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diff --git a/48002.txt b/48002.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 668f5d9..0000000 --- a/48002.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3745 +0,0 @@ - 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. - Edinburgh & London - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - "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. - - - *THE PEOPLE'S BOOKS* - - *THE FIRST NINETY VOLUMES* - - The volumes issued are marked with an asterisk - - - *SCIENCE* - -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. - - - *PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION* - -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. 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. - - - *HISTORY* - -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. - - - *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. -82. Co-operation . . . By Joseph Clayton. -83. Insurance as a Means of Investment . . . By W. A. Robertson, F.F.A. - - - *LETTERS* - -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. - - - LONDON AND EDINBURGH: T. C. & E. C. 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