Aristotle and the Later Tradition [First ed.] 0198239653

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OXFORD STUDIES IN ANCIENT PHILOSOPHY SUPPLEMENTARY VOLUME. 1991

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ts |e te [2 +3) AeBa-—AeB (ae ad

mi MPEP lalla 1) pleads Lea 2] RAA, t2} lets}

'° For the distinction between schematic letters and variables see W. V. O. Quine, Methods of Logic (London, 1974), 141-2.

'' Assumption (1) has been challenged to some extent by D. J. Hadgopoulos, ‘Substitution of Variables in Aristotle’, Journal ofthe History ofPhilosophy, 13 (1975), 1338, and M. Frede, ‘Stoic vs. Aristotelian Syllogistic’,

Archiv fiir Geschichte der Philosophie,

56 (1974), 18-19; contra G. Patzig, ‘Problemes actuels de l’interprétation de la syllogistique d’Aristote’, in M. A. Sinaceur (ed.), Aristote aujourd’hui (Paris and Toulouse, 1988), 272-3. Assumption (2) should be rejected by the supporters ofthe view held by Lukasiewicz, Aristotle's Syllogistic, 1-3, and Patzig, Die aristotelische Syllogistik, 11-14, according to

which Aristotelian syllogisms must be formalized as conditionals. '? J. Corcoran, ‘Aristotle’s Natural Deduction System’, in J. Corcoran (ed.), Ancient

Logic and its Modern Interpretations (Dordrecht and Boston, 1974), 85-132, has convincingly shown that the best formalization of Aristotle’s reductio ad impossibile is by means of a natural deduction system. '® For this notation cf. E. J. Lemmon, Beginning Logic (Walton-on-Thames, 1965). '* The theorem which is hinted at here is based on the obvious equivalence AiB + a=Aeb.

Expository Proofs in Aristotle

1

[n+5] [n+6]

—-BiA>BeA Bed

TI MPP

13

[n+ 4],[+5]

The critical step is of course the passage from BiA to AiB, since we cannot obviously use in it the conversion law for particular affirmative propositions, otherwise we would fall into a vicious circle because this conversion law is proved by means of (EC).'> But even a superficial inspection of the text shows that Aristotle reaches AiB from BiA in an independent way. It is sufficient to notice that in (c) he refers to a term ‘C’, and such a reference would be incongruous if a straightforward reductio had taken place. It is for this reason that the majority of interpreters think that an ecthetic procedure is hinted at here. The difficult point is to understand how éx@eors works in the proof. According to Gunther Patzig, the main idea which lies at the bottom of a proof by exposition is the following.'* By asserting that an affirmative particular proposition holds, we claim that there is a general term such that the predicate and the subject of the proposition are true of whatever the term is true of. For instance, if we state that

some animal is biped

we are implicitly committed to admit that there is a general term ‘biped animal’, such that both ‘animal’ and ‘biped’ are true of whatever ‘biped animal’ is true of. A way to express this idea formally is by means of the following equivalence: (P,) AiB 3C(AaCn BaC) The same can be easily extended to negative particular propositions, so that we can state not only (P,) but also (P,) AoB 4C(AeCa BaC) If (P,) is admitted, then it is easy to derive BiA from AB by means of the obvious assumption that conjunction is commutative. From (P,) we get

(1) AiB> 4C(AaC~ BaC) and by commutativity of conjunction we can state (2) 3C(AaC n BaC) > AC(BaC » AaC) IS CfaPreAnita225¢20—2:

'© Cf. Patzig, Die aristotelische Syllogistik, 17 ff.

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Mario Mignucet

A further application of (P,) allows us to write (3) 3C(BaCa AaC) > BiA

By repeating the argument starting from BiA, step [n] is easily obtained in our derivation (1). After having stated [1] and [2], take as line [3] [3]

BiA > 3C(BaCn AaC)

TIS)

@)

Then everything goes on in a straightforward way:

2

2

V4]

ACCBaGaxAac)

MPP

(2 i413}

[5]

J4C(BaCa AaC) > AC(AaCvnBaC)

ELAS)

RG)

[6]

J4C(AaC~ BaC)

MPP

[4], [5]

4C(AaCn BaC) > AiB eee

TDS) MPP

RG) [6], [7]

[7] Zens

At this point the [n + 1]-[n + 6] steps can be added, which conclude the proof. No additional premiss is needed nor is the 7-conversion law invoked, and we obtain a derivation which is perfectly safe from a formal point of view. Patzig believes that every passage in which éx@eais is involved can be interpreted in this way, i.e. through (P,) or (P,), and this means that not only in the case of the e-conversion, but in any application of this method, exposition must reduce to the assertion that a subclass of the subject of a particular proposition exists. In this way Patzig is entitled to conclude with Lukasiewicz and against the preceding tradition that éxOeo.s is a rigorous method of proof which does not rely on extra-

logical procedures.'” IT] As a first step towards an understanding of Aristotle’s view I shall try to show that Patzig’s interpretation of éxeo.s cannot be applied to every case in which it is supposed to be used by Aristotle. The point is easily made if we consider the passage where exposition is applied to the proof of Darapti. Aristotle says: (B) (a) It is possible to demonstrate this [i.e. Darapti] both per impossibile and by exposition. (b) For if both P and R belong to every S then (c) if ” Cf. Patzig Diearistotelische Syllogistik, 169-70; Lukasiewicz, Aristotle's Syllogistic, 60-2.

Expository Proofs in Aristotle

15

one of the Ss, e.g. N, is taken (dv An69 7. t@v S ofov 76 N), (d) both P

and K will belong to this and thus (e) P will belong to some R.'*

According to Patzig the argument runs as follows.'? We have to prove Darapti, i.e. (DR) PaS, RaS+ PiR

From (P,) we get (4) IN(PaN

a RaN) > PiR

Therefore, if we are able to prove (5) PaS, RaS>4N(PaN « RaN), Darapti is easily derived by transitivity from (4) and (5). But implication (5) can be stated at once, since its consequent represents the existential generalization of its antecedent. Therefore, (DR) must be asserted. May we be satisfied with this interpretation of the proof of Darapti? An affirmative answer can hardly be given. First of all, (DR) is supposed to be an imperfect syllogism, and according to the leading

interpretation proposed by Patzig himself,” an imperfect syllogism is a syllogism which is not evident, i.e. one which needs to be proved in order for us to be convinced that it holds. On the other hand, (4) depends on (P,), and its role as an implicit axiom in the proof of the e-

conversion law shows that it has to be considered as an axiom for the whole theory of the syllogism. This fact suggests that (4) and probably (P,) should be considered as evident propositions. But why should we think that (DR) is non-evident and (4) is evident? It seems quite

natural to claim that (DR) and (4) have the same epistemological status: they are both either evident or non-evident. Besides, Patzig’s reconstruction of the argument does not correspond precisely to what Aristotle says. In Patzig’s interpretation the assumption that a general term exists which satisfies certain requirements is what constitutes the gist of the expository method. But Aristotle does not speak of the existence of something. He simply refers to ‘one of the Ss, e.g. N’, and the most natural way of interpreting this clause is by supposing that ‘N’ is the name of one of

these Ss, whatever they might be. 18 Pr. An. 1. 6, 28*22-6; revised Oxford translation (slightly modified). 19 Cf. Patzig, Die aristotelische Syllogistik, 174. 2 Ctribide sith

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Mario Mignucci

In order to meet the latter remark one might be led to modify the original interpretation of Patzig by supposing that the core of the expository method consists in singling out from a particular proposition a general term which is characterized by the fact that both the predicate and the subject of the proposition are true of whatever is denoted by it. In other words, we should assume once again that (P,)

and (P,) hold in general, but exposition would not consist in assessing these equivalences. It would be characterized by arbitrarily singling out one of the Cs which satisfy (P,) or (P,). But in making this move it is not clear how the proof of Darapti should be recast. Exposition cannot be applied to the conclusion of Darapti, as happens in Patzig’s interpretation, since the term exposed must be ‘one of the Ss’, and implication (4) just offers the condition from which we can proceed to pick up ‘one of the Ss’. On the other hand, if we really single out ‘one of the Ss’ in the sense that we isolate a subset of S, so that ‘N*’ is the

name of this subset,”! we get (6) SaN*, which together with the premisses of Darapti gives by means of two applications of Barbara the propositions PaN* and RaN*, which depend on PaS and RaS. But in order to obtain the desired conclusion, we need something like

(DR#) PaN*, RaN* + PiR Then the obvious question arises: why should we admit (DR#) as immediately valid and think that (DR) is in need of a proof? One might observe that, properly speaking, (DR#) is not(DR), since it contains a predicative constant which is absent from (DR). But this simply means that (DR#) is a special case of (DR). And why should we trust (DR#) if (DR) is not evident or, put in other terms, why should we look for a proof of (DR) if we simply admit (DR#)? Needless to say, there is no logical impossibility in taking an instance of a general

principle as reliable without being committed to accept the general law itself. But the point is that there is no reason for accepting (DR#) if (DR) is thought to be in need of proof. (DR#) does not seem to possess special features which make it more reliable than (DR). Therefore, if (DR) is not a primitive statement of the system, (DR#) cannot be thought to be in this privileged situation. *! | write ‘N*’ with an asterisk against ‘N’ in order to stress that ‘N’ stands for a constant, not for a schematic letter.

Expository Proofs in Aristotle

i

These remarks cast some shadows also on Patzig’s interpretation of the e-conversion proof. As we have seen, equivalence (P,) is invoked to justify both (1) and (3). Now (3) is logically equivalent to Darapti and

differs from it basically because ofthe existential quantification.” It is this tiny difference which enables Patzig’s interpretation to avoid the charge of circularity. If (3) were the same as Darapti, we would get a vicious circle, since Darapti would be used in the proof of the econversion law and the latter is a premiss in the proof of the aconversion,”* while the a-conversion is utilized in the proof of Darapti.* Although Patzig’s interpretation cannot be accused of circularity from a strictly formal point of view, it remains hardly plausible that Aristotle accepted (3) as unquestionable and looked for a proof of (DR). In his view such a proof would imply a petitio principii, since the premiss from which it starts is by no means more reliable

than its conclusion.”®

IV After these critical remarks one might be led to reject Patzig’s interpretation as well as the quasi-Patzig version. But things are not straightforward. There is a passage which, at least prima facie, supports Patzig’s interpretation of é«fec.s. By moving from categorical to modal syllogisms Aristotle points out that we cannot prove Baroco LLL and Bocardo LLL in the same way in which the corresponding categorical forms are proved, i.e. by reductioadimpossibile.”° The reason is probably that in order to prove Baroco LLL and Bocardo LLL by reductio we need mixed syllogisms with one possible and one necessary premiss, and these syllogisms are not yet proved to be valid

at the time ofthe proof of Baroco Ltt and Bocardo LLL.” In these cases 22 As is easy to see, the other main difference between (DR) and (3) is that (3) has the form of a conditional, while (DR) is presented as a sequent. But (DR) might easily be recast in the form of a conditional or (3) in the form of asequent. It is not by pointing at this difference that one might hope to escape from the difficulty we are considering.

Ly Gia Pre Agnes sig— 10; 4 Cf. ibid. 1. 6, 28°17-22. 5A similar criticism of the Lukasiewicz—Patzig view can be found in Smith, “What is Aristotelian Ecthesis?’, 118. Adopting Patzig’s revised interpretation is no help in avoiding these difficulties. 2 Chehre Anes S9a053 thts 427Q0=01 27 To be precise, in order to prove Baroco LL we need a Barbara syllogism with a possible major and a necessary minor premiss, and Aristotle never considers such a syllogism. The mixed syllogisms he analyses have two-sided possible premisses, while here one-sided possible premisses are required.

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Mario Mignucct

Aristotle claims that we have to proceed by exposition. In the usual translation what he says is as follows: (C) (a) But in the middle figure, when the universal premiss is affirmative

and the particular negative, and again in the third figure when the universal is affirmative and the particular negative, the demonstration will not be the same, () but it is necessary to expose that to which the predicate particularly does not belong and (c) make the syllogism in reference

to this (kata tovrou

moeiv

tov avAAoytopdv).

(d) For the

syllogism will be necessary with such terms (€o7Ta: yap avayKaios ézi tovtwv). (e) But if the syllogism is necessary (éo7iv dvayxaios) in respect of the exposed term, it will also be necessary in respect of some of the other terms, because the exposed term is exactly one of the others. (f) Each of the syllogisms is in the appropriate figure (yiverar

S€ THY

ovAAOyLowY

ExaTEpos

ev TH OlkEiw

axHuate).

(Pr.

An. 1. 8, 3076-14)

The meaning ofthe passage is clear in its main lines. In clauses (a) and (b) the general point is made that Baroco LLL and Bocardo LLL are proved by exposition, and in (c)-(f) the argument is developed. By using exposition new syllogisms can be proposed which have a necessary conclusion. Since the terms exposed have a special relation to the terms originally given, the inference can be made that the conclusions of the syllogisms to be proved are also necessary. Finally, (f) states that the syllogisms are in the appropriate figures. We shall discuss later the possible meaning of this sentence. If we adopt Patzig’s view, a relatively clear explanation of our passage can be given. Consider Baroco LLL, i.e.

(BR,) LAaB, LAoC + LBoC If we follow Patzig, proving by éx@eors (BR,) implies that we have to apply a modal version of (P,) to it. Patzig does not give us any idea of what such a modal version of (P,) must look like. He declares himself uninterested in modal logic and drops any reference to modalities in his analysis of the proof.’* In order to simplify our discussion we can follow him and consider the non-modalized version of Baroco, i.e. (BR) AaB, AoC + BoC,

to which (P,) can be applied. There is at least more than one way in which the proof of (BR) can be reconstructed. A first demonstration can easily be put as follows: *® Cf. Patzig, Die aristotelische Syllogistik, 166, 176-7.

Expository Proofs in Aristotle

(II) 1 2 2 5

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

5

[7] Cab*

AEs

gc

[8]

SI (S)

:

AaB AoC AoC > ADAeD WiGaD)-i4D(AeD ~» CaD) AeD* ~, CaD*

19

[6] AeD* BeD*

A A AVS) MPP A

P)”? 7{2], [3]

rE [5] {s|

Camestres [1],

igs

I, 2

[9]

BoC

[10] BoC

[6]

SI (S) Felapton [7],

[8] EE*

[9]

[4], [5],

To perform this proof we need not only an elimination rule for the existential quantifier on general terms, but also Camestres and Felapton. This is actually the reconstruction of the proof which Patzig has more or less in mind, and prima facie it appears to match the text rather well. But on closer inspection a difficulty emerges. Patzig takes (f) as referring to the syllogisms by means ofwhich the proofs by é«@eovs are carried out, and he thinks that Aristotle says in it that these syllogisms are in the same figures as the syllogisms to be proved. Therefore, the expository proof of Baroco is made by means of a syllogism in the second figure and the proof of Bocardo with the help of a syllogism in the third figure. And this is true in Patzig’s interpretation, since the proof of Baroco is carried out by means of Camestres and the proof of Bocardo by means of Felapton. But, as we have seen, in the proof of Baroco not only Camestres but also Felapton is used, which is not in the second but in the third figure. And the same can be repeated for the proof of Bocardo. We must use not only Felapton, which is in the third figure, but also Barbara, a first-figure syllogism. If Aristotle had in mind the sort of proof which Patzig attributes to him, why should he have claimed that the syllogisms used in the proofs are in the same figures as the syllogisms to be proved? ” Properly speaking, [3] is an immediate consequence of(P,). 30 By ‘EE*’ we refer to the elimination rule ofthe existential quantifier for general

terms.

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Mario Mignucet

One might answer this objection by reconstructing Aristotle’s argument in a slightly different way. We simply repeat the argument up to and including step [8], and we put instead of [9]:

ai ts

es

[9*] [10%] [11] [12]

BeD* , CaD* AD(BeD » CaD) 4D(BeD » CaD) > BoC’ ~BeC

Ihe Galea Fo Eric}

TI(S) MPP

(P,) [10*|,

[11] WO

(ialeepoC

E*

[4], (5],

[12] By exploiting the full force of (P,) we are able to avoid recourse to Felapton and in this way the objection to the Patzig interpretation is answered. Unfortunately, the same manceuvre cannot be repeated in the case of Bocardo, i.e.

(BC) AoC, BaC F AoB, which is considered by Aristotle in its modal version. In the light of Patzig’s interpretation its ecthetic proof can be reconstructed as follows:

(III) 1 2

A A

I 5

[1] AoC [2] BaC gl tA0C sD AeD a1CaD) [4] 4D(AeD » CaD) (sl\eedcD Sn Cab*

5

[7] CaD*

AE

ahs

[8]

BaD*

SI(S)

ays

[9]

AoB

SI (S) Felapton [6],

5

1,2

[6] AeD*

[10] A0B

eeDL Gms) MPP afsiei3] A

rE [5] [5]

(21, [71

Barbara

[8]

EE* (4), [sh [9]

It is easy to see that in this case resorting to Barbara cannot be avoided even if we use (P,) in its full force and Barbara is not in the same figure as Bocardo. The conclusion therefore is that we give up either Patzig’s general interpretation of éx@eocs or at least his understanding of (/).

Expository Proofs in Aristotle

21

V

Because of the weakness of Patzig’s position we have to turn to the other interpretation of é«#eo.s which has found some supporters in recent times. The idea is simple and straightforward. By ‘exposing a term’ Aristotle means the operation which in modern logical language we are accustomed to call ‘existential instantiation’?! To explain the point let us reconsider the proof of the e-conversion law. As we have seen, the crucial point in the proofis constituted by the deduction of AiB from BiA. In order to do it we do not lay down (P,) as in Patzig’s interpretation, but we reflect on BiA. By stating BiA we are committed to say that there is at least one individual which is both B and A. Exposing a term with respect to a particular proposition, according to this interpretation, consists in singling out an arbitrary individual which is both A and B. Following Aristotle, let us suppose that this individual is c. In this way we can easily reach AiB and the proof of (EC) can be carried out along the following lines: (IV) 1

[1]

AeB

A

2

[2]

BiA

A

3 3

» B(c) [3] A(c) [4] A(¢)

3 3 3 2

[5] [6] [7] [8]

B(c) Ble) a A(c) AB AB

A AE

[3] AE [3] AT [4], [5] AD ale a [2).03], 7

At this point we can continue with the final part of the e-conversion proof we have already sketched in derivation (I). The argument is formally correct and it involves a treatment of existentially quantified propositions which corresponds exactly to the existential instantiation of modern logic. The difference with respect both to Patzig’s and to the quasi-Patzig interpretation is also clear. In Patzig’s view the existence of a subclass of a general term was supposed to be in question, and in the quasi-Patzig interpretation a 31 Cf. Quine, Methods of Logic, 162-3. 32 Of course, we assume that 3x(B(x) » A(x)) is logically equivalent to AiB, and this allows us to get AiB from B(c) A A(c) by applying the introduction rule for the existential quantifier.

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Mario Mignucet

general term was singled out. In this interpretation an individual term is picked out and in this way the main objection against Patzig’s position is avoided. The exposed term is a well-determined individual term, and in this way Aristotle’s move of introducing a new term in the expository proof is explained much better than on Patzig’s interpretation. On the other hand, by considering an individual term we are not involved in the difficulties of the petitio principit which can be levelled against both the Patzig and the quasi-Patzig interpretation of the proof of Darapti. Notwithstanding these advantages, the view we are considering is far from being completely reassuring. Two objections must be examined. First of all, it is not at all perspicuous how the expository proof of Darapti can be developed if we suppose that exposition is something similar to the modern existential instantiation. As is said in text (B), the premisses of Darapti, i.e. PaS and RaS, are given and an n is considered, which is supposed to be one of the Ss to which both P and R belong. Then the problem arises. Existential instantiation applies to particularly, but not universally, quantified propositions, and the premisses of Darapti are both universal. One could try to solve this difficulty by supposing that a full reconstruction ofAristotle’s argument for Darapti must be formulated along the following lines. Suppose, as the interpretation demands, that the exposed term m mentioned by Aristotle stands for an individual. As is well known, if we interpret the premisses of Darapti by means of normal first-order predicate logic we have to assume an extra premiss in order to obtain the conclusion, and this premiss is (EP) SxS 64)

It is with respect to this premiss that the exposition can be carried out. We have the following derivation: (V) 1 2

3 4 I 1,4

iit), [2]

Pas RaS

A A

[3] [4] [5] [6]

x(x) S(n) > P(n) S(n) P(n)

A A UE [1] MPP [4], [s]

33 Needless to say, AaB must in general be considered as defined by Vx(B(x) > A(x)),

and this fact allows us to infer S(n) > P(n) from PaS by an application ofthe elimination

rule for the universal quantifier.

Expository Proofs in Aristotle

2 2, 4 1,2,4

23

[7] S(n) > R(n) [8] R(n)

UE [2] MPP [4], [7]

[9]

AT

R(n) a P(n)

tapar

by[fobeabiR

1,2,3

[11] PiR

EI

[6], [8]

[9]

EE [3], [4], [10]

In this way Darapti is derived under the assumption that (EP) holds. By taking this proof as an expansion ofthe Aristotelian one it might be claimed that &x@eocs is applied when an individual is selected which makes IxS(x) true. In this way we obtain the usual existential instantiation which was at work in the proof of the e-conversion law. Although this reconstruction of the Aristotelian argument is perfectly safe from a logical point of view, it is open to an easy objection. (EP) is not an explicit premiss of Darapti. We need it just because we put ourselves in a perspective which is different from that embraced by Aristotle. Since we recognize the possibility that in the premisses of a syllogism non-denoting general terms may appear, we have to add an extra premiss to the premisses of Darapti to get its conclusion. But Aristotle seems to have overlooked this possibility. On the other hand, if we restrict ourselves to denoting terms, we do not need (EP) to prove Darapti. Therefore, it is hardly plausible that the exposition hinted at by Aristotle here consists in an existential instantiation over (EP), which is not part of the premisses of the

Aristotelian Darapti. If this objection has to be taken seriously, a possible conclusion would be that here exposition has nothing to do with existential instantiation, and we might guess that it must be rather compared with what is called nowadays ‘universal instantiation’. If this is the case, €xfeo.s would refer to the transition not from

line [3] to line [4], but from [1] to [5] and [2] to [7], and it should be regarded as a rather ambiguous term covering different logical processes which one might well prefer to keep distinct. I do not think that the objection we are considering is as effective as appears prima facie. As is clear, when giving his account of Darapti— and in general of assertoric and modal syllogisms as well—Aristotle implicitly limits himselfto a consideration of denoting terms. But one could say that, just because he has implicitly made such a restriction, he is allowed to consider one ofthese, let it be 7, which is both P and R. In other words, because there are Ss one is entitled to single out one of such Ss, e.g. n, which is of course both P and &, since it has

24

Mario Mignucet

been supposed that every S is P and R. Of course, when we fully formalize his argument we are compelled to posit (EP) as an explicit premiss, i.e. to make precise the informal assumption about denoting general terms. But if the preliminary assumption is made that every term constituting the propositions of Darapti is a denoting term, we are allowed to introduce [3] not as an assumption but as a theorem and substitute

eh MRE CIE?

TLAEP)

for [3]. Consequently, line [11] should be replaced with

L2yeralir)

BR

EE [3], [4], [10],

and so we obtain what corresponds exactly to (DR). In this way we can also explain why Aristotle does not put 4xS(x) among the premisses of Darapti, since it is not a premiss in the same sense in which PaS and RaS are: PaS and RaS are assumptions, while in his perspective dxS(x) is not. In fact Aristotle’s argument for Darapti as it is expounded in text (B) corresponds quite well to the reconstruction which is based on interpreting €«feo.s as existential instantiation. Clause (c) states that one of the Ss, e.g. m, must be selected, and this corresponds to the assumption [4] which must be taken with reference to axiom [3*]. (d) is affirmed as a consequence of what is said in (b) and (c), and this move finds an exact parallel in statement [9], which is said to depend on assumptions 1, 2, and 4. Finally, (e) is the informal equivalent of the existential generalization by which [10] is inferred from [9].

VI The hypothesis that €«@eo1s corresponds to existential instantiation must be confronted with text (C), i.e. the ecthetic proof of Baroco LLL

and Bocardo LLL, before we can be certain of its reliability. The problems raised by this issue are not easy to solve. If we take exposition as existential instantiation, a reasonable way to recast Aristotle’s proof is as follows. In order to simplify it we can drop the reference to modal operators as before, and reformulate Baroco LLL into Baroco so that its proof can be commenced in the following way:

Expository Proofs in Aristotle

(VI) 1 2

3

3

[a] [2]

“AaB AoC

[3]

C(n) a

[4] C(n)

3

ae

A A

An)

[s] —A(n)

A

rE [3] AE

[3]

At this point we could go on by applying the UE-rule to [1] in order to get B(n) > A(n); then by an application of Modus Tollens to it ~B(n) can be obtained. But Aristotle in (c) speaks of a syllogism which is directed

to , while Modus

Tollens

and the UE-rule

are not

syllogisms. To stay closer to Aristotle’s text we could use the following sequent, (MTT*)

AaB, —A(n) + —B(n),

in order to reach —B(n). The derivation can easily be completed as follows:

Be

[6] —B(n)

IS (MTT*) [1],

oe, £3 2

[7] C(n) »-B(n) [8] BoC [9] BoC

AT [4], [6] EI [7] = [2], [3], 8

[5]

The proofis sound, but this is not sufficient for us to accept it. We must ask whether it corresponds to the Aristotelian one. One might answer in the negative. Aristotle asserts in (b) that a term must be exposed, and in (c) he adds that we have to ‘make the syllogism in reference to’ such a term. Now in the proof of Baroco we have sketched, properly speaking, there is no syllogism by means of which a conclusion about n, the exposed term, is drawn. To get line [6] we have used (MTT*), and (MTT™) is no syllogism at all. If our reconstruction of the proof were correct, we should conclude that (MTT™*) is called by Aristotle a ‘syllogism’, and this is hard to believe. One might try to reply to this objection in two ways. First, one might say that ‘syllogism’ in clause (c)—and in (d), it should be added—has the generic meaning of ‘inference’, as sometimes happens in Aristotle.** And, of course, (MTT™) is an inference although it is not a 34 For instance, the definition of ‘syllogism’ at the beginning of the Prior Analytics (1. 1, 24°18-22) refers to the generic meaning ofthe word, and it does not apply to the special inferences of which Aristotle offers the theory in the following chapters.

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syllogism. But this sort of reply is immediately blocked by the obvious remark that in (f) an allusion is made to the syllogisms used in the expository proof of Baroco LiL and Bocardo LLL, and they are said to be ‘in the appropriate figure’, which means that here ‘syllogism’ has to be taken in the strict sense. The other attempt to avoid the objection consists in denying that Aristotle clearly distinguishes between Camestres and (MTT™) by assuming that a singular proposition must be treated as a universal one. In this way we might consider a proper name as a predicate and expand e.g. A(n) into, for instance, AaN (where ‘N’ is the predicate corresponding to the proper name ‘n’), so that (MTT™*) would be transformed into

(MTTs) AaB, AeN F BeN, which is in fact an instance of Camestres. This would also explain Aristotle’s statement in (f) that the syllogism by which Baroco is

proved, i.e. Camestres, is in the same figure as Baroco itself.*° Although the idea of considering singular propositions as universal is not new in the history oflogic, there is no sure ground for attributing it to Aristotle. But there is a more specific reason which leads one to reject this line of reasoning. It is sufficient to consider the proof of Bocardo LLL, which we shall simplify into a proof for Bocardo. As before, to make our reconstruction more faithful to Aristotle’s way of developing the proof we assume

(MPP*) AaB, B(n) + A(n), which parallels (MTT™*). By taking exposition as existential instantiation the derivation is as follows:

(VII) 1

[1] AoC

A

BaG

A

2

i2|"

3 3 3 2,3

[3] C(n) A-A(n) [4] C(n) [5] —A(n) [6] Bin)

A AE #13] AE [3] IS (S) (MPP*) [2], [4]

*° As a matter of fact, Aristotle admits that Modus Ponens and Modus Tollens cannot be reduced to syllogisms in the proper sense (cf. Pr. An. 1. 23, 41°23 ff. 1. 44, 50°16 ff.). In principle this remark does not necessarily rule out the possibility that (MTT*) could be viewed as a special case of Camestres.

Expository Proofs in Aristotle

2,3

23:3 2

[7] Bln) A(n) [8] [9]

AoB AoB

9)

Al

[5], [6]

Ebel EEnsitiisk

[8] The proof runs perfectly parallel to the previous one, with the difference that in the former (MTT™*) was used, whereas in the latter (MPP*) is employed. If we transform (MPP*) in the way we have transformed (MTT™*) into (MTTs) we obtain

(MPPs) AaB, BaN + AaN, and this inference is a special case of Barbara for the same reason that (MTTss) was taken to be an instance of Camestres. But if so, the point

made in (f) is no longer satisfied, since Barbara is not in the same figure as Bocardo. To try to escape these difficulties let us first sum up the results of our discussion. Our attempts at finding an answer to the objection about the adequacy of our reconstruction of the proof of Baroco LLL and Bocardo LLL have been in the end unsuccessful because of the interpretation of clause (/) which has been given. We have taken tw» ovAdoyiouwy €xatepos as referring to the syllogisms used in the proof of Baroco LLL and Bocardo LLL. Since these syllogisms are said to be ‘in the appropriate figure’, they must be sensu stricto syllogisms and in the same figures as the syllogisms of which they demonstrate the validity.*° Thus we are on the horns of a dilemma. Either we must say that the reconstruction of the proofs which was based on (MTT™*) and (MPP*) does not fit Aristotle’s words, since (MTT™*) and (MPP*) are not sensu stricto sy\logisms; or, if we admit that (MTT™*) and (MPP*) are instances of syllogisms, the condition that these syllogisms must be in the same figure as the syllogisms to be proved is not fulfilled. At this point the question must be raised whether the interpretation of (f) we have given is the only possible one. One might suppose that Tov ovAdoy.ou@v éxadtepos refers not to the syllogisms used in the proofs but to Baroco Lit and Bocardo LLL themselves. To explain the point we have to examine the meaning that ovAAoy.opds has all along in text (C). Consider what Aristotle says at 30*10-11: €orar yap dvayKaios émi tovTwv (cf. (d)). LvAdoyiopds is clearly understood here, and the word cannot properly refer to the whole inference. What *° This is the interpretation of (f) proposed by Patzig, Die aristotelische Syllogistik, 176-7.

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Mario Mignucci

is said to be necessary is not the inference, but its conclusion. If so, KaTa TOUTOU ToLEiVv TOV GvAAOYLOuOV at 30710 must be taken to mean ‘draw the conclusion with reference to this’, i.e. derive the conclusion

by taking the exposed term n as the term of which it is said in the conclusion that it is both C and —B. The same is confirmed by what is said in (e): since the conclusion of the inference is necessary with respect to the exposed term, that is, since it is necessary that both C(m) and —B(n), then we can infer that there is at least one individual which is both C and —B. Then (f) adds that this conclusion is drawn in its own figure, and we may take this to mean that the conclusion depends on the original antecedent, which is in the second figure in the case of Baroco and in the third figure in the case of Bocardo. In this sense (/) would be hinting at the relevant fact that the conclusion of Baroco, BoC, which in line [8] of the proofis said to depend on assumptions 1 and 3, can be said to depend on the proper premisses of the syllogism, as is stated in line [9] of the derivation. If this interpretation of (/) is accepted, then we can plainly reconstruct the ecthetic proofs of Baroco LLL and Bocardo LLL in the way described above, and maintain that ‘exposition’ refers to one and the same logical operation, existential instantiation.

University ofPadua

EXPLANATORY PROJECTS IN PHYSICS, 2.3 AND 7 MAR COEM-ES CHOPTE IED

éva wév ovv Tpdmov aitiov Aéyerat 76 €€ Ov yiyverai Te évuTapxovToS,

olov 6

xaAKds Tov avdpidvtos Kai 6 dpyupos THs PidAns Kai Ta TOUTWY yévn: GAAOV d€ 76 €(d0s Kai 76 Tapdberypa, ToUTo 8’ éotiv 6 Adyos 6 TOU Ti Hv Elvar Kai Ta TovUTOU yéry (olov Tov bia TaGwy Ta SUo0 Tpds Ev, Kai GAWS 6 apibuds) Kai Ta pépyn Ta Ev TH Adyw. Err COEv 7 apyy THS wEeTaBoAHs 7H mPwT 7 THS npEuncews, olov 6 Bovdevoas aittos, Kai 6 TaTHp TOU Téxvov, Kai dAws TO TOLOUY TOU TOLOUMEVOV Kai TO eTAaBGAAOY TOD peTaBadrAomévov. ETL Ws TO téAos: tovto 8’ €ativ 76 ov Evexa, olov Tov mEepimateiv 7 vyieva: did Ti yap Tepitatei; Payéev “iva vy.aivyn”, Kai eimdvtes obTWS oldueba adTodedwKéevat 76 aittov. Kai 60a 6% KwwHoavtos GAAov peta€d yiyverac Tov TéXous, olov THs

vyveias 9 loxvacia 7 7 Kdbapas 7 Ta Pdppaka 7 TA dpyava: mavTa yap Tavta Tov TéAous éveka éotiv, Siadéper 6€ GAAHAWY ws dvTa Ta ev Epya TA

8’ dpyava. (Arist. Phys. 2. 3, 194°23-195°3)

In one way, then, that out of which a thing comes to be and which persists, is called a cause, e.g. the bronze of the statue, the silver of the bowl, and the

genera of which the bronze and the silver are species. In another way, the form ofthe archetype, i.e. the definition of the essence, and its genera, are called causes (e.g. of the octave the relation of 2:1, and generally number), and the parts in the definition. Again, the primary source of the change or rest; e.g. the man who deliberated is a cause, the father is cause of the child, and generally what makes of what is made and what changes ofwhat is changed. © Malcolm Schofield 1991 I first got to know Tony Lloyd in the early 1970s when we were examining together a thesis about causation in Neoplatonism. We subsequently engaged in correspondence relating to the paper which was later published as “The Principle that the Cause is Greater than its Effect’, Phronesis 21 (1976), 146-56. I think I have therefore got the

subject for the present paper right, but I fear it does not exploit the Neoplatonist commentators as it might.

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Again, in the sense of end or that for the sake of which a thing is done, e.g. health is the cause of walking about. (‘Why is he walking about?’ We say: “To be healthy’, and, having said that, we think we have assigned the cause.) The

same is true also ofall the intermediate steps which are brought about through the action of something else as means towards the end, e.g. reduction offlesh, purging, drugs, or surgical instruments are means towards health. All these things are for the sake of the end, though they differ from one another in that some are activities, others instruments. (Revised Oxford Translation)

Wieland says: Ross observes in the introduction to his edition of the Physics: “We do not know how Aristotle arrived at the doctrine of the four causes; where we find

the doctrine in him, we find it not argued for but presented as self-evident.’ But the truth is that the doctrine of four causes does not consist of arecondite theory of fundamental metaphysical principles which, through a lucky dispensation of nature, have been given to the human mind as self-evident, immediately obvious truths, but of something much simpler... . We are in fact confronted with the results of an analysis of linguistic usage. Cause (aition) has several meanings in ordinary usage (195°29).!

Partly right, partly wrong. Aristotle is certainly advancing the proposition that cause is said in four different ways. But is this proposition [A] based primarily on linguistic usage? Or is it a thesis [B] grounded in the first instance in e.g. metaphysical or physical theory and then supported or confirmed by appeal to linguistic usage? Either way, is the usage Aristotle has in mind [C] common usage or [D] philosophical talk? I argue for [B], not [A], and for [D] as well as [C]. First I consider [C] and [D].

Il The examples of the efficient and final causes are clearly examples of common usage. So [C] is part of the truth. But a different story is more plausible for the material and formal causes. Did the ordinary Greek often find himself saying: “The ratio two to ' 'W. Wieland, ‘The Problem ofTeleology’, in J. Barnes, M. Schofield, and R. Sorabji

(eds.), Articles on Aristotle, i (London, 1975), 141-60, at p. 147. This paper is an English

version of ch. 16 of Wieland’s book Die aristotelische Physik, 2nd edn. (Gottingen, 1970). The thesis he propounds in the quoted extract is accepted by W. Charlton, Aristotle’s Physics, Books I and II (Oxford, 1970), 99; cf. also T. H. Irwin, Aristotle’s First Principles (Oxford, 1988), 95, 157, 159.

Explanatory Projects in the Physics

31

one is cause of/the explanation of the octave’? Presumably not. This is philosophers’ or scientists’ talk. Could Aristotle have chosen examples which better reflect common usage? Perhaps, although the very idea of form is a philosophical construct, not a tool of commonsense explanation. In any case, what matters is that Aristotle did not choose to pick a less scientific example. Indeed, his musical example is perfectly attuned to the unusually Platonist style in which the formal cause

is specified: as Ross observes

ad loc., ‘form’ (eidos) is here

(194°26) uniquely glossed as ‘archetype’ or ‘paradigm’ (paradeigma). Example and specification alike turn our minds to the fact that this mode of explanation is pre-eminently associated—by us as well as Aristotle—with Plato in the Phaedo and with the Pythagoreans before him. At first sight the bronze of the statue and the silver of the cup look more homely than the ratio which constitutes the octave. But were ordinary Greeks any more inclined to talk of them as causes/ explanatory factors/explanations of the statue or the cup? One would have thought them more likely to have invoked the craftsman and his purposes. If asked how the bronze or the silver enters the causal/ explanatory story, a natural reaction would be to talk (like the Socrates of the Phaedo) of a sine qua non (aneu hou ouk). Here we confront at once a notorious problem’ with the doctrine of four causes: Aristotle

himself does not believe that appeal to matter as such or on its own normally supplies the real explanation of any natural or artificial substance or any fundamental natural or productive process. Nor are cups or statues or their making among the exceptions to this rule. Aristotle is apt to say that such things or processes do not come about because of matter (so GA 5. 8, 789°6-7), or do not come about because of X, Y, or Z (where these are place-holders for stuffs of various kinds) except in the way (i.e. the derivative or secondary way) that things do come about because of matter (so Phys. 2. 9, 200*5-10). He too is more inclined to regard matter as a necessary condition of an outcome in art or nature than as its cause/explanation. In short, neither in common speech (I guess) nor in Aristotelian theory is talk of matter as cause/ explanation/explanatory factor something to be immediately or uncontroversially expected. The word ‘matter’ (Au/é) does not, of course, appear in our text.

Aristotle speaks rather of ‘the constituent from which a thing comes to 2 Well discussed by R. M. Dancy, ‘On Some of Aristotle’s Second Thoughts about Substance: Matter’, Philological Review, 87 (1978), 372-413.

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be’. This designation of the material cause sounds like theory. And that is what it is. The theory in question analysis of change offered in book 1 of the Physics.’ This any change three terms or principles are presupposed:

a fragment of is the logical states that in every change

involves the exchange ofone state or property, F, for another, not-F, in a subject a which persists through the transition from the one to the

other. Now suppose a case of substantial change. If the thing which is the outcome of the change is identified as the F thing, the subject of change can in turn be identified with reference to it as the constituent of it (sc. of the F thing) from which it comes to be. For (1) the F thing is the a that is F, so that a is a constituent of the F thing, and (2) the a that is F is the same a as the a that was not-F, from which it came to be. Aristotle does not talk about the subject of change expressis verbis as

‘the constituent from which a thing comes to be’ in his initial exposition of the theory in 1. 7, but in the summary presented at the end of book 1 (in 1. 9) he introduces precisely this formulation (192*29-32; cf. Metaph. A 1, passim). The theory of book 1, then, is a theory about the logical form of change and about the elements or principles (archai) we are required to posit in the analysis ofits form. The phrase ‘constituent from which a thing comes to be’ is a formula designed to specify one of these elements or principles, viz. the subject of change. It is accordingly reasonable to infer that when Aristotle designates the material cause by means of this formula in the text we are examining, he intends to suggest that the material cause counts as a cause just in so far as it is the underlying principle of a change. He puts the point exactly as | would wish him to have put it when he says of the Presocratics that ‘they enquired about the material principle and that sort of explanation (tes toiautés aitias’ (PA 1. 1, 640°5-6). Causes and principles are often treated by Aristotle as virtual synonyms. None the less, he devotes separate chapters to them in Metaph. A; and it is possible to discern different motives for calling the same item now a principle (arche), now a cause (aition, aitia). Thus, Aristotle often suggests that a cause is to be understood as what a person offers in appropriate answer to the question ‘Why?’ (dia ti). This is not something he insists on with respect to principles. Here the idea of origin, something whence (hothen), appears to be the constant (Metaph. 4 1, 1013*17-19). To identify something’s origin is * So Simplicius, Jn Phys. 310. 1-6.

Explanatory Projects in the Physics

33

usually to do something to explain it. So origins may very often also be causes/explanations/explanatory factors. But does the formula ‘the constituent from which a thing comes to be’ specify in the first instance something whence or the answer to a ‘Why?’? Evidently something whence: the material cause establishes itself on Aristotle’s list of causes as a principle. It is because principles serve explanatory functions that it qualifies also and in the second place as a cause— although not, as we have seen, as a candidate for answering the question ‘Why?’ really or properly. We must therefore vote for [D] in the case of the examples of the material and formal causes. These are instances of the theoretical talk of philosophers and scientists.

III Is it analysis of such philosophical or scientific talk which provides the basic grounds of Aristotle’s identification of the material and formal causes and his distinction between them? That would be putting the cart before the horse. Our discussion in Section II suggests instead: (1) In each case Aristotle has identified an explanatory project: the Socratic/ Platonic search for definitions/essences, characterized by the ‘What is it?’ question; the search for principles of change begun and vigorously pursued by the Presocratics and (as he would claim) perfected in his own analysis of the logical form of change in Physics 1. (2) Within the explanatory project he further identifies a key explanatory tool: form (rather although not exactly as Plato had posited it); matter, or the concept of the underlying constituent as first principle of change. (3) He then suggests that within each project a distinctive style of causal or explanatory talk gives appropriate expression to the work done by the key explanatory tool. The projects are obviously quite different; their key explanatory tools are obviously quite different. So not surprisingly their distinctive styles of causal/explanatory talk are quite different. Might it not be that, accepting this account of the theoretical basis of the distinction between the material and formal causes, we should

none the less ascribe a certain heuristic or epistemological or expository primacy to (3), i.e. to analysis of linguistic usage? Perhaps it was reflection on the way philosophers or scientists talk which put Aristotle on to the distinction. Or perhaps such reflection provided him with linguistic data which the distinction is then principally

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designed to account for. Or perhaps he invites his hearers/readers to think of the doctrine primarily as the best explanation of some linguistic data. This is most unlikely. In order to attend intelligently to the differences in the sorts of causal/explanatory talk in question one would probably have to have already acquired some interest in and awareness of the explanatory projects in which thinkers who appeal to material or formal causes are engaged, and of the differences between them. In order to recognize talk of e.g. the bronze of a statue as explanatory talk in the first place, it would probably be necessary not only to have situated it within discourse concerning principles of change but actually to have understood Aristotle’s own original analysis ofthe logical form of change. In short, such linguistic data as the examples of the material and formal causes constitute (bronze, silver, ratio) are already theory-laden. It is simplest to suppose that Aristotle approaches them, and expects us to approach them, via his theoretical specifications of the two causes. They are merely illustrations, not starting-points for theory-construction. It is more plausible to see the presentation of the efficient and final causes in our text as the result of analysis of ordinary usage. The star instance of final causation is human behaviour; and it is so precisely because language expresses intention—intention is most directly voiced and perceived through language.* Reference to how we talk is, not surprisingly, particularly explicit in Aristotle’s examples of the final cause. As for the efficient cause, his observation that ‘the man who deliberated is a cause (aitios)’ etc. is naturally read as in part a reflection on a standard use of aitios as ‘responsible’ in Greek. Yet if what lies behind his presentation of the formal and material causes is the identification of explanatory projects, perhaps this is the

perspective from which we should view the accounts of the other two causes also. I suggest that as well as the Socratic/Platonic search for definitions/essences and the Presocratic search for principles of change, we should recognize that Aristotle has a further project in mind: the common-sense urge to explain things in terms of causes (sc. efficient causes, causes as we often think of them nowadays) and of the ends governing human behaviour, especially the production of tools or other artefacts. Common usage is probably the best testimony to * Some good reflections on this point in A. C. Lloyd, ‘Activity and Description in Aristotle and the Stoa’, Proceedings of the British Academy [PBA], 56 (1970), 227-40, at

Pp. 227-30.

Explanatory Projects in the Physics

35

this common project. But on my hypothesis that is just what it is in Aristotle’s presentation: testimony, evidence, confirmation of the identity of the key conceptual tools of an explanatory project—again a project already recognized and discussed in Socrates’ autobiography in Plato’s Phaedo. The doctrine of four causes, then, is not [A] based primarily on linguistic usage, but rather [B] grounded in more ambitious if hardly recondite theoretical preoccupations: the identification of explanatory projects.

IV Section II found three explanatory projects behind Aristotle’s presentation of the four causes in Phys. 2. 3. They are highly disparate projects. One is an enterprise in which we all engage when attempting to understand each other’s behaviour: e.g. war-mongering, to take the example chosen to illustrate the efficient and final causes at the beginning of Phys. 2. 7 (198*19-20), where Aristotle recapitulates the doctrine. (It is worth noting that the way efficient and final causes are paired here confirms the view that they should count as belonging within a single explanatory project.) The other two, on the other hand, are the province of the scientist or philosopher. The most obviously promising field for the successful practice of the Socratic quest for definition is pure or applied mathematics, as Aristotle himself suggests in the recapitulation passage in 2. 7. He gives a general characterization of the sphere in which explanation by formal causes is to be especially expected as ta akineta, ‘the unchangeables’, and

remarks in particular on the role of definition in mathematics (198*1718; cf. the ratio example at 2. 3, 194°27—8). By contrast the original designation of the material cause in 2. 3 marks it out as a principle of change. And the point is reinforced in the recapitulation in 2. 7, where Aristotle lists it simply as ‘matter in the case of things that come into being’ (198720-1). Itis therefore a mild coup de theatre when he next announces (198*224) that it is the job of the natural philosopher to know about all four causes and to invoke all four in answering the question ‘Why?’ Natural philosophy is effectively announced as an explanatory project which subordinates to itself and draws upon the three disparate projects we have been discussing: projects which are none of them focused on the

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study of nature in the first instance. It is as though Aristotle is saying: the investigation of nature requires the approaches of common sense as well as science: the sort of illumination we expect from ordinary understanding of human behaviour as well as (less unexpectedly) fundamental philosophical and mathematical analysis; the conceptual tools forged for exploration of the unchangeable as well as the changeable. Indeed, it is tempting to go further and conjecture that it is precisely because in natural philosophy we are obliged to engage in just the three explanatory projects we have encountered in Phys. 2. 3 that Aristotle decides that there are four causes— these four causes—in the first place. One would expect the three subordinate projects and their key explanatory tools to undergo not only some unification but also some transformation at the hands of the natural philosopher, given his very different subject-matter. At the end of Phys. 2. 7 (198°4-9) Aristotle seems to be attempting to give some indication of just what this transformation consists in. For having offered some defence ofthe proposition that natural philosophy needs to avail itself of all four causes in explaining its subject-matter, viz. coming into being and process (198?24—°4), he concludes the apology with a sketch of the way they are characteristically given proper employment in physical explanation. This is not just one more list of the four causes. It is orientated—I suggest—to their role specifically in natural philosophy. Aristotle begins with the following specification of the efficient cause: ‘It is necessary that this comes from this (from this either without qualification or for the most part).’ There is obviously a transformation of the common-sense use of efficient explanation here. Ordinary explanations of behaviour may focus on particular causes of particular events or they may attempt generalization. The introduction of necessity is presumably due to the natural philosopher. He wants knowledge (episteme), and someone who knows something

knows that it must be so.° * It is particularly striking that Aristotle here subsumes explanations valid for the most part under the concept of a necessary connection. Since ‘for the most part’ is the characteristic pattern in nature, this expedient was required if he was to succeed in

finding substantial scope for necessity in explanations of nature. It is presumably to be tacitly understood in many of Aristotle’s very numerous appeals to necessity in the explanations of the biological treatises: this is a necessity which happens for the most part. But, of course, necessity and ‘for the most part’ are famously contrasted in some well-known programmatic contexts: 7op. 2. 6, 112°1 ff., Phys. 2. 5, 196°10-13, GA 4. 4, 770°9 ff., Metaph. A 30, 1025°14 ff. See further M. Mignucci, ‘‘Qs émi ro moAv et

Explanatory Projects in the Physics

37

A similar transformation is apparent in the specification ofthe form of explanation which is presented as typical of material causation: ‘if this is going to be (just as the conclusion from the premisses)’. The connection with ‘the constituent from which a thing comes to be’, although not spelt out, is not hard to see. For every natural F thing that comes to be there is a constituent a within it which was once not-F and undergoes the change to F, so constituting the F thing. Therefore if you want to understand how some natural F thing is to come to be, you must find a relevant constituent a, viz. some appropriate matter; that is (as Aristotle puts it here), you must as it were work from premisses

to conclusion. There is again a transformation of the idea of material causation. Once again, it consists in the introduction, tacit rather than explicit, of necessity, viz. what Aristotle often calls hypothetical necessity. For the non-elliptical version of the formulation would obviously read: ‘if this [sc. this natural substance vel sim.] is going to be, this [sc. this matter] must be’; and the comparison with premisses and conclusion reinforces the point—if the premisses are thus and so, such and such a conclusion must follow.® The natural philosopher thinks of matter not just as the constituent from which a thing happens to come to be (e.g. wood or silver or gold or bronze, in the case of a cup), but as what it must come from if it is to come to be. Of the functioning of formal explanation Aristotle says only: ‘and that this was the essence (to ti én einai)’. | suppose he means that a process can be viewed in yet a third way. In connecting the outcome of a process of coming into being with a form, we commit ourselves to holding (1) that the form is the essence of the thing that has come to be, (2) that the outcome is as it is because the form in question is the essence of the thing. At any rate, this is the sort of story the discussion of efficient causation a little earlier at 19835 ff. seemed to adumbrate. It is clearly a very different story from that presupposed by the Socratic/Platonic search for definitions/essences as exemplified in mathematics. For it is dynamic, not purely definitional, even though nécessaire dans la conception aristotélicienne de la science’, in E. Berti (ed.), Aristotle on

Science: The Posterior Analytics (Padua, 1981), 173-203. 6 Commentators usually suppose (cf. 195*18-19) that matter is compared to the premisses, not the conclusion, of a syllogism. But this would make matter a necessitating cause, not something only hypothetically necessary. Phys. 2. g, 200*15-30, should be our guide on how to take the comparison here. Hypothetical necessity in Aristotle is well discussed by J. M. Cooper, ‘Hypothetical Necessity and Natural Teleology’, in A. Gotthelf and J. G. Lennox (eds.), Philosophical Issues in Aristotle’s Biology (Cambridge,

1987), 243-74-

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Aristotle has made it clear that form remains akinéton, an unchangeable, for the natural philosopher as for the mathematician (198°36-°3). Talk of outcomes suggests the final cause; and the interpretation I have been offering of what Aristotle says here about formal explanation can therefore derive support from the explicit assimilation in Phys. 2. 7 of the formal and final explanations of natural processes

(198*25—-6, °3-4). So when he goes on at 198°8-9 to indicate the style of final explanation characteristic of natural philosophy, we should probably read him as intending to say something closely connected with the account of formal causation. He expresses himself as follows ‘... and because it is better—better not without qualification, but relative to the being of each thing’. Two features of this formulation require comment. First, the phrase ‘better . . . relative to the being of each thing’ does indeed connect final causation with essence, the key explanatory tool of formal causation. More particularly, it effectively constitutes a determination or explication of (2) above. That is, it states that an outcome is as it is because itis better relative to the essence of a thing. Second, in Phys. 2. 3, and again in the recapitulation at the beginning of 2. 7, the formula Aristotle particularly associated with final causation was ‘in order that’ (Why is he walking about? Jn order that he may be healthy’). Here it is: ‘because it is better’. This represents a transformation ofthe idea offinal causation. It is not that in 2. 3 Aristotle would have denied that the final cause or goal is the good or at any rate the apparent good (cf. 195723-6). It is rather that in the study of nature preoccupation with the good takes centre stage in teleological explanation. The first question someone looking for a teleological explanation of e.g. the kidneys must ask is: ‘What advantage do they confer upon us?’ The next step is to propose that we have kidneys because they confer the advantage in question (viz. enabling the bladder to do its job better). One may then, of course, go

on to rephrase the explanation by saying: ‘We have kidneys in order that the bladder may do its job better.’ But this is a reversal of the order implicit in Aristotle’s examples of common-sense explanation of human behaviour. In human behaviour, we consider in the first instance what purposes the agent had in mind (e.g. to be healthy, to tule). To focus on the good his behaviour achieved would not necessarily point us to its teleological explanation, since the good is not identical with the apparent good. By contrast, we have no access to the ‘purposes’ of nature such as an agent’s own avowals supply. Identification of advantage is the only sound basis for teleological

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explanation of natural beings and processes. Nature’s in order that cannot be discerned in any other way. Nor is there any logical space for a natural ‘purpose’ that has as its goal the apparent, not the real, good.’

V It is plain that in his presentation of the four causes at the end ofPhys. 2. 7 .ristotle focuses on the locutions which are characteristically associated with explanations offered by reference to them. I have been arguing that it is the locutions employed by the natural philosopher in particular that Aristotle quite specifically and deliberately settles upon. And I have suggested that comparison between the passages in 2. 3 and 2. 7 in which he introduces and recapitulates the four-cause doctrine reveals—and is doubtless meant to reveal—a striking evolution: explanations in terms of the four causes are transformed when employed by the natural philosopher. This interpretation receives confirmation both from the last two chapters of Physics 2 and from the biological treatises. The account of the transformation I have given in Section IV points to a division ofthe four causes into two pairs.® Efficient and material explanations supplied by the natural philosopher go together, inasmuch as each postulates a necessary connection. Formal and final explanations are explicitly assimilated, and here appeal to the notion of the better is fundamental. In the biological treatises Aristotle himself notoriously makes just this division of the causes into two, most explicitly and programmatically at GA 2. 1, 731°18ff., and 5. 8, 789°2 ff. The pervasive practice of PA and GA is to use the necessary and the better (or that for the sake ofwhich) as the key explanatory notions, with or without reference to e.g. the efficient or material causes as such. This practice is surely foreshadowed by Phys. 2. 7, 198°4-9. It obviously constitutes a development of the four-cause doctrine, but one which reflects precisely the transformation of explanatory strategy indicated in Phys. 2.7. Phys. 2.8 and g are further evidence of the same development. For ’ Here I am in partial disagreement with Lloyd, PBA 56 (1970), 230. § Simplicius seems to see this point (/n Phys. 369. 1-14), but it is not made by the modern commentators on 194°4-9 I have consulted, although of course they are in general well aware ofthe tendency for the four causes to fall into two groups. (But they find little of interest in the passage at all.)

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although in 2. 7 Aristotle has stressed the need to give explanations in terms of all four causes, the rest of the book is actually taken up with the roles of the final cause and ofnecessity in natural explanation, and with the relation between them. Aristotle’s concern here with problems connected with necessity is just the sort of preoccupation we might have anticipated, given what he says about material and efficient

explanation in natural philosophy at 198°5-8. St Fohn’s College, Cambridge

UNIVERSALS AND PARTICULAR FORMS INARISTODLESS METAPHYSICS MICHAEL

WOODS

In Form and Universal in Aristotle’ Antony Lloyd wrote: ‘to attribute particular forms to Aristotle has only recently been a familiar notion for most British and American scholars’. Since then, the number of

those who have taken the same view as Lloyd has grown.’ This tendency among recent writers on Aristotle has encouraged me to look again at Metaph. Z 13, which has been thought to require the attribution of a belief in particular forms to Aristotle. The dilemma’ is, of course, that if Aristotle’s final view is that no universal is a substance, it follows that if forms are substances, they

cannot be universal. This problem will evaporate if Aristotle accepted particular forms: he can then happily say that no substance is universal. It is natural to take some of the requirements made in chapter 13 ofZ for anything to qualify as an ousia to derive from that. However, there is, of course, pressure to hold that ousia must be universal since it is thought that it is ousia of which there ought to be horismos, and horismos is always of the universal. Moreover, to ti en einai is normally understood as precisely that whose specification is given in a horismos,’ and a ti én einai is a form. I want to show that there are considerable difficulties in reading Z 13 in terms of particular forms. Z 13 is, and is represented as being, part of the implementation of a programme announced at the beginning of chapter 3, 1028°33-6, © Michael Woods 1991 ' (ARCA: Classical and Medieval Texts and Monographs; Liverpool, 1981). > Among others may be mentioned Terence Irwin in Aristotle on First Principles (Oxford, 1989), and also Frede and Patzig in their commentary on Metaphysics Z: M. Frede and G. Patzig, Aristoteles ‘Metaphysik Z’; Text, Ubersetzung und Kommentar, 2 vols. (Munich, 1988).

3 This dilemma was stated very clearly by James Lesher in ‘Aristotle on Form, Substance and Universals: A Dilemma’, Phronesis, 16 (1979), 169-78.

se Seeierg wIO3 ais

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except that in the earlier passage there is also a reference to the genus. Moreover, apart from the hupokeimenon, it is said of each of these candidates for the status that each seems to be the ousia of each thing. The other candidates for ousia are considered sympathetically, and there is no question of a blanket rejection of their claims. Equally, in the preliminary discussion of chapter 3 even hule is said to be ousia in a way, as is the concrete individual. Yet Aristotle’s reaction to the question of the claims of the universal is a very firm negative answer,

apparently. The preceding examination of ti én einai, which occupied chapters 4-6, 10-11, appears to give an affirmative answer to its claims to be a substance. But even if most of what is said in these chapters was regarded by Aristotle as standing, we could hardly expect the examination of the claims of to katholou to presuppose the correctness of all the positive claims made in these chapters: we should expect the discussion of the claims of to katholou to appeal either to common doctrines about ousia or to positions that are connected in the right way with the source of the intuition that to katholou is ousia. This is highly relevant to the requirement that the ousia of something be unique to it, which may well reflect a different conception of what ousia is. It would beg the question against the claims of to katholou if Aristotle simply appealed to the features of ousia that went with regarding to tien einai as ousia. What, exactly, is the position that is said to require examination? At first sight, the position in question seems somewhat odd. If to katholou is understood as being what is universal, in the sense of being shared by a multiplicity of things, that would cut across the distinctions of category that Aristotle wished to make. There are universals in every category: how can universality be a mark of substance? Would not white count as katholou just as much as animal? We must assume that a broad differentiation of substance from the other categories has already been made. What is in question is what is to be counted as substance in a full sense, among those things that are to be assigned, broadly, to that category.° In chapter 3 the reason given for examining the suggestion was that it seemed to some that the ousia of each thing is to katholou; but in > Cf. the decisive statement at ch. 16, 1041°3-5. ° The initial enumeration of the possible views included to katholou kai to genos, and we might perhaps regard the phrase kai to genos as partly explanatory of kai to katholou (but compare H, 1042°21-2).

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chapter 13 the reason was that ousia has often been thought to be a cause or principle.’ A feature ofAristotle’s argument in Z is that there is a clear connection between being an ousia and being an ousia of something. (This has been regarded as a confusion in his doctrine.’) The beginning of Z 3 (for example) shows that he is happy to move from ‘X is the ousia of y’ to ‘X is an ousia’. This would not, of course, imply that every ousia is the ousia of something. So why should the argument that if to katholou is ousia, it must be the ousia of something be in place? One suggestion might be that it is taken as given that ousia is that which is basic and fundamental (in a sense that requires to be elaborated). If so, the claims of to ti én einai would rest upon its fundamental role in explanation; but that, in turn, was connected with

its status as the ousia of things. So it may seem that the claims of to katholou, as a cause or principle, could only be supported by a generalization from the case of to ti en einai; to katholou could only qualify if there is something whose essence it is. So it may be thought that we are entitled to pass equally from ‘X is an ousia’ to ‘There is something whose ousia it is’. This generalization may involve the thought that the more universal will be more of an ousia.’ The trouble is that there seems no good reason for insisting then that to katholou figures as ousia in precisely the way the tien einai did, as Aristotle seems to do in chapter 13. We need to consider more carefully what suggestion is being considered when to katholou’s claims are examined. We might approach this by considering a more and a less radical way in which the suggestion might have been rejected. The less radical suggestion would be that Aristotle, while recognizing a class of entities described as ta katholou, wishes to deny that any of them qualifies as an ousia; to katholou remains as a rejected candidate. The more radical one would be that by ‘to katholow’ Aristotle understood a type of entity whose very existence is being denied. We might then connect this with his denial that Plato’s Forms are substances. One advantage of the more radical view for one who denies that Aristotle was a believer in particular forms is that we no longer need to explain how Aristotle’s criticisms fail to apply to the essence of human being as well as to animal; for the attack is on something that Aristotle 7 1038°6-8. ’ Cf. A. R. Lacey, ‘Ousia and Form in Aristotle’, Phronesis, 10 (1965), 1-23.

° Cf. Metaph. B, 100120-2.

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regards as an erroneous conception of what ‘human being’, no less than ‘animal’, designates. On this view, Aristotle is treating the view that universals are ousiai as a misguided attempt to make abstractions

into real entities.'° This is supported by the fact that the lessons of chapter 13 have implications for Platonic Forms, as is made clear later? It may be suggested that Aristotle, when he says that the universal is what is such as to belong to more than one thing, is conceding that there are things that the definition fits. But perhaps we should not take that for granted. Perhaps he denies that there are entities that have this feature (or, at any rate, that there are any that come into serious consideration as possible substances: he may well have allowed that white, for example, was common to white things). Such a suggestion will indeed be congenial to a believer in particular forms; for, as understood by them, forms or essences will be such as not to belong to more than one thing. On this view, the only forms that Aristotle recognizes are the individual forms of Socrates,

Callias, etc., and they fulfil the conditions that are stated at 1038°9—-16. The suggestion would then be that the only substances are particulars, and the supposed substances that are common to many things do not need to be recognized. On this view, the attack is as much against the suggestion that we have to recognize a substance human being common to individual human beings as it is against genera like animal. Should we then conclude that the best explanation of what Aristotle says in chapter 13 is that he thinks that only particular forms are ousiai, so that the chapter provides a powerful argument for attributing a belief in them to Aristotle? If so, we could then read the earlier chapters in which essence was discussed as presupposing this

doctrine.’* The whole supposed class of ousiai, ta katholou, is rejected. But what sort of argument, exactly, do we have for the conclusion? The argument of 1038°9-16 attempts to disallow the claims of to katholou on the grounds that it fails to fulfil a condition for being an ousia that no universal can fulfil. We are thus led to try to interpret 1038°9-16 in such a way that the requirements are not ones that to katholou self-evidently cannot meet. '© See Lloyd, Substance and Universal in Aristotle, passim.

'l t040°25—30.

' It is, of course, possible to argue the issue of whether, when Aristotle speaks of

essence in those chapters, he has in mind particular forms, as, for example, Frede and Patzig do; but a large number of passages admit of a dual interpretation, and it may reasonably be thought that an overall reading of chs. 4-6, 10-11 will, in the end, have to be controlled by our understanding of the denial that the universal is substance.

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One suggestion might be the following: the person that Aristotle is arguing against accepts that such species-kind terms as ‘human being’, ‘horse’, etc. stand for substances; in this they would agree with Aristotle, if we take Aristotle, against the view of those who believe

that Aristotle accepted particular forms, to think of forms or essences as common to members of a species. But they also hold that genusterms like ‘animal’ stand for substances, in line with their claim that universals are substances. Indeed, we might hold that the thought of the person that Aristotle is arguing against is precisely that human being qualifies as a substance precisely because it is a universal; but then animal qualifies also, and indeed all the more. (Compare the suggestion that the more katholou is more of an ousia.) Aristotle’s response to this, on the assumption that he did not hold (in Z at least) that individual concrete substances each have their own form, could then be that the cases of animal and human being are different. A view that I adopted earlier!’ was that Aristotle was claiming only that nothing predicated universally (katholou legomenon) was a substance. This was supported by 1038°9, 1039*1, and the summarizing passage at the end of chapter 16 (104174-5). Likewise, he denies that anything koinon is a substance. It could be argued that the form human being that is the same for Socrates and Callias is not predicated universally of Socrates and Callias, whereas animal is predicated universally of particular animal species (and hence of individual animals). An argument for this would be the following: On Aristotle’s view, the form that is the form of every human being plays a constitutive role: Socrates is simply this form in a particular piece of matter. On

this view, that is familiar, it is the matter that secures individuality." To suggest that the human form is predicated universally of both Socrates and Callias is to fail to do justice to the way in which the form constitutes them in the first place.'> The same misrepresentation is involved in treating the form Auman being as a common feature. However, it is clear that the distinction between being katholou and being katholou legomenon is not to be found in Aristotle. This is clear from the fact that in the summarizing passage in H (1042%21) the conclusion of chapter 13 is stated as the conclusion that no universal is '3 See my ‘Problems in Metaphysics Z, Chapter 13’, in J. M. E. Moravesik (ed.),

Aristotle: Critical Essays (New York, 1967), 215-38. 4 See e.g. 103477-8. 15 A very clear statement of this line of thought is to be found in Frede and Patzig, who take the opposite point of view, Metaphysik Z, i. 50 and elsewhere.

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a substance. Also, the sentence in chapter 13 touto legetai katholou ho pleiosin huparchein pephuke on the view under discussion has to be taken as saying ‘that is said (predicated) universally which is such as to belong to a plurality of things’; but it is hard to believe that that is the right way oftaking it. Rather it provides a reason (cf. gar) for the claim that the universal is common: it is an appeal to the meaning of katholou. It is clear from Z 6, 1040°23, that Aristotle is denying that anything common is a substance. It would, however, be possible to have the same result if one started from the definition of katholou given here, and held that, for the reasons sketched two paragraphs back, Aristotle held that the form human being that is the form alike of Callias and Socrates is not something that belongs to a plurality of things; it is not something that is common to both Callias and Socrates. That would be compatible with the view that Aristotle, when he held that form or essence was substance, identified it with something that could be embedded in different matter, and could go to constitute a plurality of concrete individuals. In that sense, Aristotle’s substances would be universals, not particulars.’® But the question must arise: Is there any reason to read chapter 13 in this way, if we are not already convinced that Aristotle rejected particular forms? And how should the argument of 1038°9-16, already alluded to more than once, be interpreted? I want now to offer a detailed interpretation of the whole chapter. After the argument, already discussed, in which to katholou is said not to satisfy the conditions for anything to be an ousia, Aristotle apparently considers an alternative suggestion, which attempts to circumvent the objection by arguing that, though the universal will not qualify in the way that essence did, it may yet qualify as substance on a different basis. This response of the proponent of to katholou as substance is developed, and then shown by Aristotle not to succeed in vindicating its claims.

At one time’’ | argued that the development of the alternative view continued until 1038°30, when Aristotle begins his reply.!* One reason '© That it is possible to have the same overall interpretation of this chapter without making the problematic distinction between katholou and katholou legomenon was pointed out by Alan Code in ‘No Universal is a Substance: An Interpretation of MetaphysicsZ 13, 1038°8-15’, Paideia (1978), 65-76, and in Myles Burnyeat, Notes on Zeta (London, 1979), ad loc. '7 Problems in Metaphysics Z, Chapter 13’. '’ G.J.Hughes has suggested that the development continues only until 1038°21. See Notes on Zeta, 107-26.

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for allowing the proponent of to katholou to continue speaking until 1038°30 is that *23~-9 reads like a defence of to katholou that purports to show that ta katholou do, after all, meet the exigent conditions imposed at 1038°9-15. It now seems to me that we have to recognize that we have Aristotle speaking in his own voice from 1038°18, and this must control the interpretation of the manner in which he answers the alternative suggestion for making to katholou substance and of the alternative suggestion itself. 1038°34~5 clearly argue for the main conclusion ofthe chapter, that no universal is a substance. This is said to rest on the consideration that ‘things predicated in common’ signify a such rather than a this, and also on the grounds given in the previous sentence. But that sentence begins with holos de, which is naturally taken as generalizing a point made earlier; at any rate, it is not easily taken as marking the beginning of Aristotle’s response. That in turn means that the bafflingly obscure argument beginning with efi at 1038°28-30 is Aristotle’s, and hence the previous one (1038°23-9) beginning with eti de kai. But then we must surely take what precedes it as said by Aristotle in his own person, which means attributing to him the argument beginning oukoun délon (1038°18); the conclusion is that ‘the same thing will occur again’ (to auto sumbesetai palin), which is supported by a sentence that is closely tied to the inference beginning with oukoun. This leaves us with a brief statement indeed of the alternative view, and an extremely obscure argument against it. In °16-18 some completion has to be understood with ouch endechetai. We may provisionally take it that the envisaged view considers that to katholou cannot be a substance in the way that an essence is, but is an element in an essence. The suggestion would seem to be, if it is to be relevant to its context, that the universal qualifies as an ousia because it is an element in something agreed to be one, even though it fails to qualify as an essence. The example given to illustrate the manner in which animal is an element in a substance (i.e. something that qualifies as a substance in the way that essence does) is of the way in which animal is present in both human being and horse. It seems clear that the universal is allowed to be common to two things, and hence does not meet the

conditions laid down in 1038°9-16."” '9 Frede and Patzig, Metaphysik Z, ii. 253 ad loc., refer to one ofthe senses of‘ousia’

distinguished in Metaph. 4 8, 1017°17-21. But the examples given there are so different from what is in question here that it is surely doubtful if that passage can be usefully

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The fact that Aristotle introduces two species of animal in order to illustrate the manner in which animal is present in two things may be thought to indicate that he is here thinking of substances or speciesforms rather than particular forms: he is envisaging different definitions, that have animal as a common element. The Greek could be translated ‘in a horse or a man’, and that is how it would have to be

taken by someone who supposed that Aristotle accepts particular forms for particular members of a species. He would then be thinking of ‘anima!’ as standing for a common element in the particular form of an individual human being or an individual horse. But the point would have been less misleadingly made by referring to Socrates and Callias, which is what we should have expected if particular forms had been in question. The next stretch of argument raises questions of translation as well as of interpretation. But it seems clear that Aristotle says (1) that the item that is supposedly a constituent of human being and horse will have a logos; (2) this Jogos will be the Jogos of something (a consequence illustrated by the case of human being in 22). This is said to lead to the same consequence as before (°22). What follows suggests that the recurring consequence is that there is something of which it is the substance.” What makes this statement surprising is that earlier the argument had been, apparently, that animal is disqualified from being a substance because it failed to belong uniquely to anything, and hence

could not be said to be the essence of anything. I at one time argued?! that the new suggestion, that animal might qualify through being present in an ousia, was designed precisely.to show that something might be counted as a substance without there being anything of which it is the ousia. All the same, if animal can, after all, qualify as a substance by satisfying the conditions imposed in 1038°9-16, why should that count against the claims of the universal to substancehood? So, it might appear that this is an argument for the claims of the universal; but, as we have seen, it is not really possible to read the

passage in this way. invoked to explain the present one. In any case, what we have, on any interpretation, is a suggestion that Aristotle is arguing against.

*° Questions arise about the text in 1038°23, where Jaeger and Frede—Patzig delete hoion to zoon, and the latter bracket eidei as well. I am inclined to follow Frede and Patzig, but I think that the interpretation that I am offering does not depend on adopting any particular reading in that sentence.

1 “Problems in Metaphysics Z, Chapter 13’.

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I think that we have to connect this with the definition given of the universal: that it is something common to a plurality of things. The consequence that ‘animal’ will stand for a substance that qualifies as such in precisely the way that ‘human being’ does will not, after all, be congenial to the proponent of the position that Aristotle is arguing against, because in having the same sort of status as a fi én einai it will thereby lose its status as a common, shared item. It has to be admitted that, on this interpretation, Aristotle’s remark that the same

con-

sequence will result is misleading; but the best way of making sense of the following lines also supports this interpretation. 23-5, beginning ett de kai, must surely support the claim that the item present in distinct substances will have to be the substance of something; and thus that animal will, after all, be an ousia in the way that essence was

admitted to be. Likewise the further argument beginning with eti at 1038°29-30. (This argument is highly compressed and, | think, impossible to reconstruct with certainty; at any rate, I offer no

interpretation of it.’ For present purposes, it is enough that it should be an argument designed to support the conclusion that the common element animal will, after all, be the ousia of something.) If this analysis of the run of the argument up to 1038°30 is correct, the sentence beginning holos de sumbainei introduces Aristotle’s argument to show that the consequence is unacceptable. He says that ‘none of the things in a /ogos’ can be the ousia of anything, nor occur apart from them or in anything else, and glosses this as the denial that there can be an animal apart from particular animals (ta tina). This, in the next sentence, is said to be one ground for the denial of the claims of to katholou to be substance. I shall return shortly to the special problems of interpretation of the sentence beginning at 1039°30. I shall first review the conception ofthe

structure of Aristotle’s argument as developed so far. In 1038°9-16, a passage that we have yet to examine, Aristotle argues, on the basis of a conception of ousia that underlay the examination of essence, that nothing universal can be a substance. It is proposed, as an alternative, that an element in the essence may be common to distinct substances, yet qualify as one on just those grounds. He argues against this that any such element must have a Jogos, which will have to be the Jogos of a 22 A clue to the understanding may be provided by B, 1003*10-12, where there is strikingly similar language, in a context in which some of the issues ofZ 13 are being raised. I suspect it is probably right to follow Ross, against Jaeger, in keeping z0a at 1003*I1.

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substance, on pain of making qualities constitute a substance, thus reversing the correct order ofpriority. Moreover, it will have to be the substance of something. But this conflicts with the incompatibility, already insisted on, between being the substance of something and being a universal. So we have the conclusion that nothing universal is a substance. As we have seen, the conclusion that nothing universal is a substance is in fact restated at 1038°35, where it is said to rest on the considerations given in the preceding sentences, and also on the fact that what is predicated universally signifies not a this (tode ti) but a such (toionde). That brings us back to the interpretation of the previous sentence, beginning holos de. Aristotle says that, if human being and everything said in that way (hosa houto legetai) is a substance, none of the things (mentioned) in the Jogos can be the substance of anything. It seems that Aristotle is willing to say, quite generally, that we cannot regard the definition of a substance as identifying constituent substances that compose it. This will show that the genus animal, if treated as a constituent of the essence human being, cannot itself be a substance. The generality of this claim, which explains the occurrence of holds in 1038°30, lies in the fact that it applies to a// the items that figure in a definition, not only the genus. The sentence at 1038°30 asserts something on a certain condition, namely that human being and things that are thus said are substances, and this is crucial to the issue of whether Aristotle accepts particular forms. It seems clear, first of all, that what is said in the ‘if’-clause is something that Aristotle accepts, for at 1038°35, as we have seen, the denial that any constituent of a Jogos can be an ousia is one of the grounds for the denial that anything universal is. But to speak of ‘human being and such things as are thus said’ (hosa houto legetai) surely indicates that Aristotle here is thinking of something that can be predicated (perhaps of matter: cf. 1029°23-4). A further argument in the same direction is that he evidently is ready to move directly from the consequent of the conditional of 1038°30-4 to the conclusion that nothing said universally is an ousia. But that consequent says only that no constituent (i.e. item designated by a constituent of a Jogos) is an ousia, and so is silent on the question whether human being is a substance, as contrasted with animal. It is silent, because human being is plainly not an element in any Jogos. We must remember that, according to the position that ascribes particular forms to Aristotle, although Socrates and Callias each have a different form, there is a single logos

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that their distinct forms fit; so the constituents of such a /ogos will, on any view, be items like animal, two-footed, etc.; so what is being denied

at 1038°31-4 is that these expressions designate substances. Such a denial could be happily accepted by one who urged the claims to substancehood of terms like ‘human being’. Once again, we are led to the conclusion that, in denying that anything universal is a substance, Aristotle does not mean to deny substantial status to the form human being, conceived as something that is the form both of Socrates and of

Callias. The first of these arguments, urged in Notes on Zeta,** has been challenged by Frede and Patzig.”* Their view, if I understand them correctly, is that when Aristotle speaks here of ho anthropos, he has in mind, for example, the particular human being that Socrates is, which is strictly a particular form, since, on their view, in ‘Socrates is a human being’ we have a sentence in which Socrates is characterized as a particular form that constitutes him as the particular human being that he is. Before forming a view about this suggestion, it is worth asking what the point of houto is. With the reading of the argument that I have been defending, it is not hard to find an explanation; doubtless there is more than one possibility. (We could, for example, suppose that there is a reference to the form of the species as something said of matter.) But with the alternative there is a question why Aristotle should choose to identify particular forms in this way.”> With the alternative view, presumably the point will have to be that the items in question are said [to be what they are] by the predication of some such substance-expression as ‘human being’. This surely gives a much less natural sense to houto, and produces a somewhat convoluted way of referring to the class of items that Aristotle is concerned with. There is also the problem that ho anthropos, if it refers to an individual, could equally be taken to refer to the concrete individual, Socrates, and not to the particular form that, on the view under discussion, he has. Indeed as Frede and Patzig mention, that is how the phrase was interpreted by Pseudo-Alexander, clearly wrongly, as they agree. Moreover, the phrase hosa houto legetai will hardly serve to indicate that it is the particular form of (e.g.) Socrates and not the 23

ee

Nd:

gape os

ts

;

ee

25 A question arises about Frede and Patzig’s translation. Does hosa houto legetai mean here ‘alles, wovon wir auf diese Weise sprechen’?

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particular concrete individual that is in question, since both will presumably be ‘thus described’. I conclude that the sentence is best taken as saying that if human being is allowed to be a substance, then animal, mentioned in its logos,

will not be. What argument does Aristotle have for this conclusion? We can best approach this by considering more closely what conclusion is drawn here. He says that no constituent designated by an element in a /ogos can either be the substance of anything or belong apart from those constituents or in something else. This is then illustrated by the case of‘animal’: he says that there is no animal apart from particular animals (ouk einai to zoon para ta tina). It seems a reasonable assumption that the unacceptable

consequence that the constituent in human being would be a substance is equivalent to the consequence that it would be separate; further, the separation in question seems clearly to be separation from the other items designated by constituents of a logos. (auton in °32 must have as its antecedent ton en toi logot.) Such a separation would allow such an item to occur

as an element

in some

other substance,

and that

presumably is the point of med’ en alloi. But now that consequence seems to be barely distinguishable from the consequence that an element in the definition of human being would be common to different substance-kinds. So Aristotle’s argument is that, if human being qualifies as a substance, animal cannot, and (perhaps equivalently) animal cannot be treated as an item common to the different animal kinds. But it is already clear from 1038°11 that what is universal is common, and indeed the definition of ‘universal’ offered at °11-12 surely makes being koinon and being katholou simply equivalent. We now have an easy transition to the conclusion that is said to follow from this in the next sentence: ruling out that a constituent of human being should be a common element is, in effect, equivalent to ruling out that any universal should be a substance. But a number of questions remain before we leave the discussion of this sentence. Firstly, on the line of interpretation that I am defending, the denial that there is any animal over and above particular animals has to be taken as the denial that there is any animal over and above particular animal kinds. This will harmonize with the interpretation of the first part of the sentence that takes that as saying something about the relation between human being and animal. With this passage we may compare chapter 11, 1038*5, where Aristotle is similarly denying that

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the generic element in a definition is something that exists over and above its species. The proponent of particular forms will say that we have a denial of any kind of universal animal over and above the forms of particular individuals, like Socrates and Callias. But, once again, we have the difficulty that we have an unspecific phrase (ta tina) used to make a point about particular forms, in contrast to concrete particulars. On the other hand, if, in the context, Aristotle is already speaking of species-forms like human being, there is surely no great difficulty in taking him, in this passage, to refer to them when he

speaks of ta tina. What, then, of the assumption made above, that the denial that any element in a substance can itselfbe a substance is simply equivalent to the denial that such an element can exist separately? It is natural to relate this to 1038°27—8, where (perhaps superfluously) Aristotle says that no affections (pathe) can be prior to substance, adding that if they were they would be separate (chorista). More generally, we might relate it to numerous passages, in Metaphysics Z and elsewhere, in which Aristotle connects being a substance with being separate (see e.g. 1028*34, 1029*28-g). There is no space here to engage in a full discussion of the many issues of interpretation raised by the doctrine that substance, in contrast to items in the other categories, is separate; but it seems reasonably clear that at least part of what Aristotle is saying when he contrasts substances with items in the other categories in respect of separability is that qualities, for example, exist only as qualities of a substance, whereas there is nothing to which substance has a like relation of dependence, even though substances cannot, of course, exist without attributes. If we now ask what comparable point can be made about human being and animal—both items in the category of substance in the broad sense—the only plausible suggestion seems to be that (real) substances can exist independently of any complex to which they belong, whereas their constituents cannot exist except as constituents of a substance-kind. This is simply equivalent to the claim of chapter 12 that there is nothing to being an animal beyond being an animal of a particular kind: if animal had the status of a substance, it would be possible to qualify as such independently of satisfying the definition of a particular substance-species. This now appears very close to saying that there is no animal over and above specific animal kinds. So we can make good sense of this passage if we suppose that Aristotle holds that to regard a constituent in a substance as itself a substance would require that the constituent could exist

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separately from the substance of which it is a constituent. The denial that an item like animal is a substance is indeed equivalent to the denial that it can exist separately. (Compare the well-known passage in chapter 16, 1040°27—-30, where the Platonists are commended for separating Forms, if they are substances, but criticized for treating the one over many as an eidos.) What arguments, then, does Aristotle have for his conclusion that no element in a substance is itself a substance? To some extent, an argument has emerged from what has already been said. Given the connection between substancehood and separability, to allow that animal might be substance along with human being would mean that there would be no explanation of the fact that no animal can fail to belong to a determinate species, a fact that is evident in its own right. But we may also surmise that Aristotle was influenced by the thought that if a substance-kind figured in the definition of human being, that would be tantamount to denying that human being was itself a substance-kind, just as the fact that human being figures in the ‘definition’ of ‘builder’ shows that that does not stand for a substance-

kind.”° If this line of interpretation is correct, the arguments that underlie the extremely telescoped remarks in chapter 13 were close to ones already developed in earlier chapters of Z. Someone who claims that, for Aristotle, all forms are particular will say that the statement at 1038°33-4 has to be read as denying that there is any animal over and above particular animals. This, as we have seen, is open to the objection that the unspecific reference to particular animals has to be taken as referring to particular forms. It is also hard to see why the very general claim that all substances are particular substances should take the form of a claim about the items designated by the constituents of a Jogos. Thus, Aristotle argues in 1038°30-1 that no element in a substance can itself be substance, and this is taken to dispose of the alternative suggestion that was aimed at securing the status of a substance to some item that might be mentioned in the definition of a substance-kind. But earlier it had been argued that any such element must be a substance, on pain of having a quality prior to a substance. If the overall interpretation given so far of the structure of the argument is correct, the point of this passage (1038°23-9) is to show that, if to katholou is allowed to be an element in a substance, it will have to *6 In fact, on further analysis, these points may turn out to amount to the same thing.

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count as such underivatively, as it were. This is what Aristotle means when he says ‘the same thing will happen as before’ (103822). The consequence is one that he regards as having been shown already to be unacceptable, at 1038°9—16. In brief, the argument is that, if we identify a Class of objects that are substances in a basic sense (we may call them ‘substances’’), and then suggest that they have constituents that may qualify as substances in a secondary sense (substances?), the suggestion turns out to be incoherent: any substance’ will have to be a substance’. That is a consequence of the principle appealed to here that nothing prior to a substance can fail to be one. We see, then, that the argument that a quality cannot be prior to a substance has to be understood as directed at showing that the alternative view cannot avoid the conclusion that any such element in a substance must be counted a substance in just the same way as the complex in which it belongs does (i.e. it must be a substance’). Aristotle suggests that an attempt to evade this consequence would, in effect, take the form of treating qualities as prior to substances. To regard animal as a constituent of human being, but as not having a logos, would be to treat the universal as, in effect, having the purely dependent status of a property, and thus as a quality, given that ‘animal’ denotes a such (toionde) and not a this. (Compare 1039°15—16.) It is thus hardly surprising that, at the end of the chapter, the dilemma is posed that we seem to be committed to treating substances as incomposite despite their definability, since neither the supposition that they have substances as constituents nor that they have nonsubstances is acceptable. It is now possible to see that the position taken is the more radical of those I distinguished earlier. The objection to to katholou as an answer to the question ‘What is substance?’ is that there are no such entities in the category of substance. I want to suggest, then, that the argument of the passage in Z that we have been concerned with can be seen as an argument against the view that anything can be an ousia without being the ousia of something. In 1038°9-16 a prima-facie objection is raised to the claim of to katholou on the grounds that it cannot qualify as substance in the way that to ti én einai was seen to do earlier in the book.’ An alternative is suggested, but excluded by the argument of 1038°18—1039714. The bulk of the chapter is devoted to establishing that only by being the ousia of 27 | have already indicated that human being will qualify as one, because it is not common to a plurality of objects in the required sense.

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something can anything count as an ousia, by showing that the only way of developing the alternative view will not work. Such a reading of this chapter seems to me to make good sense ofit, and of what precedes and follows it, without ascribing to Aristotle a belief in particular forms. Brasenose College, Oxford

CHANGE AND ARISTOTLE’S THEOLOGICAL ARGUMENT JOHN

ACKRILL

1. Introduction

ARISTOTLE’s general metaphysics starts from nature, seeking its causes and principles: matter, form, essence, and so on. His theology also starts from the world of change. The steps in his main argument for the existence of an unmoved mover are reasonably clear (although exactly where and how it fails can be disputed): there is change, and change (like time) is necessarily eternal; to guarantee that necessary eternality there must be one eternal movement, and its cause (final

cause) must itself be an eternal unchanging mover. This line of thought is expounded at length in Physics 8 (and resumed in MetaphysicsA) as a deductive argument, and commentators are not wrong to refer to it as a ‘proof’ or ‘demonstration’ of the existence of an unmoved mover—which turns out to be Aristotle’s god. In his theology, therefore, the existence of change provides not just the starting-point and subject-matter for investigation, but the first premiss of aproof—of the proof. There is of course much else in the discussion in Metaphysics A, especially on the nature and activity of god; but in what follows I shall be concerned only with the argument summarized above, and | shall feel free to refer to it as Aristotle’s theological argument. We might have expected that Aristotle would decline to say anything at all to justify accepting as a premiss the proposition that there is change. Even to say that the proposition is clear by ‘induction’ (epagoge,

Phys. 1. 2, 185°13-14) might suggest that its truth is less than primitive; and to take seriously anyone who denied it would surely be the mark of a fool (unless of course he were engaged—as in Phys. 1. 2-3—in exposing the fallacious arguments of philosophical opponents). © J. L. Ackrill 1991

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Aristotle does, nevertheless, make some points in defence of the proposition, in two passages of Phys. 8. 3. Much attention has been given to other premisses of the theological argument, but these two passages have been treated summarily by modern commentators. In the next section I shall discuss these passages, which surely deserve close examination, being concerned with the very first premiss of the proof. In the third section I shall raise in a very general way one or two questions connected with the fact that Aristotle’s theology is based on that first premiss: what can be the credentials or the value of a conclusion derived from it? Accounts of Aristotle’s methods in philosophy and science (including Aristotle’s accounts) do not seem to deal adequately with theologiké, whose structure is different both from that of general metaphysics and from that of the special sciences. Although my aim in this paper is to draw attention to two insufficiently studied texts and to point to some insufficiently discussed questions, my primary motive in writing it is to pay tribute to an old friend and colleague and to his work in ancient philosophy.

2. The texts

First, Phys. 8. 3, 253732-°6. (a) To hold that everything is at rest, and to look for an argument for this— dismissing sense-perception—is a sort of intellectual weakness, and it is to question the whole of something [literally, ‘a certain whole’] and not a part. (d) Nor is it only against the physicist, but against practically all sciences and all beliefs, because they all make use of change. (c) Further, just as in mathematical arguments objections about the principles are nothing to do with the mathematician

(and similarly in other cases also), so neither are questions

about the present matter the concern ofthe physicist. For it is a basic assumption [of his] that nature is a principle of change.

In (a) some scholars treat ‘and it is to question . . ” as explaining the intellectual weakness just referred to. It seems better to find two distinct points in the section: it is silly to try to establish by argument something that sense-perception sufficiently refutes; and the thesis that everything is at rest is not a (permissible) querying of part of an area of study but the (improper) querying of the whole of it. What follows in (b) makes clear that the whole just mentioned is physics, and takes the point further: it is not only physics that the thesis is upsetting, but

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‘practically all the sciences’. (c) is connected with the point about ‘questioning the whole of something’: the physicist can be expected to meet attacks on particular parts of his science, but not (gua physicist) to defend the very basis of his whole subject. It is not clear exactly how the various points made in this passage are related, but there seem to be two main lines of thought. First, it is

absurd to look for an argument where none could be as convincing as sense-perception. The point is of course a familiar one in Aristotle. It is made again later in Phys. 8. 3 (254730-3): ‘. ..to look for an argument for things where we are too well placed to need argument shows bad judgement of what is better and what is worse, of what does and what does not deserve credence’. In this passage Aristotle is dismissing attempts to argue for a thesis (that there is change) which we have superior non-argumentative grounds for believing; in the earlier passage (253733) he was dismissing attempts to argue for a thesis (that there is no change) which we have superior non-argumentative grounds for rejecting. But both passages are insisting that in some matters sense-perception provides a higher grade of trustworthiness and certainty than any argument could. Secondly, our passage exploits the familiar methodological point that a given science cannot be called upon to establish its own foundations. That certainly relieves the physikos of the need to establish that there is physis (and change), but might leave open the question whose job it is to establish this. One suggestion is that it is the job of metaphysics, and that it is at this that Aristotle hints when he says ‘practically all the sciences’ at 253°1. There is a relevant passage at Phys. 1. 2, 18571-3: ‘.. . the geometer will no longer argue against one who denies his first principles—this is a task either for a different science or for a science common to all’. In his note on this passage! Ross suggests that the ‘science common to all’ is probably metaphysics. He refers to Aristotle’s claim at Metaph. 6. 1, 1026*30, that first philosophy is ‘universal in this way, because it is first’, and takes ‘universal’ as equivalent to the ‘common to all’ of the Physics passage. I shall return to the question whether Aristotle’s metaphysics can in fact be intended or expected to establish the first principles of physics. But as regards the interpretation of our passage, the exception implied by ‘practically all the sciences’, if indeed Aristotle has a definite exception in mind, may well be mathematics. ' W.D. Ross, Aristotle’s Physics (Oxford, 1936), 461.

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The second passage to be considered occurs later in the same chapter, at Phys. 8. 3, 254723-30: We have already said that it is impossible for everything to be at rest, but we may reiterate the point now. For even if in reality that is how it is, as some claim (saying that what is is infinite and changeless), nevertheless it certainly does not appear so according to sense-perception—it appears rather that many of the things there are do change. If therefore there is false belief (or, in general, belief), there is also change—and if there is imagination (phantasia), and if sometimes it seems [is thought to be] thus and sometimes otherwise. For imagination and belief seem [are thought] to be sorts of change.

The main argument here is a kind of peritrope argument. One who maintains that there is no change must hold to be false the general view that there is. But in holding this he is admitting that there is false belief. But if there is false belief (or indeed any belief), then there is change—since beliefis itself asort of change. I say that this is a kind of peritrope argument; it is not of the form ‘p entails g, and g entails notp’, but rather (to put it roughly) of the form ‘p entails there being the

belief that g, and there being the belief that g entails not-p’. ‘The belief that p’ is ambiguous. It may mean (in effect) ‘the proposition p’; or it may mean ‘the psychological act or event or state of believing that p’. It is clear that Aristotle’s argument requires the latter sense, since it is only in this sense that it could be plausibly claimed that a false belief (or any belief) is or necessarily involves a change. In principle, therefore, Aristotle’s imaginary opponent could evade the argument by admitting that ‘there is no change’ entails ‘it is false that there is change’, but denying that there actually is any false believing that there is change. More could be said about the overall structure of the argument, but I turn now to what is in any case an essential step, the claim that if there is belief there is change. On Aristotle’s own account in De anima perception and imagination and belief do indeed all involve physical change (though none is just a physical change). But it is not to be taken for granted that an opponent in argument will agree with Aristotle’s own account. And even if it is a generally accepted view that they involve change (the dokei in 254*30 signalling an endoxon), the opponent will not be obliged for that reason to admit its truth. If he were so obliged, he would have been obliged afortiori to admit the truth of the even more confidently held general view that there are changes, and he would have been out of business from the start. It is just possible that an actual argument for the view that belief

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involves change can be found (hidden) in our passage, at 254728, in the words ‘if sometimes it seems thus and sometimes otherwise’. Ross paraphrases: ‘if things seem sometimes so and sometimes otherwise’ (Physics, 434). There is a certain ambiguity in the Greek and in the English, and it is necessary to draw a clear distinction between two interpretations. (Aristotle himself draws the distinction neatly in De anim. 3. 2, 426°27: ‘I now say that they are different, but not that they are different now.’)

(1) I believe that sometimes the cat is awake and sometimes the cat

is asleep [there is a beliefin change]; (2) Sometimes I believe that the cat is awake and sometimes I believe that the cat is asleep [there is a change in belief]. In his ‘Introduction’ (Physics, 85) Ross writes: ‘. . . even the occurrence

from time to time of these illusions itself implies change in our mental condition’. ‘Occurrence from time to time’ points to interpretation (2), and suggests that Ross is taking ‘sometimes .. . sometimes...’ to refer to different times in a person’s history. But ‘these illusions’ suggests interpretation (1), which takes ‘sometimes ... sometimes ...’ to refer to the content of each belief (‘illusion’). Without deciding between (1)

and (2) we may ask what the implications for the argument are in either case. On interpretation (1) Aristotle’s words repeat the claim that in holding the belief that there is change to be false our opponent is admitting that there is false belief—the belief that things are sometimes so and sometimes otherwise; he admits that there is belief in change. The words ‘sometimes... sometimes. . .” merely constitute an explanation (surely unnecessary) of what the false belief that there is change (referred to at 254727) amounts to. They add nothing of interest to the argument, and of course do nothing to justify the assumption that the existence of a belief in change implies the existence of any actual change. On interpretation (2) the words in question refer to a change in belief—and such a (‘mental’) change is evidently an actual change. Nobody will seriously deny that there are in fact such changes—but this could not be thought to follow from the opponent’s holding ofhis thesis in the obvious way in which the existence of belief in change can. Perhaps, however, it could be maintained that believing that there is change presupposes believing (having believed) one thing at one time and another thing at another? If so, we should have found in

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Aristotle an argument that does not rely on the assumption that holding any beliefis(or involves) a change, but on the claim that holding the belief that there is change presupposes holding different beliefs at different times. This idea seems in itself to be worth considering, but whether we are justified in finding it here may depend on how the connected words ‘if there is phantasia’ in 254°28 are understood. It is not at all clear why imagination should be brought in at this point. While it is true that it (like belief) does on Aristotle’s view involve perception and therefore change, its mention here would seem only to complicate (and so weaken) the essential argument. I wonder whether one might not translate phantasia here by ‘appearance’ rather than ‘imagination’, and so take it to be picking up the phainetai of 254726, which refers of course to perceptual appearance (‘appear so according to sense-perception’), not to imagination. The whole argument would then run: it appears to sense-perception that there is change, so there is belief (people believe) that there is change, so there is change—whether it is a matter of ‘appearing’ or of ‘believing’: both appearing and believing are (thought to be) changes. This suggestion ties phantasia in *28 and *29 to the phainetai (kata ten aisthesin) of *26; and identifies the hote men houtos dokei, hote d’ heteros of *28—g with the doxa pseudes of *27 (this is to adopt interpretation (1) above). The proponent of the thesis will allow that there is the appearance of change (illusory according to him) and a belief in change (false according to him)—but both appearance and belief are themselves kinds of change. The whole passage then operates with just the two ideas of appearance and belief. If this is a possible way of understanding the pair of alternatives mentioned at *28, it seems attractive. If not, and if phantasia must be taken to introduce a new idea (imagination), itis tempting to take hote men. . . hotede as also introducing a new idea—change in belief (interpretation (2) above), and as insinuating the argument that believing that something changes [belief in change] presupposes believing at one time that it is F and believing at another that it is not F (change of belief).

3. Questions In the two Physics passages we have considered Aristotle defends the thesis that there is change by appealing to sense-perception and

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belief; but he also claims that the physicist is not required to defend that thesis, his starting-point, any more than the mathematician is expected to defend his starting-point. A similar reference to the mathematician occurs at Phys. 1. 2, 184°25-185°3, where Aristotle says: ‘... the geometer will no longer argue against one who denies the principle of his science—this is a task either for a different science or for a science common to all ...’. By ‘a different science’ Aristotle no doubt has in mind (in the words of Hardie and Gaye) ‘another special science, if there is one, to which geometry is subordinate, as optics (e.g.) is to geometry’. If ascience has no special science above it, it is only one ‘common to all’ that can give an account of its principles. So what of the ‘hypothesis’ of natural science, that there is change? Does theology confirm or justify that, whether as a special superordinate science or as a science ‘common to all’? Unfortunately, that very thesis is the first premiss of the theologian’s own demonstration that there is an unmoved mover. So in either case he would seem disqualified from the task of confirming or justifying it. Aristotle’s method in metaphysics is dialectical. In Ross’s words, the method adopted is, for the most part, not that of formal syllogistic argument from known premises to a conclusion which they establish. The truths which it is most important for metaphysics to establish are fundamental truths which cannot be inferred from anything more fundamental ... Generally we may say that his method in the Metaphysics is not that of advance from premises to conclusion, but a working back from common-sense views and distinctions to some more precise truth of which they are an inaccurate expression, and the confirmation of such truth by pointing out the consequences ofits denial.’

How, if not by inference, can the ‘fundamental truths’ be ‘established’;

and exactly what benefits in knowledge or understanding can the metaphysical project hope to bring? Working from endoxa one may hope to clarify them and to work out their implications or presuppositions. But clarifying them will not prove them true; and identifying their implications or presuppositions cannot serve to verify or justify them, unless one has independent reason to accept (or to reject) those various implications or presuppositions. These questions have received magisterial treatment in Professor Irwin’s recent work,’ in connection with Aristotle’s general metaphysics. It seems to me that a 2 W. D. Ross, Aristotle’s Metaphysics (Oxford, 1924), vol. i, p. lxxvii. 3 T. Irwin, Aristotle’s First Principles (Oxford, 1988).

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separate investigation is required into similar questions about Aristotle’s special metaphysics or theology. Certainly the structure of theology—in which a deductive proof to establish the existence of the unmoved mover is central—is very different from that of general metaphysics; and the benefits that the conclusions of theology may be expected to provide are likely to be very different too. The theological argument with which we are concerned purports to establish a fundamental truth, that there is an unmoved mover. How can it perform this important trick? The various steps in the argument rely on (what are taken to be) necessary truths—that time can have no beginning or end, that every change must be preceded by a change, and that there must be an explanation for every change. Are these principles themselves principles implicit in endoxa, or can they claim some independent validity? In any case, even if they bring extra—and indubitable—material into the argument, the first premiss—that there is change—remains indispensable, if the conclusion is to be other than hypothetical. Pure reason may perhaps see that if there is change, there must be an unmoved mover; but the conclusion that there is an

unmoved mover cannot have a strength greater than that of the protasis ‘there is change’—and this is not a truth of pure reason, but only an endoxon. So what are the credentials of the theological conclusion if it rests on such a basis; and what will be its power or usefulness? Two lines of thought suggest themselves: (1) that there is change is not a mere endoxon: (2) although it is initially a mere endoxon, the conclusion of the theological argument turns it into something intelligible and confirms its truth. That there is change is certainly not one of a group of endoxa that can be set off against one another to generate aporiai in the way familiar to students of Aristotle’s philosophical discussions. It is the basic hypothesis of physike—more basic, one might even be tempted to say, than that there is physis, in so far as the recognition that there are changing things is logically prior to the recognition that (some) changing things have an internal principle of change. And Aristotle has good reason to claim (in Phys. 8. 3) that the occurrence of change is presupposed by (pretty well) all belief-contents, and entailed by the occurrence of belief-acts. But if, by a deductive argument, we can be as certain of God’s existence as we are of the world around us and of our own existence as thinking beings, why should we ask more? We cannot really have any clear idea of what a conviction greater than this

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would be like. It would surely be a fine achievement to demonstrate that we have as much reason to believe in God as we have to believe in the existence of our world. ‘A fine achievement’—but what good does it do us to be certain of the existence of Aristotle’s god? We gain in understanding. The unmoved mover, as object of desire and imitation, explains the movements of the heavenly bodies and the persistence ofnatural kinds. So, just as in other branches of philosophy and science, we reach a point where we can better understand (not: prove to exist) the phenomena with which our enquiries started. The fact that there is change was a basic premiss for the proof of the existence of God; the existence of God makes that fact intelligible. In this connection I should like to quote from Professor Jules Vuillemin’s book De la logiquea la théologie.4 He reports a remark made by Professor Victor Goldschmidt, commenting on Vuillemin’s analysis of the argument for an unmoved mover. To paraphrase the remark: ‘While the existence of movement (and of physis) is a principle for the physicist, for the metaphysician it is merely a hypothesis, of which only he can give an account—as Aristotle in fact does in Physics 8 (a book that no longer belongs to the physical enquiries). Only the first mover, who does not belong to physics, can give an ontological basis to the physical hypothesis of the existence of movement’ (p. 223). In the light of that comment Professor Vuillemin concedes that what he has himself earlier called the first principle of the proofs of an unmoved mover (viz. the premiss that movement exists) ought rather to be called a hypothesis. He continues: Aristotle argues at first in the hypothetical mode: ‘if there is movement, as sense-perception assures us, then . .’, to reach assertorically the conclusion: ‘since there is a first mover, therefore movement exists’. The physical principle of the reality of movement is an absolute principle of metaphysical knowledge (Jdealgrund) and, from this point ofview, beliefin the reality of the first mover depends on it. But this reality is in its turn an ontological principle grounding the reality of perceptual knowledge (Realgrund). (p. 224)

The suggestion is, then, that while the existence of change explains our knowledge of the existence of an unmoved mover, the existence of an unmoved mover explains the existence of change. This suggestion seems to be open to two objections, or at least severe qualifications. In the first place, the ‘downward path’ of explanation does not get far + (Paris, 1967).

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without the aid of supplementary assumptions. Aristotle has an apriori argument for the circularity of the eternal movement of the outer sphere. But the behaviour of the sun that is required to produce seasons and the cycle oflife is called in precisely in order to produce them. In short, not much of the change in the world is explained by the

existence of an unmoved mover. Secondly, the existence of an unmoved mover does not make it intelligible that there should be a changing world. It may be said that on Aristotelian principles an unmoved mover must actually cause movement; and so there must be at least the outer sphere. But this is an argument from a description; an eternal changeless being need not have been describable as ‘an unmoved mover’. Moreover, in any case,

there being an unmoved mover and an eternally moving sphere does not require there to be, or make it intelligible that there should be, planets and rocks and plants. The existence of an unmoved mover as an object of desire and emulation may explain why foxes behave as they do—by self-preservation and reproduction they maintain the species, thus partaking in the eternal and the divine as far as they can; but the existence of an unmoved mover does not explain why there are foxes. In short, even if God’s existence makes intelligible (some of) the

features of the world around us, it does not require or make intelligible the very existence of this world. The starting-point of the theological argument—that there is a world of change—is precisely what the conclusion—that there is an unmoved mover—does not explain. For Aristotle’s theology, as much as for his physics, it remains an inexplicable ‘hypothesis’. But Plotinus will recognize the existence of a problem, and will offer the doctrine of emanation as a solution to it.

Brasenose College, Oxford

THE

NICOMACHEAN CONCEPTION HAPPINESS ANTHONY

OF

KENNY

Art the beginning of the Nicomachean Ethics [NE] we meet the following line of argument. The subject-matter of ethics is the good for man, the end of action for the sake of which all else is desired. Most people would agree that this supreme good is happiness, however much they may disagree about what precisely happiness consists in. Aristotle goes on to expand the general view that the supreme good is happiness by outlining the three traditional lives—the life of philosophy, that of virtue, and that of pleasure. He begins his own account by saying that the good we are looking for must be perfect! by comparison with other ends—that is, it must be something sought always for its own sake and never for the sake of anything else; and it must be self-sufficient—that is, it must be something which taken on its own makes life worthwhile and lacking in nothing. Happiness’ has both these properties (1097*15—°21). What then is happiness? To elucidate this we must consider the function of man. Man must have a function because particular types of men (e.g. sculptors) do, and parts and organs of human beings do. What is it? Not life, not at least the life of growth and nourishment, for this is © Anthony Kenny 1991 In the years 1959-63, while a Roman Catholic curate in the archdiocese of Liverpool, I was employed from time to time as an assistant lecturer in the philosophy department of Liverpool University. It was thus that I came to know and admire A. C. Lloyd, who was professor ofthat small but lively department. One ofthe things which I enjoyed learning from him was the close reading of ancient philosophical texts; and the article ‘Happiness’ of 1965, which was my first publication in the field revisited by the present paper, was among other things an outcome ofthose agreeable discussions with him in Liverpool. ' Thus I translate the Greek word réAecov to avoid begging the question whether in particular contexts Aristotle means by it ‘complete’ or ‘final’. 2 | use this translation of evdayovia because it is traditional and convenient. I am well aware that the meaning of the Greek and English words overlaps rather than coincides.

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shared by plants, nor the life of the senses, for this is shared by animals. It must be a life of reason concerned with action: the activity of the soul in accordance with reason. So the good of man will be his good functioning: the activity of soul in accordance with virtue. If there are several virtues, it will be in accordance with the best and

most perfect virtue (1097°22- 1098718). Thus far the familiar account in the NE. If we turn to the Eudemian Ethics [EE] we find an account which resembles this in some ways, but which also displays important differences. The most important of these is that while the NE, in book 1, leaves open the possibility that happiness is identified with a single dominant end, namely, the activity of the highest virtue, the EE views happiness as an inclusive end, the activity of all the virtues of the soul—the rational soul in the broadest sense of the word. The NE says that the good for man is ‘activity of soul in accordance with virtue, and if there are several virtues, in accordance with the best and most perfect’. In the last chapter of the book we are told that there is indeed more than one virtue—there are, for instance, moral and intellectual virtues—and hence, we conclude, unconditionally, that happiness is activity in accordance with the best and most perfect of these many virtues. In book 10 we learn that the best and most perfect virtue is understanding,’ and its activity, contemplation, is therefore to be identified with happiness. In the EE we are told that happiness is ‘activity of complete life in accordance with perfect virtue’, and the word ‘perfect’ has just been unambiguously glossed when Aristotle has said that ‘life is either perfect or imperfect, and so also virtue—one being whole virtue, another a part’ (1219735-9). So that when in the EE Aristotle goes on to distinguish parts of the soul and virtues, and he lists moral and intellectual virtues, we know their activities are all supposed to be parts of happiness. The virtue which figures in the definition of the end of man is the virtue constituted by several virtues of different parts of the soul. The account just briefly enunciated I first put forward in a paper on Happiness in 1966, and developed further in the course of the comparison which I undertook between the NE and the EE in my book The Aristotelian Ethics in 1978. In writing thus I was taking sides on a disputed question, the question whether, in the terminology intro* I thus translate the Greek codéa in preference to the traditional translation ‘wisdom’, which is much more appropriate as a translation of the Greek word dpdvnais.

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duced by W. F. R. Hardie,’ Aristotle’s conception of happiness in the NE was ‘dominant’ or ‘inclusive’: that is, whether he saw supreme happiness as consisting in a single activity, or in the exercise of several independently valued pursuits. My thesis might be stated by saying that in the NE Aristotle proposed a dominant view of happiness, in the EE an inclusive view. During the twenty-five years since Hardie introduced his distinction the correct interpretation of the NE has been a matter of vigorous debate which shows no signs of diminishing.‘ Contributors to this debate principally concentrate, as I shall in this paper, on the interpretation of NE 1 and ro, and in particular on chapter 7 of each book. Their contributions to the debate can be crudely classified as being on one side or other of the dominant vs. inclusive debate. For the dominant view: Kenny, Clark, Heinaman; for the inclusive view:

Ackrill, Irwin, Price, Devereux. Cooper, having in 1975 defended a qualified version of the dominant view, in 1987 defends a nuanced form of the inclusive view. In my view, much the best recent treatment of the question is that by Heinaman. Heinaman draws a number of distinctions which clear up confusion in other writers, and allow a clear view to be taken of the

position of the NE. I shall begin by introducing the distinction which Heinaman makes, and then state my reasons for thinking his approach is the correct one. For Aristotle, according to Heinaman, the total life of a human

being consists in a variety of types of activity, e.g. perceiving, growing, digesting, thinking. Each of these types of activity is called by Aristotle a ‘life’, and when he identifies happiness with a certain kind oflife, it is + ‘The Final Good in Aristotle’s Ethics’, Philosophy, 40 (1965), 277-95; also in ch. 2 of Aristotle's Ethical Theory (Oxford, 1968).

> Here is a list—by no means complete—of treatments of the topic since 1965: A. Kenny, ‘Happiness’, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 66 (1965-6), 93-102; J. L. Ackrill, Aristotle on eudaimonia (London, 1974); J. Cooper, Reason and Human Good in

Aristotle (Cambridge 1975); S. R. L. Clark, Aristotle’s Man (Oxford 1975); A. Kenny, The Aristotelian Ethics (Oxford, 1978); A. W. Price, ‘Aristotle’s Ethical Holism’, Mind, 89

(1980), 341-51; D. Devereux, ‘Aristotle on the Essence of Happiness’, in D. J. O'Meara (ed.), Studies in Aristotle (Washington, 1981), 249-60; T. H. Irwin, Aristotle, Nicomachean

Ethics (Indianapolis, 1985); id., ‘Stoic and Aristotelian Conceptions of Happiness’, in M. Schofield and G. Striker (eds.), The Norms of Nature (Cambridge,

1986), 205-44;

J. Cooper, ‘Contemplation and Happiness, a Reconsideration’, Synthese, 72 (1987), 187216; R. Heinaman,

‘Eudaimonia

and Self-Sufficiency in the Nicomachean

Ethics’,

Phronesis, 33 (1988), 31-49; T. D. Roche, ‘Ergon and Eudaimonia in Nicomachean Ethics |: Reconsidering the Intellectualist Interpretation’, Journal of the History of Philosophy, 26

(1988), 175-94.

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‘life’ in this sense that he means, not ‘total life’. When he identifies happiness with the rational life, he is identifying it with intellectual

activity, not with a certain kind of total life. There are at least four different questions to be distinguished to which Aristotle gives different answers but which comprehensive interpreters tend to assimilate: (1) (2) (3) (4)

What What What What

life is the highest kind of eudaimonia? life counts as eudaimonia? components will make up the total life of the happy man? must a man have in order to be happy?

(p. 33)

Heinaman believes that the inclusive interpretation rests on a failure to distinguish between the first three questions. He offers his own answer to these questions, all of which I believe to be correct: The answer to (1) is contemplation. The answer to (2) is that both contemplation and moral action do. The answer to (3) will include a variety of activities such as, for instance, perception. The answer to (4) will include friends, money, food and drink.

In the argument which leads to these conclusions the most important steps concern two passages in the first book of the NE. At the end of the function argument we read: ‘if this is the case, human good turns out to be the activity of soul which is the exercise of virtue, and if there are several virtues, in the exercise of the best and most perfect’ (1098*16-18). A number of questions arise. First, is the second half of the quoted sentence a conclusion of the function argument, or something further added? It seems more natural to take it as part of the argument, and this is one of the strong points of the inclusive interpretation. Thus, Roche argues that there is nothing in the function argument which suggests that the human good should be confined to activities which are the exercise of contemplative virtue. To reach such an intellectualist conclusion, the argument should have concluded ‘the function of man is activity of soul in accordance with theoretical reason’; but of course it says nothing of the kind.® However,

if we are to take this section in accordance with the

inclusive view, we have to translate the final part of the sentence not, as most translators do, as ‘the best and most perfect among them’, but ° “Ergon and Eudaimonia’, 183.

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as Ackrill translates, ‘the best and most complete virtue’, that is to say, virtue which is the whole of which the individual virtues are parts. There are several difficulties about this. It is true that the Greek word daper77 like the English word ‘virtue’ can be used as a mass-noun (as in ‘a man of great virtue’) or as a count-noun (as in ‘a man of many virtues’), but on Ackrill’s view Aristotle is made to switch from the mass-noun to the count-noun use and back again to the mass-noun use within a space of ten words. Secondly, there is a problem about the Greek word which is translated ‘perfect’. The word means literally ‘endy’; in different contexts the most appropriate English version may be ‘final’, ‘perfect’, or ‘complete’. As we have already seen, the sense ‘complete’ is the appropriate one in the parallel passages of the EE. But is it the appropriate one here? In its favour, it may be said that in the very next line Aristotle goes on to speak of ‘a perfect life’, which clearly means a complete life as opposed to a partial or interrupted one. But the relevant sense here is surely the one explained by Aristotle in setting out the preambles to the function argument at 1097730. The sense is well explained by Heinaman: If we assume that ‘teleion’ means the same at 1097°30 and 1098*19, then it can be proved that ‘the most teleion’ virtue at 1098*18 cannot mean ‘the most comprehensive virtue’. For Aristotle explains what he means by ‘more teleion’ (teleioteron) at 1097*30-°6, and that explanation is incompatible with an interpretation of‘teleion’ as meaning ‘complete’. I take 1097730-°6 to be saying: x is more teleion than y if (i) x is chosen for its own sake and y is always chosen for the sake of some-

thing else, or (ii) x is chosen for its own sake and never for the sake of anything else, and y is chosen for its own sake and for the sake of something else. Aristotle gives wealth as an example of an end which is chosen for the sake of something else (109727) and honor as an example of something chosen for its own sake (1097°24). So honor is more teleion than wealth on Aristotle’s criterion. But of course honor is not a more complete or comprehensive end than wealth. (p. 38)

Heinaman concludes that the second part of the sentence under discussion refers to perfect happiness, not just happiness, and is therefore going on to make a further point, derived not just from the function argument but also from the notion of finality. I would prefer

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to say that Aristotle is at this point leaving room for, rather than arguing for, the identification of contemplation with perfect happiness. It is only later that Aristotle goes on to distinguish between moral and

intellectual

virtues;

and

within

intellectual

virtues

between

wisdom and understanding. Only in book 10 are moral virtues, plus the intellectual virtue of wisdom which is interlinked with them, eliminated as constituents of the supreme happiness.

It seems to me an error to say either that in this passage ‘most perfect virtue’ means total virtue, or that it means intellectual virtue. Cooper, in his earlier treatment, took it in the latter sense, saying that it means a most final virtue, one that has its value entirely in itself; this, he claimed, must be the virtue of the contemplative intellect.’

Roche criticized Cooper in the following terms: This interpretation must be wrong. For in the very same discussion which Cooper cites, Aristotle says that intelligence (nous) and every virtue are chosen both for themselves and for the sake of eudaimonia. Since sophia is a virtue, Aristotle cannot, without contradiction, assert that it is teleiotate in the

sense insisted on by Cooper. (p. 186)

Roche’s criticism fails. All virtues are chosen for the sake of happiness (for the sake of their activities); but virtues other than understanding, according to Aristotle (1177°3), are ones where we pursue something other than their activity for its own sake. In the case of codia we do not seek anything other than the contemplation which is its exercise. So that understanding can be the most perfect virtue, in the sense defined, even though the virtue of understanding is not as perfect as happiness itself (which on the intellectualist view is not understanding but the contemplation which is the exercise of understanding). But it is not correct to say that in the passage in book 1, Aristotle is referring to understanding. Rather, he is giving a description which he will show only later, in book 10, to be uniquely satisfied by codia.

According to the traditional view, the clause ‘if there are several virtues, in accordance with the best and most perfect’ keeps open a place for the eventual doctrine of NE 1o that happiness is the activity of the supreme virtue of understanding. Even Ackrill, the doyen of the inclusive interpreters, does not try to deny that in NE 10 a dominant view of happiness is adopted. No doubt we are wise not to take it for granted that NE 1 and NE to were written in a single stint; but there is evidence that when NE 1 was written 7 Reason and Human Good in Aristotle, 100 n. 10.

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Aristotle was thinking of the topic of NE 10 (at 1096%5 he refers to a later discussion of the theoretical life) and that when he wrote NE 10

he had in mind NE 1 (1177°11, where he refers to an earlier discussion which established that happiness consisted in the exercise ofvirtue). In book ro the argument goes: if happiness is activity which is the exercise ofvirtue, it is reasonable that it should be activity which is the exercise of the most excellent virtue: and this will be that of the best thing in us (1177712-13). This is either the understanding (vos) or something like it, so the activity of this in accordance with its proper virtue will be perfect happiness. What does ‘perfect’ mean here? If it means ‘final’ rather than complete, that suggests that it meant the same in the passage NE 1 to which reference has just been made; if it means ‘complete’ then again it implies that there is nothing else in happiness other than the contemplative activity of vows. Aristotle then goes on to show that theoretic contemplation possesses all the qualities which, according to book 1, were, in popular opinion and in truth, properties of happiness. Thus: it is the best activity, most continous and durable, the pleasantest, the most selfsufficient; it is loved for its own sake, and therefore perfect in the sense

of final (1177*19-°24). If Aristotle underwent a spectacular change in his view of happiness between book 1 and book 10 he wrote book to in such a way as to cover up the change entirely. So much for the perfection of happiness. The other property which must be considered is its self-sufficiency. Aristotle’s requirement that happiness must be self-sufficient, as Heinaman says, is the main argument of those who wish to press an inclusive interpretation of NE x. Aristotle lays down self-sufficiency as a formal requirement of happiness, defining the self-sufficient (ro avtapxés) as ‘that which on its own makes life worthy of choice and lacking in nothing’ (1097°14-15). If perfect happiness on its own makes life desirable and lacking in nothing, then, so it is argued, it cannot be restricted solely to contemplation. For obviously there are all sorts of other goods which would be lacking in a life of pure contemplation. We must distinguish two questions. Is Aristotle asking:

(1) Is the happy man self-sufficient? (2) Is x by itself sufficient for happiness? The two questions, though they may be connected, are in themselves quite distinct. Someone, for instance, who regarded love as the essence of happiness might answer the first question in the negative

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and the second in the affirmative. Aristotle himself does not think that a happy man is self-sufficient—he makes this plain when he discusses the question whether a happy man needs friends—but he does think that contemplation alone (provided the conditions for realizing it have been fulfilled) is sufficient to make a man happy, and he gives as a reason for identifying happiness with contemplation that the contemplative approaches self-sufficiency more closely than the pursuer of the active life (1177*25: like the just man, the contemplative will need the necessities of life, but he will not need objects of well-doing,

and he will be able to theorize alone, even though he will do it better with colleagues). The final passage which calls for discussion is the one which immediately follows the discussion of self-sufficiency. Aristotle says that when we are looking for happiness we are looking for something which, when not added to anything else, is most choice-worthy— though clearly, if so added, more choice-worthy with even the least additional good. If happiness were meant as an inclusive end, as the sum total of goods sought for their own sake, it would be absurd to speak of goods additional to happiness. Hence, Aristotle does not consider happiness as an inclusive end—unless he means the suggestion of addition to be absurd. Ackrill and others maintain that he does, saying that the condition— ‘if so added’—is a per impossibile condition, because happiness already contains all goods which could possibly have been added to it. The condition has been taken as an impossible one, it must be admitted, even in antiquity, when Aspasius said that happiness could not be added to other things. This was on the rather different ground that other things were means to happiness, and an end and the means to it cannot be added together to make anything more choice-worthy, with reference to a passage in Topics 3.8 But the interpretation which takes the suggestion of addition seriously is much commoner among medieval commentators: the passage is taken in this way by Eustratius, Albertus Magnus, and Thomas Aquinas. Those who wish to interpret book 1 in a comprehensive way have two difficult options when they come to book 10. Either—like Ackrill—they accept the intellectualist interpretation of book 1o, which seems plain on the face of it; or they must implausibly explain away the intellectualism of book 10. Thus Roche: * Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca, xix. 16.

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The first book, as I have argued, presents a concept of the ergon and nature of man which involves practical (and moral) elements no less than theoretical ones. So if the tenth book identifies man with his theoretical intellect, we must attribute to Aristotle a contradiction so evident that he could not possibly have failed to see it. It appears that unless one is willing to accept the idea that NE 10. 7-8 is a textual anomaly, the traditional intellectualist interpretation of these passages must be abandoned. The rejection ofthis view will require the development of a plausible inclusive end interpretation ofAristotle’s discussion ofthe good in these chapters ofthe Ethics. (p. 194)

On the face of it, the concluding section of the NE, instead of offering, like the ZE, a single life offering all the values sought by the promoters of the three traditional lives, offers us a first-class, perfect happiness, consisting of the exercise of understanding, and an alternative, second-class career consisting in the exercise of wisdom and the moral virtues. The main reason why interpreters are motivated to reject the intellectualist position is that they do not find it credible as a piece of philosophy, and as admirers of Aristotle they are unwilling to saddle his mature ethical work with such a strange doctrine. Devereux has argued’ that if the contemplative lacks moral virtue, there is nothing to prevent him from being quite ruthless in pursuing his goal. For example, he may by betraying a friend gain a large sum of money and thereby assure himself years of leisure for philosophizing. What would hold him back? In my book The Aristotelian Ethics | took up the notion of wavovpyia or cunning, as described in the EE. The cunning man pursues a single dominant goal and is ruthless about other values. An intemperate man who pursued pleasure, come what may, would, provided he was intelligent, provide an obvious example of a cunning man. But so, if Iam right, would the man who gave himselfto the single hearted and unrelenting pursuit of philosophy without regard for the moral virtues. A person who organized his life entirely with a view to the promotion of philosophical speculation would be not wise but cunning ... The type of person whom many regard as the hero of the NE, turns out, by the standards of the EE, to be a vicious and ignoble character. (p. 214)

The objection may be phrased thus:"° if Aristotle made contemplation alone a constituent of perfect happiness, then in cases where there is a conflict between the demands of moral virtue and the demands of ° In his review of Cooper, Reason and Human Good inAristotle: ‘Aristotle on the Active

and Contemplative Lives’, Philosophy Research Archives, 3 (1977), 834-44.

0 See Heinaman, ‘Eudaimonia and Self-Sufficiency’, 51.

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contemplation, Aristotle must say that the agent should engage in contemplation, even if the alternative is saving his neighbour from a burning house. This objection is thus answered by Heinaman: ‘Aristotle’s position is that contemplation is the best part of the total life of a person. But that does not mean that there are no other valuable elements in the total life of a person which have value—in part—independently of their contribution to contemplation’ (p. 53). It is wrong to think that if perfect happiness is contemplation, then anything has value only in so far as it contributes to contemplation, and that anything is an intrinsic good only if it is a component ofhappiness: “Thus moral action too has intrinsic value independently of any contribution it may make to contemplation, even though it is not a component of perfect eudaimonia ... In the particular case, the thing to do may well be to save one’s neighbour from the burning house because in that case, as the practically wise man was able to judge, moral action was better than contemplation (ibid.). Others have offered different ways of absolving Aristotle from excessive intellectualism. John Cooper, in his paper of 1987, has endeavoured to draw the sting of the intellectualist passages in book to in the following manner. When Aristotle says that contemplation is perfect happiness, he is not saying that contemplation is the whole of happiness. He is saying that contemplation is the best part of, the fine flower of, a happiness which contains also the activity of the moral virtues. But this is unconvincing. First, the account seems to be vulnerable

to the arguments of an earlier Cooper,'! who showed that 1176°26 ff. is to be taken as distinguishing between a first-class happiness consisting in the exercises of oodia and an alternative second-class

happiness consisting of wisdom and the moral virtues. Secondly, the argument for saying that understanding is superior to wisdom and the life of the virtues is that it makes its practitioner more self-sufficient: he does not need the money or the cohorts which the pursuer of political happiness does. But if, as Cooper now suggests, the theorizer is also the politician, he mi// need all these things and will lack the self-sufficiency canvassed by book to. Will the contemplative of book 10 in fact possess the moral virtues? Some commentators have answered yes, and some have answered no; "’ Reason and Human Good in Aristotle, 157-60.

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all have been repelled by the idea of the ruthless, treacherous theorizer, whether or not they regard him as Aristotle’s own ideal. But what demands, according to Aristotle, does morality really make ofthe person of contemplative excellence? Before answering this question, let us note that there is a distinction, in Aristotle, between failing to possess the moral virtues and falling into moral turpitude. Somebody, without actually being morally virtuous or admirable, may none the less fulfil minimum moral demands such as refraining from murder, theft, and adultery. An Aristotelian moral candidate may, as it were, obtain a pass degree in morality without obtaining the honours degree awarded for the excellence of moral virtue. The Nicomachean position surely is that the contemplative will possess the moral virtues, but that they will not constitute part of his happiness. That will be constituted by contemplation alone. None the less, being a human being, and a good human being, he will practise the moral virtues also. But the activity of moral virtue is given its definition by the mean, and the mean differs from person to person. The right number, for instance, of brave actions will be greater for the politician than it will be for the theorizer. Wisdom, which determines the mean, will prescribe differently in the two cases, because of the

different overarching end which constitutes the chief happiness of each ofthe two types ofvirtuous person. It will diminish the demands of the other fine and noble activities, in order to preserve the maximum room for contemplative happiness. Is it not a difficulty that on this view it will not be true that the contemplative does everything else for the sake of contemplation? And

if he does not do everything else for the sake of contemplation, how can contemplation constitute his happiness? If he really did everything else for the sake of contemplation, why should he rescue his neighbour from burning if it distracts from contemplation? The difficulty can only be resolved by taking a minimalist interpretation of those passages in the first book of the NE which say that happiness is that for the sake of which everything else is done. On the account just given, the contemplative will sometimes do temperate things for the sake of his philosophy (to avoid the hangover which would impede his research, for instance), but he will also do temperate things for their own sake (he doesn’t want to let himself get soft, for instance).

The objection to the theorizer, on this interpretation, is not that he

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will let his neighbour’s house burn down, or that he will steal in order to get an adequate research fund. It is rather that he will not do such things as volunteering to fight in the course of a just war. He is likely to take a course of action such as that taken by W. H. Auden at the beginning of the Second World War, crossing the Atlantic to nurture his talent in less dangerous surroundings. It is noticeable how in the course of the last two decades the positions of the intellectualist interpreters and the comprehensive interpreters of the NE have come closer and closer together. But no explanation succeeds in the three goals which most commentators have set themselves: (1) to give an interpretation of book 1 and book 10 which does justice to the texts severally; (2) to make the two books consistent with each other; (3) to make the resulting interpretation one

which can be found morally acceptable by contemporary philosophers. And even if NE 1 and NE 10 are reconcilable, the NE as a whole seems to have two different heroes: the contemplative of 1 and 10, and the great-souled man of 2-4. Both characters are difficult to make palatable for twentieth-century readers. But must we judge Aristotle’s ethics solely by the Nicomachean position? Those who are prepared to take seriously the EE as an expression of Aristotle’s mature theory are able to preserve their admiration intact without doing violence to any of the relevant texts of the NE. The perfect virtue whose exercise in a perfect life constitutes happiness, according to EE 1, is the sum total of the virtues discussed in the central books of the EE, and is treated again as a unified whole in the first part of the final chapter of EE 8 under the description Kkadokayabia. Clearly, anyone who deserves the description caAds xdyaO6s must have all the individual virtues, just as a body can only be healthy if all, or at least the main parts of it, are healthy. Aristotle develops the theme that natural goods, like health and wealth, are beneficial only to a good man; to a bad man they may be positively harmful. But among good men we must distinguish between those of a utilitarian cast, who pursue virtue for the sake of non-moral goods, and the xaAoi kdyaboi who pursue the natural goods only for the sake of the virtuous actions for which they are useful. For the ideally virtuous man, according to the EE, the concepts good, pleasant, and fine coincide in their application. If what is pleasant for aman differs from what is good for him, then he is not yet perfectly good but incontinent; if what is good for him does not coincide with

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what is fine for him, then he is not yet xadds xdya66s but only aya6és; for the kaAds xaya8ds the natural goods ofhealth and wealth and power are not only beneficial but fine, since they subserve his virtuous activity. So for him, goodness, fineness, and pleasantness coincide. The bringing about of this coincidence is the task of ethics. But whereas something can be fine or good whether it is a state or an activity, it is only an exercise or activity that can be pleasant. So it is in the fine activities of the good man that the highest pleasure is to be found, and where pleasure, goodness, and fineness meet. But the fine

activities of the good man are the exercises of perfect virtue with which happiness was identified in book r. Among these are the activities of the philosophic life. If xadAoxayaia is a synthesis ofthe virtues of the parts ofthe soul in the way that health is a synthesis of the health of various parts of the body, then it must include the virtues of the intellectual parts of the soul as well as of the passional part. But not only is it part of happiness, it also sets the standard to which the activities of the other virtues must conform if they are to remain within the realm of virtue and happiness. Virtuous action consists in executing choices about the right amount of things—of the passions and external goods which are the field of operation of the moral virtues. What particular behaviour in concrete circumstances counts as virtuous living cannot be settled without consideration of the contemplation and service of God. In the EE Aristotle makes a distinction between constituents and necessary conditions of happiness (1214°24-7). Using this terminology, one can bring out clearly the distinction between the two Ethics. Whereas in both external goods are only necessary conditions, in the EE wisdom plus moral virtue is a constituent of the primary happiness, while in the NE it is at best a necessary condition ofit. In the EE the best of what can be achieved by action is a state in which all the parts of the soul, gua human, are operating well. That wisdom plus moral virtue is part of happiness, because of being the right functioning of one part of the soul, is stated most clearly not in an exclusively Eudemian book, but in the common book on the intellectual virtues; but elsewhere I have presented arguments, which I regard as decisive, for showing that this properly belongs with the EE. The final book of the EE spells out the way in which this happens. The activity of wisdom plus moral virtues is itself part of the exercise of virtue which constitutes happiness; it has an efficient causal relationship to the contemplative happiness, but it is also itself a form happiness, by

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being a form of service to God. It contributes to happiness by being part of it, in the way that good breathing contributes to good singing; not in the way that (say) eating certain foods rather than others may contribute to good singing. ‘As in the universe, so in the soul, God moves everything by mind’, says Aristotle in the final book of the EE (1248#26). Since the prime mover in the cosmos moves as an object oflove, we are left to conclude that the intellectual love of God is, for the EE, also the prime motive within the soul. The measure of virtuous living is, for the EE, the contemplation and service of God. The old Catholic Catechism, having asked ‘Who made you?’ and received the answer “God made me’, went on to ask ‘Why did God make you?’ and answered ‘God made me to know him, love him, and serve him in this life, and be happy with him for ever in the next.’ The account which the EE gives of the point oflife seems, when decoded, to be remarkably similar: the key to virtue is to know, love, and serve God; and that knowledge, love, and service constitute happiness in this life, whether it be mortal or immortal. St John’s College, Oxford

ON ASBOOK- TITLE BY CHRYSIPPUS: ‘ONGPHESEAG TyDHA EREVAN GEENGGS ADMITTED DIALECTIC ALONG WITH DEMONSTRATIONS: JACQUES BRUNSCHWIG

ALTHOUGH Sadly incomplete, the catalogue of book-titles by Chrysippus, at the end of Diogenes Laertius 7, is a fascinating document. Taken as a whole, it might feed endless meditations about the gaps in our information and the distortion of the picture which ancient times have left us to work with. Its detailed contents are no less exciting. Most of the titles listed are so precisely worded and described (with the number of books of the treatise, and often the name of an addressee) that they can hardly have any other source than Chrysippus himself. The same cannot be said of the carefully articulated order of the list; but this order, if perplexing in some respects, is fundamentally faithful to the original teaching method explicitly advocated by Chrysippus (more on this later), so that we can surmise that the list, if not made by him, was at least compiled and put into order by somebody who had some definite knowledge about his view of the matter.'! As a source of evidence, or at least as an occasion for © Jacques Brunschwig 1991 Denis O’Brien very kindly read an earlier version of this text, and suggested many improvements. | am very grateful to him for his help.

' “The source ofthe catalog is not known, and we cannot be certain that Chrysippus arranged his works in this way. But there can be no serious doubt that the arrangement has Stoic authority’ (A. A. Long, ‘Dialectic and the Stoic Sage’, inJ.M. Rist (ed.), The

Stoics (Berkeley, 1978), 118). For bibliographic details concerning the catalogue Long refers to M. Gigante, Diogene Laerzio, 2nd edn. (Rome and Bari, 1983), ii. 541 n. 233. According to Dyroff, Programm des K. Neuen Gymnasium zu Wirzburg (1895-6), and Cronert, Kolotes und Menedemos (Leipzig, 1906), both quoted by Gigante, the arrangement was made by Apollodorus of Seleucia, a pupil of Diogenes of Babylon. But see now the account ofM. Baldassari, La logica stoica: Testimonianze e frammenti, ii. Crisippo, Il catalogo degli scritti e 1frammenti dai papiri (Como, 1985), 5-18, who suggests a plausible attribution to a follower of Apollodorus, Apollonius of Tyre, author ofa [Tivagé tav a6 Zivwvos dirocdgwy kai tav BiBAiwy (Strabo, 14. 24).

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speculation and attractive guesswork, the catalogue has perhaps not yet delivered everything it is able to deliver. My purpose here is to substantiate those claims by taking the example of a single title, which may perhaps be of interest to the respected friend and scholar whom we are here honouring. This title is ITepi tov éyxpivew tods apxaiovs Thy diadeKtiKHv adv Tais amobdeiéecr mpos Zivwva f’, ‘On the Fact that the Ancients Admitted Dialectic along with Demonstrations, to Zeno [of Tarsus], two books’ (D.L. 7. 201). I do not claim, of course, to be able to reconstruct the contents of this interestingly labelled treatise. I shall try only to say what can be safely inferred, first from the title itself (from now on abbreviated as PTE), secondly from the place of this title within the whole list; in the third and last section of the paper I shall follow up one of the possible consequences of these first results.

Let us begin with an internal consideration of the title PTE. At first sight it seems to describe a purely historical investigation: Chrysippus does not say, in his title, whether he thought ‘the Ancients’ were right or wrong to ‘Admit Dialectic along with Demonstrations’. However, it is practically certain that he agreed with them and that he said he agreed: otherwise he would probably have somehow expressed

disagreement in his title.’ We can also surmise that Chrysippus invoked the authority of ‘the Ancients’ in order to defend dialectic against people who believed that demonstration was the only respectable way to truth and knowledge. The wording of the title (€yxpiveww tiv S:adrextiKyHv adv tais a7rod«iéeor) Clearly shows that dialectic and apodeictic were not put on the same level; it implies that demonstrations are obviously

reliable, and that it is necessary to argue in favour of dialectic, in order * When Chrysippus writes in a polemical fashion, he usually says so in the title: see the many ‘Replies to the objections urged against . . .’, ‘Against those who believe .. .’, and in particular ITepi rdv obK dpOws tots dpors dvTiAeyouévwv, D.L. 7. 199. Some

modern translators introduce an expression of approval in their rendering of PTE: ‘That the Ancients rightly admitted Dialectic as well as Demonstration’ (R. D. Hicks, Diogenes Laertius (Loeb Classical Library; London and Cambridge, Mass., 1958), ii. 317); ‘Dariiber da die Alten zu Recht zugleich mit den Beweisen die Dialektik anerkannt haben’ (K. Hiilser, Die Fragmente zur Dialektik der Stoiker (Stuttgart, 1987-8), i. 187). This rendering is easily forgivable, but literally incorrect; it is not supported by the late use of éyxpiver with the meaning ‘to approve’ (cf. LSJ, s.v. 4).

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conception of dialectic involved in PTE was thus a rather pejorative one, very far from the exalted notion of it which we associate with the name

of Plato, and which seems to be revived in one of the Stoic

definitions of it’ (‘the science of things true and false and neither true nor false’, D.L. 7. 42). Rather, it was almost certainly the standard conception of dialectic which we associate with the name of Aristotle, and which seems to be revived in another Stoic definition (‘the art of discoursing correctly on arguments by question and answer’, D.L., ibid.). To this definition, we must add only one more feature: if the epistemic credentials of dialectic are questionable, if they need to be enhanced, it is of course because this art of discoursing may be used both ‘pro’ and ‘con’. That the overall strategy of PTE was a defensive one is supported by a neighbouring title in the catalogue, [Tepi tv dvtiAeyouévwr Tos diarextixois y’. This defence of dialectic would probably have had to destroy some claim of monopoly on behalf of apodeictic science. Such a claim was certainly made from within the Stoic school: Zeno had assigned to dialectic a rather limited and mostly negative significance (SVF 1. 49, 50); his disciple Aristo of Chios, taking a stronger line, said that logic is ‘nothing to us’ (D.L. 7. 160) and wrote ‘Against the Dialecticians’ (ibid. 163); he was ‘especially attached to the Stoic dogma that the Sage does not hold opinions’ (ibid. 162), and it is safe to assume that, in his view, this dogma implied a rejection of dialectic. Of course Chrysippus agreed with the dogma (he also wrote Arodeiters mpos 76 u7 So0€dcew Tov coder, ibid. 201); but he did not

draw the same conclusions at all from it. In this fight (where his taste for logic and his logical genius were at stake) he did not find it useless to invoke the authority of ‘the Ancients’—hence the PTE. What the title PTE leaves unclear, however, is whether dialectic was thought to be legitimate because it could do some special job, which demonstrations were thought unable to do, or because for some reason it was permitted, or even recommended, to have a dialectical approach towards pieces of knowledge which demonstration could also secure. After this first look at PTE, the next step is of course to ask the 3 At least this is the implication if this definition means—as | am not certain that it does—that the dialectician, as such, knows which things are true and which are false and which are neither, and not only that he knows which things admit ofbeing true or false and which do not.

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question ‘Who are “the Ancients”?’ It is clear that the title PTE has, for us, a distinctively Aristotelian ring in its vocabulary and background. If it is questionable whether we should admit dialectic along with demonstration, that means that dialectic falls short, in some way or other, of the rigour and scientific value of demonstration; if it is never-

theless right to admit dialectic along with demonstration, it may be because the apodeictic method needs a dialectical support, e.g. in order to secure the undemonstrable principles which are necessary to the apodeictic procedure, it may also be because it is both possible and fruitful, at least for some applications of apodeictic methods, to have the way prepared for them by dialectical preliminary moves. We usually associate the different aspects of this view of dialectic with the name of Aristotle, and on the whole rightly so. Right from the beginning of the Topics and of the Prior Analytics, Aristotle draws a sharp distinction between demonstration and the ‘dialectical syllogism’. This distinction does not prevent him from giving both procedures a place in his theory and practice, roughly for the two reasons indicated above: first, the apodeictic method used in special sciences necessarily implies undemonstrable principles, and ‘the task of dealing with them [in order to justify them] belongs properly, or most appropriately, to dialectic’ (Top. 1, 101°2-3); secondly, ‘philosophical’ problems can be fruitfully approached and initially clarified by dialectical methods, before being definitely settled by scientific

demonstration (ibid. 101734-6).* It might even be the case that Chrysippus here refers not only to Aristotle generally, but more specifically to a distinct phase in Aristotle’s evolution, if one agrees to speak of him in developmental terms. It has been argued with much plausibility that, before his discovery of the formal syllogistic proper, as exposed in the Prior Analytics, Aristotle’s methodological thought was dominated by the polarity dialectic/apodeictic.° * Whatever Aristotle exactly means here by tas xara giAocodiav émoryuas, a science similar to what he will call the ‘science of being’ is certainly included. On the enormous problems raised by Aristotle’s method in his Metaphysics see e.g. C. Rossitto, ‘La possibilita di un’indagine scientifica sugli oggetti della dialettica nella Metafisica di

Aristotele’, Atti dell'Istituto Veneto di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti, 136 (1977-8), 363-89; T. H. Irwin, ‘Le caractere aporeétique de la Métaphysique d’Aristote’, forthcoming in Revue de meétaphysique et de morale. > Cf. F. Solmsen, Die Entwicklung der aristotelischen Logik und Rhetorik (Berlin, 1929). Solmsen’s claims on the chronological priority of the combination Dialectic/ Apodeictic (Top. + Post. An.) as against the formal syllogistic of Pr. An. were criticized by Ross; they have been powerfully, and I think successfully, defended and strengthened

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But we are probably going much too fast: the recent discussions about the reality and extent of Aristotelian influence on the Stoics call for prudence. It is true that even the most vigorous opponent of any extensive influence of Aristotle’s school-works on the Stoics, F. Sandbach in his thought-provoking Aristotle and the Stoics,° is ready to make some exception in favour of the Topics. Still, Sandbach’s warning should be kept in mind. After all, Chrysippus does not mention Aristotle, but ‘the Ancients’. The Stoics frequently did the same. They were ready to call ‘ancients’ people who chronologically were not very far from themselves—a way of speaking which, by the way, eloquently testifies to their consciousness, right or wrong, of being ‘new’ and highly original thinkers. The examples at hand usually seem to refer to Plato and his school. Thus, according to Zeno, the universal notions

were called ‘ideas’ by ‘the ancients’ (SVF 1. 65). The examples there given (‘men, horses, and generally speaking all animals’) might remind us of the allegedly Xenocratean limitation of the world of ideas to ideas of natural species.’ But we must resist the temptation to think of such a limitation, since Zeno unhelpfully generalizes to ‘everything else of which it is said that there are ideas’. Therefore his ‘ancients’ must be both Plato and, generally speaking, Platonists. Another example calls for more comment. According to Chrysippus’ ipsissima verba in his On Lives, book 4, quoted by Plutarch (Stoic. rep. 1035 A), ‘the ancients were right in their sayings (7a efpnuéva) about the three kinds of theoretical concerns for philosophers, namely logic, ethics, and physics’. Chrysippus may here by Jonathan Barnes, ‘Proof and the Syllogism’, in E. Berti (ed.), Aristotle on Science: The Posterior Analytics (Padua, 1981).

* (Cambridge, 1985). With some degree of approval, Sandbach (p. 19) quotes Long: ‘The titles of Chrysippus’s logical works prove that he wrote at enormous length on techniques of argument and the handling of sophisms; in this respect he may be regarded as one of the heirs of Aristotle’s 7opics’ (Dialectic and the Stoic Sage’, 11112). Sandbach also quotes (Aristotle and the Stoics, 7o-1 n. 46) another sentence by Long saying ‘it seems to me notat all impossible that the 7opics were issued to the public and that they stimulated Chrysippus’. Sandbach even admits (p. 19), perhaps too generously, that ‘it would not be surprising, in view of Aristotle’s satisfaction with [the Topics], expressed at [SE] 184 b, if he did cause them to be “published” at Athens’. A possible objection is that this ‘satisfaction’ is expressed before an audience of students. Furthermore, if Sandbach accepts a possible influence of the Topics on Chrysippus, still he does not believe that the reality and extent ofthis influence can be assessed (pp. 19, O-1).

i 7 Compare the Xenocratean definition of idea as the ‘paradigmatic cause of things which always subsist by nature’, in Procl. /n Plat. Parm. 691 Stallbaum = fr. 94 in M. Isnardi-Parente, Senocrate-Ermodoro, Frammenti (Naples, 1982).

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endorse either one or the other of various views about the origins of the standard Stoic and Hellenistic tripartition of philosophy, which are attested elsewhere, and according to which the tripartite scheme originates (1) with Plato;® (2) with Plato’s Academic and Peripatetic successors;’ (3) with Plato implicitly (Suvdéuec) and with Xenocrates and the Peripatetics explicitly.'° Given Chrysippus’ expression xa7a Ta 6pas b76 TaV dpxaiwv eipnpéva, it is not likely that he would endorse (1); but this expression seems to be compatible with both (2) and (3), according to whether implicit ‘sayings’ are considered, or not, as ‘sayings’. Another piece of evidence seems to show that Chrysippus was not enormously interested in assigning precisely differentiated positions to the ‘ancients’ on the topic of dialectic. Plutarch reports (Stoic. rep. 1045 F) that, in his treatise On Dialectic, book 3, after remarking that dialectic was treated as a subject of serious concern by Plato and Aristotle and their successors down to Polemo and Strato and especially by Socrates and after exclaiming that one would be willing even to go wrong with so many men of such stature as these he continues in so many words: ‘For, if ithad been in passing that they spoke of the matter, one might perhaps have disparaged this subject; but since they have taken such care to speak as if dialectic is among the greatest and most indispensable of capacities, it is not plausible that they, being on the whole such men as we surmise, are so utterly mistaken.’ (Trans. Cherniss)

I suggest that this testimony, although it does not come from the PTE, may shed much light on it; it is obviously a part of the prodialectic strategy which Chrysippus meant to develop (as such, it could have taken place at some introductory stage—I must confess * Cf. D.L. 3. 56, and numerous other references given by Cherniss, Plutarch’s Moralia, xiii/2 (Loeb Classical Library; London and Cambridge, Mass., 1976), ad loc. °* Cf. Cic. Fin. 4. 2. 3-4, who eclectically and more Antiocheo refers to ‘those ancient disciples of Plato, Speusippus, Aristotle, Xenocrates, and their own disciples Polemo and Theophrastus’.

'© Cf. Sextus, M. 7. 16. It has been claimed with much plausibility that Xenocrates’ first intention was to describe the range of Plato’s concerns; in his view, this range was

of course identical with the ideal scope of philosophy as such. Cf. Isnardi-Parente, Senocrate—Ermodoro, 309-10. It is, however, misleading of Isnardi-Parente to write: ‘non

ad Aristotele ma a Senocrate si rifanno gli Stoici nella loro divisione (cf. SVF I, frr. 4546; Il, frr. 41-44)’. Either the quoted texts do not refer to Xenocrates at all, or they refer to him among a vast group ofPlato’s followers. As far as Aristotle is concerned, it is well known that the dialectical premisses and problems are classified by him according to the tripartite scheme (Top. 1, 10520). The presence of this scheme in the Protrepticus (fr. B 32 During), once advocated by Jaeger, Aristotle, 2nd edn. (Oxford, 1948), 84 n. 2, is much more dubious: cf. E. Berti, La filosofia del primo Aristotele (Padua, 1962), 476-7.

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that I am unable to imagine why it came in book 3 of On Dialectic, which contained four books). It shows that the argument from authority was handled by Chrysippus with some irony—perhaps some ad hominem irony;'' obviously the appeal to the ‘ancients’ was only an auxiliary weapon in this strategy. The amalgam between philosophers who had vastly different conceptions of dialectic may strike us as particularly scandalous: how could a serious reader of Plato’s Socratic dialogues, of the Republic, and of Aristotle’s Topics miss such blatant differences? Certainly Chrysippus was a serious reader of what he was in a position to read. But, as we have already seen, it is not at all certain that he had access to the Topics. Even if he did, he could possibly think bona fide that there was no fundamental difference between the Platonic teaching in the Republic, according to which mathematics (the star example of apodeictic science, of course) needed to be dialectically founded on some unhypothetical principle, and the Aristotelian

teaching in the Topics, according to which dialectic is the only or the most appropriate way of justifying the proper principles of each particular science. Finally, we must also take into account (given the prominent place conferred on Socrates in the list) the possibility that Chrysippus simply borrowed his farrago of pro-dialectic authorities from more recent philosophers, such as his contemporary and familiar target Arcesilaus, who claimed to be a genuine heir of this dialectical tradition.’? In any case, it is fairly clear that he did not pay any particular attention to Aristotle as a theoretician of dialectic; whatever he knew about the Topics, he did not think that Aristotle had a distinct and original conception of dialectic. However disappointing this conclusion might seem, and in spite of prima-facie appearances, it would thus be almost certainly a mistake to believe that he had Aristotle particularly in mind when writing his PTE. Perhaps we can hope to achieve more positive results if we turn now to the place ofthe title PTE within Diogenes’ catalogue. 1 Ariston had very probably invoked Socrates’ authority, at least in his rejection of physics. Cf. A. M. loppolo, Aristone di Chio e lo Stoicismo antico (Naples, 1980), 78-90.

‘2 This could explain why Arcesilaus is not mentioned in the list. An alternative explanation is suggested by Sandbach, Aristotle and the Stoics, 70: ‘perhaps Chrysippus did not include him among his list of authorities for the practice ofdialectic as being an unrelenting opponent of the Stoa and therefore not to be praised’. But Plutarch says (1046 B-c) that Chrysippus ‘never stopped quarrelling with’ the very same authorities, ‘stigmatizing their discourse [on topics like principle, goal, gods, justice] as being obscure, self-contradictory, and full of countless other faults’. Being philosophically faultless was certainly not a necessary condition for being quoted by Chrysippus as an authority in some context or other.

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II The immediately puzzling fact about PTE, and about a lot of other titles in its neighbourhood referring to definitional technique, theory of knowledge, dialectic, and rhetoric, is that they occur within the ethical, not within the logical, section of the catalogue. If we are ready to take seriously the ordering of this catalogue, whoever its author may be, we have to pay attention to this fact.!’ Works on the theory of dialectic do not appear in the logical section, except at the beginning of the list, where works of introductory character seem to have been put together (Dialectical Definitions; On Terms used in Dialectic, Dialectical Art, 189-90); the word ‘dialectical’ only recurs once later on in this section (On Dialectical Puzzles, 198). The main bulk of the logical section deals with logic proper, not with methodology nor with theory of knowledge.'* These last topics, on the other hand, are abundantly represented at the beginning of the ethical section. Let us now have an overall look at what remains of this ethical section (which is only partially preserved). It was divided into large sections, provided with specific titles; only three of them are left: (1) ‘On the articulation (é:a¢p@pwars) of ethical notions’; (2) ‘On the

common reason (Adyos) and the arts and virtues deriving from it’;'* (3) ‘On things good and evil’ (incomplete). Each of these large sections is further divided into a small number of ordered subsections or sub'S Long, ‘Dialectic and the Stoic Sage’, 124 n. 35, rightly says: ‘Bréhier’s claim that logical works have “surreptitiously” contaminated the ethical catalog (Chrsippe’, Paris, 1951, 21) raises more questions than it resolves.’ ‘4 The catalogue thus does not begin with what was, according to Diocles of Magnesia, the epistemological opening of a// Stoic accounts (D.L. 7. 49). On this point cf. J. Mansfeld, ‘Diogenes Laertius on Stoic philosophy’, Elenchos, 7 (1986), 364: ‘The decision to begin with the theory of knowledge . . . must have been made by later Stoics ...it determined Diogenes Laertius’ order of presentation. It also determines the order of subjects in SVF I and II and in much of learned literature. But it conveys a false impression of Chrysippus’ priorities. Chrysippus (if the beginning of his catalogue may be assumed to have authority) began with formal logic in our sense of the word. Which entails a surprizing anticipation of the views of modern logicians.’ Baldassari, La logica stoica, 7-14, tries to accommodate Chrysippus and Diocles, invoking in particular the possibility of some losses at the beginning ofthe catalogue, already pointed out by Von Arnim (SVF, 1, pp. xlvii—xlviii); but many of his arguments in fact bring out the weak

points of his thesis.

'S The location ofthis title within the ethical section has induced many translators to twisted renderings of Adyos, e.g. ‘the common view’ (Hicks, rightly criticized by Long, ‘Dialectic and the Stoic Sage’, 117-18), ‘la rappresentazione comune dell’etica’ (Gigante). Better ‘la ragione comune’ (Baldassari, La logica stoica, 35).

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groups (ovvrdéers), having no titles but more or less clearly organized around a given theme; each of those subsections contains no more than eight book-titles. PTE is the first title in the second ovvraéis of section 2. Let us adopt the following conventional designations: L and E for the logical and ethical parts of the catalogue; 1, 11, 1... for the large sections with titles; 1, 2, 3... for the cvvra€ecs; i, ii, iii, for the single titles. Thus PTE is E.1.2.i. If we try to account for its location, we must aim to discover the

internal logic of the pinacographer. The facts which we must take into consideration pertain to two different levels: first, the order of the different subsections within E.u; and secondly, the relationships between E.1 and the adjacent E.1 and E.m. On the first point: E.n, with its general title ‘On the common reason and the arts and virtues deriving from it’, contains three subsections. E.1.1 corresponds fairly obviously to the first member of the general title of E.n, namely the ‘common reason’; for the main notions involved in it are: discourse and thought (How it is that we name each thing and form a conception of it), notions, opinion and belief, caraAnyis,

science and ignorance, Adyos and its use. One remarkable title. in E.u.t is E..t.v, dzodeigers mpds 76 uA do€dcew tov coddv, which

I mentioned above. E. afterwards seems to follow the road indicated in its general title, and to turn from the primary level explored in E.1.1 to the main ‘arts’ deriving from the ‘common reason’. There are four items in E.1.2: dialectic is dealt with in E.n.2.i (i.e. PTE) and E.1.2.1i-iii; rhetoric is the subject of E.1.2.iv. It is fairly clear that the treatises here grouped were both accounts and defences of the two traditional

arts of Adyos, on a metatechnical level.’° However demonstrable it is that the Sage does not hold opinions (E.11.1.v), it must not be inferred from that dogma (pace Ariston) that dialectic and rhetoric must be dismissed. Chrysippus and his pinacographer evidently thought that it was one and the same thing to present dialectic as ‘an art deriving from the common reason’ and to justify its use and practice by the philosopher. The function of E.1.3, finally, seems to be to provide a smooth transition from the (‘logical’) arts to the (ethical) virtues; E.1.3.1 deals with the general notion of éé.s, which may cover both notions; E.1.3.11

deals with art and the absence of art; E.1.3.iii-v deal with ‘virtues’ or 16 Contrast the third title of the group, ITepi 7s d:aAexrixHs, with one ofthe first titles of L, Téyvn dcadrextix7.

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excellences, their differences (technical vs. ethical?) and their qualities. If we stick to the internal logic of E.1, we have thus to conclude that dialectic is mentioned in it only because, as a rightly recognized ‘art of rational language’, it is able to function as an intermediate step between the ‘common reason’, source ofevery art and virtue, ethical or not, and the specifically ethical virtues. On the second point: if we now turn to the higher level ofthe classification, however, we are told a rather different story. The gist of it is that if we pay attention to what can be guessed about the epistemic status of the treatises put together in E.1 and E.m, E.1 seems to strike a distinctly dialectical note, whereas E.m contains explicit claims to

demonstration. As far as E.1 is concerned, its general heading ‘On the articulation of ethical notions’ already points to dialectical procedures. To articulate a notion is obviously to analyse it and to try to define it; the method of dcdpOpwars refers not only forwards to the important role it will have in Epictetus (Diss. 2. 17. 7, 10, etc.), but also backwards to Socratic enquiries, if not to the definition-centred structure of Aristotle’s Topics, and to the Aristotelian contrast between definition and demonstration (Post. An. 2). It is therefore not surprising to find, in E.1.1, a vast number of ‘Definitions’. The other subsections seem to complete this definitional programme in two different ways, namely from the formal side and from the material side: E.1.2 and E.1.3 are devoted to definitional theory (On Similitudes, On Definitions in E.1.2; On Incorrect Objections against Definitions, On Species and Genera, On Divisions, On Contraries in E.1.3); E.1.4 and E.1.5 seem to explore some

of the fields from which ‘endoxal’ material about ethical notions can be collected (Etymologies, E.1.4; Proverbs, Poems, E.1.5).

A very remarkable feature of E.1 is the frequency of the term mOavov, a term prima facie foreign to Chrysippean vocabulary and thought. The word occurs in E.1.3.ii (7ifava ets tovs dpous) and E.1.3.vi (IiOava mpos tas diaipécers Kai ta yévn Kai Ta €idy Kai

(ra) mepi twv évavtiwyv). These titles do not, I think, refer to a dialectical treatment of the theory of definition itself, but rather to a dialectical way of dealing (‘pro’ and ‘con’) with definitions, divisions, etc. Still more importantly, we find the title [7i@ava Ajuparta eis ra doypnata y’, ‘Persuasive premisses for the dogmas’ (E.1.1.1ii), in such

a context that the ethical nature of these Séyuata is beyond any doubt; this title unambiguously shows that Chrysippus was prepared

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to accept, and himself to put into practice, a dialectical approach to ethical dogmas. In strong contrast with E.1, what is left of E.m (‘On things good and evil’) parades distinctly apodeictic claims: out of three and a half preserved anti-hedonistic titles, two are unambiguously called ‘Demonstrations’. E.n (with PTE in it) is thus sandwiched between two sections which both deal with ethical matters, the first at a distinctly dialectical level, the second at an explicitly apodeictic level. We thus discover an additional reason for PTE to have been located in E. The first reason was that dialectic, as a rational art of speaking, is a kind of technical

analogon of the rational art of living; the second reason (not at all inconsistent with the first one) is that there is a fully justified dialectical way leading to ethical knowledge, a way which is not exclusive of an apodeictic treatment of the same matter. There were enough ‘Persuasive premisses for the (ethical) dogmas’ (E.1.1.iii) for Chrysippus to fill three books with them.

II] Such a conclusion could help to elucidate one of the most glaring contradictions denounced by Plutarch in his untiring criticism of Stoic consistency. According to him (Stoic. rep. 1035 A, immediately following the passage quoted above), Chrysippus thought that the right teaching order of the three parts of philosophy should be logicethics—physics, theology being the last and most prestigious chapter of physics.’’ It follows that theology should never be presupposed at any previous step in the curriculum, particularly where teaching ethics is concerned. Nevertheless, Plutarch says this very doctrine, theology, which he says must be put last he habitually puts first and makes it the preface to every ethical enquiry, for it is plain to see that, be the subject goals or justice or good and evil or marriage and child-rearing or law and government, he makes no remark about it at all unless in the same '7 According to Sextus, M. 7. 22-3, this order was adopted by the Stoic school as a whole; the arguments given in the context may reflect Chrysippus’ own arguments. However, according to D.L. 7. 40, the order favoured by Zeno, Chrysippus, and some lesser people was logic-physics—ethics. Thus, even without Plutarch’s kind services, we should be faced with a ‘contradiction’.

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fashion in which the movers

of public decrees prefix the phrase ‘Good

Fortune’ he has prefixed Zeus, Destiny, Providence, and the statement that

the universe, being one and finite, is held together by a single power. (1035 B, trans. Cherniss)

Up to this point, Plutarch’s case against Chrysippus is probably less strong than he thinks; for what he says does not amount to showing that, contrary to what was to be expected from Chrysippus’ own sayings about the correct pedagogical order, his treatises of pure or applied ethics were explicitly grounded on theological foundations. From the main part of Plutarch’s evidence, all one may infer is that Chrysippus used to ‘prefix’ to his ethical works some sort of ritualized invocation to Zeus, Destiny, or Providence, which had neither more nor less relevance to the contents of the treatises than the ritual invocation to dya67% 7¥y7n could itselfhave to the contents ofthe law or decree to which it was prefixed. It could be just a way oflabelling the book with a typically Stoic trade mark, of marking it out as a genuinely Stoic one. However, one might perhaps think that things are more serious with the last bit of information given by Plutarch: for the statement ‘that the universe, being one and finite, is held together by a single power is indeed a fully fledged Stoic propositional dogma, not just lip-service to the names of familiar Stoic deities. If such a dogma was indeed ‘prefixed’ to (at least some of) Chrysippus’ ethical treatises, could not Plutarch rightly claim that theology was indeed presupposed as the logical basis of Stoic ethics? Not necessarily so. For, first of all, this dogma has nothing specifically theological in it; it is a physical statement, and nothing is said in it about the divine (rational, providential, etc.) nature of the unifying power of the cosmos. Secondly, nothing definite is said by Plutarch about the use made of this physical statement in Chrysippus’ ethical works. It was not necessarily used as a principle from which ethical theorems were apodeictically deduced; cosmic unity could also be used as a mere analogon for other forms of unity (e.g. marriage or government, mentioned by Plutarch among the subjects to which Chrysippus ‘prefixed’ such statements as this one). Thus far, Plutarch did not win his point; if he has no better argument for his claim, this very fact becomes rather alarming. He seems to be better off when he comes to quote three verbatim extracts from Chrysippus (1035 c-p). Let us look at these three quotations.

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1. The first one comes from On the Gods, book 3: ‘It is not possible to discover any other beginning (dAAnv dpyx7v) ofjustice or any source (aAAnv yéveovr) for it other than that from Zeus and from the universal nature, for thence everything of the kind must have its beginning if we are going to have anything really valuable to say about good and evil’

(trans. Cherniss, slightly modified).'® 2. The second quotation comes from Chrysippus’ Physical Theses: ‘For there is no other or more suitable way (ot yap éo7w &AAws 008’ oikevotepov) of approaching the theory of good and evil or the virtues or happiness than from the universal nature and from the dispensation of the universe.’ 3. The third extract has the same source, Plutarch says, ‘further on’:

‘For the theory of good and evil must be connected with these, since good and evil have no other better beginning or point ofreference (ovx ovons GAAns apxns atTw@v apueivovos 00d’ avadopas) and physical

speculation is to be undertaken for no other purpose than for the discrimination of good and evil’ (trans. Cherniss, slightly modified).!” Such quotations are, for once, largely sufficient to prove Plutarch’s point: here, at least, Chrysippus is explicitly advocating a theological foundation for his ethical theory; and this foundational order is blatantly inconsistent with the pedagogical order he professed to follow (logic, ethics, physics, at the end of which comes theology). But two important remarks need to be made. First, the origins of the three quotations are at least as important as their contents. Nobody has noticed, as far as I know, that all three of them come from theological and physical treatises: On the Gods and Physical Theses. This seems to imply that there was nothing of the kind to be found in ethical treatises: otherwise, Plutarch would have been only too happy to quote it as well. Therefore, Chrysippus’ foundationalist claims were uttered only at the final stage of his students’ ‘8 The text is doubtful. I keep Cherniss’s text from the Basiliensis edition of 1542, wéAAomev 7 épecv, but I think that the force of 7 can be strengthened (Cherniss simply translates: ‘if we are going to have anything to say’). On the same track, Pohlenz (Plutarchi Moralia, vi/2 (Leipzig, 1952)) had conjectured pédAopev dpOws mx epeiv. This conjecture has been kept in the second edition, revised by Westman (Leipzig, 1959), in spite of Castiglioni’s criticism (Gnomon, 26 (1954), 83-4). !” Cherniss did not translate éAAns, probably because he felt that ‘no other better beginning’ was rather awkward, if not self-contradictory; but the Greek is so, and it is important to keep these features, in view ofthe following discussion. We are entitled to pay careful attention to the letter of Plutarch’s Chrysippean quotations, given the general reliability of his information about Chrysippus’ works (cf. Babut, Plutarque et le stoicisme (Paris, 1969), esp. pp. 28-33, 225-37).

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curriculum, not at any previous stage of it. The ethical teachings preceding this final stage could thus be absolutely free from any physical or theological presupposition (except possibly, by way oflipservice, initial invocations to Zeus, Destiny, etc.); only at the end of

the curriculum were the students told that the ultimate foundations of what they had been taught before were to be sought in the physical and theological truths they were now introduced to. There is, I think, nothing unpedagogical in such a retroactive procedure; and there is nothing implausible in the supposition that Chrysippus might have adopted it. He had certainly written introductory ethical works (e.g. an Eicaywy? ths Tepi ayabwv Kai Kaxdv mpaypareias, not in Diogenes’ catalogue, but see SVF 3. 196. 17-41). Secondly, in one of the three Chrysippean quotations, (3), it is

explicitly said that there is ‘no other better beginning or point of reference’ for the theory of good and evil than physical and theological speculation. I assume that this rather twisted expression implies that there are other beginnings or points of reference, but that they are less good. Admittedly, (1) and (2) are less clear on this crucial point. Statement (1) seems to be much more exclusive: ‘it is not possible to discover any other beginning of justice or any source for it other than that from Zeus’, etc.; apparently no alternative is considered. Perhaps, however, we should press the condition spelt out at the end of the quotation: ‘if we are going to have anything really valuable to say about good and evil’. Chrysippus took the pain of articulating this condition; by doing so, perhaps he intended to leave open a possibility of saying something less valuable, but not without any value at all, on the basis of another beginning. As for (2), it is strangely ambiguous on the relevant point. Taken literally, the expression ‘there is no other or more suitable way’ is inconsistent: either there is no other way, whether more suitable or not; or there is no more suitable way, and there are other, less suitable ones. Should we perhaps understand: ‘there is no other or [rather no] more suitable way’? Or even more simply, without pressing the words, so as to get the same meaning as in (3): ‘there is no other, more suitable way’? In any case, the dubious text of (1) and the dubious meaning of (2) cannot wipe out the clear evidence of (3): the theological principle is the best foundation for ethics, it is not the only one. It is perfectly possible to give a valuable, if provisional, account of Stoic ethics without mentioning or using the physico-theological principles on which it is ultimately based. Our last step is of course to say: the provisional account of Stoic

On a Book-title by Chrysippus ethics, based on the diap6pwors

95

of ethical prenotions and using

definitional techniques, has a dialectical status; the definitive account

of Stoic ethics, based on theological first principles and using deductive procedures, has an apodeictic status. Perhaps PTE invoked ‘the Ancients’ in order to legitimate a kind of methodological dualism in the Chrysippean accounts ofStoic ethics. But PTE could also be of some help to modern commentators, who often debate and disagree on this very subject: is Stoic ethics to be understood as arguing from what is agreed (more Aristotelico), through the ‘articulation’ of moral preconceptions? Or is it deduced from a particular view ofthe place of human beings in divine cosmic nature?’ PTE gives us a right to answer: both. We need not choose. University ofParis I 20 For a clear account of the problem in those terms cf. T. H. Irwin, ‘Stoic and Aristotelian Conceptions of Happiness’, in M. Schofield and G. Striker (eds.), The

Norms ofNature (Cambridge, 1986), 208-9 and n. 4.

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THE

HARMONICS‘OF

STOIC VIRTUE

As A. LONG

Stoic philosophers maintained that happiness consists in living harmoniously (fv 6uoAoyouuévws) or living in harmony with nature (dpordoyouuévws 7H dvaer Cyv). The shorter phrase was Zeno’s original formulation of the ethical goal. He, or his commentators, glossed it as ‘living in accordance with a single and concordant rationale (or ratio)—Ka6’ éva Adyov Kai ctudwvov Cyv—since those who live in conflict are unhappy’ (Stob. 2. 75. 11 ff., SVF 1, 179/LS 638).' The longer formula, ‘living in harmony with nature’, was developed by Zeno’s successors (so we are told by Stobaeus, loc. cit.), because they took the shorter version to be an ‘incomplete predicate’:’ that is, the adverb 6uodAoyovpévws lacked an expression indicating that with which harmony was to be achieved, and they supplied it with ‘nature’. This technicality, one may suspect, is a rather laboured explanation of the longer formula. ‘Living harmoniously’ is perfectly intelligible grammatically and semantically, especially in light of the

observation that those who live in conflict are unhappy. Still, harmony is a relational notion, and Zeno must have intended his formula to be

understood accordingly. It implies that the life so characterized has an orderly structure, that its constituents are in agreement with one another and in agreement with everything else to which they are related. © A. A. Long rggr I offer this little essay to Tony Lloyd in deep gratitude for all that he has taught me about ancient philosophy in a friendship spanning over twenty years. Ptolemy, who makes a brief appearance here, is one of his favourites.

' References to excerpts in H. von and D. N. Sedley, are normally taken

Stoic texts in this paper include, where possible, the corresponding Arnim’s Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta [SVF] and those in A. A. Long The Hellenistic Philosophers (Cambridge, 1987) [LS]. My translations over from this latter collection.

? Reading éAarrov (7) xatnyopnua as proposed in LS, note in vol. ti, 63B.

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There is evidence to show that Chrysippus, in his use ofthe longer formula, was careful to exhibit both of these relationships: the internal—harmony with oneself; and the external—harmony with the world at large. His account of‘living in harmony with nature’ makes this plain: It is living in accordance with the nature of oneself and that of the whole,

engaging in no activity wont to be forbidden by the universal law, which is the right rationale [or ‘correct ratio’, dp6ds Adyos] pervading everything and identical to Zeus, who is the administrator ofexisting things. And the virtue of the happy man and his good flow oflife are just this: always doing everything on the basis of the concordance (xara tv cuudwriav) of each man’s daimon with the will of the administrator of the whole.’ (D.L. 7. 88, SVF 3. 4/LS 63¢)

My purpose in this paper is an analysis of what the early Stoics meant by a harmonious life or a life in harmony with nature. I want to investigate and speculate about their notion of harmony, a notion for which they had a variety oflocutions, including the preposition xara with the accusative as well as such nouns as 6uodoyia, adkoAovia, and aupgdwvia.’ The Stoic world is a systematic structure in which everything fits together according to a divine and rational plan. In proposing ‘harmony’ as a name for this structure, and ‘harmoniously’ as the mode oflife appropriate to it, the Stoics, so I shall argue, intended to link their philosophy to the art which comes first to mind as the repository of consonance and concordance—music. By ‘link’ I mean that they sometimes chose language and thought-patterns which make reference to Greek musical theory and which need to be interpreted against the background of that theory. The paper offers a preliminary argument for a hypothesis much too large to be fully developed here— that Greek music provides important, and hitherto totally neglected, clues for interpreting some basic Stoic concepts. In what follows I shall first present some Stoic material which supports the hypothesis, directly or indirectly. Next I shall make a brief foray into some Greek musical texts which seem to connect with, and to throw light upon, the Stoic material.’ In the course of this later * For interpretation of the term daimon, cf. note in LS, vol. ii, 63c. * These nouns can be synonymous (cf. the equivalence of duodoyia, dpyovia, and ovuyzgwvia in Plato, Sym. 187 B); but, as Andrew Barker points out to me, in technical harmonics ovzdwvia applies only to certain aesthetically special and structurally crucial relations, especially those of the fourth, fifth, and octave. * Trisk doing this in print only because Andrew Barker scrutinized an early draft of

this paper with great care, and sent me detailed comments and corrections for which I

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discussion I shall consider how the hypothesis might illuminate the harmonics of Stoic virtue.

II In the Stoic texts just presented the term symphonia appears in conjunction with the term Jogos. This is entirely explicable on the assumption that symphonia has its regular musical meaning ‘concord’ (cf. n. 4 above). It is a commonplace of mathematical harmonics that symphonia is a logos, a ratio between relatively high and low notes. Aristotle sometimes draws on this point, e.g. De sensu, 439°25 ff., where

he uses an analogy with the ratios of concords to make a point about pleasing mixtures of colours. May we take the Stoics to be drawing a comparable analogy between musical and ethical harmony? If this suggestion is to stand, evidence will be needed to show that they envisaged some conceptual connection between the two harmonies. The most obvious connection to look for is numerical or quantitative since this is crucial to the notion of a ratio between sounds. For this, as we shall see in due course, there is excellent evidence. Another connection that a proper analogy with music might seem to require is sound. Thus, Aristotle observes (Top. 4. 3, 123737) that symphonia may be predicated of sophrosyne, but such a usage is metaphor since strictly all symphonia pertains to sounds. This context is, of course, dialectical and Aristotle does not follow that rule in his own recourse to analogical use of symphonia in the passage from De sensu. Still, if one thinks of purely instrumental music, unassociated with language, a close connection between its harmonics and Stoic ethics would be tenuous at best. In fact, of course, song and word-rhythm as well as tonic pitch are integral features of Greek musical theory. Harmony can pertain to vocal utterances, and though in a strictly musical context these will be sung rather than spoken, song would be an absurd connection to look for in our hypothesized analogy.® A relevant connection would be am enormously grateful. 1 have tried to keep my remarks about musical theory to the minimum which he would approve, relying heavily on his masterly volume Greek Musical Writings, ii. Harmonic and Acoustic Theory (Cambridge, 1989) [GMW, and on what he has sent me in correspondence. For all speculations and errors | alone am responsible. ® Originally, on the evidence of De anim. 42627, | had supposed Aristotle to be committed to the position that the human voice is a cuwdwvia 71s, and he is so interpreted

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established if ethics in some sense as well as music involves an organized structure of sounds. Here it is pertinent to point out that the Stoics treated the vocal utterance of humans (phone) as the startingpoint ofdialectic or logic: ‘it is articulated’, as the Stoic Diogenes said, ‘and issues from thought’ (D.L. 7. 55/LS 33h). In other words, the Stoics treated uttered language as the natural expression of reason. Given the references to symphonia and logos mentioned above—living in accordance with a single and concordant Jogos and achieving concordance between one’s daimon and the world’s administrator—a merely figurative allusion to music is too weak. The correct ratio that harmony in its musical sense manifests—concordance ofhigh and low sounds—seems to function as the model for a mind that has its own correctly organized constituents, so that it is thoroughly in tune with itself and with external nature. If we substitute for high and low sounds verbalized thoughts and impulses, a theory is available for how the Stoics regarded a harmonious mental disposition, as exactly analogous to the well-tempered constituents of a musical scale. So much, in general terms, for the hypothesis to be explored. In the mathematical or Pythagorean tradition of musical theory the notion of ratio, as expressed by /ogos, is crucial.’ Aristotle reflects this when he characterizes symphonia in Post. An. 1, go*18—-23: ‘It is a ratio (logos) of numbers between the high-pitched and the low-pitched. Why does the high-pitched form a concord with the low-pitched?— because the high-pitched and the low-pitched stand in a ratio of numbers’ (trans. Barker, GMW 71). More on numbers later. What I want to emphasize at this stage, without introducing further technicalities, is the need to keep the sense of ratio or proportion to the fore when interpreting Stoic uses of the expression orthos logos. Familiar as we are with ‘reason’ as a central concept in ethics, it is all too easy to translate orthos logos by ‘right reason’, as if that expression by Ross in his commentary ad loc. However, Andrew Barker (Phronesis, 26 (1981), 248-66) has strongly objected to the coherence of this interpretation. He points out that Ross’s reading, €¢6'7 dwv7 ovugdwvia ts €or, though authorized by Priscian and Sophonias, is not that of the MSS, which reverse the words ¢wv7 and ovndwvria. | find Barker’s defence of the MSS’ reading attractive. None the less, the alternative shows that at least

two ancient Aristotelians saw no difficulty in the thought that the human voice quite generally (doubtless in its modulations of pitch) is a harmonious sound; cf. Aristoxenus, 18. 12, ‘For there is indeed said to be a kind of melody which belongs to speech, that constituted by the tone-patterns that occur in words, since tension and relaxation belong naturally to speech’ (trans. Barker, GMW 138).

” Cf. GMW 6-8.

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were sufficient by itself to elucidate what the Stoics intended. Yet it is far from clear in modern scholarship precisely what they did mean by prescribing rationality or ‘right reason’ as the foundation of living well. In utilitarian ethics rationality characterizes the most effective means for achieving the objective that maximizes the good an agent can produce. In Stoicism, however, such means—ends reasoning is hardly the primary sense of an appropriately rational life. The utilitarian notion includes nothing comparable to the Stoic divinity whose organization of the world constitutes the rational system of which each human being is an integral part—a rational system that pertains to ethics because, at the human level, it is conceptualized as ‘the regularity and, so to speak, the harmony of conduct’ (‘rerum agendarum ordinem et, ut ita dicam, concordiam’, as Cicero expresses it on behalf of the Stoics, Fin. 3. 21/LS 59b). Nor can the Stoics’ orthos logos be suitably compared with reason as used in Kantian ethics. In Kant’s usage the reason proper to a good will’s determinations is entirely a priori and independent of events. Chrysippus, by contrast, explained living in harmony with nature as ‘living in accordance with experience of natural happenings’ (D.L. 7. 87/LS 63c). Human rationality in Stoicism is an empirical acquisition, founded upon sensory experience of the world. The world fosters the acquisition of rationality, so the Stoics assume, because viewed macroscopically the world is a rationally ordered sequence of cause and effect. Causation is the manifestation of the divine /ogos pervading everything. Zeno’s account of harmony, with which I began, makes reference to ‘a single and concordant Jogos’ as the ground of harmonious living. The expression is similar to Cleanthes’ celebrated lines in his Hymn to Zeus on the divine administration of the world: ‘You [Zeus] know how to make the crooked straight, to give order to the disorderly . . . for thus you have harmonized (cvvjpyoxas) everything into one, good with bad, so that a single everlasting Jogos of everything is achieved’

(SVF 1. 537/LS 541).% Cleanthes’ /ogos seems to involve evaluative rather than quantitative order. None the less, what it betokens is evidently something balanced, proportional, ratio-like. The Hymn to Zeus as | have indicated elsewhere, is permeated with echoes of Heraclitus’? The lines just cited recall Heraclitus’ * A key text for music as the craft which reconciles opposites is Plato, Sym. 187; note especially the claim that the achievement of concord requires a good craftsman, 187 D 3. ° Cf. ‘Heraclitus and Stoicism’, Philosophia, 5-6 (1975-6), 133-56.

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conception of the harmony of opposites and of the /ogos that constitutes the balance and measure in which all things stand to each other. While it is notoriously difficult to analyse the Heraclitean /ogos with any precision, one thing seems certain: a predominant sense of the term is ratio, proportion, measure. In this connection Charles Kahn has drawn attention to the importance of music for Heraclitus as a model of cosmic order. As he writes: Music is a strikingly specific instance of unity and diversity . . The formal patterns of Greek music were regarded as familiar examples of a unity and ‘agreement’ that requires as its basis an objective diversity of sounds and tones ... If we see in Heraclitus’ development of the theme of musical harmonia a reaction to Pythagorean ideas, there may be a direct connection between this emphasis on music and his conception of cosmic order in terms of ‘measures’ and proportion (/ogos).'°

The Stoics’ interest in Heraclitus, as an authority for their own philosophy, offers general support to the hypothesis that musical harmony should be to the forefront when we attempt to understand their notion of orthos logos. By itself, to be sure, that expression does not privilege music over other practices requiring precise, or relatively precise, numerical or quantitative discriminations, e.g. mathematics,

sculpture, medicine (see the Appendix below). What needs to be stressed, before pressing the musical analogy further, is the fact that orthos logos, in Greek philosophical usage quite generally, connotes the presence, application, or realization of determinacy, proportionality, exactitude of quantitative or numerical order. Hence ‘right reason’, though sometimes innocuous as a translation, is often too vague to capture the kind of correctness or rule or standard that is invoked. As is well known, Aristotle represents the ‘mean’ (intermediate between

excess and deficiency) constitutive of ethically proper feelings and actions as ‘the way the orthos logos states’ (NE 6, 1138°20), and in the

Eudemian Ethics (8. 3, 1249*21-°6) he takes the ‘standard’ a virtuous man should apply in determining his choices to be analogous to the doctor’s rule for judging the quantitative properties of health and healthy action. For my present purpose it is not necessary to ask how this relatively straightforward use of orthos logos relates to Aristotle’s much more obscure use of the expression in his Nicomachean account of intellectual virtue. The point I want to make, by referring to Aristotle here, is his acceptance, without analysis or discussion, of the '0 The Art and Thought of Heraclitus (Cambridge, 1979), 284-5.

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connections between a well-balanced or well-proportioned state of affairs and orthos logos. A further Stoic usage of the expression may helpfully be mentioned at this stage. In his account of the te/os, based upon Chrysippus, Diogenes Laertius (7. 86/LS 57a) specifies ‘living correctly (orthds) in accordance with /ogos’ as the natural life for human beings: ‘for logos supervenes as the craftsman of impulse’. Two important doctrines are involved here. First, rationality, as that which differentiates humans

from other animals, is placed within the domain of craftsmanship or professional expertise. In a context concerning ‘correctness’ of action the link between /ogos and techneé by itselfisunsurprising, but its full Stoic significance derives from the fact that their philosophy promises its practitioner ‘a craft for the whole of life’. This point is made in a passage which draws an analogy between the craft of life and musicians: As we say that the flute-player or the lyre-player does everthing well, with the implications ‘everything to do with flute-playing’ and ‘everything to do with lyre-playing’, so the prudent man does everything well, as far as concerns what he does, and not of course also what he does not do. In their [the Stoics’] opinion the doctrine that the wise man does everything well is a consequence of his accomplishing everything in accordance with orthos logos and in accordance with virtue, which is a craft concerned with the whole oflife. (Stob. 2. 66. 14-67. 2, SVF 3. 560/LS 616)

The implication of this passage is that the wise man’s craft of life is directly analogous to the musician’s expertise; both of these impose correct structure on activities, the production of musical sounds and ethical conduct respectively. The second doctrine presupposed by Chrysippus in his remark about Jogos as craftsman takes us into the domain of Stoic psychology: logos as the craftsman of‘impulse’ (6pu7). Impulse is the faculty which gives living beings above the level of plants their ability to initiate purposeful movements.!’ It constitutes their wants and aversions in response to awareness ofobjects in the environment or in response to their internal conditions. In animals impulse is non-rational, and in children it is pre-rational. There can be no possibility of their impulses being commensurate or incommensurate with orthos logos since they lack rationality. In mature human beings impulses have one or the other of these properties because they are, or are associated | For the evidence on which this paragraph is based, cf. LS, sects. 53, 65.

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with, ‘judgements’—correct or incorrect estimates of the value of objects. The mark of incorrectness is ‘excess’, hence such an impulse is called Aeovdlovea, one that ‘goes beyond and disobeys the ruling logos’. Generically, the four cardinal passions sum up ‘excessive impulse’: pleasure and distress are impulses that exceed the actual advantages and disadvantages someone is experiencing, while appetite and fear go beyond the appropriate response to anticipated advantages and disadvantages. From what has been said already about orthos logos we may take it as certain that it functions as the craftsman of impulses by moderating their excess and by making them commensurate with correct estimates of value. This much is implicit in the quantitative domain of the concept in its regular usage and confirmed by the Stoics’ detailed analysis of the passions. But notions of balance, proportionality, and harmony are not very informative for ethics without a model of their practical application. Aristotle provides a medical analogy, and the Stoics too made much of the parallelism between bodily and mental health. For Aristotle, with his well-known emphasis on the relative imprecision of ethics by contrast with theoretical science, medicine was a highly appropriate model. The Stoics, who like Plato were sticklers for an exact moral science, needed a craft analogy that would be isomorphic with their conception of the harmonious life. So I turn now to consider in more detail how music served them. Aristo, one of Zeno’s first associates, is reported to have said that much training and struggle are needed to combat ‘the whole tetrachord, pleasure, distress, fear, and appetite’ (Clem. Alex. Strom. 2. 20. 108. 1,

SVF 1.370). In two succeeding verses, which almost certainly derive from Aristo, the passions are said to ‘pass into the innards and churn up people’s heart’. “Tetrachord’ is a technical term of music, and the

concept it expresses is central to all Greek musical theory.’ A tetrachord is a sequence of notes spanning the musical interval of a fourth. The combination of two pairs of tetrachords separated by a tone with a further tone added at the bottom yields a double octave range. By varying the intervals between the notes of each tetrachord the various modes or harmonies are generated. How this, or anything resembling it, fits Aristo’s point is a question I postpone for the present in order to focus simply on the term tetrachord. Absent from Plato, the word ' For the verse lines which follow Clement’s report, cf. A. M. loppolo, Aristone di Chio e lo stoicismo antico (Naples, 1980), 247 n. 14. 'S For an admirably clear exposition cf. GMW, 11 ff.

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occurs only once in Aristotle’s authentic works, in a fragment of his

Eudemus where Aristotle is explaining harmonics." It is a fair guess that the term is newish jargon even though the musical structures it refers to must precede the formal analyses using it that were made by Aristoxenus, the earliest musical theorist whose work survives in large quantity and an older contemporary of the early Stoics. There seems to be no good reason why Aristo should use this word merely to indicate a set of four things without any musical resonance. His usage encourages us to look for further instances of musical terminology. Aristo characterizes the passions as ‘the whole tetrachord’. What of the Stoic virtues? As is well known, Stoic philosophers held that individual virtues cannot be acquired in isolation from one another. To be virtuous at all is to possess all the virtues, and correspondingly with the vices. A virtuous person must be prudent and moderate and courageous and just. Moreover, only a person of this disposition can perform a virtuous action, a katorthoma. Various accounts of katorthomata were given, which underlie this feature of such actions.!> They are ‘perfect’ or ‘complete’ proper functions (kathékonta); they are

everything done with orthos logos;'® and, what is most interesting for the present inquiry, ‘they contain all the numbers of virtue’. This expression is a standard one in Stoicism, though no other school that adopted the inter-entailment of all virtues appears to have used it. What does it mean? In Cic. Fin. 3. 24 (LS 64H) the Stoic spokesman Cato compares ‘wisdom, the craft of life’ with the arts acting and dancing. Wisdom, he

says, is like them and unlike the crafts navigation and medicine in having its own performance as its end and not the attainment of an external objective; but it also differs from acting and dancing. The rightly performed actions of actors and dancers ‘do not contain all the parts (partes) which constitute the expertise’. But katorthomata— wisdom’s actions—‘omnes numeros virtutis continent’. ‘For wisdom alone [of all the arts] is occupied entirely with itself. Evidently ‘containing all the numbers of virtue’ is a property of morally right actions which can be inferred from wisdom’s total selfcontainment. Provisionally we may characterize this self-containment as consisting in (1) completeness at any moment; (2) independence of 44 Fr, 25 Ross/Plut. De musica, 1139 B €v yap duai teTpaxdpbocs pubuilera: ra wean.

'S For the evidence cf. LS, sect. 59, esp. B 4, J, K. 16 Notice the etymological link between xatépOwyua and kar’ dp@ov, the kind of verbal connection Stoic philosophers were all too keen on exploiting.

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any external conditions; and (3) closed systematicity. Can we say any more about the implications of the expression ‘all the numbers of virtue’? Judging from Stobaeus (SVF 3. 500/LS 59k), ‘having all the numbers’ by itself, without the addition of ‘virtue’, was a familiar Stoic account of katorthoma. If this is shorthand, note should be taken too of

Diogenes Laertius’ report of the Stoics’ analysis of kalon, moral goodness: “They say that the perfect good is kalon from its having in full all the numbers required by nature, or [they say] that the perfectly symmetrical is kalon’ (D.L. 7. 100). Diogenes then immediately specifies the four cardinal virtues as the species of to kalon. Seneca (Ep. 71. 16) uses ‘full’ as his gloss for the statement ‘virtue does not increase; it has its own numbers’. Marcus Aurelius (3. 1) gives failure to ‘make exact (akriboun) the numbers of to kathékon’ as an exemplification of the mind’s decline;!’ and he has another instance of the expression which needs the full context in order to be appreciated. If someone proposes the question to you, ‘How is the name Antony written?’, will you utter each of the letters in a high-pitched way (xatevteiwopevos)? Suppose, then, they are angry, will you be angry in return? Will you not proceed gently (zpdws) to enumerate each letter? Here too, then, remember

that every proper function (kathekon) consists of a sum of certain numbers. These you must preserve without getting disturbed, and without showing hostility in return for hostility complete your project systematically. (6. 26)

Marcus draws an analogy between spelling out the letters of a name gently not excitedly, and performing the numerical sum that a proper function involves systematically and not disturbedly. More exactly, he uses a participle of the otherwise unattested verb xatevteivowac to contrast with zpdaws, ‘gently’. I translated catevtevvopuevos ‘in a highpitched way’. The verb is an intensified form of évreivw, which means ‘stretch’ or ‘tighten’. Many crafts in Greek involve the correct application of stretching or tightening, e.g. archery, sailing, horsemanship; and two, in particular, where the appropriate tension needs to be exact, or in conformity with orthos logos, mathematics and music.!* Nor is the verb évre(vw unknown to professional Stoic writers. Hierocles (in Stob. 4. 672/LS 57G 5) uses the phrase xara rév évretapévov. In its ’ For dxpiBoov as difficult to achieve in reference to ‘all’ (as distinct from some) virtue, cf. Arist. Pol. 3. 7, 1279°40; and for its application to ‘consummate musical execution’ cf. Philod. Mus., p. go K.

'§ Cf. Plato, Meno, 87 a, for évrecvw applied to inscribing a triangle in a circle; and Phd. 60 v for putting words into verse, Prot. 326 8 for setting words to music.

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context this must mean ‘in accordance with the well-tempered (i.e. virtuous) man’. “Good tension’ (eutonia) and ‘lack of tension’ (atonia) were terms by which Chrysippus delineated virtuous and vicious

states ofthe soul.’ Investigation of the Stoic expression ‘all the numbers’ has introduced their recourse to the concept oftension. In their physical theory they used this to describe the vibrant movement of the pneuma, which functions like a musical string. Viewed macroscopically, tension is that property of the divine pneuma or logos which makes it, in its interaction with matter, the universal principle of causation and dynamic coherence.” Viewed microscopically and ethically, tension is a property of the human soul, which is itself a fragment of the divine pneuma. When the soul’s tension is ofthe right degree, it confers on its owner correct powers of judgement and action. Thus, virtue and vice

can be regarded as variant degrees of the soul’s tension. In musical theory tonos may refer simply to raised or lowered pitch. Often, however, it refers to the character of a structure (e.g. a tetrachord) in which some crucial element has been raised or lowered

irrespective of the pitch at which the whole structure is set. Thus, in Ptolemy’s Harmonics (1. 12, 1. 16) the ‘tenser’ genera are ones in which the intermediate notes of the tetrachord lie relatively high in relation to its fixed note-boundaries. Andrew Barker, to whom

I owe these

points from correspondence, suggests that Plato’s remark about the unacceptably ‘relaxed’ Ionian and Lydian modes (Rep. 3, 398 E 10) should be construed similarly. A well-tuned or well-tempered scale has all its numbers or intervals consonant with one another. Given the connections the Stoics posited between virtue and the right degree of the soul’s tension, it is time to ask what musical theory might contribute to their use of the expression ‘all the numbers’. Did they think of a virtuous character as directly analogous to the harmony of a musical scale? If so, what light could this shed on their concept of virtue and living in harmony with nature?

19 Cf. Galen, Plac. 4. 6. 2-3 (SVF 3. 473/LS 657). 0 For the evidence and discussion cf. LS, sect. 47.

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It is reasonable to assume that the early Stoics will have been familiar with the basic structure of Greek harmonics, presupposed by but not invented by their musical contemporary Aristoxenus.”' In what came to be called the Greater Perfect System all Greek modes (Dorian, Lydian, etc.) could be incorporated as species of a double-octave range, consisting of four tetrachords, with the two tetrachords of the central octave separated by a tone and with a further note added at the bottom at the interval of a tone below the lowest note of the lowest tetrachord. The fundamental difference between modes seems to have been the organization of the intervals within an octave, so that a lyreplayer would change modes by retuning the intervals between his strings without altering the overall pitch of his instrument, though the latter would become necessary if he were to modulate between modes in the course of a single composition. Complications concerning relations between modes and pitch need not concern us here. The important point is simply to recognize the generic features of the system—its capacity to represent all harmonic musical relationships as a system of tones, half-tones, quarter-tones, etc. In Pythagorean musical theory, though not in the system of Aristoxenus, mathematics, as distinct from auditory experience, explains harmonics. For the Pythagoreans, notes are conceived as numbers, and differences between notes, or intervals, as ratios of numbers—octave 2:1, fifth 3:2, fourth 4:3, etc. The Stoics’ explicit interest in numbers, and their hypothesized interest in a connection between musical harmony and éthos, require us to think that the musical theory on which they may have drawn was predominantly Pythagorean. Aristoxenus was cautious about correlations between musical structures and ethical dispositions (e.g. E/. Harm. 32. 18 ff.), and he categorically rejected mathematical ratios as the basis for expressing differences of pitch. But in any case, for the general kinds of musical interest one might plausibly attribute to the Stoics the Pythagoreans are the best sources, historically and conceptually. Among them we can count Plato, who had authorized links between musical harmony, ethics, and cosmology in the Republic and Timaeus. There is also evidence that at least one leading Stoic, *) A full account of what is summarized in this paragraph will be found in the introduction to GMW.

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Diogenes of Babylon, shared Plato’s beliefs in the significance of music in education.” As for the Pythagoreans specifically, Zeno wrote a work called Pythagorica (D.L. 7. 4), the only work attributed to him in which another philosophical movement is named, though no details about its content are recorded. If my general hypothesis is sound, we may take it as certain that the Stoics were particularly inspired by Plato. Although Zeno seems to have advertised Socrates as his mentor rather than Plato, Chrysippus certainly drew heavily on Plato’s cosmology as well as on his ethics.” His borrowings from the Timaeus are obvious (cf. LS i. 278) and it would be difficult to appropriate parts of that work, especially its doctrine of the world-soul, without sympathizing with the harmonic theory that provides much ofits details. But rather than argue my case via general affinity with Plato I propose to invoke some passages from later musical theorists, Ptolemy and Aristides Quintilianus. Each of these authors sets up correspondences between specific virtues and harmonic intervals (see below). Like all later philosophers with Platonic and Pythagorean sympathies, they could not avoid the general influence of Stoicism, whose trade mark on the philosophical tradition was indelible by the first century ap. Even if they were not directly inspired by the Stoics in their manner of connecting music and ethics, the way they do this provides models for speculation about what the Stoics too could have done. So much by way ofpreliminaries to this section. My hypothesis so far has traded heavily on the supposition that musical theory underlies the Stoics’ expression ‘all the numbers’. A quotation from Aristides Quintilianus helps to confirm this. Writing of the hexameter line, he says: “The syllable, the foot, and the metre are increased only up to the number six, because it is a perfect number and includes within itself all the ratios of concord (zavras év avira rods THs ouudwvias Adyous)’ (1. 22). By ‘all the ratios of concord’ Aristides must include 2:1, 3:2, 4:3, though just how his claim is

meant to work remains unclear.” (Ancient numerology sometimes 2 Diogenes’ views on music are reported and criticized by Philodemus in his De musica. On this cf. A. J. Neubecker, Die Bewertung der Musik bei Stoikern und Epikureern (Berlin, 1956), and G. M. Rispoli, ‘Filodemo sulla musica’, Cronache ercolanesi, 4 (1974),

ze I have explored this point in ‘Socrates in Hellenistic Philosophy’, CQ 38 (1988), 150-71. 74 See Andrew Barker’s notes ad loc. GMW 450. The translation here and in my other musical excerpts is taken from his book.

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borders on fantasy, especially in this author’s efforts to make musical theory the key to understanding everything.) Such a passage, however, shows the supreme appropriateness of music as the craft to characterize a system in which numerical completeness is an all-or-nothing matter. A verse line with a false quantity or a musical scale with one interval defective is not marred by merely one blemish, while having everything else in order. The single numerical error is enough to wreck the whole harmony. I have already spoken about the Greek tendency to treat uttered language and musical harmony as categorically similar. Aristoxenus uses the composition of letters in proper order as analogous to melodic intervals: In speaking . . . itis natural for the voice, in each syllable, to place some one of the letters first, others second, third and fourth and so on for the other numbers. It does not place just any letter after any other: rather, there is a kind

of natural growth in the process of putting together. In singing, similarly, when the voice places intervals and notes in succession, it appears to maintain a natural principle of combination, and not to sing every interval after every other, either when the intervals are equal or when they are unequal. (27. 21, trans. Barker, GMW 145)

Enough has been said for the claim that musical theory is the most promising context from which to seek elucidation of the full significance of the Stoic expression ‘all the numbers’. To be sure, the same expression is already found in Isocrates, Busiris, 16, as a mark of

completeness quite generally: Isocrates there says that ‘Busiris grasped all the numbers from which one might best organize public affairs’; compare English usage of ‘factors’ or ‘measures’. In Isocrates, however, the relative clause establishes what kind of numbers are applicable. His usage does nothing to elucidate the numbers of virtue or a right action in Stoicism. In response to this an easy rejoinder is available. The numbers of virtue, or the numbers that perfect a right action, are four, i.e. the cardinal virtues, prudence, courage, moderation, and justice. Quite so. But why say ‘all the numbers of virtue’, and not simply ‘all the virtues’ or ‘all four virtues’? Some special kind of completeness seems intended by the numerical expression, and I now want to show why music is singularly apt for understanding the Stoic virtues. By the time of Chrysippus, if not earlier, the Stoics specified ‘sub-

ordinate’ virtues for each of the four cardinal ones. Thus, to quote Stobaeus’ account (2. 60. 18/LS 61n): “To prudence are subordinated

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good sense, good calculation, quick-wittedness, discretion, resourcefulness . . . to justice, piety, honesty, equity, fair dealing’, and similarly with courage and moderation. These lists of subordinate virtues are not presented as giving merely a sample ofthe relevant good states of character; they appear to comprise a comprehensive and definite number of these. Thus, we may conjecture that ‘all the numbers of virtue’ probably refers both to the four cardinal ones and their subordinates, comprising in sum an absolutely definite number. The postulation of so many virtues gives point to the expression ‘all the numbers’. Next, consider how Stobaeus (2. 63. 6/LS 61p, probably reporting Chrysippus) describes the interrelation of these virtues. He says: “They all ... share their theorems and ... the same end. Hence they are also inseparable. For whoever has one has all, and whoever acts in accordance with one acts in accordance with all. They differ from one another by their own perspectives.’ The point, as David Sedley and I explained it in The Hellenistic Philosophers, is this: All the virtues [which are sciences, i.e. moral knowledge of their theorems in common, but from different perspectives. primary perspective the theorems governing its own special this is sufficient to differentiate it as a distinct virtue. But secondary perspective the theorems governing other areas this is sufficient to guarantee that they have all their theorems hence are inseparable. (i. 384)

some kind] have Each takes as its area of conduct: each takes as a of conduct; and in common, and

This distinction between primary and secondary perspective enabled Chrysippus to retain the thesis of the virtues’ inter-entailment while

also acknowledging, as he did (cf. Plut. Stoic. repugn. 1046 E-F/LS 61), that a virtuous man need not always be exercising his courage. On this theory, every virtuous action will instantiate one specific virtue, from that virtue’s primary perspective; that is to say, it will be describable as an action manifesting some specific knowledge, e.g., in the case of courage, the knowledge of what should be endured. From this perspective the action is one of courage rather than of justice etc. But from the secondary perspective a courageous act is also a just and

prudent and moderate act because it also includes the knowledge specific to these virtues. In acting courageously the virtuous man does nothing inconsistent with justice, moderation, and prudence; were he to do so, he could not be said to act courageously. His courageous act, in other words, is entirely consonant with all the other virtues.

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There is ample evidence to show that this kind of internal consistency was the hallmark of a virtuous character. Seneca contrasts it with the type of person who appears to act well in one sphere and yet does badly in another. Of the former he says: He was always the same and consistent with himselfin every action ... We perceived that in him virtue was perfected. We divided virtue into parts: the obligation of curbing desires, checking fears, foreseeing what has to be done, dispensing what has to be given. We grasped moderation, courage, prudence, justice, and gave to each its proper function. From whom, then, did we perceive virtue? That man’s orderliness revealed

it to us, his seemliness, consistency, the mutual concordance ofall his actions (omnium interseactionum concordia), and his great capacity to surmount everything. (Ep. 120/LS 60£)

We are back to harmony. Supposing that the Stoics envisaged a virtuous character as directly analogous to a harmonic system, how might they have analysed the details? Given the four cardinal virtues and their subordinates, the most obvious model that comes to mind

would draw on the four tetrachords and their constituent intervals. We could imagine this two-octave scale with its notes so tuned that they are appropriately pitched to make a Greek mode. The sum of cardinal and subordinate virtues actually exceeds fifteen, but no matter. We cannot expect the analogy to be exact in every detail. As it is, it could achieve a great deal that the Stoics wanted to explain. First, the idea of definite ratios gives them a splendid model for the precise degree of the soul’s tension that constitutes virtue as a whole. Secondly, the internal relationships of the notes, analysed in terms of the structure of each of the four tetrachords, provides an excellent analogue for the connection of cardinal and subordinate virtues. As he plays, the musician is moving within the notes of one tetrachord, or ascending or descending to a higher or lower tetrachord. So, by analogy, the Stoic sage at one time is exercising this or that subordinate virtue in the domain ofjustice, and at another time displaying a subordinate virtue in the domain of courage. Thirdly, it accounts for the dual perspectives of the virtues. Just as the musician will fail if any of the notes in his mode is out of tune, so too virtue requires complete concordance between all its parts or ‘numbers’. The individual note sounding at a given moment within the harmonic system needs to be concordant with all the other notes that are not being activated. So too what is primarily a courageous action must be secondarily a virtuous action quite generically, i.e. one in tune with all the other virtues.

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Fourthly, the conception of virtue as a harmony provides an illuminating analogy for the wise man’s relationship with external nature as well as with himself. He may be pictured as someone whose character and actions are completely in tune with the causal system employed by

cosmic nature. The hypothesized model also presupposes that the constitutive tetrachords have the right form or ratios or ‘tension’. When Aristo called the four cardinal passions ‘the whole tetrachord’, he was probably thinking of a musical structure whose intervals were of the wrong form, irrationally related to one another or ‘too slack’, recalling Plato’s criticism of the Ionian and Lydian modes. Obviously there is a high degree of speculation in what has just been said. However, the speculation is not idle. Both Ptolemy and Aristides Quintilianus undertake, each in his own way, to correlate virtues and musical structures. Ptolemy’s account, though typically eclectic in its philosophical concepts, is heavily permeated with Stoicism, as Barker notes (GMW 375).”> That of Aristides, which is much simpler, was scarcely original to him. I take his first since it provides the more economical model and one which the Stoics could easily have anticipated or borrowed from pre-existing Pythagorean musicologists. Aristides (3. 16) first takes a sequence of tetrachords, and distributes the four cardinal virtues accordingly in the ascending order moderation, justice, courage, and prudence. In other words he adopts the basic model that I offered for the Stoics above. In addition, he proposes that the double-octave range, analysed as three fifths, could

accommodate justice and moderation as the first of these, courage as the second, and wisdom as the third and highest. His inspiration for this model is clearly Plato. The tripartite analysis depends upon the three parts of the Platonic soul, and Aristides is directly dependent on Rep. 4, 443 D 6-7: ‘The just man harmonizes the three parts [of the soul], just like the three intervals of a mode, high, low, and intermediate, and including all intermediate intervals’. Orthodox Stoics did not divide the soul into rational and irrational parts, and thus had no reason to adopt anything analogous to Aristides’ second model.” For them the whole soul is rational, but either ‘correctly’ so or in a 25 | have discussed Ptolemy’s eclecticism in ‘Ptolemy on the Criterion: An Epistemology for the Practising Scientist’, in J. Dillon and A. A. Long (eds.), The Question of Eclecticism (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1988). 26 For this crucial point cf. LS 618 g-11 and sect. 65.

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state, characterized by passion, that ‘exceeds’ the proper rule of reason. They are more likely, then, to have favoured the first kind of model, treating the whole soul as a system either of correct ratios or one marred by at least one incorrect ratio. Aristides deals only with the four cardinal virtues. Ptolemy, however, proposes a much more ambitious scheme (Harmonics, 3. 5). Like the second model ofAristides, it is grounded in a tripartite division of the soul. Ptolemy correlates rationality with the octave, spirit with the fifth, and appetite with the fourth. He then enumerates three species of virtue, starting with moderation,

for appetite,

four for spirit,

including courage, and seven for rationality, including wisdom. The numbers of virtues he chooses for each of the soul’s parts correlates exactly with the number of notes in the octave, fifth, and fourth. As for justice, he characterizes this virtue (Platonically, of course) as ‘a concord between the parts themselves in their relations to one another, in correspondence with the ratio governing the principal parts (cuudwria tis oti wWoTep THY pEepwY atTw TpOs GAANnAG KaTa TOV ETT TWV KUPLWTEPWY TPONYOUMEVOY Aéyov)’. Ptolemy draws on the

cardinal ratios of music instead of tetrachords for his scheme. There was clearly no canonical way of correlating virtues with musical structures. Stoics, however, could have availed themselves of some-

thing like his approach, especially since it facilitates the incorporation of so many species of virtue. Ptolemy, in concluding this chapter, describes ‘the whole condition of a philosopher as like the whole harmonia of the complete systema’. This is precisely what my hypothesis about Stoicism implies—the treatment of a rationally perfected diathesis as analogous to musical concordance. Ptolemy and Aristides are more Platonist than Stoic in their orientation, but, as has already been said, they could not avoid the influence

of Stoicism. If this paper’s hypothesis is sound, Stoicism will have encouraged their applications of music to other aspects of the world, but my thesis does not depend upon retrojecting their detailed schemes on the Stoics. I cite them here simply as paradigms, showing how music could be related to virtue in ways that the hypothesis requires. The Stoics were not musical theorists, and any analogy they drew with music will have been less elaborated than what we find in Ptolemy. None the less, I hope to have given reason for thinking that the analogy was important for them, in whatever way they worked it out, and that music was their principal craft analogy. A final passage will show how easily the analogy could come to a

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Stoic’s mind. Epictetus invokes the lyre-player as a paradigm to illustrate social discernment, autonomy, and capacity to influence others rather than be influenced by them. ‘Has any of you’, he asks, ‘Lin your dealings with people] the expertise of the lyreplayer? When he takes up his lyre, the moment he touches the strings he can recognize those which are discordant and tune the instrument’ (3. 16. 5). Epictetus’ point is that people are either forced to become like those whose company they keep (since they lack the lyre-player’s discernment and control ofhis strings) or they must have the power, which he says Socrates had, to convert those with whom they socialize to their own style of life—i.e. to make others harmonize with themselves.”’

Appendix | have argued that music is the craft analogy which was foremost in the Stoics’ minds when they developed their account ofvirtue and its identity with the art of living harmoniously. Greek musical theory offers the best context for understanding such expressions as ‘all the numbers’; in its structure as a dynamic progression of mathematically exact concordances, a musical mode or scale provides an excellent model for the wise man’s actions in accordance with nature. It has not, however, been my intention to exclude the significance of other craft analogies. The interest of music, as a key to their thought, will not be reduced by the Stoics’ recourse to additional aesthetic or scientific models. Their concept ofan ‘art oflife’ would be decidedly odd if its terms of reference were too narrow to accommodate important features of crafts considered generically. I make this point as a response to Adolf Dyroff, the only scholar who has

previously investigated, in any depth, the expression ‘all the numbers’.”* In his book of 1897, Die Ethik der alten Stoa (Berlin), 352-4, Dyroff proposes the Canon of the sculptor Polyclitus as the key to the Stoics’ reference to numbers. How effective is this suggestion? Polyclitus was famous for saying, in his work Kanon, that, ‘Excellence [in sculpture] is achieved little by little through many numbers’ (Philo, Mech. 4. 1,

p. 49. 20 Schone).’”? In what appears to be an allusion to this, Plutarch *7 The passage may be compared with one in Ptolemy’s Harmonics (3. 7), where he likens changes of souls in respect of external circumstances to harmonic modulations. 28 A few years earlier A. Bonhoffer, Die Ethik Epictets (Stuttgart, 1894), 215 n. 1, merely stated dogmatically that the image was derived from dancing, which is certainly not ‘clear’, as he claims, from Cic. Fin. 3. 24, the only justification he gives. In that passage (cited in my

main

text above) wisdom,

though

first likened

to dancing, is finally

differentiated from it. 2° Cited in 40 B 2 DK. For the evidence on Polyclitus’ Kanon, and its interpretation, |

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observes: ‘In every work, beauty is the outcome of many numbers, so to speak, which arrive at a single measure (kairos) by the agency of some proportion and

harmony’ (Prof. virt. 45 c)3° Dyroff, who does not mention the Plutarch reference, notes as a parallel to the first passage this saying attributed to the Stoic Hecato: ‘Excellence is achieved little by little, but it is not a little thing’ (D.L. 7. 26). This saying, with its proverbial ring, hardly points to Polyclitus in particular, especially since it makes no reference to numbers. Diogenes, moreover, says ‘some attribute it to Socrates’. More to the point is Dyroffs reference to D.L. 7. go. There, in a general account of Stoic ethics, virtue is said to be ‘quite generally, the perfection of anything, such as a statue’. From a passage in Galen we can infer that Chrysippus probably referred to Polyclitus’ Kanon in his account of bodily beauty, which he identified with the symmetrical arrangement of parts.*! The same notion is applied to the soul in a context treating its analogies with bodily properties. The other two properties treated similarly are health and strength. Thus graphic art is given the same illustrative value as the arts of medicine and physical training.*” We can take it as certain, then, that sculpture in general was a craft analogy which the Stoics used, and as highly probable that Chrysippus supported his conception of beauty by reference to Polyclitus. None of this, however, gives sculpture the privileged position suggested by Dyroff. He fails to appreciate the enormous difference between ‘many numbers’, Polyclitus’ rule, and ‘all the numbers’, the Stoic expression. What Polyclitus meant is open to various conjecture.*’ If he had in mind a series of anatomical points, symmetrically related to one another, ‘many numbers’ would make sense: there might be more or less of them, depending on the size and shape ofthe work of art. ‘All the numbers’, as a practical prescription, would not be appropriate in such a fluid medium. We have seen why it fits music and Stoic ethics. Finally, it should be noted that the key term of Polyclitus’ Kanon, on the available evidence, was symmetria—proportion. The term has its uses in Stoic ethics and aesthetics, but their preferred word for harmony was symphonia, which invokes music and not the visual arts. Emphasizing action, as they did, the Stoics had good reason to prefer music to sculpture as their principal aesthetic model and craft analogy.

University of California at Berkeley have followed A. F. Stewart, ‘The Canon of Polykleitos: A Question of Evidence’, JHS

g8 (1978), 122-31. 8° Plutarch does not name Polyclitus here. *! Plac. 5. 448 Kithn (SVF 3. 472). Galen’s reference to Polyclitus’ Kanon could be his

additional comment; but in the context it reads more naturally as Chrysippus’ own allusion. *° Stob. 3. 62. 20-63. 5. Similarly Cic. Tusc. 4. 30. *} For some good conjectures cf. Stewart, ‘The Canon of Polykleitos’.

ARIS TOLEEINELOTINUS: THE CONTINUIEYAND DISCONTINUITY OF PSYCHE AND HILARY

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Ir is of course a very commonplace observation that one of the main differences between the thought of Plato and that of Aristotle concerns the relationship of Psyché and Nous. In Plato nous is (or is ‘in’ and characterizes) psyche at its highest, at the level at which it can contemplate the Forms. All the levels of psychic activity, including the noetic or contemplative, which is not clearly distinguished from the dianoetic or reasoning, are continuous, and there is no break, still less any sense of tension and opposition, between contemplative-rational

activity and the external activities which should be directed by it. This applies both to divine and human psyche. The intelligent formation and ruling of the cosmos by divine psyché and the intelligent ethical and political activity proper to well-ordered human psyché are in no way discontinuous with or disjoined from their higher contemplativerational activity. In Aristotle nous is sharply distinguished from and on a higher level than psyche and contemplation and action are sharply separated. Divine nous is not externally active but totally absorbed in its in-turned contemplation. We find little about divine intelligent psychai in the Aristotelian corpus, but in De caelo, 2. 1, 284728-35, the idea of a divine psyché which moves and directs the cosmos is very firmly ruled out (the cosmos of course for Aristotle is ungenerate and unending, as has been stated at the beginning of the chapter, so no question of its formation arises).' In the human psyché ethical-political © Hilary Armstrong 1991 ' A good deal, however, may be learnt about Aristotle’s thought on the subject of divine psychai from the fragments of and references to his lost dialogues, once one has abandoned, as is generally done nowadays, Jaeger’s view of the development of Aristotle’s thought in which they represent an earlier ‘Platonizing’ phase, and accepts that they may contain his mature thought, often sharply anti-Platonic, and in fundamental accord with that of the treatises of the Aristotelian corpus, however differently expressed. I have learnt much here from A. P. Bos’s Cosmic and Meta-Cosmic

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activity and contemplation seems to be very sharply separated, and the nous which is cause of our thinking has a puzzling externality and transcendence. Plotinus, like his Middle Platonist predecessors, accepts Aristotle’s sharp distinction of Psyché and Nous and maintains the transcendence and superiority of Nous. But he is none the less determined to remain faithful to Plato in preserving their continuity. The Timaeus, a dialogue which Aristotle seems to have particularly disliked, is for him one of the most authoritative of Plato’s writings, continually studied and referred to, and in it the continuity of the two and the unity of contemplation and action are particularly evident. He is also much more interested in divine psychology than the Aristotle ofthe treatises appears to be (for other possibilities in the dialogues see n. 1), as is clearly evident in his greatest psychological work, 4. 3-5 (27-9). Divine psyché active in the sense-perceived universe is very much in his mind from the beginning ofthis: the first major question discussed (4. 3. 2-8) is the relationship of individual psychai to the psyche of the cosmos. And a great deal of the second Porphyrian part (4. 4) is concerned with questions of theological psychology. This makes it particularly necessary for him to keep nous and psyche, contemplation and action, together. A study of how he does so, at least formally preserving the distinction while eliminating the disjunction, gives an excellent idea of his method of thinking out a problem, and provides the best example of his critical but often very positive use of Aristotelian ideas in the development of his interpretation of Plato. We should begin with some passages in which Plotinus clearly and firmly states what can be described as text-book Neoplatonism, i.e. the doctrine that there are three and only three hypostases, the One, Nous, and Psyché, which must be clearly distinguished; or, where the Theology in Aristotle's Lost Dialogues (Leiden, 198g). Bos’s work has stimulated my own thinking about Plato, Aristotle, and Plotinus a good deal more than appears in this article, and should be of great interest to all students of late antiquity. I have not discussed it here, for reasons of space and because of doubts of my own competence in the field of purely Aristotelian scholarship, but also because what I have to say about Plotinus’ critical use of Aristotle together with his interpretation of Plato to overcome the Aristotelian disjunction requires no resort to anything which may have been in the dialogues and which is not in the treatises: and, though there are places in the Enneads where Plotinus might be supposed to have in view something like the curious account of the dreaming, bound, inhibited noetic activity of divine intra-cosmic psychai which Bos has found in the dialogues, notably the account of dreaming Physis in 2. 8 (30) 3-4, there seems no sufficient reason to suppose that he was conscious that this came from Aristotle.

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One is not explicitly mentioned, that a sharp distinction must be maintained between Nous and Psyché. This is something which he never repudiates or abandons: though, as we pursue his treatment of the questions which for him inevitably arise from it, we soon discover that things are by no means as clear and simple as they appear. The clearest and firmest statement of the Three-Hypostasis doctrine is that in 2. g (33) 1 (directed against Platonist rather than Gnostic unnecessary complications): though, if one continues one’s reading as far as chapter 2, one discovers already that there may be difficulties about the precise delimitation and distinction of the two lower hypostases. Psyché is showing a distinct tendency to get above herself, and the important statement, of which variations appear elsewhere, that she is ‘one nature in many powers’ appears in 1.6. The distinction between Nous and Psyche is stated very fully and clearly in 5. 9 (5) 4-5, where the use of Aristotle is obvious (though very much in a Timaeus context). It is frequently repeated throughout the Enneads (2. 3 (42) 17;

3- 9 (13) 53 4. 3 (27) 1154.7 (2) 13; 5. I (10) 3, 6-7, 10; 5. 2 (11) 1; 6.9 (9) 5), and Plotinus, as the references just given show, is prepared to state it without too much qualification when the train of thought which he is following requires throughout his writing period. Psyche is an image of Nous: she has the characteristic lower intellectual activity of discursive thought, reasoning, reckoning, and planning: and she is not, like Nous, wholly absorbed in contemplation but is active in forming, ruling, and animating the sense-perceived world and its parts, and, in the case of human psychai and the lesser parts, may become culpably obsessed with her external activities. But in those passages where Plotinus is concerned sharply to mark the distinctions between the hypostases, he is also careful to indicate in each the continuity between them. (The continuity of the whole outgoing from the One is particularly clearly stated in the short 5. 2.) Psyché is an image of Nous, as Nous is of the One (this raises different questions which are not relevant here). But an image in Plotinus is, except in the case of human artefacts, which are not really authentic images, a natural, not an artificial, image in which the image is constituted by, and cannot exist without, the continuous presence in it of its archetype: This is not in the strict and proper sense the making oflikeness and image as it occurs in pools and mirrors, or in shadows—here the image has its existence in the strict and proper sense from the prior original, and comes to be from it, and it is not possible for what has come to be to exist cut off from it. (6. 4 (22) 10. 11-15; all translations of Plotinus in this paper are my own)

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True Mimesis is not possible without full Methexis. Further, in considering the relationship of Psyché to Nous, as in considering the relationship of the Form-Intellects in Nous as One-Many or OneBeing to each other, Plotinus consistently applies Aristotle’s principle that knowledge in immaterial things is the same as its object (De anim. 430°3—-4 is quoted with approval a number of times in the Enneads),’ which in the case of Psyché and Nous he finds goes very well with his interpretation of Plato’s image-doctrine, so that it becomes one of his most useful Aristotelian methods of overcoming the Aristotelian disjunction: for it is precisely through the fact that Psyche turns to Nous in contemplative thought and so becomes Nous that it is an image of Nous. In the iconic-contemplative relationship which holds the levels of the universe of Plotinus together it is more accurate to say that the lower, the image (or icon), ‘is and is not’ the higher, the archetype,

than simply that it is not. When we turn to consider the other distinctions which mark Psyche off from Nous we again find that Plotinus, though he always seems to intend in some way to maintain them, continually modifies and qualifies them in such a way as greatly to reduce their sharpness, to bring out the continuity of the hypostases and to do so by insisting that there is a considerable degree of interpenetration. There is always what may still be called a psychic-noetic frontier, as required by Aristotle. But it turns out to run through Psyche: a great deal of Psyché and its most important activites are on the noetic side, as required to bring the doctrine into conformity with Plato. Let us begin by considering what in passages where the distinction of the hypostases is stressed appears to be the distinctive psychic activity, that of discursive reasoning. It of course always remains true that this activity is never attributed to Nous in the Enneads and would be as incompatible with Plotinus’ account of it as it would be with Aristotle’s. But it is also clearly, emphatically, and repeatedly stated that Psyche at its best and highest does not exercise it. Reasoning from premisses to conclusions, calculation, and planning are distinctively psychic in the sense that they occur only in Psyché, but not in the sense that they give her a distinctive character other than that of Nous. This is apparent in some of the passages already cited. It is clearly stated in 2.9. 2 and 4. 7. 13 that Psyche has a highest life and activity which is entirely on the level of Nous: and other passages not so far referred to > See Plotini Opera, iii (Oxford, 1982), ‘Index Fontium’, 331.

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make this much clearer and emphasize it more strongly. The interest of Plotinus in theological or divine psychology has already been noted: and we soon discover that divine psychai do not use discursive reasoning at all. This is clearly stated (in a context to which we shall return) in 4. 8 (6) 8. 13-16 of cosmic Psyche, the Psyché of the (material) whole or all, with a supporting quotation ofAristotle’s réyv7n o¥ BovAeverar

(Physics, 2. 199°28), and powerfully developed in 4. 4 (28) 10-16, the noetic rather than dianoetic character of the thinking in the cosmos being particularly well brought out in 11. 23-7: So itis right to attribute the same [unchanging] intelligence [to the Soul of the All] and that this, as belonging to the universe, is a kind of static universal intelligence, manifold and varied, and yet at the same time simple, belonging to a single mighty living being, not subject to change because of the multiplicity of things, but a single rational principle and all things at once.

This section is the conclusion ofthe long discussion of memory which begins at 4. 3. 25; and it has been made clear in the preceding section (6-9) that memory and discursive reasoning, which are inseparably associated (6. 8-16), are not to be attributed to the psychai of the great divine parts of the universe, the heavenly bodies (and of course the earth also, as we discover later on in 22), any more than to the Psyche of the whole cosmos. When we turn from divine to human psychat? we very soon find that, though unlike divine psychai we do engage in discursive reasoning, and need to since in this sublunary world we have to animate, direct, and encounter a great multiplicity of small disjunct parts of the cosmos in disconcertingly irregular and variegated motion, this is not the highest and most important part of our intelligent activity. I have already referred to the clear statement that our psychai have a higher noetic part and activity in 2. g. 2. In 3. 8 (30) 8 the continuity of the upward movement of our psyché from lower kinds of thought (which are still contemplation) to higher, noetic, contemplation is strongly stressed. In the celebrated, and much discussed, passages in which Plotinus speaks of that part of our psyche which ‘does not come down’, 4. 8 (6) 8 + Plotinus is not greatly interested in daemonic psychology. From the rather tentative and rapid treatment of it in 3. 5 (50) 6 it would not appear that daimones which can properly be called daimones and not theoi have any existence or activity on the noetic level. He does not seem in the least concerned to maintain any hierarchical superiority

of daimones over humans. In 3. 4 (15) 6 the spoudaios is a daimon and his daimon is theos, which seems from what follows to refer here to the One (6. 3-5).

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and 4. 3. 12, it is clear that the part of us which remains in Nous has a purely noetic activity. There are a number of passages in the Enneads in which a distinction is made between the nous in our psyche and the hypostasis Nous (1. 1 (53) 8; 2. 3 (52) 17; 3. 5 (50) 7; 5- I (10) 10; 6. 2 (43) 22). But it becomes clear when we read some of these passages, notably 1. 1. 8, in their context that our possession of a small individual image-nous in which we are supplied with the images of Forms necessary for our discursive and practical activities here below by no means excludes our being Nous, eternal Plotinian parts and inhabitants of the noetic world. In 5. 8. 3 and 6. 4. 14 humans appear along with gods as normal and rightful inhabitants of the intelligible world. (I do not attach too much importance in this context to casual remarks like that in 6. 2 (43) 28-9 that psyche is the being which comes handiest to us as an example ‘from the intelligible place’, as a wide and loose use of nous and noétos etc. to cover any immaterial intelligent entity is always possible in Platonic—Aristotelian philosophy, and most certainly in Plotinus.) The fullest exposition of the relationship of psyché to nous in the Enneads, in the first part of 5. 3, makes it clear how Plotinus, without, I think, any incoherence, can

continue to maintain that our psyche on one level of her existence and activity is a Plotinian image—this is already, as has been noticed, very close to identity—of Nous (as he is generally careful to do in the treatises late in the chronological order) while also maintaining that on a higher level, attainable by that effort of transcendence of our ordinary empirical self by which we realize what we eternally are, we are Nous. This is explained in chapters 3 and 4. Chapter 3 ends with the nice tidily hierarchical little sentence ‘Sense-perception is our messenger, but Intellect is our king’. But chapter 4 begins ‘But we too are kings when we are in accord with it’: and the development of this shows that the image-account of our psyche, though never rejected or abandoned, as the following chapters make clear, is by no means the whole truth about us: what we realize, in our self-transcendence, that we are Nous is true too. This is why at the beginning of 3. 7 (45) 7 Plotinus reminds his hearers that he and they have a share in the aion which in chapter 5 he has identified with Nous and so can understand it, and as he turns to the enquiry into time says ‘we must come down in our discourse, not altogether but in the way in which time came down’ (g-10). And he does not hesitate to bring out the full implications of this in the famous passage which so annoyed the later Neoplatonists:

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For the soul is many things and all things, both the things above and the things below down to the limits of all life, and we are each one of us an intelligible universe, making contact with this lower world by the powers of soul below, but with the intelligible world by its powers above and the powers of the universe; and we remain with all the rest of our intelligible part above, but by its ultimate fringe we are tied to the world below, giving a kind of outflow from it to what is below, or rather an activity, by which that intelligible part is not itself lessened. (4. 4 (15) 3. 21-73 cf. 4. 7. 10 and 6. 5. 7).

There is perhaps no single passage in the Enneads which better displays the range, variety, and continuity of psyché, not only the hypostasis as a whole but all its parts, including those minor ones our own psychai, which of course, being Plotinian parts, are all one in it and each in its own way the whole. The last sentence, with its expressed preference for using energeia rather than aporrhoia when speaking about the presence and activity of psychai in this lower world, will be a good starting-point for considering the last major difference between the hypostases which Plotinus indicates when he is stressing their distinction, that psyché is externally active in forming, ordering, and animating the material cosmos while nous is not. But before proceeding to the main discussion of this, it will be worthwhile to look at a passage, rather isolated in the Enneads, which may none the less prove significant and worth considering. It occurs in 5. 5 (32), which is the third of the four treatises into which Porphyry divided Plotinus’ great anti-Gnostic work, and is the last of the allusions in that work to an allegorical interpretation of the stories about Ouranos, Kronos, and Zeus which plays a more important part in it than such interpretations usually do in the Enneads. This interpretation has been most illuminatingly discussed by Pierre Hadot.* The passage which concerns us here is as follows: The king there in that higher world does not rule over different, alien people, but has the most just, the natural sovereignty and the true kingdom: for he is king of truth and natural lord of all his own offspring and divine company, king of the king and of the kings, and more rightly than Zeus called the father of the gods; Zeus imitates him in this way also in that he is not satisfied with the contemplation of his father but aspires to, we might say, the active power (hoion energeian) with which his grandfather establishes reality in being. (5. 5. 3. 16-24) + ‘Ouranos, Kronos and Zeus in Plotinus’ Treatise against the Gnostics’, in H. J. Blumenthal and R. A. Markus (eds.), Neoplatonism and Early Christian Thought (London,

1981), 124-37.

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The king here is, as the context makes clear, the Good, symbolized by Ouranos as Nous is by Kronos and Psyché by Zeus. Hadot brings out the full philosophical and religious significance of the passage (in its context of the whole allegorical interpretation) in the concluding paragraphs of his article. Three sentences from the last page show it well: Thus we discover in Plotinus’ theory a hidden preference for the process of procession: the power characteristic of the One and of the Soul . . . At root, it is this generosity of the Good which to Plotinus’ way of thinking is the supreme value. Hence the principle, Bonum Diffusivum Sui, the principle which, for Plotinus, explains and justifies the unfolding of the whole ofreality.

(p. 136) But it also has a good deal ofsignificance here in the narrower context of the attitude of Plotinus to Aristotle and the relationship of Psyche and Nous. In the allegorical interpretation as a whole the plenitude of Kronos-Nous, containing all his children within himself except Zeus, is strongly stressed: his fulness and perfect beauty are spoken of in the highest terms: and with this goes an insistence on the totally selfdirected and self-contained character of his contemplation, which neither needs nor seeks anything outside or below himself, which is entirely in accord with Aristotle’s account of divine Nous (3. 8 (30) 11. 38-45; 5. 8 (12-13)). But there is also a stress on the limitation of Kronos. He is bounded and bound (5. 8. 13. 1-11: note that in the brief reference to the castration of Ouranos (7-11) the emphasis is on setting an upper limit to Nous rather than a lower limit to the One).° It is of course normal for Plotinus to insist that Aristotle’s account ofthe divine as self-contemplating Nous is insufficient: one must go on higher, beyond nous, ousia, and noésis to the One which is none of them. But in the passage from 5. 5 just cited, whose meaning Hadot has brought out so well, it seems that Plotinus thinks that to remedy

the inadequacy of Aristotle's God one must go down as well as up * Aristotle himselfin the dialogues seems to have given a very different (probably original) allegorical interpretation of the binding of Kronos from that used here by Plotinus, which may have Orphic sources. See Bos Cosmic and Meta-Cosmic Theology, 1-9. Bos effectively criticizes J.H. Waszink’s understanding of the evidence in a way which would bring Aristotle’s interpretation into line with that of Plotinus and the later Neoplatonists. But I can find no evidence in the Enneads that Plotinus knew this interpretation, which takes Kronos bound (by sleep) as symbol of the inhibited and imperfect noeric activity of intra-cosmic psyché, though he seems to know, and to use with severe qualification and restriction, the Middle Platonist idea of the sleeping world-soul which probably derives from it.

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(though in fact the two directions turn out to be the same) and reunite contemplation with external cosmic activity to manifest That which is beyond contemplative Nous as well as possible. This again raises, rather sharply, the question of in what sense Plotinus regards Psyche as inferior to Nous. If the grandfather is the Good, it is not possible to say that the grandson takes after his grandfather rather than his father without saying that, in the respect in which he does so, he is better than his father (this will be explored a little further in what follows). And the whole treatment of Nous here is an excellent illustration of the attitude of Plotinus to Aristotle. He takes him very seriously indeed and is prepared to go with him a long way. He accepts a great deal of his account of Nous as true, and is certainly not prepared simply to abandon a quite sharp distinction between Nous and Psyché. But Aristotle is not an authority for him with whom it is not permissible to disagree, like Plato, and he will not permit him to dictate his theology and to impair his Platonic understanding of the unity of action and contemplation and the continuity of the great outgoing from the One. The statement in this passage that Psyché is in an important respect more like the Good than Nous is, as has been said, not repeated elsewhere. But there is a good deal more in the Enneads to show that for Plotinus engagement in external cosmic activity is not, after all, a major mark of distinction between Psyche and Nous. Plotinus does not seem to have any difficulty in maintaining the Middle Platonist position that the Demiurge of the 7imaeus is to be identified as Nous.

In 5. 9. 3. 26 Nous is called the ‘true maker and craftsman’, and 5. 8.7 is a discussion of how Nous as Demiurge operates in forming the cosmos. Lines 12-16 of this chapter show very well how little difference it really makes to Plotinus whether one brings Psyche into the demiurgic process at all: The only possibility that remains, then, is that all things exist in something else and, since there is nothing between, because of their closeness to some-

thing else in the realm of real being something like an imprint and image of that other suddenly appears, either by its direct action or through the assistance of soul—this makes no difference for the present discussion—or of a particular soul.

Plotinus in fact does always prefer to bring in Psyche, even when he speaks of Nous as the Demiurge (4. 4. to. 1-4), but always in the closest and most intimate connection with Nous and in a way which does not in the least disturb or impair the noetic contemplation which is the

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primary activity of both. He does this by the use of an important Aristotelian principle which he employs throughout the Enneads, that every perfect being has as a natural and spontaneous consequence of its primary energeia a second energeia which acts on what is external to it without affecting, diminishing, or in any way interfering with its primary activity. It is of this second energeia that he is speaking in 3. 4. 3. 25-6, where he explicitly prefers to use this word rather than the ‘emanationist’ aporrhoia, and 5. 5. 3. 23. The Aristotelian doctrine and its use by Plotinus has been well and clearly explained by A. C. Lloyd at the level of the generation of Nous from the One.°® It is equally operative at the level of the external, cosmic activity of Nous and Psyche (as, of course, in the generation of Psyché from Nous). There is a fine statement of its consequences at the end of the first chapter of the first part of On Providence, particularly relevant here because in this work only Plotinus uses the single term Logos to refer to the living formative and directive pattern given to the cosmos by Nous in and through Psyche. For altogether blessed beings it is alone enough to stay still in themselves and be what they are; restless activity is unsafe for those who in it violently move themselves out of themselves. But that true All is blessed in such a way that in not making it accomplishes great works and in remaining in itself makes no small things. (3. 2. 1. 40-5)

We find it in operation at that lowest level of Psyché’s cosmic activity which is called Physis in 3. 8. 4. 7-14. It gives Plotinus the ideal to be aimed at in the external activities of our individual psychat, attainable if we transcend, as we can, the merely human

(5. 8. 7. 28-35). And

Porphyry represents him as having attained it in his own life and activities (Life, chs. 8-g). From the self-diffusion of the Good just by being the Good to Plotinus ‘present at once to himself and to others’ (Life, 8, 19) and Nature in her contemplative sleep spontaneously creating the patterns of our world here below, the unity and harmony of action and contemplation, or what is beyond contemplation, perceived by attention to the doctrine of first and second energeia, remains the same. We can see very clearly here how Plotinus overcomes the Aristotelian disjunctions and restores the Platonic unity with the help of Aristotle himself: though admittedly by the time we have reached this point it has become rather difficult to see why he * A. C. Lloyd, ‘Plotinus on the Genesis of Thought and Existence’, in Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy, 5 (1987), 155-86.

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still thinks it necessary to insist so often on the distinction between Nous (which can, and does, perfectly well act as Demiurge without inhibiting or impairing its external contemplation) and Psyché (which in all its cosmic activity remains just as contemplative as Nous). A little mythical coda may bring out the oddity here, if we use Plotinus’ philosophical theology to correct his allegorical interpretation of the Ouranos—Kronos—Zeus myth referred to above (as he might not have minded us doing: he did not take myths and their interpretation all that seriously). If we do so, we shall find that we need not suppose that Plotinus really thought that the grandson was more like his grandfather than the son: for we have discovered that ‘Zeus’ in fact does not simply go out so as to become external to ‘Kronos’ but also stays inside him and is, one might say, that ‘part’ or ‘realm’ of his interior in which the creative generosity of ‘Ouranos’ is most clearly manifested: and that ‘Kronos’ is not ‘bound’ in any way which inhibits that external activity which is the material cosmos, the best possible image of the intelligible. Nor, of course, does the ‘castration’ of ‘Ouranos’ at all impair his fecundity. But when we have reached this stage in the revised interpretation it may well appear that the original myth has pretty well disappeared: it has not just been explained, but explained away, as often happens in the process of explanation. And we may be inclined to think, when we turn back from the allegorical interpretation to the philosophical theology, that the situation would have been easier for Plotinus (and those who study him) if the sharp distinction between Psyche and Nous, on which he continues to insist, had been quietly allowed to vanish in the process of continual qualification. But even in the situation in which the Enneads leave us we can say that his refusal to allow distinctions and differences ever to become disjunctions, his insistence on the continuity of the divine (5. 2. 2. 26-9) and of our own individual psychai with it, keeps him in the end, however much he reflects on and uses positively as well as criticizes Aristotle’s noetic, very much closer to Plato, as of course he intended.

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S GAGES INAHEDEVELOPMBENAOF LANGUAGE ABOUT ARISTOTLE’S NOUS PAMELA

HUBY

Il y a chez Vhistorien de la pensée une sorte de préjugé de la clarté qui le porte a projeter une lumiere indue sur des textes nativement obscurs et par conséquent a les défigurer, du moins en partie. I] ne faut pas perdre de vue que tout ce qu’écrit un philosophe n’est pas nécessairement clair pour ce philosophe lui-méme. PAUL

MOREAUX

ATTEMPTS to interpret Aristotle’s doctrine of the soul and intellect started with Theophrastus. He and others, especially Eudemus, appear to have edited—in some sense—Aristotle’s esoteric works, and to have had them before him much as we have them now. It is clear that when Theophrastus talks about Aristotle he is drawing his information from exactly the same works as we have now. He makes no claim to know what Aristotle thought independently of what he wrote down, and is as puzzled as we are about what his master meant.’ One can only conjecture how this situation arose, given that the two were almost constant companions from the time of Theophrastus’ entry into the Aristotelian circle. Perhaps they never had the time to discuss such matters; after all, the quantity of work that both left, if we include all that we know has been lost, and the amount of empirical study involved, could not leave much time over. It is also likely that most of the De anima was written late in Aristotle’s life. Whatever the explanation, Theophrastus was confronted with the De anima and a number of other references to psychology which he © Pamela Huby 1991 ! Daniel Devereux, in a forthcoming article in Rutgers University Studies in Classical Humanities, 5, believes that Theophrastus had ‘privileged access’ to Aristotle’s thoughts, but there is very little evidence ofthis.

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brought together. At some stage he wrote his own De anima, something like a commentary, which is itself the subject of asurviving Metaphrasis by Priscian of Lydia, written in the sixth century. Priscian quotes excerpts from Theophrastus, some of which are quoted in almost identical form by Themistius in his own Paraphrase of Aristotle’s De anima. Through Priscian we can see Theophrastus following the De anima in its subject-matter, elaborating on parts of it, and raising questions of interpretation where necessary. The subject of this paper is the language used by Theophrastus and the commentators Alexander and Themistius to interpret Aristotle’s remarks about intellect. We do not have Alexander’s own Commentary on the De anima, but we do have other works by him on the subject. There is also information from later writers, notably from Averroes, who in his own ‘Long Commentary’ on the De anima treats Themistius and Theophrastus on the one hand, and Alexander on the other, as authorities on the interpretation of Aristotle. I hope to show that many ofthe standard terms we now use about intellect in Aristotle are late developments which may just as well distort as clarify his views. Perhaps more controversially, | shall also argue that Aristotle himself did not have the detailed views that are often attributed to him. In this paper precise language is important. A variety of English words have become current in this field, some of which blur important issues, a glaring example of which is ‘active’ used for both kat’ energeian (or energeiai) and poietikos. 1 propose to use the Greek form nous, rather than ‘mind’ or ‘intellect’, and ‘potential’, ‘material’, ‘passible’, and ‘acquired’ in the obvious situations. The Greek word thurathen has no simple translation, and I propose to keep it. I shall use ‘habitual’ for the nous connected with a hexis, and ‘productive’ to translate poiétikos. There remains nous energeiai, for which I shall use ‘nous in activity’. We must start with what Aristotle actually said. In general he does not differentiate, but uses the word nous without qualification. 1. He frequently cites and appears to endorse, in spite of his criticisms of unclarity at Deanim. 1.2, 404°1-6, Anaxagoras’ account of nous as simple, unmixed, pure, and impassive.

2. There is a cluster of cases of nous in a biological context. At PA I. 1, 641°33-°4, nous is excluded from the sphere of the student of nature, and at GA 2. 3, 736°5-8, Aristotle says that the question ofthe origin of nous is very difficult. In his discussion of embryology he argues that the other ‘parts’ of the soul cannot exist independently of the body and so cannot pre-exist, but it is left that nous comes in from

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outside, and it alone is divine. In a corrupt passage at 737*10 we find ‘in those in whom something divine is included (and such is what is called nous)’, again in connection with embryology. Finally, there is De anim. 1. 4, 408°18, which Balme translates as ‘The intellect is already a kind of being when it is born in us’, though Ross understands it differently and rejects the connection with biology. Throughout this material there is no reference to a special kind of mous, but only to the nous of an individual human being. It is true that the expression ‘the thurathen nous is actually to be found in Aristotle’s manuscript at GA 2. 6, 744°21, but that passage has generally been regarded as corrupt,” and there is no genuine case of this expression in Aristotle. So we are not justified in supposing that Aristotle ever used such an expression or had a legitimate use for it. All this discussion is connected with embryology, and we need not suppose that he had wider horizons in view at this point. In De generatione animalium there is the strange expression ‘what is called nous’ quoted above, and used also in De anima. It is puzzling, because nous was not a term used for a new purpose by Aristotle. It occurs in Homer and had a secure place in philosophy from at least the time of Anaxagoras. At De anim. 1.3, 407°4, Aristotle is dealing with Plato’s theory of the world-soul, and is properly concerned with terminology, but at 3. 9, 432°26, where it is denied that the Jogistikon and ‘what is called nous’ is the source of movement, the reason for the expression is as unclear as it is in our original passage. At 3. 4, 42922, ‘what is called nous of the soul’ is even stranger, and its interpretation

unclear. (The expression ‘the nous of our soul’ at Metaph. a 1, 993°1011, is not comparable.)

3. In De anima differentiation of nous appears first in 3. 5, with the exception of ‘the nous which is spoken of as phronésis’ at 1. 2, 404°5, which refers to the views of Anaxagoras, and one forward reference, at 2. 3, 415°11-12, which uses the expression ‘the speculative (theoretikos) nous’, merely to say that about this there is another account. This clearly does not refer to a kind or division of nous, but only to the function of nous as a whole. At 2. 4, 415717, its equivalent is ‘the intellective’, as opposed to ‘the perceptive’ and ‘the nutritive’. The expression reappears in 3. 9-10, the chapters about animal locomotion, where there is a distinction between the speculative nous (432°27, closely following one of the cases of ‘what is called nous’ noted above) 2 As we have it, the thurathen nous appears to be connected with the arrangement that the superior parts of the body are made out ofthe best material.

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and, at 433*14, ‘the practical nous’, also described as ‘that which reasons for some purpose’. The distinction is clearly a different one from those concerned with the actual structure of intellect. It is often said that 3. 4 is about the potential intellect, but in fact no expression corresponding to that description is used. Rather it is said of nous undifferentiated (with a further reference to Anaxagoras) that its sole nature is this, that it is potential (429%21-2). (This is followed by the puzzling reference to ‘what is called nous of the soul’ mentioned above.) At 429°5 it (which must be nous) is said to be separable (choristos), but this is in contrast with sensation, which needs the body,

whereas nous is separate from body. The final section of 3. 4 is devoted to explaining in what sense nous is potential, but again it is undifferentiated nous that is the subject.

It is only in 3. 5 that Aristotle introduces a distinction, which is first said to apply to the soul, not nous. But at 430°14-15 it is applied to nous. ‘The one nous is such by becoming all things, the other by making all things, like some state (exis), such as light... . And this nous is separate and impassive and unmixed, being essentially activity.’ Even here, though we appear to have two intellects, they are not actually named. It is only, in the last difficult sentences of 3. 5, that we get a name, and that is a new one, ‘the passible (pathetikos) nous’, of which

we are told that it is perishable (430%24-5). Chapter 7 appears to be a collection of scraps, and we find there (431°17) a reference to ‘the mous in activity’, which is said to be things, a rewriting of points that Aristotle has made before in different terminology. I conclude from this survey that Aristotle himself was remarkably

sparing in his use of terminology that would justify the kind of language that has been used from antiquity onwards to discuss his views. It is not enough, however, to consider Aristotle’s terminology. We must also look at what he says and consider the reasons for later developments. One main reason is his distinction at the beginning of 3. 5 already mentioned. It is not presented as the distinction between two intellects, but rather as that between two aspects of nous, which resemble the two aspects, form and matter, which are to be found in any concrete thing. ‘Just as there is in all nature something which is matter... and another which is the causal and productive element... so there are these differences in the soul.’ He does not speak directly of matter and form, but rather of matter and a skill which is related to

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it. But a skill can involve two other things, the form which it puts into the matter and the craftsman who uses his skill to produce something. This uncompleted analogy is first applied to the soul, but thereafter to nous, and it is here that difficulties begin. There is no warrant in the analogy for saying that there is more than one entity involved, in particular for the assumption of two intellects. But Aristotle does go on to speak in such a way that it is difficult not to suppose that he is postulating two intellects. He speaks of ‘the one ... nous’ and ‘the other’, ending with ‘and this mous is separate and impassive and unmixed, being essentially energeia’. The last section ofthis chapter is obscure and the text is probably corrupt, but what we have is enough to provide interpreters with a beliefin two intellects, one of which is potential and like matter, while the other is active and separable. Right at the end comes the sole reference to the passible nous, which is perishable, and which is contrasted with something else which is impassive, immortal, and eternal. It is but a step to identify the latter with the productive nous, and the former with the potential, and that with matter. But these identifications are not actually made by Aristotle, and some at least are questionable. 4. Aristotle referred to nous, unqualified, in two other important contexts, metaphysics—or rather theology—and ethics. He himself makes no clear connection between these discussions and what he says in a biological context in the De generatione animalium and in a psychological context in De anima. In Metaphysics A he is primarily concerned with the divine mous or God, and man’s nous is brought in only to enable us to understand better what God’s existence is like, as at 1075°7—as is the human nous so is the divine thinking (noesis). There is no account of what the relationship between the divine nous and the human might be, except remotely, in the statements that God moves by being loved, and, on the straightforward interpretation, that God knows only himself. At 107420 and 28, in discussing problems about God’s thinking, he does refer to the possibility of a potentiality (dunamis) in nous, which would be an imperfection, but there is nothing directly about a potential nous. In the Nicomachean Ethics, in the discussion of friendship, Aristotle says that each man is his nous (9. 8, 1168°35-1169*2), and in book 10 is the famous claim that the proper work of man is contemplation (10. 7, 1177°19—1178%8). Here there is much about the energeta of nous, but nothing about nous energeiai. It is repeated that each man would seem to be his nous. But the related passage in the Eudemian Ethics about the

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contemplation of God (8. 3, 1249°9-24) is not couched in the language of nous but in terms of the ruling part of the soul, equated with the theoretikon.

1. Theophrastus As far as we can tell from what remains of his works, Theophrastus was as sparing with his terminology as was Aristotle. His own De anima, as we have it from Priscian and Themistius, discussed many

problems that arise from Aristotle’s texts, but it is nearly always nous undifferentiated that is the subject. It is true that Themistius uses a

number of differentiating terms in introducing Theophrastus’ actual words, but these terms are not to be found in those words themselves,

and they may distort our understanding of Theophrastus. They will be discussed further when we come to Themistius. Further, in the case of Priscian it is not always easy to tell where Theophrastus’ words end and Priscian’s interpretations begin. Hence it may be that at p. 26. 6 Bywater it is Theophrastus who is speaking of ‘the nous in activity’, but it is equally possible to take these words as part of Priscian’s comments. At p. 35. 29-33, however, it does appear that Theophrastus used the expression ‘the potential nous’, in the sentence ‘Potentially the potential nous is its objects, but it is actually nothing before it thinks.’ He is here repeating Aristotle’s words at 3. 4, 429°30, ‘potentially in a way nous is its objects’, omitting ‘in a way’ and turning ‘nous’ into ‘potential nous’. The expression has already occurred at p. 32. 31, but there the words are those of Priscian. It seems probable, then, that Theophrastus introduced the expression, though we must not exclude the possibility that Priscian is here misquoting in accordance with his own presuppositions. Our text of Priscian breaks off before we get to Theophrastus’ consideration of De anim. 3. 5, but in what Themistius gives us the only differentiating expression is ‘the motive (kinon) (nous) (p. 108. 25 Heinze), a term which is not used by Aristotle. Indeed Theophrastus chooses his words very carefully. Of 430710-17 he says: ‘What are these two natures? And what again is that which is subjected to or united with the productive? For nous is somehow a mixture out of the productive and the potential.’ There is nothing here to support the view that Theophrastus accepted that there were two separate intellects. Themistius’ other quotation from Theophrastus on these points is

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also noteworthy: ‘If the potentiality (dunamis) is like a hexis ..” (102. 25-6). This appears to be taking up Aristotle’s reference to a hevxis at 430°15, but in Aristotle it appears to be said of the productive intellect, and related to light as an active force which makes potential colours actual: potentiality in Aristotle is linked rather with the other aspect of nous. We must at least consider the possibility that our text of Aristotle is corrupt, and that Theophrastus read something different, but against that we have insufficient context for Theophrastus’ remarks, and also, as given by Themistius, they appear to relate to what seems to be the independent problem of the origin of the intellect, raised in De generatione animalium. The later evidence about Theophrastus, mainly from Averroes and Albertus Magnus, makes free use of the later terminology with which we are familiar, but these authors are describing Theophrastus’ views,

not quoting his words. It is likely that most of their knowledge comes through Themistius, who had already begun to interpret Theophrastus according to his own views. It is difficult to tell what, if anything, Theophrastus did with Aristotle’s statements in the Ethics and the Metaphysics, because our evidence for his work in this area is sparse and late. He may have said something at the end of his De anima, but Priscian and Themistius fail us here. There is evidence that he said that man’s final felicity lies in the contemplation of God and the intelligences, first and obscurely in Cic. Fin. 5. 4. 11 and perhaps Tusc. 1. 19. 44-5, and later in the fourteenth-century Dionysius Cartusianus (De /umine Christianae theoriae, 1. 50), whose sources are uncertain. But there is no evidence that he brought the De anima into contact with this material. I conclude that the developments with which we are familiar are later than Theophrastus.

+ Simplicius has a puzzling passage in his Commentary on the Physics (964. 29-965. 6 Diels). He says that in the first book of his On Motion Theophrastus said that desires and the like came from the body, but decisions and speculations (theoriai) were entirely in the soul, ‘ifindeed mous is something better and more divine, in that it comes in from

outside and is all-perfect’. First, the text here is uncertain and the reading of the MSS would have ‘but if indeed

nous etc.’, with an incomplete sentence. Secondly, the ‘if’

suggests that Theophrastus is not committing himselfto this view. Thirdly, ‘coming in from outside’ suggests that he is making use of the material in GA. Fourthly, the meaning ofpanteleios (‘all-perfect’) is uncertain. Fifthly, the topic is in a book on motion, which is probably connected with Aristotle’s Physics. | am inclined to think that this can all be related to Aristotle’s words in GA, though panteleios is a problem. For this see also n. 8 below.

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2. Between Theophrastus and Alexander

It is remarkable, and probably significant, that Theophrastus appears to stand alone in the early Peripatos in making a study of the De anima. His contemporaries and immediate successors, when they discussed the soul at all, held views that can as well be connected with the Phaedo as with Aristotle. From Eudemus, whose name accompanies that of Theophrastus so frequently with regard to

modal logic as to suggest that the two worked together on it, and whom we know to have corresponded with Theophrastus about Aristotle’s Physics, we have nothing, while Aristoxenus and Dicaearchus

held a ‘harmony’ view. It is generally agreed that after the early Peripatos the esoteric works ofAristotle received little attention until their rediscovery in the first century Bc. Even thereafter the De anima attracted comparatively little attention, and there may not have been a full-scale commentary on it until Alexander of Aphrodisias produced his about ab 200. But there is evidence that the work was not ignored, both from within and from outside the Peripatos. The Peripatetic Xenarchus is said by Philoponus (Jn De anima 15. 66-9 Verbeke) to have so misunderstood Aristotle’s remarks that nous is nothing actually, and that it is the place of forms, that he identified it with prime matter. (This commentary on the third book of the De anima exists only in a Latin translation, so that we cannot press the words used.) Xenarchus would have been well placed as a friend of Augustus to know ofthe newly discovered works ofAristotle. Nicolaus of Damascus was also a friend of Augustus, and wrote a compendium of Aristotle which has survived to us only in part. We have to rely on Averroes for the statement that he agreed with Theophrastus about nous in a state of preparedness, as at De anim. 3. 4, 429°29-430°2. Both seem, then, to have known the De anima, but we cannot tell how they

treated it. In Albinus/Alcinous” Didaskalikos, a work of Middle Platonism, we find (ch. 10) a hierarchy of soul, potential nous, nous in activity (kat’ energeian), and the Primal God. The terminology is Aristotelian, but it

is applied to Platonism. Nous in activity is said to think all things simultaneously and always, and is to be equated with the (demiurgic) * For Albinus see Richard Goulet (ed.), Dictionnaire des philosophes antiques (Paris, 1989), No. 78, and for Alcinous No. g2.

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mind ofthe world, though the Primal God is Aristotle’s Prime Mover.° Again in chapter 26, on Fate, we meet the terms ‘the potential’, ‘the habitual’, and ‘that in activity’, used not with nous but in such a way that Aristotle’s ideas are seen to lie behind it all, especially as the potential is then said to signify ‘some preparedness with regard to something which does not yet have the Aexis’. Aristotle’s terminology, or rather a development of it, is in use, detached from an Aristotelian context. Unfortunately there are problems about dating this material. It has been suggested that some of it is based on the work of Arius Didymus, another friend of Augustus, and if so these developments would have started soon after the rediscovery of the De anima, but the terminology is so close to that of Alexander that one may even wonder

whether it is based on his.° For a closer approach to the doctrine of mous in the second century AD we have to rely on the evidence of Alexander of Aphrodisias. Embedded in the De intellectu attributed to him (110. 4-112. 5 Bruns) is an account of the views of one of his teachers along with an indication of some controversies of the time. The language is that of Alexander, but we are probably justified in taking it as also that of his predecessors. Alexander says that he ‘heard [this view] from Aristotle’. What this means has been disputed, but it seems most likely that it refers to Aristotle of Mytilene, otherwise almost unknown. Alexander introduces him as giving an account of the thurathen nous, and it seems that by now this expression had been accepted as the name of a special kind of nous. The concept of the thurathen nous had moved far from the embryological ideas of De generatione animalium. It had been brought in as a necessary counterpart to the ‘potential and material’ nous and identified with the productive nous. It was also contrasted with ‘the nous in us’, and described as ‘the nous which is by nature (phusez) and thurathen’. The other view (112. 5-113. 12), which is sketched here, and may also be that of Aristotle of Mytilene, brings in mous in activity, but essentially has only one nous, which is divine. There is here evidence of wide discussion of the interpretation of Aristotle at this time, which shows that Alexander himself was not a pioneer in this field.

> John Dillon, The Middle Platonists (London, 1977), 282-3. 6 See M. Giusta, in G. Cambiano (ed.), Storiografia e dossografia nella filosofia antica (Turin, 1986), 184-5.

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Alexander’s full dates are uncertain, but his floruit can be placed about AD 200. His commentary on Aristotle’s De anima has been lost, though fragments of it are quoted by later authors. What we have are two works, the De anima

and the so-called

De anima Mantissa,

a

collection of twenty-five items connected with psychology. What interest us are the section of the De anima on nous and the item known as the De intellectu in the Mantissa. These differ in doctrine in some respects, but it seems best to treat them both as genuine. In any case they are likely to come from the same milieu.’ Alexander’s views are not always clear or consistent, and in these works at least he is not a faithful interpreter of Aristotle. He takes over the expressions already used by Aristotle of Mytilene, but he has others which may be his own. He has been seen as the inventor of the acquired (epiktétos) nous, but in fact he refers to it only once, at De anim. 82. 1. Here there is a distinction between the natural (phusikos) and material

nous on the one hand, which is in all men, and the

acquired, which arises in us later; being a form and a hexis and a perfection of the natural (nous), which only educated men have. In passing we should note that here it is the material nous which is natural, whereas in the view of Aristotle of Mytilene, discussed above,

it was the thurathen nous that was described also as ‘by nature’. Alexander has here developed Aristotle from an empirical standpoint, building on the distinction between the two kinds of potentiality at 2. 5, 417°22—-°2, which is concerned largely with learning. So the kinds, or we might say stages, of nous are that of the infant, who has only potential nous, and that possessed by those who are learned, namely, the habitual or acquired nous. This chronological distinction is unAristotelian. And there are further complications. At 82. 12 Alexander backtracks about the habitual nous, and says that alternatively all who are not defective have this to some extent, and that it is more properly called ‘the common nous’. It is in Alexander that the term ‘material nous’ is first to be found, at

De anim. 84. 21 and De int. 107. 15-29. There is justification for this use in Aristotle’s remarks at De anim. 3. 5, 430°10, to the effect that in every ’ For details see R. W. Sharples, ‘Alexander of Aphrodisias:

Scholasticism

and

Innovation’, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der romischen Welt pt. i, vol. xxxvi/2. 1176-1243.

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kind of thing in nature there is something which is its matter, which is what is potentially everything of that kind. It is then but a small step from the potential nous to the material nous, and from Alexander onwards these have always been treated as two names for one thing. It is true that ‘material mous’ is to be found twice in the account of the views of Aristotle of Mytilene, at De int. 110. 12 and rir. 32, but Alexander speaks as if he had himself coined the term. Finally there is also the productive nous, which enables the material nous to become habitual. In De intellectu it is analogous to light: as light makes colours visible, so this mous enables the potential or material nous to become nous in activity, by putting into it the noetic habitus. After further discussion this nous is identified with the thurathen nous, which thinks only itself. There are certain differences between the theories of De anima and of De intellectu, particularly with regard to the habitual nous, but their vocabulary is very similar. In Alexander we are already seeing a proliferation of terms and entities far beyond what is clearly there in Aristotle. And that is only the beginning, for his words had strange offspring, which I shall give as but one example of later tendencies. The philosophical secondleaguer, Nemesius, Bishop of Emesa (fl. c.ap 400), in his De natura hominis ch. 1, p. 37 Matthaei, says that Aristotle thought that the potential nous was part (sunkateskeuasthat) of man, but nous in activity comes in from outside, not helping to perfect the being (einaz) and the existence (huparxin) of man, but contributing to the advancement of the knowledge and study ofthe objects of physics. He affirms that few men, and they only philosophers, have nous in activity. Nemesius is modest in his vocabulary, but in his account of nous in activity he departs very far from Aristotle, developing the conjectural work of Alexander into something much more definite.

Later again is Albertus Magnus. In his Summa theologiae, 15 (q. 93) 2, p. 201° Borgnet, he says that “Gregory of Nyssa’—in fact Nemesius— says that Aristotle and Democritus said that the intellectus agens et adeptus (the agent and acquired intellect) are only had by philosophers. Albert has here misidentified Nemesius as Gregory of Nyssa, brought in Democritus from elsewhere, and turned the nous in activity into the agent and acquired intellect. Averroes is also of interest. In his ‘Long Commentary’ on the De anima he quotes several times from Alexander so that we can check with the original text. In the Latin translation of Averroes which is all that survives, the word adeptus is used both for ‘acquired’ (epiktetos), as

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above, and also for thurathen in contexts where the material in De

generatione animalium is being considered. So here we have Alexander using ‘acquired’ primarily in connection with Aristotle’s distinction between first and second entelechy, but Nemesius substituting ‘in activity’ for ‘acquired’, Albertus Magnus turning that into the agens and adeptus, and Averroes using the Arabic word behind adeptus both for ‘acquired’ and for thurathen. Alexander was in error in saying that only educated men have the acquired nous, if that goes beyond saying that there is a difference between those who are learned and those who are not. Nemesius was in error in applying these ideas to nous in activity, and also in limiting that to philosophers. Albert confused matters further with his agens and adeptus intellect, and, separately, Averroes was in error in using the same term for both the acquired and the thurathen nous. These matters are not of course concerned with vocabulary alone: differences in vocabulary reflect different ways in which Aristotle’s words were interpreted.®

4. Themistius We now jump a century and a half to Themistius. It is impossible within the scope of this paper to do justice to all that he says about nous in Aristotle, but he is an important element in our story. He lived about 317-88, and his paraphrase on the De anima was written when he was comparatively young. He was not a Neoplatonist, though he was familiar with some Neoplatonists, and was directly influenced by Plato. He worked in Constantinople, and seems to have found some works by Theophrastus, including the De anima, in one of the new libraries there. His approach to Aristotle is at first sight straightforward, but difficulties arise on closer inspection. A small point is his misquoting of De anim. 413°25, where Aristotle has ‘concerning nous and the theoretical power, nothing is yet clear’, which Themistius turns into ‘concerning the theoretical nous’ (102. 11 Heinze, repeated

at 103. 7). That this is erroneous is shown by his giving the words * Pseudo-Philoponus, in his commentary on De anima, p. 518. 6-18, appears to be

reporting Alexander’s views in the lost commentary, and he speaks of nous having three significations in Aristotle, the potential, the habitual, and that in activity, which

is

thurathen and all-perfect (panteleios). We have already met panteleios in Simplicius’ account of Theophrastus (n. 3 above). Who actually used it first?

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correctly at 46. 3-4. He thus produces a named nous where Aristotle has none. But on the whole he follows Aristotle closely. In places he is also close to Alexander, but he adds other things; the most surprising is his attribution to Aristotle (and Theophrastus) of two intellects,

which are not the standard two, the potential and that in activity, but the passible on the one hand and one composed ofthat in activity and the possible on the other. Let us look into what he [Aristotle] calls the passible and perishable nous, and [note] that he does not take this as the potential, but as some other nous, which he calls ‘common’ in the first part, with which it thinks what is here, and

together with which it considers about what is here, to which he says [belong] loving and hating and remembering. (101. 5-9).

Unlike most commentators, Themistius sees that it is not obvious that

the passible and perishable nous of 3. 5, 430°24—-5, is identical with the potential mous of the earlier part of 3. 5, and he instead links it with De anim. 1. 4, 408°25-9, where Aristotle has been considering the possibility that mous is independent of the body, and may survive it. But, Aristotle says, thinking and loving and remembering are functions not of nous but of what has it, and that is the common thing, which perishes. Whatever this obscure passage means, it does not mean that there is a common nous which perishes, but it is easy to understand how Themistius could have thought that it did. Again, he has an unusual approach to ‘what is called the nous of the soul’ discussed above. At 94. 27 ff. he takes up Aristotle’s words, quoting ‘what is called the nous of the soul (I mean by nous that with which the soul thinks and supposes)’, but then adds his own comment that this does not also include phantasia, and continues from Aristotle: ‘is not actually any of existing things before it thinks, so that it is reasonable that it is not mixed with the body’ (3. 4, 429%22-5). He then goes on: ‘For a mixis is of body with body’. This last sentence is not in Aristotle, but Themistius continues to speak of the senses and body in a way that follows Aristotle. At 95. 4 he has ‘the sense is not without the body, but that [i-e. nous] is separate from all body, and they say well who say that the soul is the place of forms, if we use “place” catachrestically’. This turns Aristotle’s words at 4295, ‘but that is separate’, into ‘that is separate from all body’. But then he goes back to what Aristotle has already said at 429*27—8, about the soul being the place of forms, but adds his own qualification about ‘place’ being used catachrestically, and then that it involves only the powers (dunameis) of

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the soul by which we think and perceive, whereas Aristotle had spoken only of the noetic (power). It cannot be said that much of this helps us to understand either Aristotle or nous, but it illustrates Themistius’ interests and methods.

He looks closely at each section as he comes to it, and tries to make sense of it by relating it to other sections on a selective basis. But at each point we have only a partial account, and the parts do not add up to a coherent whole. Thus, elsewhere (98. 12 ff.) he seems to be at

home with the distinction between the potential nous and that in activity. His argument goes thus: the potential nous needs to be perfected, and that is by a nous in activity, which is linked to it and produces the habitual mous, in which there are universals and so on. At first the terms used of nous are ‘potential’ and ‘in activity’, but at gg. 8 there is a switch to ‘the productive nous’, explained by the fact that he is here developing Aristotle’s analogy with a craftsman at 4. 5, 430°1113, where the same terminology is used. But we get rather lost here, for there appear to be two kinds of nous in activity, the one which makes the potential mous active, and is therefore a separate entity, and the other which is the result of the working of the first on the potential, and may be seen as the potential become active. But possibly this is the conclusion to which Aristotle’s words lead. In any case, the potential and the active nous then become a single entity, in opposition to the passive nous, which is perishable; they are combined (sunkeimenos), and in a way they are two natures, and in a way one, which is separable from the body and imperishable and uncreated. Themistius has a lot more to say on these matters, but throughout he is close in his vocabulary to Aristotle. He is honestly puzzled, and the steps that he takes away from Aristotle are few and unsystematic. We must, however, examine more closely his treatment of Theophrastus, for I have suggested that he may be misleading here. At 107.

30 he says, “But it is better to add the words of Theophrastus about the potential and what is in activity. About the potential he says this.’ He then gives the words, in which, as we have seen, there is no example of the expression ‘the potential nous’. It is only when he returns to his own remarks that this and other expressions reappear. At 108. 18 he goes on: ‘And tackling the distinctions made by Aristotle about the

productive nous he says’, and while what follows is connected with the opening of De anim. 3. 5, again the terminology in which we are

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interested is missing. The same goes for an earlier quotation at 102. 24, which is introduced with ‘And in this way Theophrastus, when he enquires about what Aristotle says about the productive nous, raises difficulties.’ A careful study of all this suggests that while modern interpreters have been misled about Theophrastus, it was not Themistius’ intention to mislead. He keeps Theophrastus’ words and his own interpretation distinct. To sum up, Aristotle and Theophrastus had a limited noetic vocabulary. But soon after the rediscovery of the esoteric works interpreters began to extend this vocabulary and also to hypostatize intellects in a way that goes far beyond what is justified by the original texts. We have to ask ourselves whether their underlying assumption is correct, that Aristotle had a fully worked out theory of nous which he unfortunately did not pass on to even his closest pupils, or whether he worked on nous in a piecemeal fashion and never succeeded in bringing the pieces together.

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AMMONIUS

AND ADVERBS

JONATHAN

BARNES

IN chapter 12 of the De interpretatione, at 21°34, Aristotle turns his attention to modality. Ammonius, in whose edition 21°34 opens the fourth xedddAacov of De interpretatione,' observes that Aristotle proposes to discuss ‘sentences with a mode’, tas wera tpd70v mpotdoers (214. 7-8). These sentences constitute the third of the three ¢iS7 of simple sentences which Ammonius had distinguished in the preface to his commentary.’ First, and treated in the second xeddAarov of De interpretatione, come sentences which contain only a subject and a predicate, such as: LwKparys

TEPLTTATEL.

Secondly, and treated in the third «eddAacov, are sentences which include a Tp(TOV TPOCKATHYOPOVMEVOY,

such as:

Lwkpatns dixaros €ort

—where the copula, “éa7c”, is the ‘third item additionally predicated’. Thirdly, sentences wera tpdzov, such as:

SwKpaTy movarkov evar evdéxerar —where the zpdzos or mode is “évdéyetar”.* © Jonathan Barnes 1991 Versions ofthis paper were read at an Oxford seminar organized by David Charles and Stephen Everson, and at a meeting ofthe Southern Association for Ancient Philosophy. I am indebted to both audiences, and also to Manuela Tecusan.

' For Ammonius’ capitulation of the work see /n De int. 7. 15-8. 23 (on the status of chapter 14 see 251. 25-252. 10). (All unspecified references are to Ammonius, /n De int.: I cite by page- and line-number of Busse’s CIAG edition.)

> See 7. 29-8. 193 cf. 79. 1-33 157. 7-10. + Each efdos is named after its ‘governing’ element (76 kvpos €yov, 76 Kupiwrartov): sentences of the first type are xatnyopikai, since in them the predicate governs (7o. 4-10; 87. 12-13); sentences of the second type are €x Tp(Tov mpooKaTnyopoupevor,

since

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Jonathan Barnes

According to Ammonius, Aristotle considers only two features of sentences jeta tpd70v, namely the avrifécers and the axoAovbiat which hold among them. But for our part, if we are to have an articulated knowledge of the sentences here under discussion and if we are to follow with any ease what Aristotle has to say about them, then before we give an interpretation ofthe text, we must grasp (1) what rpézroc are, (2) whether their number is finite and knowable by us, (3) how many and which zpézoc Aristotle selects for his exposition of these sentences, (4) why these and not others, (5) how the zpdzox he introduces differ from what are called ‘matters’ although they are called by their names, (6) whether he has omitted any of the tpé7o: which ought to have been introduced in the present treatment of sentences, (7) how we make negations from affirmations in the case of such sentences (this, as I said, is the first point which Aristotle considers about them), and finally, (8) how we may grasp by way of a division the total number of these sentences. (214. 11-24)

Ammonius’ eight preliminary questions’ are answered in the next five pages of his commentary. I shall discuss Ammonius’ answers to questions (1), (6), and (4). I shall deal in passing with (2) and (3). I shall say nothing about (5), which leads Ammonius to distinguish neatly between modal sentences and the modality of states of affairs;° nor about (7), to which Ammonius offers a lucid and uncontroversial answer;’ nor about (8), in tackling which Ammonius computes that there are exactly 3,024 different types of sentence.®

the copula governs (160. 14-16); and sentences ofthe third type are pera tpdzov, since the tpo7os governs (218. 8-10). * Cf. the preliminaries to the second and third ceddAaca: 86. 28-9; 159. 24-9. * Question (1) at 214. 25-9; (2) at 214. 29-31; (3) at 214. 31-215. 7; (4) at 215. 2-3 (ie. in the course of the answer to (3)); (5) at 215. 7-28; (6) at 215. 29-218. 2; (7) at 218. 3-233

(8) at 218. 23-219. 23. ° See also 88. 12-28; and cf. e.g. Alexander, /n An. Pr. 27. 27-28. 30; Philoponus, Jn An. Pr. 43. 18-44. 1; al-Farabi, /n De int. 164. g—15, pp. 158-g Zimmermann. At 88. 17-18 Ammonius refers to those who have concerned themselves with the reyvoAoyia ofthese matters: see perhaps 181. 30-1, where Proclus is praised for his xavoves . . . TavU texvixol (cf. 223. 18-19).

’ In general, you negate a sentence by attaching a negative particle to its governing

element (see n. 3 above and n. 24 below). * See the earlier computations at 88. 4-91. 3 and 159. 24-160. 32.

Ammontus and Adverbs

147

Il The concept of a mode

or zpézos, and the distinction between

sentences pera tpd7ouv and sentences avev tpdzov, are not idiosyncratic to Ammonius. The thing is a commonplace in the later logicians’—and it was no doubt a commonplace before Ammonius. The earliest extant reference to tpd7ro: is in Alexander’s commentary on the Prior Analytics (In An. Pr. 26. 15-18). But Alexander mentions

tpo7ou as though they were familiar to his audience: he sees no need to explain the word “zpdézos”,!° and he evidently uses it as a standard piece oflogical jargon. Yet the word is not found (in the relevant sense) in Aristotle.!! Nor does it occur in any non-Peripatetic text: the Greek grammarians, who might be expected to have mentioned this meaning of “zpdézos” in their catalogue of the different grammatical senses of the word,'” ignore it completely. I conjecture that the notion was developed in the renascent Peripatos, some time after the middle ofthe first century Bc. But all we can safely say is that it was current before Alexander’s time and that it seems to have been peculiar to Peripatetic logic.

Ill Ammonius’ first question about tpdzox is the primary question: What are tpo7ov? He answers: A tpé7os is a word (¢@wr7) signifying how the predicate belongs to the subject, e.g. “quickly”, when we say “The moon completes her revolution quickly”, or “well” in “Socrates converses well”, or “very much” in “Plato loves Dio very much”, or “always” in “The sun in always moving”. (214. 25-9)! ” See e.g. Philoponus, /n An. Pr. 26. 11-16; 120. 12-13; Boethius, /n De int., ed. pr. 166. 24-167. 4 Meiser; ed. sec. 377. 4-14 Meiser; al-Farabi, /n De int. 17. 13-19, pp. 1-2 Z; anonymus Heiberg, §22; Blemmydes, Epitome Logica 27. 12-13 (PG 142. 897).

‘© Even though he also uses it in several other senses, both technical and nontechnical. '! And—for what it is worth—it does not appear in the surviving testimonia to early Peripatetic logic.

!2 See the scholium to Dionysius Thrax in Grammatici Graeci, i/3, 456. 27-457. 13; cf. GG i/3, 13. 19-14. 12; 567. 21-30. 13 Cf. 8. 8-12; Stephanus, /n De int. 53. 10-11; al-Farabi, Jn De int. 163. 8-10, p. 158 Z; 164. g, ibid.

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The examples of tpdzox are all adverbs. It is easy to suppose that the term “rpdmos” means the same as—or at least is extensionally equivalent to—the term “adverb”. The Greek grammarians recognized a syntactic category of émpprwata, and so did Ammonius: in his remarks on the ‘parts of speech’ at 11. 7-15. 13 he offers a swift typology of émpp7yjaza, which evidently derives from a grammar book."* The word “ézippnua” is customarily translated as “adverb”. And in his essay On Adverbs Apollonius Dyscolus offers the following definition: An éxippynua is an indeclinable expression which is predicated of verbal inflexions, either universally or particularly, without which it does not complete a thought."

Apollonius insists that émippyuara modify verbs. And he observes that, just as adjectives (6véuata émfetixa) always demand nouns, so émippruwata always demand verbs.'* Thus—or so we might quickly infer—an ézippnua is a verb-forming operator on verbs: it takes a verb

and makes a verb: it belongs to the syntactic category v:v:'’ it is an adverb (or an adverbial phrase).

IV But whatever may be true of Apollonian és.ppyjuar7a,'® Peripatetic tpomo. cannot be identified with adverbs. First, Ammonius subdivides ‘ The typology at 11. 15-12. 4 shows close connections, in terminology and in illustrative example, with the typology in Dionysius Thrax, 19, GG i/1, 72, 3-86. 1; cf. the scholia at GG i/3, 95. 4-102. 33 271. 27-283. 23 427. 10-435. 27; 561. 32-564. 7; 582. 24— 584. 20. Apollonius follows a different path in his On Adverbs. 'S Adv. 119. 5-6; cf. Dionysius Thrax, 19, GG i/1, 72. 4-3, with Uhlig’s note ad loc., and Schneider’s note on the Apollonian text at GG ii/1, 137-8. (For a full commentary on the definition see Ineke Sluiter, Ancient Grammar in Context (Amsterdam, 1990), 70105. Sluiter’s valuable study was published after I had finished my paper.) On “either universally or particularly” see below, pp. 161-2.

"© See Adv. 120. 19-122. 34; cf. the scholia at GG i/3, gt. 15-19; 95. 21-31; 427. 21-8. '7 A derived syntactic category c:c* consists of items which take a c* and make a c. Thus (intransitive) verbs form the category s:N (they take a name and make a sentence);

two-place sentential connectives form the category s:s,s. And so on. I see no harm in deploying these fancy modern notions when discussing ancient texts; but it should be observed that the sharp distinction between syntax and semantics which these notions imply, and the formalistic treatment of syntax which they invite, were things quite alien to the ancients. '* Neither the grammarians not the commentators offer us ‘clean’ syntactical definitions of émppywatra—or of any other of the parts of speech. Syntactically

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149

the category of émpprjuara, and he indicates that the most significant subdivision consists of “those which indicate a certain relation (cxéo.s) between predicate and subject and so contribute to the generation

of declarative

sentences

(dmoddvoeis)”

(12. 6-7). The

description shows that this subdivision of émppyuata corresponds exactly to the Peripatetic notion ofa tpd70s. Hence tpézo: are at best a subclass of adverbs. Secondly, and more importantly, Ammonius implicitly rejects the view that éz.pp7uara—or at least, that those émpp7uata

which are

tpomo.—are to be parsed as members of the category v:v. Having argued, against Alexander, that the tpo7os “cadws” is not a noun (13. 19-14. 2), he adds: Nor shall we say that a sort of compound predicate is formed from “cadws” and that about which “cadws” is said—e.g. “clearly explains”. (14. 2-4)

Now if “clearly explains” is not a v, then “clearly” is not a v:v. In general, if “Sr” is not a v and “r” is av, then “6” is not a V:v. Ammonius has an argument for his view. Compound predicates behave under negation in the same way as simple predicates. But sentences jera tpdzov behave differently. Thus the negation of: LwxKpatns Babiler

is: AwKpaTns ov Badiler.

But the negation of: LwKpatn Badica duvatov

is not: LwKpatn un Badioa dvvatov, speaking, émpprara

belong, according to the grammarians, to the category v:v; but

not every member of this category will satisfy the further semantic conditions in the definition. Note, too, that both Ammonius and the grammarians classify as émppyuata

items which we should hardly reckon to be adverbs or to belong to the category y:v: e.g. the conjunction 67 (68. 20-7); cf. Apollonius, Adz. 148. 6-8; 158. 28; scholia at GG i/3, 274. 8; 583. 27), the words “Yes” and “No” (11. 28-30; cf. Dionysius Thrax, 19, GG i/1,

78. 1-3; Apollonius, Adv. 122. 13-15). Despite the official definition of émpprjuara, it is difficult to see how such items could be construed as members of y:v. The ancient category of émppyara was a dustbin. (See also below, n. 30.)

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but rather: SwKpatyn Badicar ot duvarov.

(See 14. 2-17.) Ammonius is right about his negations. But his argument fails to prove his conclusion; for why may we not construe: Swkpatyn Badioa ov duvatov

as denying of Socrates the compound predicate “. . . possibly walks”? None the less, we may agree with Ammonius, at any rate with regard to modal ztpé7ov. For even if the modal tpdzro. can sometimes be parsed as adverbs, this parsing is not always available. IfI say: There may be a rabbit in the hutch

my remark has the structure: ONEX)EX And here “8” cannot be a v:v.

V Then what are zp6zox, syntactically speaking? Ammonius’ definition makes it clear that he takes them to modify the connection between subject and predicate (214. 25-7; cf. 11. 30-2): he implicitly construes them as operators on the copula. They are ‘adcopulas’ rather than adverbs: they take a copula and make a copula: they belong to the category C:C. The category of adcopulas is no doubt legitimate enough. But the examples of todo. which Ammonius offers do not belong to it. Consider: LwKparyns kadd@s diaréyerar.

Ammonius expressly says that here “xaAws” signifies the way in which the predicate attaches to the subject (11. 30-2, 214. 25-7): he expressly maintains that “xaAdws” is an adcopula. The supposition is bizarre: “xadws” is surely an adverb modifying the verb “Ocadéyerar”. The sentence does not say that conversing belongs in a fine way to Socrates. It says that conversing in a fine way belongs to Socrates.” [See opposite page for n. 19]

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151

Nor does this difficulty affect only examples like “xaAws” and “cag¢ws”. Consider the modal zp6z0:, which are Ammonius’ central concern. Ammonius in effect invites us to understand the sentence: (1) évdéyetar Swxpartn Badilew

as equivalent to: (2) Lwxparns Babiler évdeyouévws

—where the mode “évdeyouévws” indicates the way in which walking attaches to Socrates. So construed, the sentence may be Englished as: (2E) Socrates walks contingently or, perhaps more perspicuously, as:

(2E*) It is a contingent fact that Socrates walks. And this plainly entails the non-modal sentence:

Socrates walks. It is therefore not the construe which Aristotelian modal logic intends. For it is a fundamental feature of this logic that: évdéyetar P is entailed by but does not entail:

i In short, ifwe parse the modal zp67r0. as members ofthe category C:c, then we shall run the risk of misconstruing the whole of modal logic. Yet Ammonius certainly did parse the modal tpdzox in this way. And, sometimes at least, thereby fall into error.

he—like

Alexander

It may be said, and truly, that the Ammonian

before

him?’—did

syntax does not

19 Ammonius recognizes some of the difficulties his view encounters discusses the use of “cadws” in a sentence such as:

when he

‘Aupwvios cadws e€nyeitac.

See 225. 16-28. ?” Alexander, like Ammonius and Philoponus, frequently uses the adverb “evdeyouévws” to express what are intended to be ‘problematic’ modal propositions; and sometimes he plainly intends the adverb to have the force of“It is a contingent fact that ...”. See e.g. Jn An. Pr. 38. 6; 147. 18-19; 149. 4-7; 329. 20-1; cf. Philoponus, /1 An. Pr. 59. 10; 162. 14; 204. 22; In An. Post. 328. 25; In Phys. 262. 23.

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Jonathan Barnes

positively oblige us to read (1) as (2E*). We could maintain that “eévSéxerac” in (1) says how the predicate applies to the subject without thereby maintaining that (1) implies that the predicate does in fact apply to the subject. And often, of course, the commentators show themselves aware of this. But the danger of a misconstrual remains; and even if the modal tpé7o. May sometimes be parsed as members of C:c, they may not always be so parsed. Thus the sentence: Necessarily not every competitor wins the race has the form: 6 :not-(Ax) (if Fx, then Gx).

And here “8” cannot be parsed as a C:C.

ViIn his discussion of modi, Peter of Spain first distinguishes adjectives, which modify nouns, from adverbs, which modify verbs. He then distinguishes various classes of adverb. Of these, the first consists of adverbs [which] determine the verb in respect of its composition, e.g. “necessarily”, “contingently”, “possibly”, “impossibly”, “truly”, > “falsely”.

In the second class come adverbs which determine the verb in respect of the matter of the verb, e.g. “acts bravely”, “runs fast”.?!

Adverbs in Peter’s first class are words which modify the whole of the sentence to which they are attached. William of Ockham, in his discussion of modal propositions, observes that a proposition is called modal because ofthe addition of amode to the proposition. But not any mode is sufficient to make a proposition modal. Rather, it is necessary that the mode be predicable of awhole proposition.”

Ockham’s modes are Ammonius’ tp6zrov. They fall within Peter’s first class of ‘adverb’, but they are not adverbs in the narrow sense. They *) Tractatus, 1. 19, ed. L. M. de Rijk (Assen, 1972), 9-10. * Summa Logicae, 2. 1, Opera philosophica, i, ed. P. Boehner, G. Gal, and S. Brown (St Bonaventure, NY, 1974), 242.

Ammontius and Adverbs

153

take sentences and make sentences. They belong to the category s:s. They are neither adverbs nor adcopulas but adsentences. What of “xaAws” and “cadws”? They are no more adsentences than adcopulas: it is to Peter’s second class of adverbs—to the class of genuine adverbs—that we should naturally assign such words.”? Is this natural view demonstrably right? Negation may help. If “8” is an adsentence, then we should be able to distinguish between “not-(8:P)” and “é:not-P”. Thus there is a clear difference between: It is not necessary that Socrates walks and: It is necessary that Socrates does not walk.

The point is not merely that, syntactically speaking, the negative particle may govern either the whole sentence or the core sentence.” Rather, the negative particle may make a semantic contribution in either of two ways. Then consider:

éényeitai 1s cadds. Suppose “cadas” is to be parsed as an s:s, thus: 6 :(Ex)Fx.

Then look at: 6 :not-(Ex)Fx.

3 According to Boethius, in: Socrates bene loquitur “the modus contains the whole sentence” (/n De int., ed. sec. 397. 6-22 M). But earlier, at 377. 4-14 M, Boethius had said that in: Socrates velociter ambulat

the modus is added to the walking of Socrates; i.e. here he takes “velociter” to be a v:v. 24 Ammonius and others regularly say that to negate “8:P” you must attach the negative particle to the tpdzos. They ought to mean that the negation must be attached to “8:P” as a whole. But Boethius, for one, sometimes gets into a tangle by—in effect— construing the negation of “5:P” as “[not-6]:P”. Thus the negation of “Socrates walks quickly” comes out as “Socrates walks non-quickly”, which entails “Socrates walks” (Jn

De int., ed. sec. 380. 12-382. 8M). Boethius seems content with this—but it implies that a proposition and its negation may both be false (e.g. if Socrates is standing still).

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Jonathan Barnes

If “Clearly no one interprets” makes any sense at all,”° then it must mean the same as “No one interprets clearly”. Hence it must be taken as equivalent to:

not-(6 :(Ex)F*x). Hence there is no distinction between “not-(6:P)” and “d:not-P”. Hence “cadws” is not an adsentence.”° In sum, the category of tpdzo: is defined by Ammonius as the category c:c. But some of Ammonius’ examples plainly belong to the category v:v; and others—including the centrally important examples—belong to the category s:s. The modal tpdzo: are best parsed as adsentences.”’

Vil In his essay On Adverbs Apollonius remarks that “yoy” and “dec” require our closest attention—for pretty well everyone has taken them to be adverbs. (Adv. 128. 10)

Apollonius then argues at length that “yp7” and “dec” are not adverbs but verbs (128. 10-133. 12).”> Whoever held them to be adverbs, and why?

“Xpy” and “Sec” are surely tpdao.. They are not mentioned by Ammonius. But he takes the sentence:

explicitly

*5 Of course, “clearly” can sometimes be parsed as an s:s—e.g. in “Ammonius is clearly confused”. But I am not concerned with the use of“clearly” to mean “It is clear thatiy.n *6 Boethius holds that with some modi there is no difference between “not-(8:P)” and “S:not-P”, but that it is prudent to preserve uniformity among modi by stipulating that

even 380. (and 7

in these cases “not-(6:P)” shall be the negation of “d:P” (/n De int., ed. sec. 379. 1211 M). This gets things back to front: the dissimilarity shows that Boethius’ modi Ammonius’ tp670-) do not form a single category. Are all adsentences tpd7oc? Surely not. “There is honey still for tea and...” is an

impeccable adsentence; but it is not a tpd7o0s. More modestly, “It is not the case that

” is an adsentence but not a zpézos. (But it is an éméppyua according to the grammarians: e.g. Apollonius, Adv. 124. 8-14; scholia at GG i/3, 100. 21-7; 563. 13-17. Ammonius probably agreed (see 11. 30)—but he cannot have taken it for a tpd7ros without destroying the distinction between sentences pera tpdmov and sentences dvev Tporrov.) Tpd7o- are not the same as adsentences. Thus—and lamely: Ammonian rp6zo01 are a subclass of adsentences; but the subclass is not defined, and Ammonius muddles its membership.

*8 Cf. Synt. 234. 23-235. 12 B; Etym. Mag. s.v. xp; Etym. Gud. s.v. xp7.

Ammontius and Adverbs

155

LwKpaty vytaivew avayKaiov

as a paradigm

mpédracis

peta

tpdmov

(215. 22-3), construing

“dvayKaiov” aS a tpomos. There can be no doubt that he regarded “xp” and “dec” in the same light. And they surely are adsentences. It is tempting to infer that the champions of the view which Apollonius scouts were Peripatetic logicians. But although Apollonius does not name the champions, he does report their arguments. These arguments contain nothing which is specifically Peripatetic. Rather, they are technical linguistic arguments, invoking the grammatical forms and constructions in which “yp” and “Sec” may appear. Apollonius’ opponents were rival grammarians—from whom, perhaps, the Peripatetics took their cue. However that may be, the Apollonian text serves to introduce a further point about zpdzov. In the sentence: evdexouévws LwKparys TwepiTtatei any grammarian will recognize “évdeyouévws” as an adverb. In: duvatov éott LwKpaty TepiTrateiv

some grammarians will insist that “Suvardv” is not an adverb but a verb or a noun. Ammonius regards “évéeyouévws” and “duvardv” as exactly on a level; and he sees no significant difference between the

two sentences.” It is tempting to say that Ammonius is not in the same trade as Apollonius: he is concerned with semantic structure whereas Apollonius is interested in syntactic structure. But this would be at best misleading: better say that Ammonius is interested not in ‘surface’ grammar but in ‘deep’ or ‘logical’ grammar. These are choppy waters.

Yet the main idea is simple: a sentence need not wear its tp6zro: on its sleeve.*°

“7 My example is actually drawn from Philoponus’ commentary on An. Pr. is taken n. 37 below). 3° Note that Ammonius takes verbal forms to be émpprjpara (9. 14-15; 11. 25-6; 13. 27-9; erika

émipphuara,

Philoponus, Jn An. Pr. 28. 13-16. But from the lectures of Ammonius (but see

in “-réov” (e.g. “yaunrtéov”, “aAevatéov”) cf. Stephanus, /n De int. 2. 23-8). They are

and “vaunréov” etc. are equivalent to “dec yaueiv” etc. (hence a

connection with those who take “dec” and “yp7” to be adverbs?). Typically Ammonian ‘logical’ grammar? No; for here (as often) Ammonius is lifting his terminology and his examples from the professional grammarians. See e.g. Dionysius Thrax, 19, GG i/1, 85. 2; cf. the scholia at GG i/3, 101. 32-6; 282. 15-21.

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Jonathan Barnes VIII

Ammonius’ second preliminary question enquired after the number of tpomor. He answered: Their number is not by nature infinite, but it cannot be grasped by us*!—just like the number of universal subjects and predicates, which are themselves unnumberable.*? (214. 29-31)

Ammonius does not explain why the zpdzo: are unnumberable; but presumably it is because there is no method or algorithm for determining their number. He plainly thinks—although he does not explicitly say—that there is a vast number of them. Why? The parallel with subjects and predicates may offer a hint. There is a vast number of simple predicates. To every simple predicate there corresponds an adverb.** And if—as perhaps Ammonius mistakenly thought—every adverb formed from a simple predicate is a tpd6zos, then there is a vast number of TPOTFOL.

How many ofthese innumerable tp6zo: concerned Aristotle? This was Ammonius’ third question, and it is easily answered: Aristotle introduces only four tpdézo: into his study of mpotdcers peta Tpd70v: the necessary,

the possible, the contingent, and in addition to these the

impossible. (214. 31-215. 2)

Aristotle’s tp 670. are the four modal operators. (And in fact the four reduce to three.*’) Ammonius spends more time on his sixth question: Are any relevant tpo7rot omitted from De interpretatione? He considers two candidates. I take the second first. Nor is “only (udévov)”—as when we say “Only animals perceive” or “Only animals walk” —a tpdézos, as some people think . . . (216. 31-3) 3) od... mepiAnmros: for the contrast between dzeipos and dmepiAnmtos see e.g. Epicurus, Ad Hdt. 42.

*° Cf. 230. 8-13, where Ammonius takes De int. 22°13 to show that Aristotle took the tpomo. to be unnumberable (see nn. 44 and 48 below).

*S In particular, an éippnua peadtyrt0s: see 11. 13; cf. e.g. the scholium at GG i/3, 97. 31-98. 5. * The contingent (marked by “évSéyerac”) and the possible (marked by “8vvar6v”) are to be identified: see 215. 3-7 (cf. Stephanus, /n De int. 55. 8-12; Boethius, /n De int., ed. sec. 382. 14-384. 7 M). Later the list is reduced to two, the necessary and the possible: e.g. Philoponus, Jn An. Pr. 46. 6-7; al-Farabi, [n De int. 163. 16-18, p. 158 Z.

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Ammonius offers an analysis of such sentences, concluding that “only” should be regarded as a complex quantifier or zpooS.opiopids rather than as a tpozos. “Only animals perceive” means the same as “Every animal perceives and no non-animals perceive” (216. 33207 12). We do not know who took the contrary view, but we may guess why they did so. For although “aovov” is a quantifier xkupiws AauBavoevov (217. 19-21), it may also be used émippynuatixws, as equivalent

to “uovws”—and then it is indeed a tpdzos (217. 25-6). The adverbial use of “dvov” is relatively rare. Ammonius glosses it by “purely (eiAccpivws)”, explaining that “it signifies that the subject participates in the predicate purely and not together with its opposite”—as when we say that the gods are wovws immortal, whereas rational souls are immortal in essence but mortal in activity (217. 2634).°> Ammonius’ opponents presumably took this adverbial use of “uovov” to be its primary or paradigmatic use.

IX No doubt it is obvious that “only” is not a tpdézos. The case is less clear with the other item which Ammonius discusses. He begins his answer to the sixth question like this: Now that this is clear, let us next consider whether there is any other tp6z0s ... of the same kind [as the modal tp670:] which has been introduced by Aristotle into the theory of propositions elsewhere and has been omitted in the work before us. Most ofAristotle’s commentators say that there is one, namely

tov vmapxovrTa [tpdz7ov], and that it is enumerated in the Analytics before necessity and possibility. (215. 29-216. 1)

“Most of Aristotle’s commentators”

certainly include Alexander.*®

Ammonius dissents: neither in the Analytics nor in truth, he claims, is

there a tpdz0s of ‘belonging’ or of‘actuality’.*” 5 For such a use of “udvws” in Ammonius himself see e.g. Jn An. Pr. 10. 7, 37; 27- 4 (a nice example at Porphyry, /n Cat. 107. 13-17). 36 See e.g. In An. Pr. 26. 25-27.6; 117. 28-9; 123. 29-124. I; 172. 5; 197. 2; 202. 6-7; 329. 12-14} 330. 12. Note too Alexander’s common use ofthe adverb “vrapxovrws”: e.g. 124. 27; 129. 24; 130. 16, 18, 20; 132. 8.

37 Stephanus follows Ammonius, as ever (/n De int. 53. 24-54. 2). Philoponus professedly follows Ammonius (Jn An. Pr. 42. 35-45. 20); but at Jn An. Pr. 46. 7 he says “For clarity let us speak of amode of actuality”—and so he does throughout the rest of the

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What exactly was the view of “most of Aristotle’s commentators”? Perhaps they supposed that, in addition to the non-modal sentence: (t) Socrates walks

there is also a different, modal, sentence:

(ra) Socrates actually [vapydvtws] walks.*® Ammonius seems to construe their view in this way. For one of his arguments against it is this: were the view true, then both De interpretatione and Prior Analytics would be incomplete—the former because it ignores sentences like (1A), the latter because it ignores sentences like (1). But the truth is rather that Ammonius’ opponents took sentence (1) itself to be modal. They maintained, in other words, that sentence (1) contains, implicitly, a tpd70s, namely the tpdzos of actuality which is explicit in (1a). Thus all sentences are modal—all contain, explicitly or

implicitly, a modal tpézos.*° An analogy may make the point clear. The later commentators followed Aristotle in recognizing something in the verb “walks” in sentence (1) over and above its function as a predicate. For verbs “additionally signify time”: “walks” in (1) is, or contains, a sign of time, and of the present time. Hence the semantic structure of (1) could be partially represented thus:

(walking, Socrates, now). commentary (e.g. 60. 8; 61. 2; 117. 26; 121. 2; 126. 5). (He also uses “vzapydvtws” some 80 times in Jn An. Pr.) According to [Ammonius], Jn An. Pr. 38. 1-33, “actually” is a tpdzros in the modal section of An. Pr. but not elsewhere (cf. e.g. 65. 5). (“vmapxovrws” is also common in [Ammonius]. It never occurs in the genuine writings of Ammonius—but the modal part of Ammonius’ commentary on An. Pr. is lost.) Boethius simply states that there is a modus of actuality, and that Aristotle recognizes it in De int. (In De int., ed. sec. 382. 16 M). In the Treatise al-Farabi recognizes a mode of actuality alongside necessity

and possibility (75-6, p. 242 Z); and he seems to describe as old-fashioned the view, which he falsely ascribes to Alexander, that there is no mode of actuality (77, p. 243 Z). But in /n De int. there are just two (primary) modes, and actuality is ignored (163. 16-18, p. 158 Z).

38 T shall speak of a tpdzos of actuality, and I shall use “actually” as a translation of “tmapxovtws”. This is not wholly felicitous; and the reader must forget the nuances of the ordinary English adverb “actually” (and also the technicalities associated with the word “actuality” in modern modal logic). *° So Alexander, Jn An. Pr. 119. 22-8: you can tell the modal differences among sentences by attending to their tp670:; “for each sentence and each syllogism will have the appropriate tpdzos additionally predicated ofit”.

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Ammonius’ opponents hold that modality runs parallel to time: a fuller account of the semantic structure of (1) will include a mark of modality, viz:

(walking, Socrates, now, actually). Thus “walks” in (1) has three semantic functions.” Then compare the following sentences:

(1) Socrates walks. (2) Socrates possibly walks. (3) Socrates walks today. The opponents hold—and it is a commonplace—that in (1) “walks”

has the semantic function of referring to the present time; so in effect (1) is taken as equivalent to: (IN) Socrates walks now. Thus there is a pleasing symmetry between (1) and (3). Each sentence

has a semantic core, which could be represented by a timeless “Socrates walks”, and an added time-operator. The opponents also hold that in (1) “walks” has the semantic function of introducing a modality; so in effect (1) is equivalent to:

(1a) Socrates actually walks. Thus there is a pleasing symmetry between (1) and (2). Each sentence has a semantic core, the non-modal “Socrates walks”, and an added modal operator. The two symmetries combine. Each of the sentences (1)—(3) has the same fundamental structure, namely:

(V, N, t, 6). How neat. An opposite theory would deny both symmetries. On this theory (1) is semantically pellucid. In it “walks” does not covertly perform different operations. It performs the single operation of predicating walking of its subject. In (3) the word “today” superadds something to the whole sentence (1). It does not replace an implicit element of (1) by another element from the same semantic category. In (2) the tpdzos 40 ‘But is there a tpdxos—a ¢wvy—of actuality in sentence (1)?)—Yes: just as “vaunréov” is a Tpdzros (see n. 30 above), without presumably ceasing to be a verb, so in sentence (1) “walks” is itself (among other things) a tpozros.

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“possibly” similarly superadds something to (1). It does not replace an implicit element of(1) by another element of the same type. Ammonius prefers a hybrid theory: he implicitly denies the analogy between modality and time. For time, he accepts the view which sees (rN) as a proper representation of (1). For modality, he accepts the

view which finds (1) semantically pellucid.*’

xX Which theory should we prefer? Ammonius argues for his view (see 216. 1-29); but he is more concerned to show that Aristotle does not countenance a 7péz7os of actuality than to prove that there is no such tpomos; and his arguments are obscure. I discern two main lines of thought. One line suggests that a tp6zos of actuality would be somehow redundant—to say that something izdpye: dvapyovtws, if it is not nonsense, is to say no more than that something imdpyec.”” The second line invokes negation—and this line, which connects with an argument I used earlier, is worth developing a little.*° If a sentence consists of a tpdzos or adsentence and a core sentence—if it has the form “6:P”—then we should be able to distinguish between “not-(6:P)” and “d:not-P”. It is plain that there are two such ways of negating: (2) Socrates possibly walks. Are there also two analogous ways of negating: (1)

Socrates walks?

If the semantic structure of (1) is somehow made explicit in (1), then we might try to find two distinct negations in the following sentences: It is not actual that Socrates walks. It is actual that Socrates does not walk. ‘! Of course, he need not deny that (1) is equivalent to (1a). He must accept the equivalence but deny that (1a) makes explicit the structure of (1). It is the other way about: in (1A), “actually” is a vacuous element—the structure of (1A) is given most perspicuously by (1).

*? See 216. 19-21; cf. Philoponus, /n An. Pr. 44. 6. ‘> See 216. 5-13: I claim to be ‘developing’ rather than interpreting what Ammonius says.

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There is a clear syntactic difference here; but is there any semantic difference? Surely not. It is plain that “not-(A:P)” will be true just in case “A:not-P” is true; and it is hard to see how there can be any difference between the truth-conditions or the senses of the two sentences. If this is right, then “actually” is not a tpé70s—and hence (1A) does not explain the semantic structure of (1). Like “It is the case that”, “actually” shows the syntax of an adsentence. Like “It is the case that”, “actually” is semantically vacuous: it may play a rhetorical or a stylistic role—but it serves no semantic end. This, I take it, is Ammonius’

position. | am not confident that the Ammonian argument which I have just developed is in fact strong enough to sustain Ammonius’ position; nor am | confident that his position is correct.

XI

Aristotle does not omit the tpé7o. “actually” and “only”, for there are no such zpozoc. But there are other tpdzo: which he does omit: “asadws”, “kaAws”, “uovws” . . . This brings me, Ammonius’ fourth question, which he answers thus:

finally, to

Aristotle introduces only four [tpd7o:] into his study of sentences with tpomoc: the necessary, the possible, the contingent, and in addition the impossible. For these are both most universal and most appropriate to the nature of things. (214. 31-215. 3)"

This is pretty obscure. In what sense is the necessary “most universal” and “most appropriate”? And why should this have anything to do with logical theory? I do not understand the force of “appropriate”. But Apollonius provides a clue to “universal”. He remarks that adverbs may be either universal or particular (Adv. 119. 5-6); and he explains that some adverbs may intelligibly qualify any verb while others are restricted in their range of application. (Thus you may not say “It will rain 4 Philoponus, /n An. Pr. 304. 28-31, says that “in De int. it was said that the tpdza: are infinite (dre.por) but are included in the three” this is quite false. Stephanus, Jn De int.

53. 14-24, argues that all the unnumberable rpé7o really reduce to Aristotle’s three (thus “xaAws”, for example, signifies contingency)—this is quite absurd. Al-Farabi holds that the modal zp6zo. are primary and that “once you know about these, you know about all the other modes” (Jn De Int. 18. 18-21, pp. 2-3 Z; 163. 16-23, p. 158 Z)— this is wildly optimistic.

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yesterday”.‘°) The modal tpdzox are ‘most universal’ in the following sense: if “8” is a modal ztp6zos, then for any sentence “P”, “6:P” is semantically well formed. And so what? ‘Well, logic is a science, and sciences deal with the universal. So the modal rp67ror, being universal, are a proper object of logical study.’ This thought may be true. But it is jejune. Alexander offers pabulum. He too answers Ammonius’ fourth question (Jn An. Pr. 27. 27-28. 30). The heart of his answer is this: the addition or subtraction of modal tpézo. makes a difference to syllogisms. Barbara LXx_ is valid (according to Aristotle). Barbara xLt is invalid.*° The modal tpoé7o. make a logical difference, inasmuch as there are formally valid inferences involving modal sentences which cannot be reduced to inferences involving non-modal sentences. In short: there is such a thing as modal logic. Equivalently: the modal tpéz7ox are logical constants. Then why does Aristotle discuss only the modal tp670.?—Because only the modal zpd7ox are logical constants, only they sustain a logic.

XII Now this would be a good answer were it true. But is it true? Well, what other logical zp67ro. might there be? It is not difficult to come up with candidates. Thus al-Farabi reproduces the standard Ammonian definition of what a tpdzos is, but he illustrates it with un-Ammonian examples: There are many ways in which a predicate can hold of a subject, as in “Laudably, Zayd is just’—“Deplorably, “Amr is unjust”. “Laudably” and “deplorably” signify how the predicate holds ofthe subject. Similarly, words expressing illegitimacy and legitimacy, as in “Zayd is forbidden to take away someone else’s money”, and “Zayd is entitled, or allowed, to do this and that”. Similarly, words like “ought to”, “must”, “makes a good job of”. (Jn De int. 163.

8-15, p. 158 Z)”

45 See Adv. 123. 1-125. 5; the remark does not appear in Dionysius Thrax, but see the scholia at GG i/3, 96. 4-9; 272. 17-31. ** “.” indicates that a sentence is governed by the operator “Necessarily”, “x” that the sentence is non-modal. Barbara Lx is thus a syllogism in Barbara in which the major premiss and the conclusion have the form “Necessarily P”. ” See also Treatise, 70-1, p. 240 Z.

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These are good examples of tp67r0.—and no doubt they were found in al-Farabi’s Greek source. Earlier, Alexander had characterized “dAnbés”, “pevdés”, “evdogov”, “adoEov”, “SHAov”, “&SnAov”, “ws ext 760 mAcioTov”, “Kata dvow”, and “xara mpoaipea, as tpdzou alongside “Svuvarov” and “a&Suvatov” (and “xadAds” and “wdedAiuws”).®

Now there is—or so many philosophers deontic logic. The deontic tp670:, which been taken for logical constants. There epistemic logic. Moreover, Alexander might

believe—such a thing as al-Farabi mentions, have is also such a thing as surely have contemplated

the possibility of an ‘endoxic’ logic. For just as “avayxaiov” marks off apodeictic inference, so “€véoéov” marks off dialectical inference. And if the tpd70s “avayxaiov” breeds a logic appropriate to the former, why should not the tpdzos “evdogéov” father a logic suitable to the latter? Alexander did not raise this question.*? Nor did Ammonius. Why not? Aristotle’s commentators were learned men, and they were sometimes acute. But they lacked imagination and they lacked a sense of intellectual adventure. At bottom they were dull dogs. Balliol College, Oxford ** See In An. Pr. 270. 10-28 and 329. 30-330. 5 (330. 3 refers back to the earlier passage); cf. 411. 35-7, where Alexander again classifies “aAn@és” as a tpd7os (no doubt with tacit reference to De int. 22°13). 4 No doubt “dds ézi 76 mAcictov” and “xara dvaw” were regarded as mere variants

on “dvvarov” and therefore did not call for special treatment. Perhaps “aAn@és” was uninteresting, given that “adAnés P” is equivalent to “P” (e.g. Alexander, /” An. Pr. 411. 32-5). But the other tpoé7o: remain—and they cry for investigation.

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without exception, Aristotle’s works are in the first instance divided into three main classes— particular writings (ra pepixad SC. ovyypdupata), intermediate writings (ra péoa), and general writings (ra xa@dAov). The general writings are then subdivided into hypomnematic writings and syntagmatic writings, and the latter still further into, on the one hand, dialogues (intended for the general public, who should be addressed in straightforward language and not shown the whole truth of philosophy) and, on the other hand, writings in which he speaks in his own name (avtompéow7a), which can be understood only by an élite: '! Ammonius, /n Cat. 3. 9-16; Olympiodorus, Proleg. 5. 18-30. '? David (Elias), /n Cat. 112. 17-113. 4.

' Ammonius, /n Isag. 46. 12-13. ' For a detailed interpretation of this chapter see Simplicius: Commentaire sur les Catégories, fasc. i, 63-93. '* Ammonius, /n Cat. 3. 20-5. 30; Philoponus, /n Cat. 3. 8-5. 14; Olympiodorus, Proleg. 6. 6-8. 28; Simplicius, /n Cat. 4. 10-5. 2; David (Elias), Jn Cat. 113. 17-117. 14.

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these writings in which he speaks in his own name include the instrumental writings (Organon), practical writings, and theoretical writings. Only the writings in which Aristotle speaks in his own name are representative of his philosophy and can find a place in the Neoplatonic programme of study: these are the logical, ethical, physical, and mathematical works, and by way of theological writing, the Metaphysics. The modern translation of the terms pepixd, wéoa, and xaddAov,

unfortunately conceals the true meaning of these three subdivisions. Indeed, the terms ‘particular writings’, ‘intermediate writings’, and ‘general writings’ have very marked ontological overtones. One should remember that for the Neoplatonists, as for Plato, the degree of each thing’s share in being is in proportion to the degree of generality it possesses. The more an entity has the character of a principle, the more general and universal it is, and the more general it is, the more ‘intelligible’ it is and removed from what is sensible. Everything that is particular (j:epix6v) is inferior to what is universal, and 7a pepixd by itself generally designates whatever has the lowest place on the scale of being and, by this very fact, is not cognizable through knowledge, but only through opinion. Particular writings are therefore those which are concerned only with whatever is particular in the ontological sense: these are above all the Letters, which are addressed to particular individuals and speak ofparticular situations. General writings, on the other hand, deal exclusively with principles, universal laws, and subjects belonging to a high ontological level. These, and these alone, have philosophical significance. Intermediate writings contain treatises which study particular sensible phenomena, such as animals, but ‘do not deal wholly and entirely with particular things, since they bear upon species’, as Simplicius says.'® They are therefore half-way between particular writings and general writings and do not count among the philosophical treatises. This extra-philosophical status is also apparent, according to the Neoplatonists, from the fairly clear style which contrasts with the obscure style of the philosophical writings. What is especially interesting about this classification, and is once more a good illustration of the Platonic spirit of the interpretation of Aristotle practised by all our interpreters, is the fact that all Aristotle’s research on animals is excluded from the physical subdivision of the ' Simplicius, Jv Cat. 4. 12-13. Cf. Philoponus, Jn Cat. 3. 26-8. I propose to emend nev... 7 O€ tO 7 pev... 7 O€.

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theoretical writings and relegated to the category of intermediate writings.'’ The physical subdivision of the theoretical writings, indeed, contains only those of Aristotle’s writings on nature which take as their subject the search for causes, for the general principles which regulate nature: these works will be the Physics and the treatises De caelo, De generatione et corruptione, De anima, and the Meteorologica. The Meteorologica is, as Olympiodorus says in his commentary on this treatise, the last physical treatise which is an enquiry into causes.’* But this work is already considered as bearing in part on subjects not properly philosophical, and it is suggested that for this reason the style employed in it is clear.'” This division of Aristotle’s physical writings into two classes, which is not at all in line with the views ofthe Peripatetics, corresponds point for point with Proclus’ conclusion about all of Aristotle’s works dealing with nature.”’ He observes that in the Physics, De caelo, and De generatione et corruptione Aristotle imitated Plato and remained in full agreement with him, but that in his Meteorologica he already ‘pushed the teaching beyond the right measure’, while in his enquiries into

animals?! everything which in Plato had been clearly articulated in accordance with all varieties of causes—causes which are fully such and causes which are merely secondary—all this in Aristotle is examined scarcely if at all from the standpoint of species: for, more often than not, he dwells on matter and does not proceed beyond it: it is by means of it that he explains physical phenomena, and thus he shows us how far he falls short of his master’s exposition.

On this point too the Athenian Proclus looks like the spiritual father of the Alexandrian commentators. I think, moreover, as already stated, ‘7 Of course, nowhere in our five commentators is there a sentence saying ‘We do not count Aristotle’s natural-history works among the philosophical writings’, but this is the conclusion I have reached based on the five descriptions of the intermediate writings contained in the prefaces to the commentaries on the Categories, on the introductions by Olympiodorus and Philoponus to their commentaries on the Meteorologica, on the text of Proclus quoted on p. 180, and on the scattered reflections ofour five

commentators on the styles Aristotle uses in his different types ofwriting. For all these details cf. Simplicius: Commentaire sur les Catégories, fasc. i, 63-93.

'® Olympiodorus, /n Meteor. g. 19-25. '” Olympiodorus, Proleg. 11. 19-24; In Meteor. 4. 16-27. * Proclus, In Tim. 1. 6. 21-7. 16 Diehl. This text has been well explained by A.-J. Festugiere, in Proclus, Commentaire sur leTimée: Traduction et notes, i (Paris, 1966), 30 N. 1. *) As A.-J. Festugiére has already emphasized (loc. cit.), this means all Aristotle’s treatises on animals, i.e. all Aristotle’s biological treatises.

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that the two introductory schemes which our five commentators use have their common source in Proclus’ Suvavayrwars. The fourth section’ attempts to define the end (réAos) ofAristotle’s philosophy. This section is very important in that it demonstrates clearly that there is no difference in overall approach to Aristotle’s philosophy between the members of the School of Alexandria—so Ammonius, Philoponus, Olympiodorus, and David (Elias)—on the one side, and on the other Simplicius, who, according to Praechter, is

the representative of the School of Athens in his commentaries on Aristotle. Furthermore, this section brings out the fact that for the Alexandrian commentators Aristotle’s philosophy is not the equal of Plato’s but is inferior to it. Indeed, the préliminary definition of the end of Aristotle’s philosophy, undertaken by our five commentators before they begin to read with their students and explain to them the first treatise of Aristotle, aims from the outset to guide the prospective reader of Aristotle’s works to the correct standpoint for interpreting them, namely, a staunchly Neoplatonic one—the fundamental harmony between the philosophies of Plato and Aristotle. David (Elias)? says that those who do not know the end of Aristotle’s philosophy are like blind men swept along to the wrong destination. The definition of the end determines the entire overall interpretation of Aristotle, just as the definition of the purpose (cxo7ds) of each treatise of Aristotle determines the interpretation of each treatise. For our commentators the end of Aristotle’s philosophy can only be identical to that of Plato’s philosophy, as understood by the Neoplatonists—the return back to the principle of all things, the One. That the end of Aristotle’s philosophy is really the Neoplatonic One is shown by the specifically Neoplatonic epithets by which Olympiodorus and Ammonius characterize Aristotle’s first principle: incorporeal (dowazos), boundless (a7epidpro7os), of infinite power (d7e.podtvauos),

ungraspable

(dazepiAnnros),

goodness-in-itself

(avtoayad6rns):” the last two epithets are only applicable to the One. Except for Philoponus, all our commentators’? mention the end of 2? Ammonius, /n Cat. 6. g—16 with the reading ofM in the app. crit.; Philoponus, /n Cat. 5. 34-6. 2; Olympiodorus, Proleg. 9. 14-30; Simplicius, Jn Cat. 6. 6-15; David (Elias), Jn Cat. 119. 26-121. 4. For a more detailed interpretation cf. Simplicius: Commentaire sur les Catégories, fasc. i, g7-103. 23 David (Elias), /n Cat. 119. 29-30. Cf., on the purpose of the Categories, Philoponus, In Cat. 7. 5-13. + Ammonius, /n Cat. 6. 12; Olympiodorus, Proleg. 5. 16-18. °5 | think that in the case of Ammonius one must take account of M’s text, which is relegated to the app. crit. by Busse.

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book A of the Metaphysics with the quotation from Homer” as proof of the fact that Aristotle had recognized a single principle for all things. As often in other contexts,

David

(Elias) feels obliged to take

account of a possible objection from opponents. He reports the following argument, which might be of Peripatetic origin, since it is undoubtedly aimed at the tendency to try to harmonize the philosophies of Aristotle and Plato: ‘Why does he [Aristotle] say that the

first principle is the Mind and not the Good, like Plato?’?’ In other words, if Aristotle’s first principle is the same as Plato’s, why does he not call it by the same name? The fact that Aristotle called it Mind clearly shows that for him the first principle was not the Good. To this David (Elias) replies, in the first place, that if Aristotle did not speak of the Good as first principle in his Metaphysics, the reason is that in writing that work he was composing theology straight after the Physics, and in this context Mind was a principle closer to Nature than the Good would have been. In the second place, he retorts that the preface to the Nicomachean Ethics provides the proof that Aristotle too had known the Good as first principle, since he says that all things seek after the Good. David’s (Elias’s) first reply contains an argument which, to the Neoplatonists’ way of thinking, was not in the least artificial but perfectly valid. Indeed, they proceeded in schoolmaster fashion, by teaching, at each stage of philosophical study, what was necessary and sufficient to know about their ontological system at that precise stage. That is what Hierocles does in his commentary on the Carmen aureum, addressed to beginners, Simplicius in his commentary on Epictetus’

Enchiridion, \ikewise addressed to beginners,”* and all the Neoplatonic commentators on the Categories. The Categories represented to their mind the first treatise on the philosophical curriculum. The definition these commentators give of the purpose (cxozdés) of this treatise is entirely conditioned by this pedagogical principle. As the Categories is 26 Homer, //. 2. 204. 7’ David (Elias), Jn Cat. 120. 10 ff. ** Cf. on this subject I. Hadot, Le Probleme du néoplatonisme alexandrin, 160 ff. Cf. also I. Hadot, ‘Ist die Lehre des Hierokles vom Demiurgen christlich beeinfluBt?’, in A. M.

Ritter (ed.), Kerygma und Logos: Festschrift fiir C. Andresen (Gottingen, 1979), 258-271, where I show by interpreting Hierocles, /n Carm. aur. 87. 16-89. 18 Kohler, that Hierocles knew of hypostases above the demiurge and that on this point also his philosophical system is close to Iamblichus. Cf. more recently ead., ‘Le démiurge comme principe dérivé dans le systeme ontologique d’Hiérocles’, Revue des études grecques, 103 (1990), 241-62.

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a work aimed at beginners in philosophy, there can be no question of a study of the words, which would be the province of the grammarian, nor of a study of beings qua beings, which would come under metaphysics; what is at stake is the preliminary study of logic.*” Theological and ontological questions have no place in a treatise of this kind; one may at the very most make brief, vague

allusions.*° This state of affairs had totally escaped Praechter, who in all the works I have just listed tried to identify a system that was prePlotinian—as in the case of Simplicius and Hierocles on Epictetus’ Enchiridion and the Carmen aureum—or else a simplified system, as in the case of the Alexandrian commentators on the Categories: simplified, however, not out of pedagogical interests, but out of philosophical conviction. In fact, David (Elias) tells us that it is out of pedagogical interests that in the Metaphysics Aristotle speaks only of Mind as first principle and not the Good, because it is Mind which follows Nature and the

Soul! in the ascending order of hypostases. It is Mind which is the principle nearest to hand and the most direct generator of souls and of the principles which govern Nature. But there is yet another reason for this, a reason linked to Aristotle’s own basic concerns. ‘One ought indeed to know’, David (Elias) continues, ‘that Aristotle always discourses on nature even when writing theology . . . whereas Plato, by contrast, is always the theologian even while studying nature, and

introduces the doctrine of Ideas everywhere.”*! Simplicius uses a similar comparison when he contrasts the type of expression proper to ”’ Cf. Simplicius, /n Cat. 9. 28-30; 11. 30ff; 73. 30ff. Cf. Olympiodorus, Proleg. 19. 305; 20. 15-17; 21. 7-10. Cf. Ph. Hoffmann, ‘Catégories et langage selon Simplicius: la question du “skopos” du traité aristotélicien des Categories’, in I. Hadot (ed.), Simplicius: Sa vie, son euvre, sa survie (Actes du Colloque international de Paris, 28 sept.—1“ oct.

1985; Berlin and New York, 1987), 61-go. *© Cf. Simplicius, /n Cat. 67. 10-12: ‘But one could reply to all those people in common that they ought not to have required introductory treatises to aim at perfection;

for the ears of beginners do not tolerate exactness.’ Cf. Simplicius, /n Ench. Epict. 101. 38ff., who at the end of the longest and most systematic presentation of the degrees of being to be found in his commentary on Epictetus expresses himselfas follows: ‘But as for the first of the three problems, that which set out to show that there are first principles of beings and that God is the cause ofeverything, enough has been said (even if still further stages for the upward ascent have been left aside with regard to the complete demonstration [ofthe proof]). For I know that some ofthese explanations will seem redundant to some people if compared with the chief aim of this work, which is intended to explain Epictetus’ Enchiridion. Cf. also Hierocles, Jn Carm. aur. 121. 19 ff. Kohler.

Ty Cat. 120. 30-121. 3.

(84

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Aristotle with Plato’s type of expression in the context of the sixth

section?” On all occasions Aristotle refuses to set aside nature, he envisages even what is bevond nature in terms ofits relationship with nature, just as the divine Plato, in line with Pythagorean custom, examines even the things of nature in so far as they partake of whatever is beyond nature.

It goes without saying that for these very reasons Plato’s philosophy, by contrast with Aristotle’s, is considered the more elevated, the more theological, the more inspired. It is likewise clear that the Metaphysics can only be a half-way stage between the studies of natural principles and natural causes, and the true theology developed by Plato in his Parmenides. Aristotle’s thought is not, by nature, sufficiently “transcendent’. Aristotle’s inferiority is expressed even more plainly by Olympiodorus, Philoponus, and Elias in texts I shall talk about later. One of the sections in the first introductory scheme deals with the qualities necessary in the good exegete.** Ever since philosophy had become to all intents and purposes exegesis of the works of the great philosophers of the past—Plato, Aristotle, Epicurus, Chrysippus—the role of the exegete had become paramount. This role was to grow still further in importance in the Neoplatonists, since they thought they had to break through to the meaning of works made obscure, or even esoteric, by their author’s deliberate wish: by the use of myths and

allegories in Plato, by obscurity of style in Aristotle. Aristotle’s obscurity of style is moreover the subject of another heading in the first introductory scheme.** One of the qualities of the exegete required by Simplicius and David (Elias) is a knowledge of all Aristotle’s works: ‘He must know all Aristotle’s works,’ David (Elias) says,’’ ‘so as to explain Aristotle’s work from the works themselves, having first shown that Aristotle is always consistent with himself.’ If

one isolates this phrase from its context, the method recommended by David (Elias) looks like a model ofobjectivity. One might criticize the participial expression iva cvudwyvov deigas tov “ApiatotéAnv éauTw,

for it indicates that its author assumes that Aristotle’s work forms a perfectly consistent system. But this objectivity is more apparent than real, as the rest of the text shows: ‘He [the exegete of Aristotle] must “2 In Cat. 6. 27-30. Ammonius, /n Cat. 8. 11-19; Philoponus, /n Cat. 6. 30-5; Olympiodorus, Proleg. 10. 24-33; Simplicius, /n Cat. 7. 23-32; David (Elias), Jn Cat. 122. 25-123. 11. “ Fora commentary on this chapter see Simplicius: Commentaire sur les Catégories, fase. i, 113-22. * David (Elias), /n Cat. 123. 7-9.

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know all Plato’s work, in order to show, by making of Aristotle’s works an introduction to Plato’s works, that Plato is always consistent with himself.”*° The principal task of the Alexandrian Neoplatonic commentator is, then, contrary to what a large number of historians of philosophy still think, the explication of Plato’s philosophy, understood as a coherent system. Exegesis of Aristotle, necessary as a preliminary to understanding Plato, must therefore be directed to this end—and this is scarcely possible unless one assumes a fairly broad doctrinal agreement between the two philosophers. Simplicius is the only one to formulate this presupposition openly in the context ofthe present section in the introductory scheme,*’ but there can be no doubt that it was also accepted by the other Alexandrian commentators: we have already met it in respect ofthe first and fourth sections of the first introductory scheme. Olympiodorus confirms this in his commentary on the Gorgias: ‘As for Aristotle, it must be said that first, he is never in disagreement with Plato, except in appearance, and secondly, even allowing that he is in disagreement, he owes this yet again to Plato.’** Another quality required of the exegete, according to Olympiodorus and David (Elias), is that he must be able both to explain the

text, particularly by elucidating obscure passages, and to adjudicate scientifically between fruitful thought and unproductive thought, by distinguishing true from false.’ To do so, the exegete must be objective—a feature stressed by all the commentators—and must not wish to find difficulties where there are none, or alternatively to try at all costs to defend Aristotle where he is not defensible, as though one were a fully fledged member of his sect or as though one were in the presence of an oracle. One must not change demeanour, Olym-

piodorus and David (Elias) assert,"” as actors do when taking different roles, and, as David (Elias) explains,*’ become an Aristotelian when commenting on Aristotle and a Platonist when commenting on Plato, stating alternately that there is no philosopher to match Aristotle or that there is none like Plato. David (Elias) means that one should not

be either a Peripatetic like Alexander of Aphrodisias or a Platonist like some of the Middle Platonists of the second century ab, who had opposed the trend (just beginning to emerge among the Platonists) 8% bid. 123. 9-11.

7 Simplicius, Jn Cat. 7. 29-32.

8 Olympiodorus, /n Gorgiam, 41. y (= 214. 13-25 Westerink). *” Olympiodorus, Proleg. 10. 25-7; David (Elias), /n Cat. 122. 25-7.

*” Olympiodorus, Proleg. 10. 30-1; David (Elias), Jn Cat. 122. 28-9. 1) David (Elias), /n Cat. 122. 29-32.

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towards exegete platonic the two

explaining Plato’s work with the help of Aristotle’s. The who has to deal with both Aristotle and Plato—this Neoprogramme itself implies some idea of a harmony between philosophers—must avoid such radical bias, characteristic of those who comment on either Plato or Aristotle but not both; the exegete must adopt the stance of attempting to reconcile Aristotelian texts with Platonic texts. Therein consists the apparent objectivity required by all the commentators. We have seen, then, that the section on the requisite qualities of the exegete does not deal with the qualities of just any exegete, but with the Neoplatonic exegete, whose duty it is to teach Aristotle’s philosophy as an introduction to Plato’s philosophy, the latter being still dominant. The exegete must neither interpret Aristotle without any concern for Plato, nor the opposite. However, there are shades of opinion within this general trend towards harmonization. Thus, David (Elias), again in the same chapter, quotes lamblichus as an example which the good exegete must not follow. Iamblichus had ‘also granted to Aristotle that he had

not contradicted Plato on the question of Ideas’.*” That was pushing things too far. By refusing to accept that there was agreement between Aristotle and Plato over the question of Ideas, David (Elias) follows

Proclus, as we know from Philoponus. Philoponus, in his treatise De aeternitate mundi contra Proclum, written in 529, informs us about the strife among the koryphaioi of the Neoplatonists on the issue of whether Aristotle had attacked Plato’s very doctrine of Ideas or whether he was only against those among the Neoplatonists who were misinterpreting Plato’s texts.*? Philoponus does not name the representative of the view that Aristotle was in agreement with Plato on the doctrine of Ideas, but he quotes word for word, a little further on,** the first chapter of Proclus’ book An Examination of Aristotle’s Objections Concerning Plato’s Timaeus, in which Proclus states that Aristotle had attacked the very doctrine of Ideas. It is all the more surprising,

Philoponus goes on,** that despite Proclus’ assertions there are still supporters of the theory that Plato and Aristotle were in agreement ‘on this point also’, i.e. on the question of Ideas. And he goes on to say that those born after them (sc. the koryphaioi—Proclus and, to judge from David (Elias), lamblichus) quite naturally followed the leaders oftheir own schools. According to Philoponus, there were therefore some * David (Elias), Jn Cat. 123. 1-3. * Toid. 31. 7ff. Rabe.

** Philoponus, De aet. mundi, 29. 2-5 Rabe. * Tbid. 32. ro-18 Rabe.

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Neoplatonists in his time who, following the lead ofa great Neoplatonic philosopher, probably Iamblichus, took for granted the agreement between Plato and Aristotle over the question of Ideas. To whom is Philoponus referring? Is he thinking of Damascius and his pupils, who had, according to the evidence of Simplicius,** come closer to the views of Iamblichus? Until there is proof to the contrary, I do not think, as Taran does, that it could be the School of Ammonius,” to which it is generally believed David (Elias) belonged. Ifthe tendency to harmonize Aristotle’s thought and Plato’s was generalized among the Neoplatonists, there could have been differences and distinctions within this

trend, as we have seen from the example of Iamblichus and Proclus. I shall end with texts which belong to introductions to commentaries on Aristotle’s works other than the Categories, except in the case of Olympiodorus. Olympiodorus had chosen his introduction to the Categories to answer the question ‘Is logic part of philosophy or its instrument?’ This question is discussed by Ammonius, Philoponus, and Elias in the introductions to their commentaries on the Prior Analytics, whereas Olympiodorus inserts it between the first and second schemes introducing the Categories. Of these fairly long texts, on which I have commented elsewhere,** I shall mention here only the comparison they draw between Aristotle and Plato over the part played by each of them in the development of logic. Olympiodorus argues as follows: Plato used logical proof without establishing the rules for it, while Aristotle had as it were discovered the rules by separating them off from the objects to which they apply. But that is no reason for valuing Aristotle more highly than Plato, quite the opposite. In order to carry out his proofs, Plato had no need of Aristotle’s apodeictic method; whereas Aristotle needed Platonic proof to establish his rules. Homer did not need Aristotle’s Poetics nor Demosthenes the Techné Rhetorike of Hermogenes—no, it was Aristotle and Hermogenes who needed the works of Homer and Demosthenes to

devise their methods. Elias says roughly the same thing:*” Men of old knew perfectly well what a logcial proof was and did not make any logical mistakes in their proofs. Superior souls who act above and beyond © Simplicius, /n Phys. 795. 11-17. 7 See on this subject Simplicius: Commentaire sur les Categories, fasc. i, 129-30.

** Ibid. 161-8; cf. also 183-8. * Olympiodorus, Proleg. 17. 37-18. 12. 50 Elias, Jn An. Pr. 69 p. 136. 23-32 Westerink=p. 69 in L. G. Westerink, Texts and Studies in Neoplatonism and Byzantine Literature (Amsterdam, 1980) (repr. of L. G. Westerink, ‘Elias on the Prior Analytics’, in Mnemosyne, 4th ser. 14 (1961), 126-39).

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rules do themselves become the rules for those who come after them. Plato,

when carrying out his proofs, says Themistius, had no need of Aristotle’s syllogistic in order to avoid any errors in the properties of figures; whereas Aristotle needed Plato’s dialogues in order to group together the properties of figures. In the same way, Homer had no need of Aristotle’s Poetics, nor Demosthenes the Techné Rhétorike of Hermogenes, whereas Aristotle needed

Homer in his Poetics and Hermogenes needed Demosthenes in his Techne Rhetorike.

The comments

of Philoponus*! add nothing new to the passages

quoted. This brief comparison between Plato and Aristotle reveals once again the attitude of our Alexandrian commentators, Philoponus, Olympiodorus, and Elias in the case I have just discussed, towards the philosophers: for them, the two philosophers are mutually complementary, but the genius of the divine Plato is superior to Aristotle. Aristotle only knows how to establish logical rules, which he discovers by analysing the logical elements in Plato’s work, whereas Plato practised logical proof spontaneously and intuitively without formulating the rules for it. Here again we meet the principle of Aristotle’s inferiority to Plato, which determines the harmonizing trend as well as its limitations. Thanks to Marinus’ Life ofProclus and Damascius’ Life of Isidore, we know the role of the study of the works of Aristotle with commentary in the teaching of the School of Athens at the time when Syranius, then Proclus, then Isidore ran the School. Syrianus initiated Proclus into Plato’s mystical doctrine after Proclus had been adequately prepared by studying the works of Aristotle, as if, so to speak, by way of preparatory or ‘minor’ mysteries. So in directing Proclus’ studies Syrianus proceeds in due order, as Marinus emphasizes, and ‘does not leap over the threshold’;** in other words, Proclus proceeds in the set *! Philoponus, /n. An. Pr. 6. 14-18. 2 Marinus, Vita Procli, 13. 69 Masullo (Naples, 1985). This expression, taken from the

Chaldean Oracles, where it meant that the theurgist must not stray from the set order for the ritual (cf. H. Lewy, Chaldean Oracles and Theurgy, new edn. by M. Tardieu (Paris,

1978), 262 with n. 10), is frequently used by the later Neoplatonists in the context ofthe programme of study or exercises for acquiring virtue: cf. Philoponus, Jn Cat. 6. 13; Asclepius, /n Metaph. 98. 11; Simplicius, /n Ench. Epict. 22. 54-23. 1 Diibner; Damascius, Vit. Isidort, fr. 137, p. 115 Zintzen. The idea that it is necessary to follow a certain order in one’s studies, that one must progress in small stages, and that it is vital not to miss a single one out is already attested in the Greek Neoplatonic sources of Augustine’s De ordine. On this question cf. 1. Hadot, Arts libéraux et philosophie dans la pensée antique (Paris, 1984), 101 ff.

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order and does not miss out any step in the teaching. Isidore too came

to Plato’s philosophy after studying Aristotle.” I hope to have shown in this paper that the part played by the study of and commentary on Aristotle’s works remained the same up to the end of Neoplatonism. Aristotle was never studied for his own sake by the Neoplatonists, but always as a necessary preparation for the philosophy of Plato. CNRS, Paris % Damascius,

Mita Isidori, 58. off. Zintzen.

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NOUS PATHETIKOS:AN LAGER GREER PHILOSOPHY HENRY

BLUMENTHAL

IN 1911 H. Kurfess obtained a doctorate from the University of Tubingen with a dissertation on the history ofthe interpretation of nous poietikos and nous pathétikos.' Notoriously the expression nous poietikos never occurs in the text of Aristotle, but its derivation from De anim. 430°II1-12 is an easy step, and when philosophers and commentators subsequently discuss it, we know what it is that they are talking about, even if its nature and status remained, and remain, controversial. Similarly nous pathetikos, or rather ho pathétikos nous, occurs only once in the pages of Aristotle, but appears often, if less frequently than nous povetikos, in the texts of his successors and interpreters. In its case, however, though the expression occurs in Aristotle’s De anima, its reference is unclear. To aggravate matters, nous pathetikos quite often appears in his successors in contexts which seem to have nothing to do with the intellect. Yet while nous poietikos has generated an enormous literature from the ancient world up until today, the phrase nous pathetikos has received nothing like the attention of its partner. This paper will examine some of its uses in both commentators and Neoplatonist philosophers in the hope of explaining its appearance and clarifying its meaning. Let us begin by reminding ourselves of the relevant—or apparently relevant—words in De anima. Our phrase occurs in the last sentence of De anim. 3. 5, in the parenthesis ou mnemoneuomen de, hoti touto men

apathes, ho de pathetikos nous phthartos: (‘we do not remember because this is impassible, and the passible intellect is perishable’), followed by the remark that ‘without this nothing thinks’, aneu toutou outhen noet (430°245). What the ‘this’ is, is, of course, totally unclear. I do not propose to © H.J. Blumenthal 1991 ' Zur Geschichte der Erklarung der Aristotelischen Lehre vom sog. und IIA@HTIKOS

NOYS ITOIHTIKOZ

(Tibingen, 1911), repr. in L. Taran (ed.), Aristotle and his Influence

(Greek and Roman Philosophy, 52; New York and London, 1987).

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embark on yet another discussion ofits meaning, but would suggest that the unclarity made possible some ofthe uses of nous pathetikos that are to be found in later Greek philosophical writers. Together with this sole occurrence of nous pathétikos at the end of 3. 5 we must take the point made earlier in the chapter that just as in everything there is the equivalent of matter and an active cause, so there is, in soul, a kind of nous that fits this distinction by becoming everything (430*10-15). Indeed, the latest discussion of the chapter concludes its section on nous pathetikos with the remark that everything would have been easier if these words had never been used: ‘had Aristotle avoided the misleading phrase “passive intellect” in the last sentence of the chapter ... his meaning would probably have been clearer’.’ Let us notice, but leave aside, the common view that Aristotle saw a possible division between the soul that was the form ofthe body and an intellect—or part of it—which was not, this division coming between the passive and active intellects.’ Let us note too that such a division would not appeal to a Neoplatonist, who qua Platonist would see the primary division as being between body and soul as a whole, and the major division in the soul itself between the rational and irrational functions,

however many other layers he might find within it: this large division was foisted on the De anima, where, of course, it is not to be found.’ As one can see over and over again, any passibility that might be

attributable to a soul, which was, in principle, impassible, was to be found in the irrational part. Thus, prima facie, passibility ought not to attach to intellect at all, and one might expect Neoplatonists to have difficulties with any text that might suggest that it did, notwithstanding their acceptance ofthe Aristotelian concept of intellection by assimilation of subject to object. If, nevertheless, passibility had to be excluded from the intellect, at whatever level, then any part of the soul that Aristotle might describe as pathetikos would have to be identified as something within that area of soul which was in some sense subject to change. I am not here talking about such change as some have argued will affect the whole soul, intellect included, as a consequence of incarnation, the substantial (kat’ ousian) change that has been found in lamblichus, Simplicius, and Priscian.* That, if it happened, would * J. M. Rist, The Mind of Aristotle: A Study in Philosophical Growth (Phoenix, suppl. 25; Toronto, 1989), 178-9. * Cf. H. M. Robinson in this volume. * The division does, of course, come in the ‘ethical psychology’; cf. e.g. NE 1102" 23-8. * Cf. C. Steel, The Changing Self: A Study on the Soul in Later Neoplatonism. lamblichus, Damascius and Priscianus (Verhandelingen van de Kon. Acad. voor Wetenschapen, Lett.

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affect even the active intellect, in so far as it was part ofa fully descended soul and did not remain ‘above’ as it did for Plotinus, to the puzzlement and discomfort oflater Platonists.° Let us first go back to Aristotle, and look briefly at some other uses of pathetikos. In the Politics, where Aristotle is using the ‘ethical psychology’, he writes that it is beneficial for the passible part of the soul to be ruled by nous (1254°6—g): here the pathétikon morion is clearly not any part of the reason or intellect. So too in the Eudemian Ethics (1221°15-17) men are said to have a ‘passible power’,’ pathetikée dunamis for the excessive consumption offood and drink, in opposition to reason (para ton logon).

Such uses, however irrelevant to the understanding of Deanim. 3.5. they might appear to us, would fit far better with a Platonist’s view of where in the soul passibility might be found. Before we consider the Platonists let us look at some texts in commentators who wrote before the Neoplatonic period or were, on the whole, unaffected by Neoplatonism, namely, Alexander and Themistius. By the time of Alexander—unless of course he coined it himself— the term nous poietikos was in use to describe the active intellect, wherever that intellect might be found. Once that had happened, nous pathetikos became an obvious correlative. Hence as long as the Peripatetic view that the intellect had an active and passive, or actual and potential, element survived as such, there was not necessarily any problem either about the existence of a nous described as pathetikos or about a pathétikon element in the upper part of the soul. Serious difficulties began when the Platonists took over Aristotelian psychology and superimposed on it the notion that soul, let alone intellect, cannot be passive or passible. But even before this the word pathétikos seems to have been regarded as unsuitable, or at least not introduced, for the description of the ‘passive’ part of intellect by those who thought that there was such. So in Alexander the word is en Schone Kunsten van Belgié, KI]. Lett. 40 (1978), No. 85; Brussels, 1978), passim; I. Hadot, ‘La doctrine de Simplicius sur l’ame raisonnable humaine dans le commentaire sur le manuel d’Epictete’, in H.J. Blumenthal and A. C. Lloyd (eds.), Soul and the Structure of Being in Late Neoplatonism: Syrianus, Proclus and Simplicius (Liverpool, 1982), 46-69; for another view see Blumenthal, ibid. 71-2.

° Cf. esp. Plotinus, 4. 8. 8. 1-3; for some examples of complaints see Proclus, E. 7h. 184, 211; Hermias, /n Phaedrum, 160. 1-4 Couvreur; Simplicius, /n De anim. 6. 12 ff. ‘ Perhaps a better translation is M. Woods’s ‘affectible capacity’; Aristotle's Eudemian Ethics: Books I, IJ, and VIII, translated with a Commentary by Michael Woods (Clarendon Aristotle series; Oxford, 1982).

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absent from the De anima, where we find expressions like nous hulikos,° with all the problems that attend that description, and nous en hexei for a different condition of the same entity.” In the Mantissa we find it in two passages, significantly neither of them in the Peri nou. In the first, from Pos kata Aristotelen to horan ginetai (“How according to Aristotle vision takes place), it is used merely to make the general point that things that undergo change do so not by a random agency but by the appropriate one (144. 27-9). In the second, in the section headed Hoti antakolouthousin hai aretai (‘that the virtues are consequential upon each other’), the application is to the soul, but it is there used of the non-rational parts, and so of something to be distinguished from the intellect, or even the reason: its virtues are there contrasted with those of areasoning or intellectual part or faculty, /ogistikon (155. 31-8). What this amounts to is that Alexander, for whatever reason, did not use pathétikos to describe that part of the intellect which he and Aristotle thought was normally in a state of potentiality: unfortunately we do not know what he did in his De anima commentary. From the point of view of future developments we should merely note that when he does use the term he uses it of the irrational faculties of the soul, with which the intellect must coexist, and which he already, anticipating the Platonists, sees as an impediment to its true activity, ha panta empodia tei oikeiai tou nou energeiai (In Metaph. 142. 19-23). In the commentary on the Topics the part of the soul described as pathetikon is the seat of ethical virtues: these have nothing to do with knowledge,

which belongs in the reasoning part, Jogistikon (cf. 145. 25-323 190. g-11), with which a nous pathetikos that had anything to do with intellect would have to go. In distinguishing nous pathetikos from potential intellect, nous dunamei, Alexander was followed by Themistius, whom it is convenient to mention here rather than with the Neoplatonists, who were his contemporaries but whose views he did not, in general, share.'° At the start of his comment on 3. 5 he notes that Aristotle talks of a pathetikos nous, and means by that not the potential intellect, but * Cf. De anim. 82. 19 ff., 84. 18-22. ” Cf. now R. W. Sharples, ‘Alexander of Aphrodisias: Scholasticism and Innovation’, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der romischen Welt, 11. 36. 2 (Berlin and New York, 1987), 1203-6. ' On Themistius as a Peripatetic see my ‘Themistius, the Last Peripatetic Commentator on Aristotle’, in G. M. Bowersock, W. Burkert, and M. C. J. Putnam (eds.),

Arktouros: Hellenic Studies Presented to Bernard M. W. Knox on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday (Berlin and New York, 1979), 391-400. A revised versionis printed in R. Sorabji (ed.), Aristotle Transformed: The Ancient Commentators and their Influence (London, 1990), 113-23.

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another which earlier he called common (/n De anim. 101. 5—7).'! He defers discussion ofthis until he has dealt with the active and potential nous: the latter he sees as closely allied with the active one, and sharing its characteristics of separability and impassibility (101. 5-107. 29). Indeed, so closely does he connect the two that one might see nous pathetikos simply as that part of a single intellect which has the degree of potentiality which is required for it to be able to assimilate to its objects and thus to know them (cf. 105. 22-6). For our present purposes we should note that this means that for Themistius any explanation of the end of 3. 5 which more or less identifies nous pathetikos with imagination is simply irrelevant.” When we turn to Plotinus and the beginnings of Neoplatonism, the picture changes only a little, in so far as the use of the word pathetikos is concerned:

there is, of course, a significant change of doctrine, to

which we shall return, for it affects the whole of the rest of the story. The word itselfis applied neither to intellect nor to discursive reason, but is kept for the description of the passive nature of certain parts or functions ofthe soul, or their activities, or used in the sense of‘subject to pathe’ in the sense of emotions. So at 2. 3. 9. 12-14 pathé are said to come from a hexis pathetike ousa, thus not from soul as such, or soul in the strictest sense, but from a

substance capable of undergoing pathe: in so far as that includes some soul, that soul will be its irrational phase or faculties. A reference to an irrational area of the soul comes out more clearly in the following chapter ofthe same treatise, where Plotinus writes that the soul would not go into a body unless it had a major passible element, meé mega ti pathetikon echousa (2. 3. 10. 6-7). Since we have to take account not only of the uses of the actual expression nous pathétikos but also of the area or areas of the soul’s activity that that term might be used to describe, we must consider whether or not the idea of passivity fits into Plotinus’—and then his successors’—view of the soul, and if so, where. It is, or should be, well known that for Plotinus the soul is essentially impassive in theory: in practice this does not always hold, if "We

should note that his treatment of this chapter differs from the rest of the

paraphrase-style commentary, and is much more like a standard one, perhaps one ofthe sources of the erroneous belief that he wrote ordinary commentaries as well, which appears in Photius, Cod. 74; on this cf. my ‘Photius on Themistius (Cod 74): Did Themistius Write Commentaries on Aristotle?’, Hermes, 107 (1979), 168-82. 12 On Themistius, and also Theophrastus and Alexander, cf. P. M. Huby, pp. 134-43 above.

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HF. Blumenthal

only because Plotinus has to explain certain forms of behaviour which cannot be explained on his basic assumption.'’ The first point to be made is that Plotinus is very firmly opposed to any notion that reason and intellect are subject to any form of pathos. I have discussed elsewhere,

and

so will not

spend

time

on

it here, how

he uses

the

phantastikon as a form ofinsulation for the higher soul, and even goes so far as to duplicate that faculty to ensure that the soul can do everything he requires of it, both in this life and before and after it, without

infringing the impassivity of the higher soul.'* More problematic is what happens below that level. This problem occupies Plotinus in the first six chapters of his treatise On the Impassibility of Incorporeals. Here Plotinus begins by announcing that sensations—or perceptions—are not pathe but energeiai and judgements about them, the pathe happening not in the soul but elsewhere (3. 6. 1. 1-7). The notion that sense-perception is essentially active, arguably not Aristotelian, is one that Plotinus is repeatedly keen to emphasize, most notably in the treatise On Problems

ofthe Soul, 4. 3-5..° That Plotinus divided his intellect into an active and passive component might be inferred, as it occasionally has been, from the distinctions which he does make in the area of soul to which he applies nous. Here we may simply recall that that division is ofa different kind, namely, between the intellect which works by discursive reasoning, in transition from one point or object to the next, and the other intellect which works without such transition by direct contact with its objects.’ For our present purpose the important point is that both these forms of activity are active: the assimilation between subject and object characteristic of noésis is not seen as an affection of the subject. In other words, there is no kind of nous that can be described

as

pathetikos. Let us for the moment assume that where Plotinus sees no scope for passibility his successors are most unlikely to have done so. The assumption may be reinforced by the fact that Porphyry, who in many ways marks a transition from Plotinus to the later Neoplatonists, took the same line as his teacher—so far as one can tell from the surviving evidence. Thus, in his commentary on Ptolemy’s Harmonics he tells us '* On this cf. my Plotinus’ Psychology: His Doctrines of the Embodied Soul (The Hague,

1971), passim, esp. 45-66. PEC iiegaaugneanoity Pe Cive:ea4u ae LI—1O95 RON —2

4 Tbid. 89—-gg. 5 NORCNOT=2°

Nous pathetikos in Later Greek Philosophy

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that sense-perception is a material and passible (pathétikon) criterion, whereas reason deals with form (eidikon) (14. 29-33 D, cf. 16. 26-8). Why then do we find repeated occurrences of the phrase nous pathetikos,

and

what

can

it mean

in a context

where

the natural

meaning of pathetikos would seem to be excluded from the start? Let us go back to Aristotle and see what the role ofa nous pathétikos might be if intellection is to be explained on Aristotelian lines, without introducing passibility into an intellect in which it has—from a Neoplatonist’s viewpoint—no possible place. There are two fairly obvious indications. First, the statement of De anim. 3. 5 that there must be a material or potential element in everything in general, and therefore in nous in particular (430*10-15): without such an element nothing thinks (ibid. 25).!’ Secondly, we have the well-known dictum of 3. 7 that thinking cannot take place without images (431715-16). Let us start, Neoplatonically, with the notion that the so-called passible part of the intellect is somehow connected with this requirement for the availability of phantasmata. Can this dual requirement enable a commentator

on Aristotle, or a constructor

of theories about the

intellect on the basis of the essentially Aristotelian psychology that all Neoplatonists shared, to find a role for an entity—or function— describable as nous pathetikos without actually importing pathe into intellect or reason? Proclus, in his Euclid commentary—which is significant because Proclus regarded mathematical objects as an image ofhigher being (cf. 141. 2ff.)'*—noted in the second prologue that phantasia, because it works in relation to shape (dia ten morphotiken kinesin) and yet exists with and in body, brings impressions that are always divided, separate, and endowed with shape.’’ For that reason he says someone ventured to call it nous pathétikos. Who that someone was is not clear: Aristotle is obviously a candidate,”? but we must remember that he does not actually do so, so that whoever first developed the view that nous '” Or, of course, ‘it thinks nothing’. '’ On this cf. I. Mueller, ‘Mathematics and Philosophy in Proclus’ Commentary on Book I of Euclid’s Elements’, in J. Pépin and H.-D. Saffrey (eds.), Proclus: Lecteuretinterprete des anciens (Colloques internat. du C.N.R.S.; Paris, 1987), 316-17.

1 51. 20-52. 3; cf. also /n Remp. 1. 235. 18-19: he men phantasia noesis ousa morphotike. -” That the reference is to Aristotle is stated as a fact by G. R. Morrow, Proclus: A Commentary on the First Book of Euclid’s Elements (Princeton, 1970), ad loc., perhaps

following P. L. Schoenberger and M. Steck, Proklus Diadochus 410—485: Kommentar sum Ersten Buch von Euklids “Elementen” (Halle a/S, 1945), 210. Morrow compares two passages from /n 7im. which seem to refer to more than one source—hupo tinon, hup’ allon (see below).

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FH. J. Blumenthal

pathetikos and phantasia should be identified is an equally strong claimant to be the referent of Proclus’ ‘someone’. We should note too that, in two further passages where Proclus refers to others using this description (Jn Tim. 1. 244. 19-22, 3. 158. 5-11), the referent is plural: whether

the plural is real or rhetorical

one

cannot

tell, but it is

certainly possible that it is real, and if it is, we should like to know the identity of the persons concerned.

Proclus himself objected to the description on the grounds that if it were nous then it would have to be impassible and immaterial, apathes kai aulos, and that if any affection (pathos) were involved in its activity then it could not properly be called nous (pos eti nous an kleétheie dikaios?). For, continues Proclus, impassibility is an attribute of nous and noeric existence, while passibility is distant from that sort of existence (/n I Eucl. 51. 20-52. 8 F). Nevertheless, in true Neoplatonic fashion Proclus tries to go beyond the, as he would have seen it, merely superficial meaning ofAristotle’s words, and offers an explanation. It is that the author of the label tried to show imagination’s middle position between the highest kinds of cognition and the lowest ones, and so simultaneously called it nous as being like the highest, and pathetikos because of its relation to the lowest things (ibid. 8-12). He expands this further by saying that the kind of knowledge that is not concerned with shape and form has its knowledge within itself and is united with its objects, pure of any impression or affection. The lower forms of cognition, on the other hand, operate through organs and are rather affections, receiving their information from outside and being altered along with the data: such are sense-perceptions, the result of strong affection (ibid. 12—20).”! Two points emerge from this discussion. The first, which is not surprising, is that Proclus is not, as far as one can see, trying to make sense of the distinction made at the beginning of De anim. 3. 5. The other is that the faculty or activity he is describing can hardly be described as nous at all. The only good reason for any kind of reference to a passive or passible nous would appear to be the fact that the phrase nous pathetikos does appear in the text of the /ocus classicus on the operation ofintellect. In theory another one might be an acceptance of the Aristotelian view that images are necessary for thought, as in De anim. 3. 7, combined with a wish to stress the active rather than passive *! Cf. further my ‘Proclus on Perception’, Bulletin ofthe Institute of Classical Studies, 20 (1982), 7, and the references given there.

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nature of phantasia, of which there are other signs in the Euclid

commentary.” That arose at least in part from the special requirements ofexplaining how the mind handled mathematics: that is why I suggested that the Euclid commentary may have been a special case. How it differs from the rest of Proclus’ work in its treatment of phantasia and the sometimes adjacent, sometimes alternative, faculty of ‘opinion’ (doxa)

1 have discussed elsewhere, so shall not go into any further detail

here.** What should be added is that the special role of phantasia in mathematical thought seems to predate Proclus. Here problems arise from the paucity of coherent texts, difficulties in ascribing unattributed citations or limiting those with no clear end, but there are indications that this more active concept of phantasia figured in the mathematical work of Iamblichus, and perhaps even of Porphyry. Thus, the contrast we find between a more passive role for phantasia in normal accounts of perception and thinking, and a more active and positive one in mathematical contexts, might well have appeared in earlier post-Plotinian Neoplatonists had we but access to the evidence.” In any case, one should not undervalue the importance of phantasia in the various versions of Neoplatonic psychology, a caution that needs to be issued in view of a recent, and otherwise useful, treatment of the question which sees the Neoplatonists as having a ‘predominantly negative’ attitude to it.” Let us now consider how the reference to a nous pathetikos in 3. 5 is handled by those who are explicitly writing commentaries on Aristotle. We should not, of course, expect that their psychology is radically different from that of the commentators on Plato and composers of independent philosophical works, nor that the exigencies of exposition would lead to any major difference between their own views and what they might say in a commentary.’° The latter 22 On this cf. W. Beierwaltes, ‘Das Problem der Erkenntnis bei Proklos’, in De Jamblique aProclus (Entretiens sur |’Antiquite Classique, 21; Geneva, 1974), 156-62. ?3 In ‘Plutarch’s Exposition of the De anima and the Psychology of Proclus’, ibid. 136 ff. on Cf. now D. J. O’Meara, Pythagoras Revived: Mathematics and Philosophy in Late Antiquity (Oxford, 1989), 167-8 and 134 n. 45 with the references given there. 5G. Watson, Phantasia in Classical Thought (Galway, 1988), 97-133; See esp. pp. 131-2. 2° Cf. e.g. my ‘Neoplatonic Elements in the De anima Commentaries’, Phronesis, 21 (1976), 64-87, repr. with an addendum in Aristotle Transformed (n. 10 above), 305-24, and ‘Some Platonist Readings ofAristotle’, Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society, Ss 27 (1981), 1-13; P. Hadot, ‘Théologie, exégése, révelation, écriture, dans la philosophie grecque’, in M. Tardieu (ed.), Les Régles de l'interprétation (Paris, 1987), 13-34.

200

HF. Blumenthal

point may now be treated as well established: it has, moreover, been shown that the accommodation of the contexts of texts to the presumed or desired intention of their author is by no means a

Neoplatonic invention.”’ Simplicius’* De anima commentary seems to be less concerned with the problematic application of patheétikos to nous than with the suggestion that the nous so described might be perishable, contained in the words ho de nous pathétikos phthartos (‘and the passible intellect is perishable’), which are offered as an explanation of the separated intellect’s inability to remember. That is not in itself surprising—it would be interesting to have, say, Proclus’ comments—in

so far as

phthartos makes explicit an impossibility (for a Neoplatonist) that is merely implicit in pathétikos. Since it is an impossibility, Simplicius is at pains to show that ‘perishable’ cannot have its obvious meaning, but must have another. He begins from the premiss that the nous part of the description is crucial, and so asks how this nous, being nous too,

can be perishable if it is also immaterial—a proposition from which none ofhis audience would dissent. As he says, all intellect is regarded as being without matter, and for that reason all intellect is intelligible, though it does not follow that every intelligible form is an intellect (247. 26-31). He explains nous pathetikos as being like matter—/ulikos, a word he may have taken from Alexander??—and potential, dunamet: that is what being passible and unperfected (ate/es) intellect is, so long as it is still nous pathetikos (ibid. 31-3). It may, however, become both immaterial and actual by contact with what is active (presumably the active intellect, though Simplicius here writes to poioun rather than ton poietikon), becoming perfectly immaterial and a perfect intellect in its ascent to the active one (fo poioun again). Though Simplicius does not say this, the process described is similar to that involved when reason becomes assimilated to the intuitive intellect in the basic Neoplatonic epistemology already set out by Plotinus in Enneads, 1. 3. 4° that for Simplicius the higher intellect is not undescended does not affect the -’ Hadot, loc. cit. (last note), has pointed out a precedent outside the area of philosophy, in the practice ofjurists, striving to do what Cicero described as arriving by the use of inference at what was not written from what was: ‘coniectura ex eo quod scriptum sit ad id quod non sit scriptum pervenire’, De inv. 2. 50. 152. *S Or whoever’s: the question remains open. Cf. the addendum to my ‘Neoplatonic Elements’ (n. 26 above).

* Cf. De anim. 82. 19-83. 2, 84. 16ff.; but if Alexander was the source, it is at least as likely, if not more so, that the text will have been his commentary on Aristotle’s De anima. ” Cf. Plotinus’ Psychology, 107-9 (n. 13 above).

Nous pathetikos in Later Greek Philosophy

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issue. On this basis Simplicius interprets the destruction of the passible intellect not as its reduction to nothing but rather as its conversion into active intellect, or, as he puts it, being taken into the higher form of being which is that of the separate soul,*! raising itself to a higher form oflife and being in its cause by rest there. So the nous pathetikos is perishable qua passible (247. 39), that is, it can lose its passibility by the usual Neoplatonic process of ascent and assimilation to a higher level ofbeing. Simplicius then goes on to discuss the contribution of nous pathétikos to memory, thereby showing that he takes it to be the referent of toutou in Aristotle’s aneu toutou outhen mnemoneuei. He apparently takes its purpose to lie in a function of making contact with the material world: ‘without the passible [ous], in so far as it is passible and proceeds as far as living beings which are of corporeal nature (somatoeidon), the impassible [nous] cognizes none of the things that are objects of memory’, which, he says, is the point at issue (248. 5-7). These are, he continues, as Aristotle teaches us elsewhere, things that can be imagined (phantasta—perhaps better ‘seen as images’)

entirely. Therefore in any thinking about things that can be remembered we need a lower form (/ogos) of it that proceeds as far as the imagination,

and without

this the impassible

intellect cannot

think of any of the things that can be remembered. This text tells us two things about Simplicius’ view of nous pathetikos and its function in De anim. 3. 5. First, the opposition that Simplicius sees is not so much between an active (poieétikos) intellect and a passive or potential one, as between an intellect that is free from affection (apathes) and one that is not and thus, for that reason, describable as pathetikos. The second, as the last sentence shows, is that as far as he is concerned nous pathétikos is not identical with phantasia: if it were it could not be described as proceeding to the imagination. Simplicius is not, of course, saying that the intellect can do nothing without images: that may have been Aristotle’s view, but it is not a Neoplatonic one. However, Simplicius seems to realize that others might have thought this, for he spells out the interpretation he wishes

us to adopt, and says that Aristotle’s ‘nothing’ is not to be understood as meaning that the impassible intellect thinks nothing at all without the passible one (248. 10-11). 5) els 76 KpertTOvws dv GuvaipEeaw THS xwprodeians proxixys ovalas.

** ou yap 67 amAWs aKovoTéov TO OVdEV Ws UuNndév TOD aTafods avev Tov TAabnTLKOG VOOUVTOS.

202

H. 7. Blumenthal

Here we find that Simplicius is treating nous pathetikos as a separate faculty from the rest of the soul, which may or may not be required by the text of Aristotle, and doing so in accordance with the usual Neoplatonic practice of handling difficulties by multiplying levels of existence, rather than looking for different functions and activities of a smaller number of faculties of the soul. We should note that he has gone further than Proclus in so doing, at least in so far as Proclus at least sometimes identifies his nous pathetikos with phantasia. Proclus, on the other hand, kept a separate discursive reason. Simplicius seems to be prepared to identify nous pathetikos with that,

for in his commentary on the next chapter of the De anima, talking about Aristotle’s order of exposition, he says that when Aristotle came to discuss nous pathétikos he gave it two sets of objects of cognition, those that were informed and also the forms that defined them, giving it a different activity corresponding to each group (248. 24-9). He had looked before at the active intellect in respect of its completeness and everlastingness. He, i.e. Aristotle, made it at the same time an intellect and a causative reason, and in consequence gave it two kinds of intelligible objects, on the one hand the indivisible and undivided, on the other objects that are diffused and participate in unity with a degree of division and compositeness, because they are attached to a cause. The one activity, that which is undivided, is always, and alone, true. The other activity, at the lower level, goes down to a degree of division appropriate to composition and separation. In it there is sometimes truth and sometimes falsity:

it involves opinion (doxastike sc. energeia), and is superficial in so far as it does not get to the bottom of things (248. 32-249. 4). Phantasia is simply not mentioned in this context. The mention of doxa is not, in Simplicius, significant for our purposes, as it might be in Proclus, who sometimes treats doxa and phantasia as if they were interchangeable, or substitutes one for the other at different times or in the light of different concerns.** Unlike Simplicius, Philoponus in his De anima commentary identifies pathetikos nous as phantasia. He first does so in his introductory pages, when he is discussing the difference between phantasia and aisthesis. Furthermore, he claims that Aristotle called it that (6. 1-2), giving as his (Aristotle’s: hothen) reason that imagination retains in itself the impressions coming from the senses, but presumably ‘3 Cf. the article cited in n. 23 above.

Nous pathetikos in Later Greek Philosophy

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offering this explanation on the grounds that it is phantasia that is referred to as essential for memory in 3.5. Explaining the alleged identification by Aristotle, Philoponus goes on to say that he refers to imagination as nous because it has the object ofits cognition internal

to itself, like nous, and as pathétikos because it cognizes with impressions and not in a mode that does not use shape (ibid. 2-5). His further explanation of the use of the word phantasia is not of a kind to make one take more seriously the remarks that precede it. He returns to the theme a few pages later, this time quoting the relevant words from 3. 5 but offering essentially the same explanation, adding the point that phantasia—which, of course, Aristotle does not mention in this chapter—is perishable (11. 5-11). He shows no sign of concern about calling something that is perishable nous. It might be tempting to try to explain Philoponus’ readiness to use the expression nous pathetikos in the light of a passage where pathetikos almost has an active sense, qualifying something that induces pathe. When Philoponus in the Categories commentary is discussing pathetikai poiotetes, qualities involving pathé, he says that they apply not only to bodies but to soul as well, and characterizes them as qualities which

cause a pathos. Such pathée apply, inter alia, to sense-perception, and are to be distinguished from the corporeal ones involved in it: these are associated with the rational sort of perception. In the same section of hiscommentary Philoponus mentions another explanation, that the name comes from the notion of a quality resulting from a pathos, as in disease. (See In Cat. 147. gff., esp. 148. 8-149. 6.**) In neither case, however, even with the first and more active sense, is this use of pathetikos really helpful, since the pathé in question are not involved in the operations of reason. Since we do not have the third book of Philoponus’ commentary on the De anima, that is all we can say directly about his use of nous pathetikos in that work: he does not discuss it at any of the other points which might offer scope for him to do so. But in the Latin translation of his commentary on 3. 5 we can see that the identification with imagination was repeated there too. Philoponus seems to have been sufficiently sure of it simply to substitute phantasia for the words ‘perishable intellect’, and only append as an explanation that he—or others, since the Latin does not allow us to tell—has often said so before: ‘Quia, ait, etsi impassibilis intellectus [Verbeke’s italics], et hac 4 Cf. also In De anim. 100. 21-4, on alloidsis, Ammonius, Jn Cat. 81. 13-23, 86. 3-25; Olympiodorus, /n Cat. 115. 22-116. 19, 123. 17-37.

204

FT. 7. Blumenthal

deberet

non

oblivisci, sed phantasia

corruptibilis;

hanc

enim

ait

passivum intellectum, ut saepe dictum est’ (61. 72-4 V).*° In Stephanus’ book 3 commentary we find that the explanation offered by Philoponus himselfin the prologue is used again, both in the commentary on 3. 5 and in the earlier exposition of 3. 3, on imagination. There we are offered, as an explanation of the commentator’s reference to a koinotera noesis, that phantasia operates with what is internal, phantasia, ‘which is also called nous pathetikos (490. 21-3). Stephanus apparently feels no need to argue for the identification, and indeed regards it as so obvious that when he is commenting on 3. 4 he says that Aristotle’s remark that he is talking about the nous with which the soul thinks and has ideas is needed because phantasia is called nous patheétikos (523. 27-31). Similarly, at the beginning of his commentary on the phantasia chapter, 3. 3, Stephanus takes the use of the name nous pathétikos as an indication that phantasia is somehow like reason, logoeides (506. 24-5). So it is not surprising that when he arrives at 3. 5 Stephanus simply uses this understanding of pathetikos nous to explain both the notion that it is perishable and the following words, that nothing thinks*° without this: for him the ‘this’ is phantasia (542. 1-17). And when, some forty pages later, he does give some explanation ofthe use of our term, we find that it is the same one, about having internal objects, that the

real Philoponus had used in his preface (cf. 584. 17-19). So we have come to the end of the story of nous pathétikos in \ate antiquity. Here we find that both Philoponus, and also the pseudoPhiloponus who seems, whenever we have sufficient evidence to consider, to have followed him rather closely in this matter, not only have no hesitation about identifying phantasia and the nous pathetikos, but do so in a way which suggests that they could expect their identification to be accepted. That, of course, removes any problem about a real kind ofintellect that might in some way be passive, a possibility certainly suggested by the text of Aristotle, and at least considered by other interpreters and independent philosophers, ranging from the basically Peripatetic Themistius through Proclus to the thoroughly Neoplatonized Simplicius. The apparently unquestioning acceptance of the identification of nous pathetikos and phantasia put aside all the ** The lemma, however, is punctuated, at least in Verbeke’s edition, in such a way as

to separate the point about memory from that about the perishability of the passive/ passible intellect.

% See n. 17 above.

Nous pathetikos in Later Greek Philosophy

205

problems that had clearly concerned others. In a way it might be seen as a culmination of the process whereby all the Platonists, knowing that nous cannot be passible, had tried to find some justification for the words in Aristotle which, on their principles, must have had some

hidden meaning. The end was an interpretation which had the advantage of being clear but, to us, the greater disadvantage of being wrong. University ofLiverpool

oT

ae

yoN)

. Sha tet. Lick y pidipen ts bers) et

hw

a sare

noida

er |iia 06 heh iyon (riser a

rh

re

ae .

ers

eda

Given this diversity, we should not be surprised if touch is idiosyncratic in yet other ways too (Text 11).*° In the case of smell, the diversity is such as even to threaten the dematerialization of sensory processes. The background to this

problem has been uncovered in some important work byJohn Ellis.*” It started in the unexpected context of logic, where Philoponus’ teacher, Ammonius, offered a new solution to an old problem about Aristotle’s Categories and its criterion for distinguishing individual qualities from other things. Individual qualities are distinguished as being unable to exist ‘separately’ from what they are in. But the fragrance of an apple can float offinto the surrounding air, it seems, and thus exist separately from the apple itisin. In fact, |would construe Aristotle as allowing that at De 4 Arist. De sensu, 2, 438°4-53 6, 446°21, GA 5. 1, 780°29; 780°35-781"12. 2 Philoponus, Jn De anim. 334. 38-336. 3 (Text 10). Silbidy416s 23; 4147372 4 Ibid. 413. 7-12. Ibid. 413. 6-7; 416. 30-5. %© Ibid. 416. 34-53 421. 35-422. 1. (See Text 11 = 413. 4-125 416. 30-4.) ¥ John Ellis, Ph.D. diss. (London), in progress, and “The Trouble with Fragrance’, Phronesis, 35 (1990), 290-302.

234

Richard Soralbji

anim. 2. 12, 424°14-16.°* The question is ‘How can he, consistently with the Categories?? Ammonius’ new solution insists that some of the substance of the apple comes off into the air, so that the fragrance is not at any stage separated from the substance of the apple after all.*” This rescues the Categories, and Philoponus is at first happy to repeat the solution in his Categories commentary.*” But in his De anima commentary, which refers back to that on the Categories,"' and which is said to be taken ‘from the seminars of Ammonius’ but ‘with some personal reflections’ added, he realizes that this will not do. If the Categories is to be saved in this way, the De anima will be wrecked. For Aristotle there insists that smell never operates by direct contact with the substance perceived (with the apple, for example),**? whereas taste, despite appearances, operates by direct contact always.** Philoponus puts Aristotle’s view by saying that odours are conveyed to the sense-organ incorporeally (asomatos) through the ‘diosmic’ power of the air, a power which lets through odour as transparency lets through light and

colour, without an accompanying substance.** Philoponus’ new suggestion is that after all corporeal effluences (aporrhoiat) only bring the odour part of the way to the organ, an aid that we need because of the weakness ofour sense of smell. After that, even if the effluence has got as far as our nostrils, it is still necessary for the activity (energeia) of the odorous body to be transmitted by a medium to the inner organ, unaccompanied by any substance (Texts 12 and 13).** Whether that would avoid the Categories problem he does not say, but perhaps the activity of the odorous body is sufficiently distinct (see ** Tt is not clear, however, that Ammonius’ pupil, Philoponus, construes it that way:

In De anim. 443. 11-444. 8. ” Philoponus, /n Cat. 35. 24-31 Busse.

*’ Philoponus, /n De anim. 391. 32.

*” Ammonius, /n Cat. 28. 15-18 Busse.

? Arist. De anim. 2.7, 419°25-35.

+8 Apparent examples of tasting at a distance are explained away at De anim. 2. 10, 422"8-16. The olive at the bottom of my Martini is partially dissolved in the drink, and so after all in direct contact with my tongue, if not with my inner organ: Richard Sorabji,

‘Aristotle on Demarcating the Five Senses’, Philosophical Review, 80 (1971), 55-79, at p. 71, repr. in Barnes, Schofield, and Sorabji (eds.), Articles on Aristotle, iv. 76-92, at p. 87.

* Philoponus, Jz De anim. 391. 38-392. 3. The term ‘diosmic’ is a contribution of Theophrastus, according to Philoponus, Jn De anim. 354. 12-16. ** Philoponus, Jn De anim. 392. 8-11; 392. 19-315 413. 11-12; 420. 22. (See Text 12 = 413. 9-12 and Text 13 = 392. 3-19.) I do not know if the conflicting testimony on the role of effluence in Theophrastus’ much earlier theory of smell may reflect a two-stage theory of the same sort. For the conflicts see Robert Sharples, ‘Theophrastus on Tastes and Smells’, in W. Fortenbaugh (ed.), 7 heophrastus ofEresos: On his Life and Work (Rutgers Studies in Classical Humanities, 2; New Brunswick, 1985), 183-204, at pp. 193-7, with further comment by David Sedley at pp. 205-7.

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Text 13) from the odour itself to avoid counting as a case of odour separated from the substance it started in. The fact that effluences travel some of the way makes smell very different from sight, where Philoponus argues at length that no physical bodies are transmitted in either direction. For one thing, the koré of the eye is too small to emit bodies covering a quarter of the universe.*° Ammonius’ arguments for odorous effluences reaching a// the way had included the fact that an apple shrivels as it lets off fragrance, and that the smoke of incense can actually be seen.*” Philoponus gives us his teacher’s arguments, and adds that we can waft odours towards us, unlike colours or sounds, with our hands, and that the ‘contraries’ argument can be stood on its head, because contrary odours do mask

each other, which shows that they are carried by vapours.** But he replies that this masking proves nothing, because equally in the case of sound, where there is no effluence, and of brightness, the louder or

brighter overpowers the other.*? Moreover, an effluence could not reach the tens of thousands of distances to the vultures who smell carrion from afar (Text 13).*° The programme of dematerialization is thus rescued after all. In discussing Themistius and Philoponus, I have left out a figure earlier than either: Plotinus. Plotinus’ view has been interpreted by Eyjolfur Emilsson in a way that makes him sound close to the commentators. In Emilsson’s wording, the colours of external things exist in our visual fields in a non-material way.”' None of this is Plotinus’ own wording, but Emilsson does make a good case for saying that Plotinus understands the idea of reception of form, which he borrows from Aristotle, non-physiologically. This would be equally true of Alexander before him, at least in some of Alexander’s works. But in addition Plotinus makes use ofthe idea of intermediacy, which we shall find in Averroes (Text 15), when he (Plotinus) says that the effect (pathos) which the perceiver undergoes must have an intermediate status, if it is to mediate between the object of sense on one side and the perceiving soul on the other.*? I am inclined to leave Plotinus aside, however, not only because ofthe difficulty of being sure about his intentions and of * 47 48 ” 5!

Philoponus, Jn De anim. 325. 30-2. Ammonius, Jn Cat. 28. 15-18; 28. 30-29. 4. Philoponus, /n De anim. 391. 11-29. ” Tbid. 392. 6-8. Tbid. 392. 11-19. (See Text 13 = 391. 11-29; 392. 3-19.) Eyjolfur Emilsson Plotinus on Sense-Perception: A Philosophical Study (Cambridge,

1989), 67-93, 142-5.

52 Plotinus, 4. 4. 23. 22-33, cf. 4. 5. 1.

1am grateful to John Ellis for this point.

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knowing how the commentators themselves construed him, but because it is even unclear how far they attended to him at all on this subject, rather than to Alexander and Galen, on whom

he draws.

Certainly, the Islamic commentators are not known to have possessed the most important passage in Plotinus: 4. 4.23. The passage which they did have in paraphrase, 4. 5. 1, insists only on the intermediate status of the medium, not like Averroes on the intermediate status of the sense-

object in the organ and medium.” Of the three Islamic thinkers to be mentioned, Avicenna, Ghazali, and Averroes, the first, Avicenna (c.g80-1037), rematerializes the account of perception. First, he restores the full effluence theory of

smell, citing among other evidence the apple that shrivels as it gives off its fragrance. As for the vultures, winds could blow an effluence as far as them. Meanwhile, for all five senses, the reception of form without matter is interpreted as making the perceiver become like the form of the thing perceived.** He hints that the process in vision is less material than that in smell or touch, but even in vision he takes it to mean that the eye receives a replica (‘oculus recipit simulacrum’, in the medieval Latin translation), just as an illuminated body can tinge something opposite with its own colour ‘inficere suo colore’ ).*° Although the form is received stripped ofits original matter, the abstraction from matter in sense-perception is not so complete as in the estimative faculty or in the intellect. For sight cannot abstract the form it receives from such material intentions (intentiones) as how much, of what quality, where,

and position (Text 14).°’ Despite the acceptance of something like a literal coloration process, Avicenna here introduces an idea that was eventually to be exploited in favour of a non-literal interpretation. For he brings in the notion rendered in medieval Latin translation as intentio (intention), the origin of our idea of an intentional object. His own word 3 Dicta Sapientis Graeci, 5, translated into English ad loc. by G. Lewis in the HenrySchwyzer edition of Plotinus. “ Avicenna, Shifa@ in medieval Latin translation, ed. van Riet, Avicenna Latinus, Liber de Anima, vol. i, pt. 2, ch. 4, 148. 43-154. 30, with comments by Verbeke, introduction,

58-9. . *S Ibid. 2. 2, 120. 42-122. 56; 3. 7, 254. 97-100. *’ Ibid. 3. 7, 254. 7; 255. 17-19. For smell and touch see 254. 98-100. In insisting (254. g7—8) that the form received in vision is similar, but not identical, to the form in the

object seen, he adopts a view exploited by some of the Greek commentators for denying that the fragrance which separates itself from Socrates is identical with his very own fragrance.

“ Ibid. 2. 2, 116. 84-7 (Text 14), and see for the other faculties pp. 117-120. Cf. Alexander, De anim. 83. 20-2.

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was mana, a meaning. He gives the name ‘intention’, sometimes ‘material intention’ (intentio materialis), to shape, colour, position,

how much, of what quality, and where (Text 14).°* These passages are more relevant than the better-known one where he suggests that we should speak of form, rather than intention, as being apprehended in sense-perception. According to this better-known account, the context in which to speak of asheep as apprehending its intention of the wolf is when its mind apprehends something about the wolf that is ot in any way apprehended by the senses, such as why it ought to be afraid of the wolf and run away.” But our passages connect intentions with sense-perception. Averroes (c.1126-98) returns to the side of the dematerializers (Text 15).°° He uses the ‘contraries’ argument to show that such forms as colours do not have a corporeal, but a spiritual, existence in the sense-organs. Or rather, they have a spiritual existence in the soul, and an existence intermediate between spiritual and corporeal in the organ and medium. An additional argument against corporeal existence is the small size of the pupilla (Philoponus’ kore). The medieval Latin translation of the Arabic uses quite freely the notion of the intention of colour (Text 15), although the qualification ‘material intention’ is dropped. Averroes also argues for the diversity of the different senseprocesses as regards their degree of materiality (Text 16).°' The being of odour is /ess spiritual than that of colour, because it is blown about by winds. On the other hand, this does not prove that odour must be a body, because sounds too are blown by winds, and sounds are agreed not to be bodies, but rather disturbances (passiones) in a body. Equally for odour, then, the point is simply that winds make a difference because odour is a disturbance in air. Odour can still be said none the less to have spiritual being in the medium. The liability of bodies to be ‘8 Tbid. 2. 2, 116. 76; 118. 7 (Text 14). Victor Caston has now made a very interesting case for tracing Avicenna’s use of ma‘nd back to the Stoic idea of a /ekton (thing said, proposition) in “Two Stoics on Concepts and Universals’, in preparation.

*” Tbid. 1. 5, 86. 93-6. 6 Averroes,

Epitome of Aristotle’s Parva Naturalia, medieval

Latin translation, ed.

Shields and Blumberg, 29. 15-30. 28 and 31. 45-32. 49 = Text 15 (in Blumberg’s translation, Epitome of Parva Naturalia, 15-16). The Long Comm. in De Anima assigns spiritual being to odour and colour in the medium, but finishes up with much the same inter-

mediate status for odour, by giving it a /ess spiritual being there than colour: medieval Latin translation, ed. Crawford, 2. 97, 277. 28-33 and 278. 69-70. ‘! Averroes, Long Comm. in De Anima, medieval Latin translation, ed. Crawford, 2. 97,

278. 68-77 (Text 16).

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blown by winds we saw introduced into the discussion by Alexander, followed by Philoponus, as a proof that vision does not involve the travel of bodies.°? But a closer parallel is provided by Philoponus (Text 13) when he compares and contrasts odour with sound. On the one hand, he argues that odour is unlike sound and colour, in that it can be wafted by the hands.” On the other, he contends that it is /7ke sound and brightness, in that contraries mask each other, and that consequently the inference from masking to corporeality is no more valid for odours than it would be for sounds.” Averroes, like Ghazali before him (1058-1111), appeals to the vultures to show that odour could not be carried such a distance by vapour,” although this may represent a shift of view on his part. For in his epitome ofAristotle’s Parva naturalia he still says that the objects of smell have a smoky nature and that odours belong to the genus of smoky vapours.” It is in his long commentary on the De anima that he takes the other view, and there he suggests some awareness of the Categories controversy. For he insists against some unnamed opponents that an odour can be separated from the odoriferous body

that carries it.°’ All the Arabic texts mentioned were translated into Latin in time to be well known to Christian philosophers of the thirteenth century. Albert the Great (c. 1200-80), the teacher of Thomas Aquinas, presents his views in three works, the De homine (which is part of the De creaturis), and in two inventive paraphrases of Aristotle, named after the Aristotelian originals, the De sensu et sensato (part of the Parva naturalia) and the De anima.®* My impression is that in the comparatively early De homine Albert had thought about the De sensu part of Aristotle’s Parva naturalia and about Averroes’ epitome of it, but °° Alexander, /n Desensu, 28. 27-8; 57. 10; $7. 26-7; Alexander (?), Mant. 129. 21-4; 136. 3-5; 21-4; Philoponus, /n De anim. 327. 34-8; 400. 20-1. °* Philoponus, /n De anim. 391. 26-7.

Thid. 392. 3-8. °* Ghazali, /ntentions ofthe Philosophers, medieval Latin translation in Algazel’s Metaphysics, ed. J. T. Muckle (St. Michael’s Medieval Studies; Toronto, 1933), 165. 26-31; Comm. in De anim. 2. 97, 277. 33-278. 56. °° Averroes, Epitome of Aristotle's Parva Naturalia, ed. Shields and Blumberg, 24. 14-20 (trans. Blumberg, 13). *” Averroes, Long Comm. in De anim. 2. 97, 277. 34. The controversy is not, however, mentioned in his commentary on the Categories, nor in the earlier middle commentary of Farabi on the Categories. ** | have learnt particularly from the important account of Albert by Lawrence Dewan, ‘St. Albert, the Sensibles and Spiritual Being’, in James A. Weisheip! (ed.), Albertus Magnus and the Sciences: Commemorative Essays (Toronto, 1980), 291-320.

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that careful reflection on Averroes’ commentary on Aristotle’s De anima is manifested only when he comes to write his own De anima. Let me take the first two works first. Already in the De homine he suggests the dematerializing view that the eye does not get coloured in the visual process, since he says that the air colours nothing (nihil colorat),°’ and he uses the old ‘contraries’ argument to show that the medium too cannot be coloured.” Albert also tries to uphold the dematerialization of smell. Like Aristotle in the De sensu, he castigates Heraclitus both in his De homine and in his De sensu for allegedly making odour into a smoky vapour.” As to whether some other kind of vapour is involved, he cites the conflicting evidence ofthe shrivelling apples and the distant vultures. Whereas the apples suggest that the odoriferous body gets mixed with the medium to form some kind of vapour, the great distance of the vultures suggests that the medium is merely transformed by the odoriferous body, without any mixture taking place. Albert’s solution is that a vapour is often produced by mixture, but that where the vapour stops, it can still transform the air beyond it.” So the project of dematerialization is saved. Albert further argues for the diversity of the senses. As regards the three long-range ones, he accepts the position of Averroes’ Epitome that the objects of sight, smell, and hearing have an intermediate status in the medium. They have material being in the physical object, spiritual being in the sense, but in the medium what he calls sensible being (esse sensibile).’* The objects of taste and touch are different: they reach the sense-organ (organum) still in an actual state (77 actu), and it

is only after that that they acquire spiritual being, and that the ‘intention’ of heat is drawn off and passed to the brain, which would

otherwise get over-heated.”

.

When we turn to Albert’s De anima, we find him taking still further the theme of the diversity of the different senses, as regards their spirituality. As we noticed in Averroes’ De anima commentary, winds have a different effect on odours, sounds and colours. As for touch, the sense-objects act on both medium and organ with material being ” Albert, De creaturis, 2. q. 34, a. 2, xxxv. 300° Borgnet.

0 Tbid. 2, q. 21, a. 5, xxxv. 206" Borgnet. 71 Albert, Parva naturalia, Liber de sensu et sensato, 2. 10, ix. 64°-65* Borgnet; De

creaturis, 2, Q. 30, Xxxv. 269», 270*-> Borgnet; Arist. De sensu, 5, 443°21-°2. 72 Albert, De creaturis, 2, q. 30, XxxV. 269°—270°, 270-271" Borgnet. 7} Tbid. 2, q. 34, a. 2, xxxv. 300° Borgnet. 4 Tbid. 301°.

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(Text 17).’* Later in the same work, however, Albert appears to reduce the amount of diversity by dematerializing the tactual processes after all. For however the outer parts of the body may be affected, the organ

within (the heart) receives only the ‘species’ with intentional being.” As announced

in the De homine, he uses the terms ‘species’ and

‘intention’ interchangeably.” Albert’s De anima reaffirms the immateriality of the visual process, explicitly confirming that the eye does not get coloured (Text 18).’* He further dematerializes the processes of smell and hearing, but he now gives their objects two

alternative

statuses,

rather than

a single

intermediate status, in the medium. As regards smell, he refers back to

the Parva naturalia, but Plato and Avicenna replace Heraclitus as the materialistic proponents of an effluence account of odour.’”? The effluence view uses as evidence the shrivelling apples and meets the problem ofthe vultures by postulating winds to blow the effluence. In his dematerializing reply, Albert now cites Averroes, relying presumably on the De anima commentary, since the epitome of the Parva naturalia would have been oflittle help. Odour is spread through

spiritual and intentional being.*” Admittedly, odour can have more than one status in the medium, intentional being when we smell a distant object (in remoto), and some (de) material being in the case ofa near object (in propinquo) (Text 19).8! Unlike Philoponus, Albert allows that sometimes a vapour reaches right up to the organ of smell, but he still insists that in such cases the odour has intentional being (Text 20).** Presumably this is an instance in which it has ‘some’ material being as well. Such a double status would replace the earlier suggestion of intermediate status.

Albert accords to sound too a double status in the medium: material being in the air, but spiritual being through echo (reflexio).®° The double status is illustrated in Albert’s discussion of a version of the contraries problem: how do sounds intersect without interfering with each other? Albert replies that the circular waves break each * Albert, De anim. 2. 3. 6, v. 242" Borgnet (Text 17). © Thid. 2. 3. 34; 2. 4. 3, V. 290"; 297” Borgnet. ™ Albert, De creaturis, 2, q. 34, a. 2, xxxv. 298" Borgnet. ® Albert, De anim. 2. 3. 6, v. 241° Borgnet (Text 18). ™ Cf. Plato, Zim. 664:

Albert, De anim. 2. 3. 25, v. 277°-278° Borgnet. *! Tbid. 2. 4. 3, v. 297° Borgnet (Text 19). *? Thid. 2. 3. 25, v. 278” Borgnet (Text 20). 3 Tbid. 2. 4. 3, v. 297° Borgnet.

From Aristotle to Brentano

other at what is repaired because or echo (reflexio) these places the

241

little more than a point. Moreover, this damage is the intact parts of the circles produce a reflection which fills the gaps. It is further suggested that in sound exists in the air only by way of intention (per

intentionem), and that this makes sound easy to produce (Text 21).*4

The problem of sounds intersecting without interference had already been raised in the De homine.* But there it was raised as a threat to the idea that sounds have an intermediate status, rather than a purely spiritual or intentional one (the terms are used interchangeably). A final word is needed about Albert’s use of the terms ‘intention’ and ‘spiritual’. In distinguishing intentions from forms, he says that form gives being to the compound ofmatter and form and is part ofit, whereas intention does not bestow being, but provides a sign (signum, significare, significatio) of something and a mark (notitia, notificare) of the whole thing.®* This is not far from the original sense of ma‘nd as meaning or message in Avicenna. We have seen, however, that the intention can exist in the intervening medium (Texts 20 and 21),*’ and the existence of amessage there cannot yet imply awareness of the message. As

regards spirituality, Albert is quite conscious of an ambiguity.** To call something spirit or spiritual, he says, can be to imply that it is not a body at all (on corpus) and that it is a merely qualitative effect. But it can be to refer to a tenuous body, since the Latin spiritus is a translation of the Greek pneuma, which started its career by referring to a tenuous, gaseous body—a usage which lingers in a talk of animal spirits, or of alcohol as a spirit. Except where he gives notice otherwise, Albert normally appears to intend the incorporeal meaning, although an exception is provided by the passage mentioned above, where he says that vapour is spiritual (Text 20).* Albert’s pupil, Thomas Aquinas, is like Albert and Averroes in giving an intermediate degree of immateriality to what he calls 4 Ibid. 2. 3. 19 (Text 21). The corrupt text in Borgnet v. 268” is improved in the

Cologne edition, Opera Ommia, vii/1, ed. Stroick, 127. 87-128. 1, despite the general strictures on the edition of R.-A. Gauthier, introduction

to the Leonine

edition of

Thomas Aquinas, /n De anima, in Opera Omnia, xlv/1. The greater clarity ofan echo as compared with an unreflected sound is already discussed in [Arist.] Prob. 11. 23 and 51; see Charles Burnett, ‘Sound and its Perception in the Middle Ages’.

83 Albert, De creaturis, 2, q. 24, a. 6, xxxv. 241°-242° Borgnet. 6 Albert, De anim. 2. 3. 4, V. 238° Borgnet. 8? Ibid..2. 3. 16; 2. 3. 18; 2.3. 19 (Text.21)} 2..3-20; 2. 3.25 (Text 20), v. 2637; 266°: 268°;

269°; 278° Borgnet. §§ Albert, De creaturis, 2, q. 21, a. 5, xxxv. 207° Borgnet; De anim. 2. 3. 25, Vv. 278° Borgnet. *” Albert, De anim. 2. 3. 25, v. 278° Borgnet.

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sensible being. But he explains this in a manner reminiscent of Avicenna. In sense-perception, a thing has its being free from matter, but not free of individuating material conditions, because senseperception is directed to particulars, not universals.”® Elsewhere he gives as an example ofindividuating material conditions this flesh and these bones, and implies that sense does not abstract from these.” Thomas takes the theme of the diversity of the senses as regards spirituality still further than Albert. In sections 418 and 493 of his commentary on Aristotle’s De anima, Thomas repeats that in the case of touch something gets heated or cooled in the perceptual process, as well as undergoing a spiritual change. The next most material sense is smell, because the change induced by odour comes about together with (fit cum) a smoky vapour. Moreover, odour is blown about by winds, and, as we found already noticed by Philoponus,” the contraries argument yields an opposite result for odour and for colour, since contrary odours do mask each other. As regards sound, the change it induces comes about together with motion, and again sound is blown by winds. Seeing alone involves a purely spiritual change, as is shown by the possibility of two observers seeing contrary colours even when their gaze intersects (Text 22).”° Thomas gives a double status to odour. He repeats the argument that a vapour could not be sufficiently attenuated to reach all the way

to the vultures (Text 23).”* But in his De anima commentary he uses it to draw a conclusion like that of Philoponus, rather than like that of Albert: the odoriferous body can let off avapour some ofthe way, but it never reaches as far as the point where the odour is perceived. Beyond the point where the vapour can reach, the medium is affected only

spiritually (Text 24).°*> One should not be deceived by the fact that odours can be blown about, or mask each other, into thinking that the

vapour reaches all the way (Text 22).*° Once again, one has to be careful about what Thomas means by ‘spiritual’ and ‘intention’. By far the commonest view is that inten*”” Thomas Aquinas, /n De anim. 284. ”. Thomas Aquinas, Quaestiones de veritate, 10. 4, ad 6. I owe the reference to Joe Christianson, diss. Ph.D., St Patrick’s College, Maynooth.

* Philoponus, /n De anim. 391. 11-21. *’ Thomas Aquinas, /n De anim. 418 and 493 (Text 22). Cf. Summa Theologiae, 1, q. 78, a. 3 ‘I answer’, for the claim that only touch and taste involve a physical change in the organ and that the pupil does not become coloured.

** Thomas Aquinas, /n De anim. 494 (Text 23). *’ Tbid. 495 (Text 24).

® Thid. 493, cited above (Text 22).

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tional being in Thomas has to do with awareness. Thus, esse intentionale is standardly translated as ‘the existence of being known’, and intention is explained as cognitive or causing knowledge.” For Thomas, it is said, the eye’s taking on colour is just one’s becoming aware of some colour, and this view is also ascribed to Philoponus

(correctly) and with some

plausibility to Brentano.®® But, as has

occasionally been noticed, there is a serious objection against ascribing it to Thomas. For an intention, according to both Thomas and his teacher Albert, can exist outside the observer in the medium (Texts 20, 21, 22),”” so that although an intention involves a message, it cannot imply as a matter of necessity awareness of that message. Accordingly, one recent author has swung to the opposite position, and argued that in Thomas the sensory process is wholly physical,

suggesting that it may

be some

kind of mirroring.'°? Certainly,

Thomas is, like Albert, aware that ‘spirit’ can refer to something tenuous and physical.’°' And certainly he views phantasms (phantasmata) as physical. But intentions are different, and I believe the evidence cited shows no more than that intentions can be housed in something physical. This leaves it open that an intention may itself be not a physical change, but a non-physical message. That is, a message in the sense of non-physical information, which may be physically housed, not in the sense ofthe physical housing. This would be in line with the sense of‘intention’ we found in Avicenna and Albert. Better evidence would be needed for the particular suggestion that the process is one of mirroring, since the author’s ascription ofthis view to Avicenna and (with misgivings) to Aristotle appears incorrect. I have spoken of Aristotle above (n.14 and Text 7). Avicenna explicitly 7 Tbid. 418 (Text 22) in the translation of Kenelm Foster and Sylvester Humphries; Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, 1, q. 56, a. 2, ad 3, in the new standard Dominican translation by Kenelm

Foster. Cf. Sheila O’F. Brennan,

‘Sense and Sensitive

Mean

in

Aristotle’, New Scholasticism, 47 (1973), 279-310, at pp. 304-5. Other examples of the standard interpretation are given by Sheldon M. Cohen, ‘Thomas Aquinas on the Immaterial Reception of Sensible Forms’, Philosophical Review, 91 (1982), 193-209, at . 193-4. i os Myles Burnyeat, ‘Is an Aristotelian Philosophy of Mind still Credible?’, unpublished paper, of which a version will appear in Rorty and Nussbaum (eds.), Aristotle’s De Anima, (Oxford, 1991).

” Thomas Aquinas, Jn De anim. 418 (Text 22); Summa Theologiae, 1, q. 56, a. 2, ad 3; 1, q. 67, a. 3. The point is made by Dewan, ‘St. Albert, the Sensibles and Spiritual Being’, 2go-1. For Albert see Texts 20 and 21 and n. 87. 100 Cohen (see n. 97). Thomas Aquinas, /n Sent. 1, 10. 1. 4, sol.; Summa Theologiae, 1, q. 36, a. 1, ad 1, cited

by George P. Klubertanz, ‘De Potentia 5. 8: Note on the Thomist Theory of Sensation’, Modern Schoolman, 26 (1949), 323-31:

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denies that a mirror undergoes the same effect as an eye. It is not in any way struck (offensio).'°’ Mirroring provides only a simile: the eye is like a mirror and the transmission of form to the eye is like mirroring.'°? Similarly, we have seen that Thomas’s teacher Albert denies any kind of coloration process in the eye, and this presumably excludes mirroring. There is yet another interpretation, which represents Thomas as inconsistent, on the grounds that he often views the intention as immaterial, yet needs the sensory process to be physical, in order that it may be directed to, i.e. causally related to, particulars.'°* However, according to the interpretation of Joe Christianson, which I have followed above, the sensory process is directed to particulars not in the way suggested, through being a physical process, but through failing to abstract from particular features of the thing perceived,

which are incorporated in the message.'®* I am therefore drawn back to the interpretation of Thomas’s intention as non-physical information which may be physically housed. It may even depend on a physical coding, as in Albert the intentional sounds restored by echo seem to depend on the restoration of the sound-wave. But I suspect that the more fully intentional it is, the less it depends on a physical coding in order to perform its role as a message. That would account for the decreasing effect of winds on smells, sounds, and colours. A particularly good account of many of the relevant terms is given by Thomas’s older contemporary, Roger Bacon (1214/20-1292). He says that the word species is taken from the Latin rendering of Aristotle’s doctrine that the senses receive form (eidos) without matter. And so this word is used when the aim is to emphasize its relation to the senses. But the alternative word intentio is used, when the interest is in stressing its falling short of being a real thing (ves). Furthermore,

Bacon supplies an example of species by describing the stained-glass phenomenon that was first introduced by Philoponus. The colour 0? Avicenna, Shifa’, in medieval Latin translation, ed. van Riet, Avicenna Latinus, Liber de Anima, vol. i, pt. 3, ch. 7, pp. 259. 89-262. 40. '. Avicenna, Najat, translated in part in F. Rahman, Avicenna’s Psychology (London, 1952), 27; Danishnama, translated into French by M. Achena and H. Massé, Le Livre

de science (Les Belles Lettres Unesco; Paris, 1955-8), ii. 60; both passages rendered into English in David C. Lindberg, Vheories of Vision from al-Kindi to Kepler, (Chicago,

1976), 49. 't John J. Haldane, ‘Aquinas on Sense-Perception’, Philosophical Review, g2 (1983), Dane 'S For this reply see Christianson (n. gt above).

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thrown on to an opaque surface by a ray as it passes through stained glass is an example of a species (Text 25). I shall finish the discussion of the Latin writers with William of Ockham (c.1285-1349), who takes up the stained-glass phenomenon and the pool of colour thrown on the opposite wall, and denies that it proves the existence of species. ‘Multiplicity is not to be postulated unnecessarily, he says, and therefore we ought not to postulate species as well as colour. What the stained-glass phenomenon proves is that colour itself is in the medium, and we can suppose that it is

always there—just too weak to see. But it is postulated only because of the evidence of the stained glass, not because it is needed for seeing (Text 26).!” On looking back over the Arabic and Latin writers, I find it impossible to believe that Philoponus’ discussion was not among those available to them. Ofcourse, they also had Alexander’s Mantissa, but the influence of Philoponus seems more pervasive still. We have just noticed the recurrence ofthe stained-glass analogy in Bacon and Ockham. It is Philoponus most of all who before Averroes stresses the diversity of the five senses and compares them all in respect of their corporeality. The influence of Philoponus’ discussion of smell is still more undeniable. The vultures are to be found in Avicenna, as well as in the subsequent writers. Averroes’ comparison of colour, sound, and

smell in respect of spirituality may well owe something to Philoponus, when he discusses the effect of winds on the three of them. Albert sounds like Philoponus when he gives odour a double status: it sometimes has material being, sometimes intentional being in the medium. But it is Thomas Aquinas who insists, like Philoponus, that the material vapour which sometimes carries odour never reaches all the way to the organ, and who refers to the argument, first recorded by Philoponus, which stands the contraries argument on its head, and 6 Roger Bacon, Opus maius, ed. Bridges, ii (Oxford, 1897), 409-10 (Text 25).

107 William of Ockham, Reportatio or Quaestiones in Sent., in Ockham,

Theological

Works, vi (St Bonaventure, NY, 1982), bk. 3, g. 2, Prima experientia, p. 45, line 16, with

reply p. 56, line 8; Responsio propria (1), pp. 59-60 (see Text 26); Responsio propria (2), p. 61 (see Text 26); Responsio propria (4), reply concerning second doubt, pp. 92-3; reply concerning third doubt, p. 93; bk. 3, g. 4, Utrum potentiae sensitivae differant, pp. 141-2 (see Text 26). For similar rejections of species by Durandus and Mirecourt

and for Mirecourt’s explanation of the stained-glass phenomenon as one of displacement

by reflection, see Anneliese

Maier, ‘Das Problem

der “species sensibiles in

medio” und die neue Naturphilosophie des 14. Jahrhunderts’, repr. in her Ausgehendes Mittelalter, ii (Rome, 1967), 419-51, from Freiburger Zeitschrift fiirPhilosophie und Theologie,

10 (1963), 3-32.

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infers the corporeal character of odours from the fact of their masking each other. I would add that it is Philoponus who first records the alternative interpretation of Aristotle’s idea that the sense-organs receive form without matter, as meaning that the organ does not serve as matter to the qualities received.'"* This new interpretation is taken up with variations instead of, or as well as, the other by Albert and

Thomas Aquinas.'” The mechanism oftransmission for Philoponus’ ideas may seem a mystery, because no Arabic translation of his De anima commentary is recorded, and the Latin translation made for Thomas Aquinas in 1268 by William of Moerbeke covered only book 3, chapters 4 to 8, which concerns

the intellect, not the senses. The answer

must lie in the

widespread practice of annotating texts or translations of Aristotle in the margins with scholia drawn from the commentators. The practice is actually copied by Avicenna himself, who had probably seen such exemplars. It has been argued that the marginal glosses written by Avicenna into his Arabic version of Aristotle’s De anima include ideas from at least five different parts of Philoponus’ commentary.''° The Latin authors had not only the Arabic texts in Latin translation to draw on, but also a Latin translation of Aristotle’s De anima made from the Greek by James of Venice, which was itself equipped with a

system of glosses.''' And it has been independently argued that James had access to scholia drawn from certain other works of Philoponus in Constantinople, perhaps through the good offices of Michael of

Ephesus.'!? Michael would have been collecting scholia on psychology, inter alia, for his commentary on Aristotle’s Parva naturalia. Finally, William of Moerbeke translated two scholia from Philoponus’ De anima commentary which he found written in the margins of Philoponus,

/n De anim. 440. 20-441. 11. See Oivind Andersen, ‘Aristotle on

Sense-Perception in Plants’, Symbolae Osloenses, 51 (1976), 81-6. The general idea of not serving as matter is already present in some of the Alexander passages discussed above, as well as in Philoponus (see Texts 2 and 9).

' e.g. Albert, De anim. 2. 4. 1, Vv. 294 Borgnet; Aquinas, Jn De anim. 552-3; 557. Cf. later still Sophonias, Comm. in Arist. Graeca xxiii/1. 104 Hayduck, who often repeats Philoponus. " Richard M. Frank, ‘Fragments of Ishaq’s Translation of the De Anima’, Cahiers de

Byrsa, 8 (1958-9), 231-51, at pp. 235-6, cites the following passages: 24. 32ff.; 25. 22ff.; 28. 29-32; 46. roff.; 158. 1off.; 158. 26ff.; 271. 33. ''! R.-A. Gauthier’s introduction to the Leonine edition of Thomas Aquinas, Opera Omnia, xlv/1. In De anim., pp. 201*-235* and 256*-259*. '' So Sten Ebbesen, e.g. in ‘Philoponus, “Alexander” and the Origins of Medieval Logic’, in Richard Sorabji (ed.), Aristotle Transformed: The Ancient Commentators and their Influence (London and Ithaca, NY, 1990), ch. 19.

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Themistius’ commentary on the De anima, a commentary which he

translated into Latin in 1267.''S Moreover, William made a Latin translation of the De anima itself for Thomas Aquinas between 1265 and 1268, and would have annotated it,''* drawing on Greek sources as well as on translations from Arabic. I come now to the part which, from the point of view of modern philosophy, is the most interesting. In 1874 Franz Brentano introduced into the philosophy of mind the seminal idea of an intentional object. If Iinherit a fortune, the fortune must exist, in order to be the object I inherit. But if Ihope for a fortune, the fortune need not exist outside my mind, in order to be the object of my hopes. This feature— not having to exist outside the mind in order to serve as an object—is called by Brentano intentional inexistence. Furthermore, he proposes it as the distinguishing feature of mental, as opposed to physical, phenomena that they are one and all directed to objects of this kind. Descartes’s earlier distinction between the mental and the physical, according to which we have infallible awareness of our own mental states, is hard to accept in the age of Freud, and so the completely different criterion proposed by Brentano has merited attention. Another feature of Brentano’s intentional objects can be illustrated by the fact that if] inherit the family fortune, and the family fortune is the worst thing that could happen to me, I inherit the worst thing that could happen to me. But if I hope for this same fortune, it does not follow that I hope for the worst thing that could happen to me. The non-substitutability of expressions which refer to the same object (in this case, to the family fortune) has been another major locus of discussion. Current debate incorporates yet another question, the difference between the intentional obejcts of perception and belief,

and I have spoken of this elsewhere.'"* But what has this to do with Aristotle? In Die Psychologie des Aristoteles (1867) Brentano interpreted Aristotle’s doctrine that the senses receive form without matter as meaning that the object of sense-perception (colour or temperature, for example) is not, or not only, physically present in the observer, but present as an object (Olyektiv), that is, as an object of perception.''® In Psychologie vom empirischen Standpunkt (1874) 3G. Verbeke, Zean Philopon: Commentaire surleDe Anima dAristote (Corpus Latinum Commentariorum in Aristotelem Graecorum, 3; Louvain and Paris, 1966). "4 See R.-A. Gauthier, loc. cit. (n. 111 above). "5 Richard Sorabji, ‘Intentionality and Physiological Processes’ (n. 1 above). 6 F Brentano, Die Psychologie des Aristoteles (Mainz, 1867), 79-81, 120n. 23. The classic article on Brentano, with an overview of scholastic uses of intentio and intentionalis, is

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he went further: in his doctrine that the senses receive form without matter, Aristotle was already referring to intentional inexistence. ‘The forms received without matter were intentionally inexistent objects.'”’ Throughout, Brentano claimed to be following the medieval scholastics, and his earlier interpretation at least would have been readily suggested by Thomas Aquinas’s insistence on the intentional status of what is received. Even so, Brentano’s interpretation was not faithful to Thomas, for whom intentional being did not imply awareness, although it may have implied a message. And Thomas in turn was able to make his interpretation of Aristotle only because ofthe earlier tradition of commentators who had transformed him. They had transformed him in an effort to deal with quite particular problems ofphysics and (in the case of smell) of logic. The purpose ofthe best commentators is not simply to reflect Aristotle, but to reconstruct him, and this invites originality. The interpretations of Philoponus, Thomas Aquinas, and Brentano have recently been labelled a Christian view, and taken to be more or

less uniform.''* But we have seen that the reinterpretation ofAristotle was neither uniform nor specifically Christian. It was the work of commentators, whether Christian, pagan, or Muslim. It was the commentators who made possible Brentano’s interpretation and who lent authority to his important new proposal for the philosophy of mind. Brentano’s interpretation should not be taken at face value, but seen for what it is, the culmination of a series of distortions. The moral is that in the history of philosophy the distortions of commentators can be more fruitful than fidelity.

King’s College, London

Herbert Spiegelberg, ‘“Intention” and “Intentionality” in the Scholastics, Brentano and Hegel’, trans. from the German of 1936in Linda McAlister (ed.), The Philosophy of Brentano (London, 1976), ch. g.

'” F. Brentano, Psychologie vom empirischen Standpunkt (Leipzig, 1874; 2nd edn. by Oskar Kraus and Felix Meiner, Leipzig, 1924, repr. Hamburg, 1959, i. 125); trans. C. Rancurello, D. B. Terrell, and Linda McAlister as Psychology from an Empirical Standpoint (London, 1973), 88. "* Burnyeat, ‘Is an Aristotelian Philosophy of Mind still Credible?’, a muchdiscussed but unpublished paper, of which a published version is about to appear (n. 98 above).

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Texts Text 1. Alexander, De anima, p. 62. 5-13 Bruns But neither does colours, do this becoming black nothing prevents

the illuminated air, in spite of serving sight for the grasping of through itself being first changed by the colours and itself or white (aude dia tou melas autos é leukos ginesthai). At least one person apprehending black and another white through

the same air, when the white and black lie directly in front of the observers, but

each looks at the colour lying not by himself but by the other person. Even if a black and a white person were to see each other, the intervening air is still not prevented from serving both of them simultaneously, because it is not changed by the colours qualitatively (pathetikos), and does not come to act as the matter (mede hos hule ginomenos) of the colours.

Text 2. Alexander, De anima, p. 62. 1-5 Bruns But if it is in a different way that sense-perception is changed by perceptibles, and the organs (aisthéteria) do not serve as matter receiving the qualities of the perceptibles, it would no longer be such an impasse. For it is evident that sight does not serve as matter receiving the qualities, for we see that sight does not become black or white when it perceives these. Text 3. Alexander (?), Mantissa, pp. 142. 21-143. 2 Bruns

Colour does not evidently show in (emphainetai) the air, but in the eye-jelly (kore), because some transparent (diaphanes) things are merely transparent (diaphanés), while others, besides being transparent, let things show within (emphaneés) because their smoothness and density enable them to protect the process of showing (emphasis) and gather it together. Things that are merely transparent do not preserve the thing seen in themselves in such a way that it actually shows (emphainestha1) in them. Tenuous transparent bodies like air do not. But transparent things that have some density and solidity do preserve the image (eikon) or shadow (skia) of the thing seen and display it (diadeiknunai) within themselves. Mirrors, glasses, and transparent stones do this, and so indeed does water, since it has more solidity and thickness than air, and is better

able to protect the images and shadows coming from the things seen and to gather them together. The eye-jelly and the channel which extends from it to the

primary perceptual centre are both watery, and so receive from what is seen the form and colour and announce it to the perceptual centre, which discriminates the impinging colour thanks to the projection (prosbole) reaching it from these organs.

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Richard Sorabyi Text 4. Alexander, Jn De sensu, p. 24. 26-7 Wendland

But Democritus is not right to think that seeing is a process of showing (emphasis)—that is, he is not right to think that showing (emphasis) is the explanation (aitia) of seeing.

Text 5. Alexander, Jn De sensu, p. 25. 4-5 Wendland For what he means is: for seeing does not reside in that, that is, it is not due to (dia) showing, nor does it reside in showing but in the observer. Text 6. Alexander, Jn De sensu, p. 26. 23-6 Wendland

It is enough if that through which we see is transparent (diaphanes), but that with which we see should let things show (emphanes) and be such as can receive and preserve the forms of what is seen. Or as he said, showing (emphasis) contributes nothing to seeing, and transparency is sufficient.

Text 7. Aristotle, De sensu, 2. 438°5-12 Democritus is right to say that [the eye] is water, but not right to think that seeing is a process of showing (emphasis). For that happens because the eye is smooth, and it resides not in it [the eye] but in the observer, for the phenomenon is reflection (anaklasis). But in general nothing was yet clear, it seems, about what shows (emphainomena) and reflection. It is also strange that it did not occur to him to be puzzled why only the eye sees and none ofthe other things in which images (e7dola) show (emphainesthai).

Text 8. Alexander, De anima, p. 48. 7-21 Bruns We can also say it is not that the first air to be struck travels to the concave body and to the air trapped in it and returns back again from these to the same spot. If that happened, there would be a double circular movement, as the air beyond the struck air, which was itself [reading auton] in motion to the concave region, yielded and returned again. Rather, the first air to be struck will remain continuous and undivided because of the speed of the blow and shape the air beyond it with a similar blow, and this air will shape the air beyond it, and so the advance of the sound will be effected by continuous transmission up to the containing cavity. But when the last air beside the cavity is struck and shaped, it will be prevented by the cavity from transmitting the blow further forward, and will be pushed back again by the resistance of the solid, like a ball off something solid. Thus it will strike and shape once again the air on its nearer side, and this air will again shape the air before it.

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And so the transmission ofthe blow and the sound will be brought to the same place from which it started at the beginning, just as people see themselves in the case of mirrors.

Text 9. Philoponus, /n De anima, pp. 432. 32-433. 11; 438. 6-15 Hayduck And yet the distinctive character of touch is not destroyed, for the medium itself is acted on and becomes matter for the heat, cold, fluidity, or dryness, and so also does the organ in company with it, which was not the case with the other senses, for they received only the activities (energeiat) of the perceptibles. But we must recognize that not even the organ oftouch is acted upon by every sense, for when it grasps heavy and light, viscous and crumbly, rough and smooth, the flesh does not become like that, but receives the forms of those qualities only cognitively (gnostikos). But since, as has often been said, every body is constituted from the mixture of fluid, dry, hot, and cold, because of this, when it is affected by these qualities, as sense it grasps them and recognizes (ginoskei) them, but as a natural body it is affected materially (hulikos) by them. It can be concluded that these are the only two contrary pairs from which a natural body is constituted. For only these act on the

organs which they affect and come in their essence (oustodos) to be in them, whereas weight and lightness, despite accompanying every body (for every created body is heavy or light), do not for all that convert the flesh into their own distinctive likeness (idiotes), as do heat, fluidity, cold, and dryness.

Sense is not affected by the combination of matter and form, but only by the form, as wax is affected by the seal. Nor is it affected as a combination, for the

organ does not become coloured or odorous, but is affected only in respect of its form, | mean the perceptive capacity itself. The body does suffer the effect of heat, and the sense of touch suffers, but not the same effect. The sense is affected cognitively (gnostikos), and only by the form ofthe hot thing, whereas the organ, the flesh, as matter, is affected as a combination, becoming a subject for the heat to inhere in, and being affected as a whole by the heating agent as a whole.

Text 10. Philoponus, /n De anima, pp. 334. 38-336. 3 Hayduck

The philosopher Aristotle replied to this that the activities (energeiai) do not travel to our eyes, but that quite generally the whole air is filled with all the objects of vision. But that is even more problematic and strange. For first, the original problem remains: if all the air alike is filled with showings (emphases) of the objects of vision, how do we judge distances? For things near and far ought to look alike. Even the most distant things ought not to escape our senses, if the whole of the air is filled with all the showings. Perhaps he could

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reply that our hypothesis about activities is the same as theirs about the travel ofvision: just as they say that vision weakens when it goes out a long way, and that this is why we do not see distant things, so we say that the activities weaken when they go a good distance. But what can he say to the next question? If all the air is filled with showings, what use is it to assume the idea that the activities move in straight lines? We ought rather to see things,

including near things and indeed all that we are capable of seeing, wherever we look, once the air is filled with showings. So why do we not see the heavens and all visible things without gazing towards them? Yet we can invoke evident facts in support of Aristotle’s view [that seeing depends not on vision travelling out, but on activities]. 335. 14 [Attempted solution]. We see that, when a beam of sunlight falls through a glass that is coloured red or some such colour, the air remains unaffected (apathés) and lets through the colour and outline ofthe glass, until they make contact with a solid body, and colour and outline finally wipe off (enapomattesthai) on to that solid. It really is remarkable to see: for if you gaze at the air through which the beam passes, you see it unaffected by the colour and outline ofthe glass, but colour and outline are seen on the solid body at which the beam finishes up. And you must not explain it by a reflection ofthe vision as it reaches that point, for this sort of thing happens not only on smooth surfaces, but also on wool, if that is what the beam falls on, or on a cloak, or on sand, or on anything, even when your vision is arbitrarily situated, so that there could be no reflection from that surface to the glass. It is clear from this that the activities of what we see really do go through the air without affecting it (apathos), arrive at the sense-organ, and, since this is a solid body, imprint (entupoun) there the colours and shapes of the things seen. Hence the organ is affected (paschein) by them, and the discrimination of them passes through to the sense-faculty.

335. 30 [Caveat]. But it can be replied that we do not find the same thing happening in the case of what we see as in the case of our model. For the phenomenon described does not happen unless a beam falls on something after passing through the glass, whereas we see things even when no beam falls on them directly from the sun. And besides in the case ofthe glass the colour appears in anything on which the beam falls, whereas there is no appearance (phantasia) of this kind in the case ofthings that we see. For they evidently do not act on other bodies, even ifabeam passes through them. So what happens in the case of the model is different from the activity of what we see, and in general from our apprehension ofit. Text 11. Philoponus, Jn De anima, pp. 413. 4-12; 416. 30-4 Hayduck Thus at least it was shown in the Meteorology that although the thunder occurs first, we apprehend it after, and although the lightning occurs later, we

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apprehend it first, both because hearing is more physical (pachumeresteron) and because the motion oflight is quick (kinésis oxeia). So too with rowing, we see the oar-handle lifted first and then perceive the sound. Similarly smell, being more corporeal (somatoeidestera) than hearing, needs more time for apprehending, even if the object of smell is quite close, while the air is affected and reaches the nostrils, so that the quality may more speedily reach the organ itself. Again with the other senses the air itself has to be affected materially, in order that so the sense may be affected. For example, it must become fragrant or sonorous, but with sight it is not so, for the air is not coloured. And take the

fact that sight does not operate without light, but the other senses do. There is no need then for the same things to happen with all the senses.

Text 12. Philoponus, /n De anima, p. 413. 9-12 Hayduck Similarly smell, being more corporeal (somatoeidestera) than hearing, needs more time to grasp its object, even if it is quite close. It needs time for the affected (pathon) air to get through to the nostrils (mukteres) in order that the quality (pathos) may more quickly get through to the sense-organ (aistheterion).

Text 13. Philoponus, /n De anima, pp. 391. 11-29; 392. 3-19 Hayduck The following problem might be raised. If smell apprehends through a medium, air or water, why does one odour overpower another? Often a fragrant odour supervenes on a bad one and overpowers it or vice versa, which ought not to happen ifthe air transmitted odours, and it was not the smellable vapours themselves that came to the organ, just as the air transmits all colours,

and never does the activity of, say, white or of any other colour, black for example, overpower another. That is because it is not the colours themselves that are produced in the air, but their activities (energeiai). That is what ought

to happen with odours too, if the air transmitted only their activities and not actual vapours which are physical bodies. Again the same problem is intensified by the following, I mean the problem that sense does not apprehend the object of smell through a medium, but the object of smell itself comes to the organ: we apprehend incense precisely when it is placed on a fire and dissolved into vapour. The smoke is seen quite evidently rising and coming towards us. And indeed when we want to apprehend the odour more quickly, we waft the smoke to our nose with our hands. So evidently some bodily effluence arises from the fragrant bodies themselves, and the air does not transmit their activities, as with colours and sounds.

We reply that there do indeed occur fine effluences of bodies from fragrant things and especially from burning incense. And for that reason, when they

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are produced in the air, the greater and that which has the more vigorous odour overcomes the lesser. For even with sounds, where there is no effluence of bodies, the louder sound overpowers the softer, and the very brilliant overpowers the less brilliant. But even if some effluence does occur, it does not itself occur in the organ and bring about apprehension. Rather, a medium, either water or air, is needed, which transmits the activities of the objects of smell. For how do water animals smell what is above the surface of the water? It is not plausible that this effluence goes downwards through the water. It will rather go upwards, if it is vaporous or smoky as Aristotle says next. But as it is, crocodiles smell flesh suspended above the surface ofthe water. And it is clear from the case of those which hunt by night that they pursue it not by sight, but by smell. Vultures too perceive dead bodies from tens of thousands of distances away, and surely effluences do not travel from the bodies as far as that.

Text 14. Avicenna, Shifa’, in Avicenna Latinus, Liber de Anima, vol. i, pt. 2, ch. 2, pp. 115. 73-116. 81; 116. 84-7; 118. 6-10

If human nature, by virtue of what it is, had this or that fixed mode ofquantity, quality, whereabouts, or posture (quanti et qualis et ubi et situs), then by virtue of what human nature is, each man ought to be like every other in these intentions (intentiones). And if human nature, by virtue of what it is, had some other mode of quantity, quality, whereabouts, or posture, then all men should be alike in that mode. So the human form does not need of its essence to have those accidents (accidentia) which are its regular accidents, but is on account of matter possessed in company with those accidents. Sight needs these accidents when it apprehends form, because it does not abstract form from matter with a true abstraction. Matter must be present if this form is to be apprehended in the matter. But the estimative faculty scarcely transcends this level of abstraction, since it apprehends material intentions (intentiones materiales) which are not in their matter, although accidentally they are in matter, because shape, colour, posture (figura et coloretsitus), and such like are things which can be possessed only by corporeal matter.

Text 15. Averroes, Epitome of Parva Naturalia, pp. 29. 15-30. 28; 31. 45-32. 49 Shields and Blumberg

The account ofthose who say that the forms of sense-objects are impressed in the soul with a corporeal impression is refuted by the fact that the soul receives the forms of contraries simultaneously. And this is found not only in the soul, but in the medium.

For it is evident that the observer receives

contraries, white and black. And another sign that colours do not exist in the

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pupilla with a corporeal, but rather with a spiritual, existence is the observed fact that the largest bodies are comprehended by sight through the pupilla, smal] though it is, to such an extent that it comprehends the hemisphere ofthe cosmos. And on that account it is said that those senses do not comprehend the intentions (intentiones) of sense-objects except as abstracted from matter. For they do not grasp the intention of colour except as abstracted from matter. And the same goes for the sense of smell and the sense for flavour and the other senses for other sense-objects.

The existence of forms in the medium has a manner intermediate between spiritual and corporeal. For forms outside the soul have a purely corporeal existence, within the soul a purely spiritual one, and in the medium one intermediate between spiritual and corporeal, where by ‘medium’ I here mean the sense-organs and what is external to sense.

Text 16. Averroes, Long Comm. in De anima, 2. 97, p. 278. 68-77 Crawford But it is evident that the being of colour is more spiritual than the being of odour, for winds are seen to bring up odours. Indeed, this is why it was thought that odour was a body. But in this context the same is true of colour as of sound.

For sound

is produced

by a disturbance

in the air, but is also

impeded by winds. Yet it does not follow from that that it is a body. It is as ifit is necesssary therefore in the case of the two disturbances of sound and odour, when they have come to be in the air, that there should not be movements

there in the air in one direction and not another.

Text 17. Albert, De anima, 2. 3. 6, v. 242” Borgnet Intentional and spiritual being does not have the same intrinsic character in the case ofdifferent senses. For one sense-object is much more spiritual than another, since one affects both medium and organ, acting on it with material being, as happens with the objects of touch. And for those objects which have the same medium, as do things visible, audible, and smellable, the medium does not have one and the same nature as a medium, but different natures, as

we shall go on to show. And the being which they have in the medium itselfis not of one single intrinsic character, because the being of colour is more

spiritual than that of sound in the medium, and again that of sound in the medium more spiritual than that of odour. And that is why the wind does not carry colours away or bring them up, but does dull sounds, carrying them partially, but not wholly, away. Odours, however, it both brings up and carries away wholly, as Avicenna [Averroes/] says.

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Richard Sorabji Text 18. Albert, De anima, 2. 3. 6, v. 241° Borgnet

If colour were in the air as in a coloured thing we ought to see the air coloured and the eye coloured by the colour it receives. And we see the opposite of this. So in abstraction it exists with a different being from that which it has in its own proper matter.

Text 19. Albert, De anima, 2. 4. 3, v. 297” Borgnet The sense-objects are not things, as we have said, but certain intentions of

things, and especially in the case of sight. But in hearing sound has material being in the air, and spiritual being through echo (reflexio). Odour on the other hand has intentional being in the case ofa distant object (im remoto) and some (de) material being in the case of anear one (in propinquo). Text 20. Albert, De anima, 2. 3. 25. v. 278° Borgnet Since vapour is spiritual, just like a medium, sometimes it serves in place of a medium, and in the case of smell is carried up to the organ of smell. (The matter of odour is a smoky vapour only in the medium, not in the odoriferous object.) When it [the odour] reaches our smell, it does not act on it by way of material being, but by way of the intentional being which it has in it [the medium], thanks to its being a medium, and not thanks to its being the subject that has the odour by way of material being.

Text 21. Albert, De anima, 2. 3. 19, in Opera Omnia (Cologne edn.),

vii/1. 127. 28-128. 1 Stroick So it seems that we must say that broad circles coming from opposite directions touch each other in a part which is virtually a point, and there one compresses the other. Butin other parts the arcs do not touch or compress each other, and in those parts the shape (configuratio) of the sound survives, and from them it is reconstituted in the adjacent air where the circle was broken by the opposing circle meeting it. For the air becomes resonant not by repetition, but by echo (reflexio), as we said above. For the production of sound is made easy by the fact that sound exists in some ofthe air only by way ofintention (per intentionem), as we said above.

Text 22. Thomas Aquinas, /n De anima, sects. 418, 493. The greater spirituality of the sense of sight is made evident secondly by the type of change involved in it. For in no other sense is there a spiritual change

From Aristotle to Brentano

257

without a natural one too. By a natural change I mean the way in which quality is received with natural being in something acted on, as when something is cooled, or warmed, or moved. A spiritual change by contrast is of the kind in which a species is received in the sense-organ or medium in the manner ofan intention, and not ofa natural form. For the perceptible species is not received in the sense with the same being as it has in the perceptible object. It is evident that in touch and in taste, which is a kind of touch, a natural change is produced. For something is heated or cooled by contact with the hot or cold, and it is not a spiritual change alone that is produced. Similarly the change induced by odour is accompanied by (fit cum) a certain smoky vapour, and the change induced by sound is accompanied by motion. But in the change of sight there is only a spiritual change. It is evident from this that sight is the most spiritual of all the senses and next after that hearing. The reason for this difference of opinion seems to be that the early thinkers had no theory or observation concerning the spiritual change of a medium, but only concerning its natural change. For the other senses a certain natural change is evident in the medium, but not for sight. For it is clear that sounds or odours are brought to us by the wind or impeded, but colours not at all. It is also clear that the species of contrary colours are brought to our sight through the same part ofthe air, as when two people use the same air as a medium and one sees white, the other black, existing together in the same air. That does not happen in the case of smell, for contrary odours are found to impede each other even in the medium.

Text 23. Thomas Aquinas, /n De anima, sect. 494 But it is clear that this cannot happen in smell, for when the odour of a corpse is sensed by vultures up to fifty miles or further it would be impossible for any bodily vapour from the corpse to be diffused such a long distance, especially as the object of sense changes the medium for an equal distance on all sides, unless it is prevented. It would not be enough to fill so great a space, even if the whole corpse were resolved into smoky vapour, since there is a fixed limit to the rarefaction to which a natural body can attain, namely that of fire. Still less when the corpse does not appear to be sensibly changed by odour ofthis type.

Text 24. Thomas Aquinas, /n De anima, sect. 495 So we must say that a smoky vapour can indeed be released from the object of smell. But it does not reach as far as the terminus where odour is perceived. Rather, the medium is changed spiritually beyond the point where the said vapour can reach.

258

Richard Sorabji Text 25. Roger Bacon, Opus maius, ii. 409-10 Bridges

And when a beam passes through the medium of strongly coloured glass, or crystal, or fabric, there appears to us in the darkness next to the ray a colour like that of the well-coloured body. That colour on the opaque surface is called a likeness (similitudo) and species of the colour in the strongly coloured body through which the beam passes. It is called a likeness and image (imago) with reference to the thing that generates it, to which it is assimilated and which it copies. It is called a species with reference to sense and intellect, in accordance with the usage of Aristotle and the physicists, because Aristotle says in the second book ofthe De anima that sense in every case receives the species of perceptible things, and in the third book he says that intellect is the place of species. It is called a reflexion (idolum) with reference to mirrors, because we often have to do with it in that way. It is called a phantasm (phantasma) and replica (simulacrum) in dream-appearances, because those species penetrate the senses as far as the inner parts of the soul and appear in dreams as if they were the things of which they are species, because they are assimilated to those things, and the soul is not so capable of discriminating in sleep as when we are awake, and so is deceived and judges on account of the likeness that the species are the things themselves of which they are species. It is called a form (forma) in the usage of Alhazen, the author of the popular Perspective. It is called an intention (intentio) in the common usage of physicists, because of the weakness of its being with reference to the thing itself which declares that it is not truly a thing, but rather the intention of a thing, that is, a likeness.

Text 26. William of Ockham, Reportatio or Quaestiones in Sent., in Theological Works (St Bonaventure, NY), vi. 59-60; 61; 141-2

First it is proved that the visible, that is, colour, causes something not of a different nature, but of the same nature; that is, colour in the object causes colour in the medium, even ifless perfect colour (/icet imperfectior). For multiplicity is not to be postulated unnecessarily, and there is no evident necessity to postulate ‘species’ of the kind mentioned above in the medium differing in nature from the objects that cause them.

Secondly, I say that something of the same nature as the object is produced in the medium. This is proved by observation of a beam passing through red or green glass. As was evident above, the beam passing through the glass produces a true colour on the wall opposite, with the colour in the glass mediating as a mediating partial cause. And that colour is of the same kind as the red colour in the glass. Similarly it should be noted that colour is assumed to be caused in the medium not on account ofvision, that is, on the supposition that it is a partial

From Aristotle to Brentano

259

cause of the act of seeing—and that when it exists in a lower degree (in gradu remisso)—but on the basis of experience, because it is plain to the senses that when a beam travels through a transparent body, colour is produced on the side facing it, and that colour, like colour in a solid body, can partially cause an act of seeing. But that colour is not postulated to permit the seeing of some other colour, since it impedes the seeing of any other colour, as is plain to the senses.

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PUBLICATIONS-ONSANCIENT PEL © ay BY Ne a llLONID)

‘Plato’s Description of Division’, Classical Quarterly, Xs 2 (1952), 105—12. ‘Falsehood and Significance according to Plato’, in Actes du XI" Congres International de Philosophie, Bruxelles 20-26.8.1953 (Amsterdam and Leuven, 1953), xii. 68-70. ‘Plato’s

Later Dialogues’

(review of B. Liebrucks,

Platons Entwicklung zur

Dialektik), Philosophical Quarterly, 3 (1953), 244-7. ‘Ancient Formal Logic’, (review ofI.M. Bochenski, Ancient Formal Logic, and

J. Lukasiewicz, Aristotle’s Syllogistic from the Standpoint of Modern Formal Logic), Philosophical Quarterly, 5 (1955), 175-8. ‘Neoplatonic Logic and Aristotelian Logic (I)’, Phronesis, 1/1 (1955), 58-723 (II), Phronesis, 1/2 (1956), 146-60.

Plato, Philebus and Epinomis, translation and introduction by A. E. Taylor, ed. R. Klibansky with the co-operation of G. Calogero and A.C. Lloyd (London and Edinburgh, 1956). ‘Genus, Species and Ordered series in Aristotle’, Phronesis 7, (1962), 67-90. ‘Nosce teipsum and Conscientia’, in Archiv fiir Geschichte der Philosophie, 46 (1964), 188-200. ‘The Later Neoplatonists’, in A. H. Armstrong (ed.), The Cambridge History of Later Greek and Early Medieval Philosophy (Cambridge, 1967), 269-325. ‘Non-discursive Thought: An Enigma of Greek Philosophy’, Proceedings ofthe Aristotelian Society, 70 (1969-70), 261-74.

‘Aristotle’s Principle of Individuation’, Mind, 79 (1970), 519-29. ‘Activity and Description in Aristotle and the Stoa’, Proceedings of the British Academy, 56 (1970), 227-40. ‘Grammar and Metaphysics in the Stoa’, in A.A. Long (ed.), Problems in Stoicism (London, 1971), 58-74. ‘The Principle that the Cause is Greater than the Effect’, Phronesis, 21 (1976), 146-56. ‘Emotion and Decision in Stoic Psychology’, in J. M. Rist (ed.), The Stoics (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London, 1978), 233-46. ‘Definite Propositions and the Concept of Reference’, inJ.Brunschwig (ed.),

262

Publications on Ancient Philosophy

Les Stoiciens et leur logique: Actes du Congres de Chantilly, r5-22.9.1976 (Paris,

1978), 285-95. ‘Was Aristotle’s Theory of Perception Lockean?’ Ratio, 21 (1979), 135-48. Form and Universal in Aristotle (ARCA: Classical and Medieval Texts and Monographs, 4; Liverpool, 1981). ‘Necessity and Essence in the Posterior Analytics’, in E. Berti (ed.), Aristotle on Science: The Posterior Analytics. Proceedings of the 8th Symposium Aristotelicum, Padua 7-15.9.1978 (Padua, 1981), 151-71. (Ed., with H. J. Blumenthal) Soul and the Structure of Being in Late Neoplatonism: Syrianus, Proclus and Simplicius (Liverpool, 1982).

‘Procession and Division in Proclus’, in Soul and the Structure ofBeing, 18-42. ‘Non-propositional Thought in Plotinus’, Phronesis, 31 (1986), 258-65. ‘Parhypostasis in Proclus’, in G. Boss and G. Seel (eds.), Proclus et son influence: Actes du Colloque de Neuchatel, juin 1985 (Zurich, 1987), 145-57. ‘Plotinus on the Genesis of Thought and Existence’, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy, 5 (1987), 155-86. ‘The Aristotelianism of Eustratios of Nicaea’, in J]. Wiesner (ed.), Aristoteles: Werk und Wirkung. Paul Moraux gewidmet (Berlin and New York, 1987), ii.

341-51. The Anatomy of Neoplatonism (Oxford, 1990).

INDEX

LOCORUM

Abu Rashid al-Nishaburi (Abu Rida)

25. 23-6. 3: 216

Ziyadat al-Sharh fil-lTawhid

42. 21-43. 1: 230 N. 13

30-40: 231 n. 20

48. 7-21: 230, 250-1

Albertus Magnus (Borgnet)

61. 30-62. 1:229

De anima 230°: 241

241": 240, 256 242°: 239, 255

263": 241 266°: 241 268”: 240-1, 256 269”: 241 277°—278": 240, 241 278": 240, 241, 256 290°: 240

294: 246 297": 240, 256 De sensu ct sensato

64-65": 239 Summa de creaturis

206": 22g n. 9

206?—207": 229, 239, 241 241°=242": 241 26y°-271": 239 298": 240

50. 15-16: 230 n. 15

62. 1-5: 229-30, 245-6, 249 62. 5-13: 229, 249

62. 13-22: 229-30 82. 1: 138

82. 19 ff: 194, 200 n. 29 83. 16: 230 n. 13 83. 20-2: 236 n. iS) 83 49: 88 n. 14 rs a 55: 100 86: 103-4

87: 101 88: 98 QO: 115 100: 106 . 163: 83 . 189-202: 88-91 . 189-go: 88

561. 563. 567. 582. 583.

23-564. 7: 148 n. 14 13-17: 154: 27 21-30: 147 N. 12 24-584. 20: 148 n. 14 27: 148 n. 18

Ehias Tn Analytica Priora (Westerink)

136. 23-32: 187-8 Epictetus

2. 17. 10: go 3. 16. 5: 114-15 Epicurus Letter to Herodotus 42: 156 n. 31

Etymologicum Gudianum S.V. xp7y: 154 Nn. 28 Etymologicum Magnum

. 198: 88 . 19g: 82 n. 2 SP SS) ST) St. 201: 82-95

Eustathius

Diogenes Stoicus ap. Diogenem Laertium 7. 55: 100

Galen De placitis Hipp. et Plat. (De Lacy)

Dionysius Cartusianus De lumine christianae theoriae TS OU G5 Dionysius Thrax (Gramatici Graeci, i/1)

S.V. xpH: 154 n. 28 PT Ge ML iN, 1

4. 6. 2-3: 107

7. 5. 2-4: 231 n. 22 eal sles ul Omena il De usu partium (Kuhn) 3. 644: 230 n. 15

72. 3-86. 1: 148 n. 14 72. 4-5: 148 n. 15 78. 1-3: 149 n. 18 Scania s Tego

Hermias In Phacdrum (Couvreur)

Dionysius Thrax: Scholia (Grammatict Graect 1/3) 13. 19-14. 12: 147 N. 12

Hicrocles Neoplatonicus In Carmen aureum (Koehler) 121. 19 ff.: 183 n. 30

160. 1-4: 193 n. 6

269

270

Index Locorum

Hicrocles Stoicus ap. Stobaeum 4. 672: 106-7

B 1. 31-2: 5-6 B 8.41: 6 B. 8 53-9: 6

Hesiod 116: 2

Peter of Spain (de Rijk) Tractatus I. 19, PP. 9-10: 152-3

Homer Iliad

Philodemus De musica (Kemke)

Theogonia

2. 204: 182

Ibn al-Haytham Optics (ed. Sabra) 2. Bde 220 Tei 2 Isocrates Busiris 16: 110

Marcus Aurclius

3. 1: 106 6. 26: 106-7

p. go: 106 n. 17 Philoponus De aeternitate mundi 2g. 2-5: 186

31. 7 ff.: 186 32. 10-18: 186-7 In Analytica Priora 6. 14-18: 188 26. 11-16: 147 28. 13-16: 155 n. 29

42. 35-45. 20: 157 N. 37

13: 188

43. 18-44. 1: 146 n. 6 44. 6: 160 n. 42 46. 6-7: 156 n. 34

Nemesius De natura hominis (Matthaei) 37: 139

59. 10: 151 n. 20 60. 8: 157 n. 37 Ole 2250S qua 37

Marinus Vita Procli

Olympiodorus

In Categorias 115. 22-116. 19: 203 n. 34

123. 17-37: 203 N. 34 In Gorgiam (Westerink) 214. 13-25 (= 41.9)

In Meteorologica 4. 16-27: 180 gy. 19-25: 180 Prolegomena 5. 16-18: 181 5. 18-30: 178-80 6. 6-8. 28: 178 Y. 14-30: 181-4 10. 24-33: 184-6 10. 25~7: 185 10. 30-1: 185 I1. 19-24: 180 17. 37-18. 12: 187 19. 30-5: 182-3 20. 15-17: 182-3 21. 7-10: 182-3 Parmenides (Diels—Kranz°) A 25: 1-7

40. 7: 157 0. 37

117. 26: 157 n. 37

120. 12-13: 147 121. 22 157ne 37 120.5; 14 Magy, 162. 14: 151 n. 20

204. 22: 151 nN. 20 304. 28-31: 161 n. 44 In Analytica Posteriora 328. 25: 151 n. 20 In Categorias

3. 8-5. 14: 178-80 3. 26-8: 178 n. 16 5. 34-6. 2: 181-4 6. 13: 188 n. 52 6. 30-5: 184-6 7. 5-13: 181 n. 23 35> 24530: 234

147. 9-149. 6: 203 In De anima 6. 1-5: 202-3 Il. 5-11: 203 100. 21—4: 203 N. 34 303. 4-6: 232

30y. 17-25: 232 325. 30>2: 235

Index Locorum 496. 10 ff.: 170

499. 506. 518. 523. 542. 584.

12 ff.: 170 24-5: 204 6-18: 140 n. 8 27-31: 204 I-17: 204 17-19: 204

Plato Meno 7 A: 106 n. 18 Parmenides

392. 19-31: 234 400. 20-1: 231 N. 21, 237-8

413. 6-7: 233, 252-3 413. 7-12: 233, 234, 252-3 416. 23: 233

416. 30-5: 233, 253

417. 37: 233

420. 22: 234 LOD ASEBA SG AR

432. 33-433. 11: 232, 245-6, 251 432. 38: 232

437- 10-11: 232 438. 6-15: 232, 251 430.132 232 440. 20-441. 11: 245-6

443. 11-444. 8:233-4 In De anima (Book 3, trans]. Moerbeke: Verbeke) 136, 167

Q. 11-12: 232 15. 66-9: 136

135 B-C: 3 Phaedo 60 b: 106 n. 18 Protagoras 326 B: 106 n. 18 Republic 398 E: 107

443 D: 113 Sophist 249 B-1: 3 Symposium 187: torn. 8 187 B: 98 Nn. 4 187 D: ror n. 8 Limaeus 66 E: 240 n. 79

Plotinus He Motels 132 I. 3. 4: 200 {eOnI1O 2. 3. 9. 12-14: 195 2. 3. 10. 6~7: 195

In Physica

7h, Be TGR MNO, WP 2. 8. 3-4: 117 N. I 2.9. 1: 119 2eQe2) 20n ie

262. 23: 151 n. 20

3. 2. 1. 40-5: 126

32. 57-8: 232 61. 72-4: 203-4

[Philoponus] In De anima 3: 167 481. 24-33: 232 488. 18-19: 171 490. 21-3: 204 492. 27-8: 170-1 493- 9-10: 170 494. 26-495. 8: 171-2 495. 5: 171 N. 14 495. 12-29: 172 495. 19: 171 n. 14 495. 22: 171 n. 14

3. 4. 3. 25-6: 126 3. 4. 6. 3-5: 121 n. 3 205.0: 2m 3 Gok TOP 3. 6. 1. 1-7: 196 ye SRO RWIS IPD 3. 7. 7. Q-10: 122 3. 8. 4. 7-14: 126

Bi tee to A 3. 8. 11. 38-45: 124

3. 9- 5: 119 4. 3-5: 118, 196 4. 3. 2-8: 118

271

ou

Index Locorum

4. 3. 6-9: 121 4. 3. 6. 8-16: 121

De Stoicorum repugnantits 1035 A: 85-6, gi—2, 94-5

Peey, ie 0G)

1035 (=D: 92-5

4. 3. 123 121-2 4. 3. 23. 9 ff: 196 ik BE PISS ADI

1045 ¥: 86-7 1046 B—C: 87 n. 12 1046 E-F: 111

4. 3. 29-31: 168

[Plutarch]

pee

De musica a

ee 1139B: 104-5

4. 4. 1. 11-16: 196 4. 4. 3. 21-7: 122-3 4. 4. 10-16: 121

Polyclitus Dk 40 Bz Porphyry

Hite IO ea he5 Ay Arineg—=—9 A021 4:4. 23, 22-33: 235-6

In Categorias 107. 13-17: 157 N. 35 In Ptolemaei Harmonica (During)

Wa an meee Ae aks 110,120

Life ofPlotinus 8-9: 126

4.8. 4. 8. 4. 8. 5. 02

8. 19: 126

eas hoe neh, Sea Cu sis

Asal: as N. 52) 230 4.6. 1. 27-8: 231 n. 22

0: 8. 8. oH

121-2 1-3: 193 n. 6 13-16: 121 110)

5.1. 6-7; 119 SOMO Suey

22

ILO

14. 29-33: 197 16, 26-8: 197

Priscian Metaphrasis in Theophrastum 14. 10-12: 230-1 26. 6: 134 32.

31:

134

Se2e ler 5. 2. 2. 26-9: 127

3029s GeelSH, Procluc

oh pe ee sp Sp Gee Wee

Elements ofTheology 184: 193 n. 6

5. 5-3. 16-24: 123-5, 127

211: 193 n. 6

5- 5- 3. 23: 126

In I Euelidis Elementorum

5.013: 122

51. 20-52. 3: 197

5. 8. 7. 12-16: 125

51. 20-52. 20: 198

5. 8. 7, 28-35: 126 5.8. 12-13: 124 5.8. 13. Ian: 124 5. 8. 13. 7-11: 124 5-9. 2. 21-2: 196 5-9. 3. 26: 125 Se Sh aimae Wg 5. 9. 8. 21-2: 196 6.2) 22: 122 6. 2. 28-y: 122 6. 4. 10. 11-15: 119 6. 4. 14: 122 Oy Rage wae 6.9. 5: 119

141. 2 ff: 197 In Rempublicam 1. 235. 18-19: 197 n. 19 In Timaeum 1.6. 21-7. 16: 180 1. 244. 19-22: 198 3. 158. 5-11: 198 Ptolemy Harmonics NORUCN NSH 1. 16: 107 Sage Met Bras ney Seneca

Plutarch De audiendo 45 Ci 115-16

Epistulae morales 71. 16: 106 120; 112

Index Locorum Sextus Empiricus Adversus mathematicas

7. 16: 86 7.223000 Ne 17

Simplicius In Categorias 4. 10-5. 2: 179 4. 12-13: 179 6. 6-15: 181-4 6. 27-30: 183-4 7. 23-32: 184-6

7. 29-32: 185 g. 28-30: 182-3 It. 30 ff. 182-3 7. 10-12: 183 73. 30 ff: 182-3 In De caelo 556. 3-560. 10: 2-7 558. 11-17: 4

SOON Sultans, In Ep icteti Encheiridion (Duebner)

22. 54-23. 1: 188 n. 52 ror. 38 ff: 183 n. 30 In Physica you fiz 310. 1-6 795- 11-17: 187 g64. 29-965. 6: 135 n. 3 (7) Simplicius

In De anima 6. 12 ff.: 193 n. 6 141. 15-38: 230

207. 8 ff.: 169 208. 11 ff.: 169 209. 4-210. 4: 169-70

214. 2-9: 170 247. 26-39: 200-1 248. 5-10: 201-2 248. 24-249. 4: 202 Sophonias In De anima 104: 246 Stephanus In De interpretatione 2. 23-8: 155 n. 30

53. 10-11: 147 N. 13 53- 14-24: 161 n. 44

53- 24-54. 2: 157 N. 37 55- 8-12: 156.n. 34

273

Stobacus 60. 18: 110-11 63. 6: 111 66. 14-67: 103-5 75-11 ff: g7—115 62. 20-63. 5: 116 n. 32 . 672: 106-7 wn nnn Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta . 45-6: 86n. 10

179 97-115

. 370: 104-5 537: 101 41-4: 86 n. 10 . 425: 230-1 4:98

42) GOW ai 7473: 107

WW NS nN ee

. 560: 103-4 . p. 196. 17-41: 94

Ww WW

Strabo 14. 24: 81n. 1 Themistius In De anima 46. 3-4: 140-1 57- 2-12: 229 59. 24-6: 229 n. g 5. 31-6: 230

75. 75. 76. 79.

10-19: 17-19: 32-77. 20-37:

232 232 22: 232 232

86. 2g: 229 95. 4-6: 141-2

94. 27 ff: 141 g8. 12 ff: 142 gg. 8: 142

101. 5-107. 2g: 194-5 101. 5-9: 141 102. 11: 140-1 102. 25-6: 134-5

103. 107. 108. 108.

7: 140-1 30: 142 18: 142 25: 134

Theophrastus ap. Priscian, Metaphrasis in Theoph.

14. 10-12: 230-1 fr. 89. 10 (Wimmer): 230-1

274

Index Locorum

William of Ockham (St Bonaventure)

Xenocrates (Heinze)

Reportatio (Opera theologica, vi)

fr. 30: 85 n. 7

3 2 ee

Zeno Stoicus

Set

ap. Diogenem Laertium

ons oy

SVF 1. 49, 50: 83

258-9 Summa logica (Opera philosophica, i)

SVF 1. 179: 97-115

59-60: 245, 258

eae 141-2: 245,

2. I, Pp. 242: 152-3

7. 158: 230-1

SVE

1. 65

SUPPLEMENTARY Ackrill,J.L. 69, 72

Albertus Magnus Albinus 136 Albrecht, W.

74

Christianson,J. 244 Chrysippus 107, 109, 111 Code, A. 46n.

Ammonius 176, 177, 178 Anaxagoras 130, 131, 132 Andersen, @. 246n. Apollodorus of Seleucia 81 n. Apollonius of Tyre 81 n. Aquinas, Thomas 74, 209 Arcesilaus 87 n. Aristides Quintilianus 111, 114 Aristo of Chios 83, 113 Aristotle of Mytilene 137-9 105, 108, 110, 136

Arius Didymus 137 Aubengue, P. 6n. Averroes 130, 208-9

Cohen, S. 243 n. Cooper,J.M. 37n., 69, 72, 76 Corcoran,J. 12 n. Coxon, A. H. qn. Cronert 81 n.

David (Elias) 176, 177, 178 Dancy, R. M. 317. Democritus 139 Descartes, R. 225-6 Devereux, D. 69, 75, 129 n. Dewan, L. 238 n.

Dexippus 177 Dicaearchus 136 Dillon,J. 137 n. Dyroff, A. 81n., 115-16

Baldassari, M. 81n., 88n. Balme, D. 131, 220, 221 n. Barker, A. g8n., 100n., 10g n., 110

Barnes,J. 30n., 85 n., 214 n. Beierwaltes, W. 199 n. Berka, K. 11n. Berti, E. 86n. Beth, W.E. 11n. Blanche, R. 11 n. Blumenthal, H. B.

OF NAMES

Clark Sa Re eeoo

ron.

Alcinous 136 Alexander of Aphrodisias 5, 138-40, 193

Aristoxenus

INDEX

Ebbesen, S. 246 n. Eleatics 1-3 Ellisse233iney 235ile

Emilsson, E. 235 Eudemus 129 Eustratius 74 Festugiere, A.-J. 180 nn.

166 n, 167 n., 168 nn.

Boethius 177 Bonhoffer, A. 115 n. Borman, Kk. 4n. Bos, A. P. 117-18 n., 124 n. Bossier, F. 167 n. Brague, R. 6n. Brennan, S. 243 n.

Burnett, C. 231 n., 241 n. Burnyeat, M. 46, 243 n., 248 n.

Frank, R. 246n. Frede, M. 12n., 41 n., 44.n., 45 n., 47 n., 48 N., 51 Furth, M. 4n.

Gauthier, R.-A. 246 n., 247 n. Gigante, M. 81 n., 88 n.

Giusta, M. 137 n. Goldschmidt, V. 65 Goulet, R. 136

Graham, D. 218-19 Granger, G. G. 11 n.

Caston,V.

237):

Cato 105 Charlton, W. 30n., 212-13 Cherniss, H. 3, 86, 93 n.

Guthrie, W.C. kK. 4 Hadgopoulos, D.J. 12 n. Hadot, P. 123, 124, 199 n., 200 n.

276

General Index Neubecker, A.J. 10g n. Nussbaum, M. 165 n., 166, 168, 172

Haldane,J. 244 n. Hanisch,A. ion. Hardie, W. F. R. 69

Hayduck, M. 167 n. Heinaman, R. 69 ff. Heraclitus of Ephesus 1, 1o1, 102 Hesiod 1, 2 Hierocles Stoicus 106 Hintikka,J. 11 n. Hoffmann, P. 183 n.

Homer 131 Hughes, G. J. 46n. Hume, D. 169, 172 lamblichus 192 lonians 2 loppolo, A. M. 87 n., 104 Irwin, T. H. 30n., 41 n., 63 n., 69, 84 n., g5 Nn. Isnardi-Parente, M. 85 n., 87 n. Jaeger, W. 48n., 49 n., 117n. Kahn, C. 102 Kant, I. 101 Klubertanz, G. 243 n. 11 n.

Kurfess, H. 191 Lacey,A. R. 4 n., 43 n. Lautner, P. 167 n. leaman, O. 208

ean |ee iene esherayq quai

Lloyd, A.C. 34n., 39 n., 41, 44 n., 126, 175-6

Long, A.A. 81 n., 85 n., 88 n. Longo, O. 2n. Lukasiewicz,J. 1on., 11, 12, 14 Maier, A. 245 n. Maier, H. gn., 10 Mansfeld,J. 88 n. Melissus

Orpheus

2

Parmenides 1 Patzig, G. gn., 11, 13-22, 27, 41 N., 44 n., 45 N., 47 N., 51 Philoponus 176, 177

Plato 4, 5, 335 355 37» 83 85, 87, 109

Hulser, kK. 82 n.

Kneale, W. and M.

Olympiodorus 176, 177, 178 O'Meara, D. 69 n., 199 n.

1

Plutarch g2, 93 Porphyry 177 Praechter, K. 175 n., 176, 183 Price, A. W. 69 Priscian 100 n., 130, 134, 192 Proclus 177 Quine, W.V.O.

12 n., 21 n.

Rescher, N. 11 n. Rist,J.M. 192 n. Roche, T. D. 69 n., 70, 72 Roses ie. beni ne

Ross, D. gn., 10, 49 n., 59 n., 63 n., 84 n., 100 N., 131, 169, 170 n. Rossito, C. 84n. Russell, G. 228 n. Ryle, G. 165, 166 n.

Sandbach, F. 85, 87 n. Schoenberger, P. 1.. 197 n. Schofield, M. 30 n., 165 n., 166, 168, 172 Sedley, D. 111

Sharples, R. W. 138 n., 194 n. Sheldrake, R. 224 n. Shields, C. 210-12 Simplicius 5, 6, 7, 167 ff, 176, 177, 192 Smith, R. 11rn., 17 n. Socrates 33, 35, 37 Sophonias

100 n.

Sorabji, R. 30

Steck, M.

197

Michael of Ephesus 246

Steel, C. 167, 192 n. Stewart, A. F. 116n.

Mignucci, M. 36n. Modrak, D. 165 n., 166, 172 Moerbeke see William Moraux, P. 12g Morrow, G.R. 197n.

Taran, L. 3 Thales 2 Themistius 130, 134, 140-3, 167, 193

Mourelatus, A. 4n. Mueller, I. 197 n.

Thom, P. 11n.

Musaeus

Vuillemin,J. 65

2

Theophrastus

129-35

General Index

2a7

Warnock, M. 166 n. Waszink,J.H. 124 n. Watson, G. 165 n., 199 n.

Wittgenstein, L. 165 Woods, M. 193 n.

Westerink, L. G. 187 n.

Xenarchus

Wieland, W. 11n., 30 William of Moerbeke 246

Zeno of Citium

136 97, 104, 109

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CONTENTS Aristotle’s Treatment of the Doctrine of Parmenides GEORGE B. KERFERD Expository Proofs in Aristotle’s Syllogistic

MARIO MIGNUCCI

Explanatory Projects in Physics, 2.3 and 7

MALCOLM SCHOFIELD

Universals and Particular Forms in Aristotle’s Metaphysics WOODS Change and Aristotle’s Theological Argument

The Nicomachean Conception of Happiness

MICHAEL

JOHN ACKRILL

ANTHONY KENNY

On a Book-Title by Chrysippus: ‘On the Fact that the Ancients Admitted Dialectic along with Demonstrations’ JACQUES BRUNSCHWIG The Harmonics of Stoic Virtue

A. A. LONG

Aristotle in Plotinus: The Continuity and Discontinuity of Pysché and HILARY ARMSTRONG Nous Stages in the Development of Language about Aristotle’s Nous PAMELA HUBY Ammonius and Adverbs

JONATHAN BARNES

Phantasia and Mental Images: Neoplatonist Interpretations of De

Anima, 3.3

ANNE SHEPPARD

The Role of the Commentaries on Aristotle in the Teaching of Philosophy according to the Prefaces of the Neoplatonic Commentaries on the Categories ILSETRAUT HADOT

Nous pathétikos in Later Greek Philosophy

HENRY BLUMENTHAL

Form and the Immateriality of the Intellect from Aristotle to Aquinas HOWARD ROBINSON

From Aristotle to Brentano: The Development of the Concept of Intentionality RICHARD SORABJI

ISBN

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