or "professional" studies.
-The useful subjects which have at the same time a higher value as
-contributing to the formation of taste and character and serving to
-elevate and refine the mind include, besides reading and writing, which
-render great literature accessible to us, bodily culture (the true
-object of which is not merely to make the body strong and hardy, but to
-develop the moral qualities of grace and courage), music, and drawing.
-Aristotle holds that the real reason for making children learn music is
-(1) that the artistic appreciation of really great music is one of the
-ways in which "leisure" may be worthily employed, and to appreciate
-music rightly we must have some personal training in musical execution;
-(2) that all art, and music in particular, has a direct influence on
-character.
-
-Plato and Aristotle, though they differ on certain points of detail, are
-agreed that the influence of music on character, for good or bad, is
-enormous.  Music, they say, is the most imitative of all the arts.  The
-various rhythms, times, and scales imitate different tempers and
-emotional moods, and it is a fundamental law of our nature that we grow
-like what we take pleasure in seeing or having imitated or represented
-for us. Hence if we are early accustomed to take pleasure in the
-imitation of the manly, resolute, and orderly, these qualities will in
-time become part of our own nature.  This is why right musical education
-is so important that Plato declared that the revolutionary spirit always
-makes its first appearance in innovations on established musical form.
-
-There is, however, one important difference between the two philosophers
-which must be noted, because it concerns Aristotle's chief contribution
-to the philosophy of fine art.  Plato had in the _Republic_ proposed to
-expel florid, languishing, or unduly exciting forms of music not only
-from the schoolroom, but from life altogether, on the ground of their
-unwholesome tendency to foster an unstable and morbid character in those
-who enjoy them.  For the same reason he had proposed the entire
-suppression of tragic drama.  Aristotle has a theory which is directly
-aimed against this overstrained Puritanism. He holds that the exciting
-and sensational art which would be very bad as daily food may be very
-useful as an occasional medicine for the soul.  He would retain even the
-most sensational forms of music on account of what he calls their
-"purgative" value.  In the same spirit he asserts that the function of
-tragedy, with its sensational representations of the calamities of its
-heroes, is "by the vehicle of fear and pity to purge our minds of those
-and similar emotions."  The explanation of the theory is to be sought in
-the literal sense of the medical term "purgative."  According to the
-medical view which we have already found influencing his ethical
-doctrine, health consists in the maintenance of an equality between the
-various ingredients of the body.  Every now and again it happens that
-there arise superfluous accretions of some one ingredient, which are not
-carried away in the normal routine of bodily life. These give rise to
-serious derangement of function and may permanently injure the working
-of the organism, unless they are removed in time by a medicine which
-acts as a purge, and clears the body of a superfluous accumulation.  The
-same thing also happens in the life of the soul.  So long as we are in
-good spiritual health our various feelings and emotional moods will be
-readily discharged in action, in the course of our daily life. But there
-is always the possibility of an excessive accumulation of emotional
-"moods" for which the routine of daily life does not provide an adequate
-discharge in action.  Unless this tendency is checked we may contract
-dangerously morbid habits of soul.  Thus we need some medicine for the
-soul against this danger, which may be to it what a purgative is to the
-body.
-
-Now it was a well-known fact, observed in connection with some of the
-more extravagant religious cults, that persons suffering from an excess
-of religious frenzy might be cured homoeopathically, so to say, by
-artificially arousing the very emotion in question by the use of
-exciting music.  Aristotle extends the principle by suggesting that in
-the artificial excitement aroused by violently stimulating music or in
-the transports of sympathetic apprehension and pity with which we follow
-the disasters of the stage-hero, we have a safe and ready means of
-ridding ourselves of morbid emotional strain which might otherwise have
-worked havoc with the efficient conduct of real life.
-
-The great value of this defence of the occasional employment of
-sensation as a medicine for the soul is obvious.  Unhappily it would
-seem to have so dominated Aristotle's thought on the functions of
-dramatic art as to blind him to what we are accustomed to think the
-nobler functions of tragedy.  No book has had a more curious fate than
-the little manual for intending composers of tragedies which is all that
-remains to us of Aristotle's lectures on Poetry.  This is not the place
-to tell the story of the way in which the great classical French
-playwrights, who hopelessly misunderstood the meaning of Aristotle's
-chief special directions, but quite correctly divined that his lectures
-were meant to be an actual _Vade Mecum_ for the dramatist, deliberately
-constructed their masterpieces in absolute submission to regulations for
-which they had no better reasons than that they had once been given
-magisterially by an ancient Greek philosopher.  But it may be worth
-while to remark that the worth of Aristotle's account of tragedy as
-art-criticism has probably been vastly overrated.  From first to last
-the standpoint he assumes, in his verdicts on the great tragic poets, is
-that of the gallery.  What he insists on all through, probably because
-he has the purgative effect of the play always in his mind, is a
-well-woven plot with plenty of melodramatic surprise in the incidents
-and a thoroughly sensational culmination in a sense of unrelieved
-catastrophe over which the spectator can have a good cry, and so get
-well "purged" of his superfluous emotion.  It is clear from his repeated
-allusions that the play he admired above all others was the _King
-Oedipus_ of Sophocles, but it is equally clear that he admired it not
-for the profound insight into human life and destiny or the deep sense
-of the mystery of things which some modern critics have found in it, but
-because its plot is the best and most startling detective story ever
-devised, and its finale a triumph of melodramatic horror.
-
-
-
-
-                             *BIBLIOGRAPHY*
-
-
-The English reader who wishes for further information about Aristotle
-and his philosophy may be referred to any or all of the following
-works:--
-
-E. Zeller.--_Aristotle and the Earlier Peripatetics_.  English
-translation in 2 vols. by B. F. C. Costelloe and J. H. Muirhead. London.
-Longmans & Co.
-
-*E. Wallace.--_Outlines of the Philosophy of Aristotle_.  Cambridge
-University Press.
-
-G. Grote.--_Aristotle_.  London.  John Murray.
-
-*W. D. Ross.--_The Works of Aristotle translated into English_, vol.
-viii., _Metaphysics_.  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.
-
-*A. E. Taylor.--_Aristotle on his Predecessor_.  (_Metaphysics_, Bk. I.,
-translated with notes, &c.) Chicago.  Open Court Publishing Co.
-
-G. D. Hicks.--_Aristotle de Anima_ (Greek text, English translation,
-Commentary).  Cambridge University Press.
-
-*D. P. Chase.--_The Ethics of Aristotle_.  Walter Scott Co.
-
-*J. Burnet.--_Aristotle on Education_.  (English translation of
-_Ethics_, Bks. I.-III. 5, X. 6 to end; _Politics_, VIII. 17, VIII.)
-Cambridge University Press.
-
-*B. Jowett.--_The Politics of Aristotle_.  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.
-
-*I. Bywater.--_Aristotle on the Art of Poetry_.  (Greek Text, English
-Translation, Commentary.)  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.
-
-J. I. Beare and W. D. Ross.--_The Works of Aristotle translated into
-English_, Pt. I.  (_Parvu Naturalia_, the minor psychological works.)
-Oxford.  Clarendon Press.
-
-J. I. Beare.--_Greek Theories of Elementary Cognition from Alemacon to
-Aristotle_.  Oxford.  Clarendon Press.
-
-The works marked by an asterisk will probably be found most useful for
-the beginner.  No works in foreign languages and no editions not
-accompanied by an English translation have been mentioned.
-
-There is at present no satisfactory complete translation of Aristotle
-into English.  One, of which two volumes have been mentioned above, is
-in course of production at the Clarendon Press, Oxford, under the
-editorship of J. A. Smith and W. D. Ross.
-
-
-
-
-                  Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co.
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-             The volumes issued are marked with an asterisk
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-                               *SCIENCE*
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-1. The Foundations of Science . . . By W. C. D. Whetham, M.A., F.R.S.
-2. Embryology--The Beginnings of Life . . . By Prof. Gerald Leighton,
-M.D.
-3. Biology . . . By Prof. W. D. Henderson, M.A.
-4. Zoology: The Study of Animal Life . . . By Prof. E. W. MacBride,
-M.A., F.R.S.
-5. Botany; The Modern Study of Plants . . . By M. C. Stopes, D.Sc.,
-Ph.D., F.L.S.
-7. The Structure of the Earth . . . By Prof. T. G. Bonney, F.R.S.
-8. Evolution . . . By E. S. Goodrich, M.A., F.R.S.
-10. Heredity . . . By J. A. S. Watson, B.Sc.
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-Mary Scharlieb, M.D., M.S., and F. Arthur Sibly, M.A., LL.D.
-21. Marriage and Motherhood . . . By H. S. Davidson, M.B., F.R.C.S.E.
-22. Lord Kelvin . . . By A. Russell, M.A., D.Sc., M.I.E.E.
-23. Huxley . . . By Professor G. Leighton, M.D.
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-Maunder, F.R.A.S., of the Royal Observatory, Greenwich.
-62. Practical Astronomy . . . By H. Macpherson, Jr., F.R.A.S.
-63. Aviation . . . By Sydney F. Walker, R.N.
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-29. Kant's Philosophy . . . By A. D. Lindsay, M.A.
-30. The Teaching of Plato . . . By A. D. Lindsay, M.A.
-67. Aristotle . . . By Prof. A. E. Taylor, M.A., F.B.A.
-68. Friedrich Nietzsche . . . By M. A. Muegge.
-69. Eucken: A Philosophy of Life . . . By A. J. Jones, M.A., B.Sc.,
-Ph.D.
-70. The Experimental Psychology of Beauty . . . By C. W. Valentine,
-B.A., D.Phil.
-71. The Problem of Truth . . . By H. Wildon Carr, Litt.D.
-31. Buddhism . . . By Prof. T. W. Rhys Davids, M.A., F.B.A.
-32. Roman Catholicism . . . By H. B. Coxon.  Preface, Mgr. R. H. Benson.
-33. The Oxford Movement . . . By Wilfrid Ward.
-34. The Bible and Criticism . . . By W. H. Bennett, D.D., Litt.P., and
-W. F. Adeney, D.D.
-35. Cardinal Newman . . . By Wilfrid Meynell.
-72. The Church of England . . . By Rev. Canon Masterman.
-73. Anglo-Catholicism . . . By A. E. Manning Foster.
-74. The Free Churches . . . By Rev. Edward Shillito, M.A.
-75. Judaism . . . By Ephraim Levine, M.A.
-76. Theosophy . . . By Annie Besant.
-
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-                               *HISTORY*
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-36. The Growth of Freedom . . . By H. W. Nevinson.
-37. Bismarck and the Origin of the German Empire . . . By Professor F.
-M. Powicke.
-38. Oliver Cromwell . . . By Hilda Johnstone, M.A.
-39. Mary Queen of Scots . . . By E. O'Neill, M.A.
-40. Cecil John Rhodes, 1853-1902 . . . By Ian D. Colvin.
-41. Julius Caesar . . . By Hilary Hardinge.
-42. England in the Making . . . By Prof. F. J. C. Hearnshaw, M.A., LL.D.
-43. England in the Middle Ages . . . By E. O'Neill, M.A.
-44. The Monarchy and the People . . . By W. T. Waugh, M.A.
-45. The Industrial Revolution . . . By Arthur Jones, M.A.
-46. Empire and Democracy . . . By G. S. Veitch, M.A., Litt.D.
-61. Home Rule . . . By L. G. Redmond Howard.  Preface by Robert
-Harcourt, M.P.
-77. Nelson . . . By H. W. Wilson.
-78. Wellington and Waterloo . . . By Major G. W. Redway.
-
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-                         *SOCIAL AND ECONOMIC*
-
-47. Women's Suffrage . . . By M. G. Fawcett, LL.D.
-48. The Working of the British System of Government to-day . . . By
-Prof. Ramsay Muir, M.A.
-49. An Introduction to Economic Science . . . By Prof H. O. Meredith.
-M.A.
-50. Socialism . . . By B. B. Kirkman, B.A.
-79. Mediaeval Socialism . . . By Bede Jarrett, O.P., M.A.
-80. Syndicalism . . . By J. H. Harley, M.A.
-81. Labour and Wages . . . By H. M. Hallsworth, M.A., B.Sc.
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-83. Insurance as a Means of Investment . . . By W. A. Robertson, F.F.A.
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-                               *LETTERS*
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-51. Shakespeare . . . By Prof. C. H. Herford, Litt.D.
-52. Wordsworth . . . By Rosaline Masson.
-53. Pure Gold--A Choice of Lyrics and Sonnets . . . by H. C. O'Neill
-54. Francis Bacon . . . By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A.
-55. The Brontes . . . By Flora Masson.
-56. Carlyle . . . By L. MacLean Watt.
-57. Dante . . . By A. G. Ferrers Howell.
-58. Ruskin . . . By A. Blyth Webster, M.A.
-59. Common Faults in Writing English . . . By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A.
-60. A Dictionary of Synonyms . . . By Austin K. Gray, B.A.
-84. History of English Literature . . . By A. Compton-Rickett.
-85. A History of English Literature . . . By A. Compton-Rickett, LL.D.
-86. Browning . . . By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A.
-87. Charles Lamb . . . By Flora Masson.
-88. Goethe . . . By Prof. C. H. Herford, Litt.D.
-90. Rousseau . . . By F. B. Kirkman, B.A.
-91. Ibsen . . . By Hilary Hardinge.
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