No More Learning

Even as the sun is not only the
most glorious of all visible objects, but is also the cause of the life
and beauty of all other things, and the provider of the light whereby
we see them, so also {167} is it for the eye of the soul. God is its
light, God is the most glorious object of its contemplation, God we
behold imaged forth in all the objects which the soul by reason
contemplates.

[260]

The ideas whereof the 'Other' (or, as he again calls it, the 'Great and
Small' or 'More and Less,' meaning that which is unnamable, or wholly
neutral in character, and which may therefore be represented equally by
contradictory attributes) by participation becomes a resemblance, Plato
compared to the 'Numbers' of the Pythagoreans (cf. above, p. 25).
Hence, Aristotle remarks (_Met_. A. 6), Plato found in the ideas the
originative or formative Cause of things, that which made them what
they were or could be called,--their _Essence_; in the 'Great and
Small' he found the opposite principle or _Matter_ (Raw Material) of
things.

In this way the antithesis of Mind and Matter, whether on the great
scale in creation or on the small in rational perception, is not an
antithesis of unrelated opposition. Each is correlative of the other,
so to speak as the male and the female; the one is generative,
formative, active, positive; the other is capable of being impregnated,
receptive, passive, negative; but neither can realise itself apart from
the other.

[262]

This relation of 'Being' with that which is 'Other than Being' is
Creation, wherein we can {168} conceive of the world as coming to be,
yet not in [261] Time. And in the same way Plato speaks of a third
form, besides the Idea and that which receives it, namely, 'Formless
Space, the mother of all things. ' As Kant might have formulated it,
Time and Space are not prior to creation, they are forms under which
creation becomes thinkable.

[271]

The 'Other' or Negative element, Plato more or less vaguely connected
with the evil that is in the world. This evil we can never expect to
perish utterly from the world; it must ever be here as the antithesis
of the good. But with the gods it dwells not; here in this mortal
nature, and in this region of mingling, it must of necessity still be
found. The wise man will therefore seek to die to the evil, and while
yet in this world of mortality, to think immortal things, and so as far
as may be flee from the evil. Thereby shall he liken himself to the
divine. For it is a likening to the divine to be just and holy and
true.

[273]

This, then, is the _summum bonum_, the end of life. For as the
excellence or end of any organ or instrument consists in that
perfection of its parts, whereby each separately and the whole together
work well towards the fulfilling of that which it is designed to
accomplish, so the excellence of man must consist in a perfect ordering
of all his parts to the perfect working of his whole organism as a
{169} [276] rational being. The faculties of man are three: the Desire
of the body, the Passion of the heart, the Thought of the soul; the
perfect working of all three, Temperance, Courage, Wisdom, and
consequently the perfect working of the whole man, is Righteousness.
From this springs that ordered tranquillity which is at once true
happiness and perfect virtue.

[277]

Yet since individual men are not self-sufficient, but have separate
capacities, and a need of union for mutual help and comfort, the
perfect realisation of this virtue can only be in a perfect civic [278]
community. And corresponding with the three parts of the man there
will be three orders in the community: the Workers and Traders, the
Soldiers, and the Ruling or Guardian class. When all these perform
their proper functions in perfect harmony, then is the perfection of
the whole realised, in Civic Excellence or Justice.

[281]

To this end a careful civic education is necessary, _first_, because to
_know_ what is for the general good is difficult, for we have to learn
not only in general but in detail that even the individual good can be
secured only through the general; and _second_, because few, if any,
are capable of seeking the general good, even if they know it, without
the guidance of discipline and the restraints of law. Thus, with a
view to its own perfection, and the good of all {170} its members,
Education is the chief work of the State.

It will be remembered (see foregoing page) that in Plato's division of
the soul of man there are three faculties, Desire, Passion, Reason; in
the division of the soul's perfection three corresponding virtues,
Temperance, Courage, Wisdom; and in the division of the state three
corresponding orders, Traders, Soldiers, Guardians. So in Education
there are three stages. First, _Music_ (including all manner of
artistic and refining influences), whose function it is so to attemper
the desires of the heart that all animalism and sensualism may be
eliminated, and only the love and longing for that which is lovely and
of good report may remain. Second, _Gymnastic_, whose function it is
through ordered labour and suffering so to subdue and rationalise the
passionate part of the soul, that it may become the willing and
obedient servant of that which is just and true. And third,
_Mathematics_, by which the rational element of the soul may be trained
to realise itself, being weaned, by the ordered apprehension of the
'diamond net' of laws which underlie all the phenomena of nature, away
from the mere surface appearances of things, the accidental,
individual, momentary,--to the deep-seated realities, which are
necessary, universal, eternal.

And just as there was a perfectness of the soul {171} transcending all
particular virtues, whether of Temperance or Courage or Wisdom, namely,
that absolute Rightness or Righteousness which gathered them all into
itself, so at the end of these three stages of education there is a
higher mood of thought, wherein the soul, purified, chastened,
enlightened, in communing with itself through _Dialectic_ (the Socratic
art of questioning transfigured) communes also with the Divine, and in
thinking out its own deepest thoughts, thinks out the thoughts of the
great Creator Himself, becomes one with Him, finds its final
realisation through absorption into Him, and in His light sees light.




{172}

CHAPTER XVIII

ARISTOTLE

_An unruly pupil--The philosopher's library--The predominance of
Aristotle--Relation to Plato--The highest philosophy--Ideas and
things--The true realism_


Plato before his death bequeathed his Academy to his nephew Speusippus,
who continued its president for eight years; and on his death the
office passed to Xenocrates, who held it for twenty-five years. From
him it passed in succession to Polemo, Crates, Crantor, and others.
Plato was thus the founder of a school or sect of teachers who busied
themselves with commenting, expanding, modifying here and there the
doctrines of the master. Little of their works beyond the names has
been preserved, and indeed we can hardly regret the loss. These men no
doubt did much to popularise the thoughts of their master, and in this
way largely influenced the later development of philosophy; but they
had nothing substantial to add, and so the stern pruning-hook of time
has cut them off from remembrance.

[297]

Aristotle was the son of a Greek physician, member of the colony of
Stagira in Thrace. His father, Nicomachus by name, was a man of such
{173} eminence in his profession as to hold the post of physician to
Amyntas, king of Macedonia, father of Philip the subverter of Greek
freedom. Not only was his father an expert physician, he was also a
student of natural history, and wrote several works on the subject. We
shall find that the fresh element which Aristotle brought to the
Academic philosophy was in a very great measure just that minute
attention to details and keen apprehension of vital phenomena which we
may consider he inherited from his father. He was born 384 B. C. , and
on the death of his father, in his eighteenth year, he came to Athens,
and became a student of philosophy under Plato, whose pupil he
continued to be for twenty years,--indeed till the death of the master.
That he, undoubtedly a far greater man than Speusippus or Xenocrates,
should not have been nominated to the succession has been variously
explained; he is said to have been lacking in respect and gratitude to
the master; Plato is said to have remarked of him that he needed the
curb as much as Xenocrates needed the spur. The facts really need no
explanation. The original genius is never sufficiently subordinate and
amenable to discipline. He is apt to be critical, to startle his
easy-going companions with new and seemingly heterodox views, he is the
'ugly duckling' whom all the virtuous and commonplace brood must cackle
{174} at. The Academy, when its great master died, was no place for
Aristotle. He retired to Atarneus, a city of Mysia opposite to Lesbos,
where a friend named Hermias was tyrant, and there he married Hermias'
niece. After staying at Atarneus some three years he was invited by
Philip, now king of Macedon, to undertake the instruction of his son
Alexander, the future conqueror, who was then thirteen years old. He
remained with Alexander for eight years, though of course he could
hardly be regarded as Alexander's tutor during all that time, since
Alexander at a very early age was called to take a part in public
affairs. However a strong friendship was formed between the
philosopher and the young prince, and in after years Alexander loaded
his former master with benefits. Even while on his march of conquest
through Asia he did not forget him, but sent him from every country
through which he passed specimens which might help him in his projected
History of Animals, as well as an enormous sum of money to aid him in
his investigations.

After the death of Philip, Aristotle returned to Athens, and opened a
school of philosophy on his own account in the Lyceum. Here some
authorities tell us he lectured to his pupils while he paced up and
down before them; hence the epithet applied to the school, the
_Peripatetics_. Probably, however, the name is derived from the
'Peripati' or covered {175} walks in the neighbourhood of that temple
in which he taught. He devoted his mornings to lectures of a more
philosophical and technical character; to these only the abler and more
advanced students were admitted. In the afternoons he lectured on
subjects of a more popular kind--rhetoric, the art of politics,
etc. --to larger audiences. Corresponding with this division, he also
was in the habit of classifying his writings as Acroatic or technical,
and Exoteric or popular. He accumulated a large library and museum, to
which he contributed an astonishing number of works of his own, on
every conceivable branch of knowledge.

The after history of Aristotle's library, including the MSS. of his own
works, is interesting and even romantic. Aristotle's successor in the
school was Theophrastus, who added to the library bequeathed him by
Aristotle many works of his own, and others purchased by him.
Theophrastus bequeathed the entire library to Neleus, his friend and
pupil, who, on leaving Athens to reside at Scepsis in the Troad, took
the library with him. There it remained for nearly two hundred years
in possession of the Neleus family, who kept the collection hidden in a
cellar for fear it should be seized to increase the royal library of
Pergamus. In such a situation the works suffered much harm from worms
and damp, till at last (_circa_ 100 B. C. ) they were brought out {176}
and sold to one Apellicon, a rich gentleman resident in Athens, himself
a member of the Peripatetic school. In 86 B. C. Sulla, the Roman
dictator, besieged and captured Athens, and among other prizes conveyed
the library of Apellicon to Rome, and thus many of the most important
works of Aristotle for the first time were made known to the Roman and
Alexandrian schools. It is a curious circumstance that the philosopher
whose influence was destined to be paramount for more than a thousand
years in the Christian era, was thus deprived by accident of his
legitimate importance in the centuries immediately following his own.

But his temporary and accidental eclipse was amply compensated in the
effect upon the civilised world which he subsequently exercised. So
all-embracing, so systematic, so absolutely complete did his philosophy
appear, that he seemed to after generations to have left nothing more
to discover. He at once attained a supremacy which lasted for some two
thousand years, not only over the Greek-speaking world, but over every
form of the civilisation of that long period, Greek, Roman, Syrian,
Arabic, from the Euphrates to the Atlantic, from Africa to Britain.
His authority was accepted equally by the learned doctors of Moorish
Cordova and the Fathers of the Church; to know Aristotle was to have
all {177} knowledge; not to know him was to be a boor; to deny him was
to be a heretic.

His style has nothing of the grace of Plato; he illuminates his works
with no myths or allegories; his manner is dry, sententious, familiar,
without the slightest attempt at ornament. There are occasional
touches of caustic humour, but nothing of emotion, still less of
rhapsody. His strength lies in the vast architectonic genius by which
he correlates every domain of the knowable in a single scheme, and in
the extraordinary faculty for illustrative detail with which he fills
the scheme in every part. He knows, and can shrewdly criticise every
thinker and writer who has preceded him; he classifies them as he
classifies the mental faculties, the parts of logical speech, the parts
of sophistry, the parts of rhetoric, the parts of animals, the parts of
the soul, the parts of the state; he defines, distinguishes, combines,
classifies, with the same sureness and minuteness of method in them
all. He can start from a general conception, expand it into its parts,
separate these again by distinguishing details till he brings the
matter down to its lowest possible terms, or _infimae species_. Or he
can start from these, find analogies among them constituting more
general species, and so in ascending scale travel surely up to a
general conception, or _summum genus_.

In his general conception of philosophy he was {178} to a large extent
in agreement with Plato; but he endeavoured to attain to a more
technical precision; he sought to systematise into greater
completeness; he pared off everything which he considered merely
metaphorical or fanciful, and therefore non-essential. The operations
of nature, the phenomena of life, were used in a much fuller and more
definite way to illustrate or even formulate the theory; but in its
main ideas Aristotle's philosophy is Plato's philosophy. The one
clothed it in poetry, the other in formulae; the one had a more
entrancing vision, the other a clearer and more exact apprehension; but
there is no essential divergence.

Aristotle's account of the origin or foundation of [300] philosophy is
as follows (_Met_. A. 2): "Wonder is and always has been the first
incentive to philosophy. At first men wondered at what puzzled them
near at hand, then by gradual advance they came to notice and wonder at
things still greater, as at the phases of the moon, the eclipses of sun
and moon, the wonders of the stars, and the origin of the universe.
Now he who is puzzled and in a maze regards himself as a know-nothing;
wherefore the philosopher is apt to be fond of wondrous tales or myths.
And inasmuch as it was a consciousness of ignorance that drove men to
philosophy, it is for the correction of this ignorance, and not for any
material utility, that the pursuit of knowledge exists. Indeed it is,
{179} as a rule, only when all other wants are well supplied that, by
way of ease and recreation, men turn to this inquiry. And thus, since
no satisfaction beyond itself is sought by philosophy, we speak of it
as we speak of the freeman. We call that man free whose existence is
for himself and not for another; so also philosophy is of all the
sciences the only one that is free, for it alone exists for itself.

"Moreover, this philosophy, which is the investigation of the first
causes of things, is the most truly educative among the sciences. For
instructors are persons who show us the causes of things. And
knowledge for the sake of knowledge belongs most properly to that
inquiry which deals with what is most truly a matter of knowledge. For
he who is seeking knowledge for its own sake will choose to have that
knowledge which most truly deserves the name, the knowledge, namely, of
what most truly appertains to knowledge. Now the things that most
truly appertain to knowledge are the first causes; for in virtue of
one's possession of these, and by deduction from these, all else comes
to be known; we do not come to know them through what is inferior to
them and underlying them. . . . The wise man ought therefore to know
not only those things which are the outcome and product of first
causes, he must be possessed of the truth as to the first causes
themselves. And wisdom indeed is just this {180} thoughtful science, a
science of what is highest, not truncated of its head. "

[301]

"To the man, therefore, who has in fullest measure this knowledge of
universals, all knowledge must lie to hand; for in a way he knows all
that underlies them. Yet in a sense these universals are what men find
hardest to apprehend, because they stand at the furthest extremity from
the perceptions of sense. "

[302]

"Yet if anything exist which is eternal, immovable, freed from gross
matter, the contemplative science alone can apprehend this. Physical
science certainly cannot, for physics is of that which is ever in flux;
nor can mathematical science apprehend it; we must look to a mode of
science prior to and higher than both. The objects of physics are
neither unchangeable nor free from matter; the objects of mathematics
are indeed unchangeable, but we can hardly say they are free from
matter; they have certainly relations with matter. But the first and
highest science has to do with that which is unmoved and apart from
matter; its function is with the eternal first causes of things. There
are therefore three modes of theoretical inquiry: the science of
physics, the science of mathematics, the science of God. For it is
clear that if the divine is anywhere, it must be in that form of
existence I have spoken of (_i. e. _ in first causes). . . . If,
therefore, there be {181} any form of existence immovable, this we must
regard as prior, and the philosophy of this we must consider the first
philosophy, universal for the same reason that it is first. It deals
with existence as such, inquiring what it is and what are its
attributes as pure existence. "

This is somewhat more technical than the language of Plato, but if we
compare it with what was said above (p. 142) we shall find an essential
identity. Yet Aristotle frequently impugns Plato's doctrine of ideas,
sometimes on the lines already [322] taken by Plato himself (above, p.
158), sometimes in other ways. Thus (_Met_. Z. 15, 16) he says: "That
which is _one_ cannot be in many places at one time, but that which is
common or general is in many places at one time. Hence it follows that
no universal exists apart from the individual things. But those who
hold the doctrine of ideas, on one side are right, viz. in maintaining
their separate existence, if they are to be substances or existences at
all. On the other side they are wrong, because by the idea or form
which they maintain to be separate they mean the one attribute
predicable of many things. The reason why they do this is because they
cannot indicate what these supposed imperishable essences are, apart
from the individual substances which are the objects of perception.
The result is that they simply represent them under the same forms as
{182} those of the perishable objects of sensation which are familiar
to our senses, with the addition of a phrase--_i. e. _ they say 'man as
such,' 'horse as such,' or 'the absolute man,' 'the absolute horse. '"

Aristotle here makes a point against Plato and his school, inasmuch as,
starting from the assumption that of the world of sense there could be
no knowledge, no apprehension fixed or certain, and setting over
against this a world of general forms which were fixed and certain,
they had nothing with which to fill this second supposed world except
the data of sense as found in individuals. Plato's mistake was in
confusing the mere 'this,' which is the conceived starting-point of any
sensation, but which, like a mathematical point, has nothing which can
be said about it, with individual objects as they exist and are known
in all the manifold and, in fact, infinite relations of reality. The
bare subject 'this' presents at the one extreme the same emptiness, the
same mere possibility of knowledge, which is presented at the other by
the bare predicate 'is. ' But Plato, having an objection to the former,
as representing to him the merely physical and therefore the passing
and unreal, clothes it for the nonce in the various attributes which
are ordinarily associated with it when we say, 'this man,' 'this
horse,' only to strip them off successively as data of sensation, and
so at last get, by an illusory process of {183} abstraction and
generalisation, to the ultimate generality of being, which is the mere
'is' of bare predication converted into a supposed eternal substance.

Aristotle was as convinced as Plato that there must be some fixed and
immovable object or reality corresponding to true and certain
knowledge, but with his scientific instincts he was not content to have
it left in a condition of emptiness, attractive enough to the more
emotional and imaginative Plato. And hence we have elsewhere quite as
strong and definite statements as those quoted above about universals
[316] (p. 180), to the effect that existence is in the fullest and most
real sense to be predicated of _individual_ things, and that only in a
secondary sense can existence be predicated of universals, in virtue of
their being found in individual things. Moreover, among universals the
_species_, he maintains, has more of existence in it than the genus,
because it is nearer to the individual or primary existence. For if
you predicate of an individual thing of what species it is, you supply
a statement more full of information and more closely connected with
the thing than if you predicate to what genus it belongs; for example,
if asked, "What is this? " and you answer, "A man," you give more
information than if you say, "A living creature. "

How did Aristotle reconcile these two points of {184} view, the one, in
which he conceives thought as starting from first causes, the most
universal objects of knowledge, and descending to particulars; the
other, in which thought starts from the individual objects, and
predicates of them by apprehension of their properties? The antithesis
is no accidental one; on the contrary, it is the governing idea of his
Logic, with its ascending process or Induction, and its descending
process or Syllogism. Was thought a mere process in an unmeaning
circle, the 'upward and downward way' of Plato?

As to this we may answer first that while formally Aristotle displays
much the same 'dualism' or unreconciled separation of the 'thing' and
the 'idea' as Plato, his practical sense and his scientific instincts
led him to occupy himself largely not with either the empty 'thing' or
the equally empty 'idea,' but with the true _individuals_, which are at
the same time the true universals, namely, real objects as known,
having, so far as they are known, certain forms or categories under
which you can class them, having, so far as they are not yet fully
known, a certain raw material for further inquiry through observation.
In this way Thought and Matter, instead of being in eternal and
irreconcilable antagonism as the Real and the Unreal, become parts of
the same reality, the first summing up the knowledge of things already
attained, the second symbolising the infinite {185} [317] possibilities
of further ascertainment. And thus the word 'Matter' is applied by
Aristotle to the highest genus, as the relatively indefinite compared
with the more fully defined species included under it; it is also
applied by him to the individual object, in so far as that object
contains qualities not yet fully brought into predication.

[319]

And second, we observe that Aristotle introduced a new conception which
to his view established a _vital relation_ between the universal and
the individual. This conception he formulated in the correlatives,
_Potentiality_ and _Actuality_. With these he closely connected the
idea of _Final Cause_. The three to Aristotle constituted a single
reality; they are organically correlative. In a living creature we
find a number of members or organs all closely interdependent and
mutually conditioning each other. Each has its separate function, yet
none of them can perform its particular function well unless all the
others are performing theirs well, and the effect of the right
performance of function by each is to enable the others also to perform
theirs. The total result of all these mutually related functions is
_Life_; this is their End or Final Cause, which does not exist apart
from them, but is constituted at every moment by them. This Life is at
the same time the condition on which alone each and every one of the
functions constituting it can be performed. Thus {186} life in an
organism is at once the end and the middle and the beginning; it is the
cause final, the cause formal, the cause efficient. Life then is an
_Entelechy_, as Aristotle calls it, by which he means the realisation
in unity of the total activities exhibited in the members of the living
organism.

In such an existence every part is at once a potentiality and an
actuality, and so also is the whole. We can begin anywhere and travel
out from that point to the whole; we can take the whole and find in it
all the parts.




{187}

CHAPTER XIX

ARISTOTLE (_continued_)

_Realisation and reminiscence--The crux of philosophy--Reason in
education--The chief good--Origin of communities_


If we look closely at this conception of Aristotle's we shall see that
it has a nearer relation to the Platonic doctrine of Ideas, and even to
the doctrine of Reminiscence, than perhaps even Aristotle himself
realised. The fundamental conception of Plato, it will be remembered,
is that of an eternally existing 'thought of God,' in manifold forms or
'ideas,' which come into the consciousness of men in connection with or
on occasion of sensations, which are therefore in our experience later
than the sensations, but which we nevertheless by reason recognise as
necessarily prior to the sensations, inasmuch as it is through these
ideas alone that the sensations are knowable or namable at all. Thus
the final end for man is by contemplation and 'daily dying to the world
of sense,' to come at last into the full inheritance in conscious
knowledge of that 'thought of God' which was latent from the first in
his soul, and of which in its fulness God Himself is eternally and
necessarily possessed.

{188}

[311]

This is really Aristotle's idea, only Plato expresses it rather under a
psychological, Aristotle under a vital, formula. God, Aristotle says,
is eternally and necessarily Entelechy, absolute realisation. _To us_,
that which is first _in time_ (the individual perception) is not first
in _essence_, or absolutely. What is first in essence or absolutely,
is the universal, that is, the form or idea, the datum of reason. And
this distinction between time and the absolute, between our individual
experience and the essential or ultimate reality, runs all through the
philosophy of Aristotle. The 'Realisation' of Aristotle is the
'Reminiscence' of Plato.

This conception Aristotle extended to Thought, to the various forms of
life, to education, to morals, to politics.

_Thought_ is an entelechy, an organic whole, in which every process
conditions and is conditioned by every other. If we begin with
sensation, the sensation, blank as regards predication, has relations
to that which is infinitely real,--the object, the real thing before
us,--which relations science will never exhaust. If we start from the
other end, with the datum of thought, consciousness, existence, mind,
this is equally blank as regards predication, yet it has relations to
another existence infinitely real,--the subject that thinks,--which
relations religion and morality and sentiment and love will never
exhaust. Or, as {189} Aristotle and as common sense prefers to do, if
we, with our developed habits of thought and our store of accumulated
information, choose to deal with things from a basis midway between the
two extremes, in the ordinary way of ordinary people, we shall find
both processes working simultaneously and in organic correlation. That
is to say, we shall be increasing the _individuality_ of the objects
known, by the operation of true thought and observation in the
discovery of new characters or qualities in them; we shall be
increasing by the same act the _generality_ of the objects known, by
the discovery of new relations, new genera under which to bring them.
Individualisation and generalisation are only opposed, as mutually
conditioning factors of the same organic function.

[316]

This analysis of thought must be regarded rather as a paraphrase of
Aristotle than as a literal transcript. He is hesitating and obscure,
and at times apparently self-contradictory. He has not, any more than
Plato, quite cleared himself of the confusion between the mutually
contrary individual and universal in _propositions_, and the
organically correlative individual and universal in _things as known_.
But on the whole the tendency of his analysis is towards an
apprehension of the true realism, which neither denies matter in favour
of mind nor mind in favour of matter, but recognises that both mind and
matter are organically correlated, and ultimately identical.

{190}

The crux of philosophy, so far as thus apprehended by Aristotle, is no
longer in the supposed dualism of mind and matter, but there is a crux
still. What is the meaning of this 'Ultimately'? Or, putting it in
Aristotle's formula, Why this relation of potentiality and actuality?
Why this eternal coming to be, even if the coming to be is no
unreasoned accident, but a coming to be of that which is vitally or in
germ _there_? Or theologically, Why did God make the world? Why this
groaning and travailing of the creature? Why this eternal 'By and by'
wherein all sin is to disappear, all sorrow to be consoled, all the
clashings and the infinite deceptions of life to be stilled and
satisfied? An illustration of Aristotle's attempt to answer this
question will be given later on (p. 201). That the answer is a failure
need not surprise us. If we even now 'see only as in a glass darkly'
on such a question, we need not blame Plato or Aristotle for not seeing
'face to face. '

[326]

_Life_ is an entelechy, not only abstractedly, as already shown (above,
p. 186), but in respect of the varieties of its manifestations. We
pass from the elementary life of mere growth common to plants and
animals, to the animal life of impulse and sensation, thence we rise
still higher to the life of rational action which is the peculiar
function of man.
Each is a _potentiality_ to that which is immediately
above it; in {191} other words, each contains in germ the possibilities
which are realised in that stage which is higher. Thus is there a
touch of nature which makes the whole world kin, a purpose running
through all the manifestations of life; each is a preparation for
something higher.

[339]

_Education_ is in like manner an entelechy. For what is the
_differentia_, the distinguishing character of the life of man?
Aristotle answers, the possession of reason. It is the action of
reason upon the desires that raises the life of man above the brutes.
This, observe, is not the restraining action of something wholly alien
to the desires, which is too often how Plato represents the matter.
This would be to lose the dynamic idea. The desires, as Aristotle
generally conceives them, are there in the animal life, prepared, so to
speak, to receive the organic perfection which reason alone can give
them. Intellect, on the other hand, is equally in need of the desires,
for thought without desire cannot supply motive. If intellect is
_logos_ or reason, desire is that which is fitted to be obedient to
reason.

It will be remembered that the question to which Plato addressed
himself in one of his earlier dialogues, already frequently referred
to, the _Meno_, was the teachableness of Virtue; in that dialogue he
comes to the conclusion that Virtue is teachable, but that there are
none capable of teaching it; for the {192} wise men of the time are
guided not by knowledge but by right opinion, or by a divine instinct
which is incommunicable. Plato is thus led to seek a machinery of
education, and it is with a view to this that he constructs his ideal
_Republic_. Aristotle took up this view of the state as educative of
the individual citizens, and brought it under the dynamic formula. In
the child reason is not actual; there is no rational law governing his
acts, these are the immediate result of the strongest impulse. Yet
only when a succession of virtuous acts has formed the virtuous habit
can a man be said to be truly good. How is this process to begin? The
answer is that the reason which is only latent or dynamic in the child
is actual or realised in the parent or teacher, or generally in the
community which educates the child. The law at first then is imposed
on the child from without, it has an appearance of unnaturalness, but
only an appearance. For the law is there in the child, prepared, as he
goes on in obedience, gradually to answer from within to the summons
from without, till along with the virtuous habit there emerges also
into the consciousness of the child, no longer a child but a man, the
apprehension of the law as his own truest nature.

These remarks on education are sufficient to show that in Morals also,
as conceived by Aristotle, there is a law of vital development. It may
be {193} sufficient by way of illustration to quote the introductory
sentences of Aristotle's _Ethics_, in which the question of the nature
of the chief good is, in his usual tentative manner, discussed: "If
there be any end of what we do which we desire for itself, while all
other ends are desired for it, that is, if we do not in every case have
some ulterior end (for if that were so we should go on to infinity, and
our efforts would be vain and useless), this ultimate end desired for
itself will clearly be the chief good and the ultimate best. Now since
every activity, whether of knowing or doing, aims at some good, it is
for us to settle what the good is which the civic activity aims
at,--what, in short, is the ultimate end of all 'goods' connected with
conduct? So far as the name goes all are pretty well agreed as to the
answer; gentle and simple alike declare it to be happiness, involving,
however, in their minds on the one hand well-living, on the other hand,
well-doing. When you ask them, however, to define this happiness more
exactly, you find that opinions are divided, and the many and the
philosophers have different answers.

"But if you ask a musician or a sculptor or any man of skill, any
person, in fact, who has some special work and activity, what the chief
good is for him, he will tell you that the chief good is in the work
well done. If then man has any special work or function, we may assume
that the chief good for man {194} will be in the well-doing of that
function. What now is man's special function? It cannot be mere
living, for that he has in common with plants, and we are seeking what
is peculiar to him. The mere life of nurture and growth must therefore
be put on one side. We come next to life as sensitive to pleasure and
pain. But this man shares with the horse, the ox, and other animals.
What remains is the life of action of a reasonable being. Now of
reason as it is in man there are two parts, one obeying, one possessing
and considering. And there are also two aspects in which the active or
moral life may be taken, one potential, one actual. Clearly for our
definition of the chief good we must take the moral life in its full
actual realisation, since this is superior to the other.

"If our view thus far be correct, it follows that the chief good for
man consists in the full realisation and perfection of the life of man
as man, in accordance with the specific excellence belonging to that
life, and if there be more specific excellences than one, then in
accordance with that excellence which is the best and the most rounded
or complete. We must add, however, the qualification, 'in a rounded
life. ' For one swallow does not make a summer, nor yet one day. And
so one day or some brief period of attainment is not sufficient to make
a man happy and blest. "

{195}

The close relation of this to the teaching of Socrates and Plato need
hardly be insisted on, or the way in which he correlates their ideas
with his own conception of an actualised perfection.

[340]

Aristotle then proceeds to a definition of the 'specific excellence' or
virtue of man, which is to be the standard by which we decide how far
he has fully and perfectly realised the possibilities of his being. To
this end he distinguishes in man's nature three modes of existence:
first, _feelings_ such as joy, pain, anger; second, _potentialities_ or
capacities for such feelings; third, _habits_ which are built upon
these potentialities, but with an element of reason or deliberation
superadded. He has no difficulty in establishing that the virtue of
man must be a habit. And the test of the excellence of that habit, as
of every other developed capacity, will be twofold; it will make the
worker good, it will cause him to produce good work.

So far Aristotle's analysis of virtue is quite on the lines of his
general philosophy. Here, however, he diverges into what seems at
first a curiously mechanical conception. Pointing out that in
everything quantitative there are two extremes conceivable, and a
_mean_ or average between them, he proceeds to define virtue as a mean
between two extremes, a mean, however, having relation to no mere
numerical standard, but having reference _to us_. In this last {196}
qualification he perhaps saves his definition from its mechanical turn,
while he leaves himself scope for much curious and ingenious
observation on the several virtues regarded as means between two
extremes. He further endeavours to save it by adding, that it is
"defined by reason, and as the wise man would define it. "

Reason then, as the impersonal ruler,--the wise man, as the
personification of reason,--this is the standard of virtue, and
therefore also of happiness. How then shall we escape an externality
in our standard, divesting it of that binding character which comes
only when the law without is also recognised and accepted as the law
within? The answer of Aristotle, as of his predecessors, is that this
will be brought about by wise training and virtuous surroundings, in
short, by the civic community being itself good and happy. Thus we get
another dynamic relation; for regarded as a member of the body politic
each individual becomes a potentiality along with all the other
members, conditioned by the state of which he and they are members,
brought gradually into harmony with the reason which is in the state,
and in the process realising not his own possibilities only, but those
of the community also, which exists only in and through its members.
Thus each and all, in so far as they realise their own well-being by
the perfect development of the virtuous {197} habit in their lives,
contribute _ipso facto_ to the supreme end of the state, which is the
perfect realisation of the whole possibilities of the total organism,
and consequently of every member of it.

[342]

The _State_ therefore is also an entelechy. For man is not made to
dwell alone. "There is first the fact of sex; then the fact of
children; third, the fact of variety of capacity, implying variety of
position, some having greater powers of wisdom and forethought, and
being therefore naturally the rulers; others having bodily powers
suitable for carrying out the rulers' designs, and being therefore
naturally subjects. Thus we have as a first or simplest community the
family, next the village, then the full or perfect state, which,
seeking to realise an absolute self-sufficiency within itself, rises
from mere living to well-living as an aim of existence. This higher
existence is as natural and necessary as any simpler form, being, in
fact, the end or final and necessary perfection of all such lower forms
of existence. Man therefore is by the natural necessity of his being a
'political animal,' and he who is not a citizen,--that is, by reason of
something peculiar in his nature and not by a mere accident,--must
either be deficient or something superhuman. And while man is the
noblest of animals when thus fully perfected in an ordered community,
on the other hand when deprived of law and justice he is the very
worst. {198} For there is nothing so dreadful as lawlessness armed.
And man is born with the arms of thought and special capacities or
excellences, which it is quite possible for him to use for other and
contrary purposes. And therefore man is the most wicked and cruel
animal living when he is vicious, the most lustful and the most
gluttonous. The justice which restrains all this is a civic quality;
and law is the orderly arrangement of the civic community" (Arist.
_Pol_. i. p. 2).




{199}

CHAPTER XX

ARISTOTLE (_concluded_)

_God and necessity--The vital principle--Soul as realisation--Function
and capacity--His method_


Throughout Aristotle's physical philosophy the [334] same conception
runs: "All animals in their fully developed state require two members
above all--one whereby to take in nourishment, the other whereby to get
rid of what is superfluous. For no animal can exist or grow without
nourishment. And there is a third member in them all half-way between
these, in which resides the principle of their life. This is the
heart, which all blood-possessing animals have. From it comes the
arterial system which Nature has made hollow to contain the liquid
blood. The situation of the heart is a commanding one, being near the
middle and rather above than below, and rather towards the front than
the back. For Nature ever establishes that which is most honourable in
the most honourable places, unless some supreme necessity overrules.
We see this most clearly in the case of man; but the same tendency for
the heart to occupy the centre is seen also in {200} other animals,
when we regard only that portion of their body which is essential, and
the limit of this is at the place where superfluities are removed. The
limbs are arranged differently in different animals, and are not among
the parts essential to life; consequently animals may live even if
these are removed. . . . Anaxagoras says that man is the wisest of
animals because he possesses hands. It would be more reasonable to say
that he possesses hands because he is the wisest. For the hands are an
instrument; and Nature always assigns an instrument to the one fitted
to use it, just as a sensible man would. For it is more reasonable to
give a flute to a flute-player than to confer on a man who has some
flutes the art of playing them. To that which is the greater and
higher she adds what is less important, and not _vice versa_.
Therefore to the creature fitted to acquire the largest number of
skills Nature assigned the hand, the instrument useful for the largest
number of purposes" (Arist. _De Part. An. _ iv. p. 10).

[332]

And in the macrocosm, the visible and invisible world about us, the
same conception holds: "The existence of God is an eternally perfect
entelechy, a life everlasting. In that, therefore, which belongs to
the divine there must be an eternally perfect movement. Therefore the
heavens, which are as it were the body of the Divine, are in form a
sphere, of {201} necessity ever in circular motion. Why then is not
this true of every portion of the universe? Because there must of
necessity be a point of rest of the circling body at the centre. Yet
the circling body cannot rest either as a whole or as regards any part
of it, otherwise its motion could not be eternal, which by nature it
is. Now that which is a violation of nature cannot be eternal, but the
violation is posterior to that which is in accordance with nature, and
thus the unnatural is a kind of displacement or degeneracy from the
natural, taking the form of a coming into being.

"Necessity then requires earth, as the element standing still at the
centre. Now if there must be earth, there must be fire. For if one of
two opposites is natural or necessary, the other must be necessary too,
each, in fact, implying the necessity of the other. For the two have
the same substantial basis, only the positive form is naturally prior
to the negative; for instance, warm is prior to cold. And in the same
way motionlessness and heaviness are predicated in virtue of the
absence of motion and lightness, _i. e. _ the latter are essentially
prior.

"Further, if there are fire and earth, there must also be the elements
which lie between these, each having an antithetic relation to each.
From this it follows that there must be a process of coming into being,
because none of these elements can be eternal, {202} but each affects,
and is affected by each, and they are mutually destructive. Now it is
not to be argued that anything which can be moved can be eternal,
except in the case of that which by its own nature has eternal motion.
And if coming into being must be predicated of these, then other forms
of change can also be predicated" (Arist. _De Coelo_, ii. p. 3).

This passage is worth quoting as illustrating, not only Aristotle's
conception of the divine entelechy, but also the ingenuity with which
he gave that appearance of logical completeness to the vague and
ill-digested scientific imaginations of the time, which remained so
evil an inheritance for thousands of years. It is to be observed, in
order to complete Aristotle's theory on this subject, that the four
elements, Earth, Water, Air, Fire, are all equally in a world which is
"contrary to nature," that is, the world of change, of coming into
being, and going out of being. Apart from these there is the element
of the Eternal Cosmos, which is "in accordance with nature," having its
own natural and eternal motion ever the same. This is the fifth or
divine element, the aetherial, by the schoolmen translated _Quinta
Essentia_, whence by a curious degradation we have our modern word
Quintessence, of that which is the finest and subtlest extract.

Still more clearly is the organic conception carried {203} out in
Aristotle's discussion of the Vital principle or Soul in the various
grades of living creatures and in man. It will be sufficient to quote
at length a chapter of Aristotle's treatise on the subject (_De Anima_,
ii. p. 1) in which this fundamental conception of Aristotle's
philosophy is very completely illustrated:--

"Now as to Substance we remark that this is one particular category
among existences, having three different aspects. First there is, so
to say, the raw material or Matter, having in it no definite character
or quality; next the Form or Specific character, in virtue of which the
thing becomes namable; and third, there is the Thing or Substance which
these two together constitute. The Matter is, in other words, the
_potentiality_ of the thing, the Form is the _realisation_ of that
potentiality. We may further have this realisation in two ways,
corresponding in character to the distinction between _knowledge_
(which we have but are not necessarily using) and actual
_contemplation_ or mental perception.

"Among substances as above defined those are most truly such which we
call _bodily objects_, and among these most especially objects which
are the products of nature, inasmuch as all other bodies must be
derived from them. Now among such natural objects some are possessed
of life, some are not; by _life_ I mean a process of spontaneous
nourishment, growth, and decay. Every natural {204} object having life
is a substance compounded, so to say, of several qualities. It is, in
fact, a bodily substance defined in virtue of its having life. Between
the living body thus defined and the Soul or Vital principle, a marked
distinction must be drawn. The body cannot be said to 'subsist in'
something else; rather must we say that it is the matter or substratum
in which something else subsists. And what we mean by the soul is just
this substance in the sense of the _form_ or specific character that
subsists in the natural body which is _potentially_ living. In other
words, the Soul is substance as _realisation_, only, however, of such a
body as has just been defined. Recalling now the distinction between
realisation as possessed knowledge and as actual contemplation, we
shall see that in its essential nature the Soul or Vital principle
corresponds rather with the first than with the second. For both sleep
and waking depend on the Soul or Life being there, but of these waking
only can be said to correspond with the active form of knowledge; sleep
is rather to be compared with the state of having without being
immediately conscious that we have. Now if we compare these two states
in respect of their priority of development in a particular person, we
shall see that the state of latent possession comes first. We may
therefore define the Soul or Vital principle as _The earliest {205}
realisation (entelechy) of a natural body having in it the potentiality
of life_.

"To every form of organic structure this definition applies, for even
the parts of plants are organs, although very simple ones; thus the
outer leaf is a protection to the pericarp, and the pericarp to the
fruit. Or, again, the roots are organs bearing an analogy to the mouth
in animals, both serving to take in food. Putting our definition,
then, into a form applicable to every stage of the Vital principle, we
shall say that _The Soul is the earliest realisation of a natural body
having organisation_.

"In this way we are relieved from the necessity of asking whether Soul
and body are one. We might as well ask whether the wax and the
impression are one, or, in short, whether the _matter_ of any object
and that whereof it is the matter or substratum are one. As has been
pointed out, unity and substantiality may have several significations,
but the truest sense of both is found in _realisation_.

"The general definition of the Soul or Vital principle above given may
be further explained as follows. The Soul is the _rational_ substance
(or function), that is to say, it is that which gives essential meaning
and reality to a body as knowable. Thus if an axe were a _natural_
instrument or organ, its rational substance would be found in its
realisation of what an axe means; this would be its _soul_. Apart
{206} from such realisation it would not be an axe at all, except in
name. Being, however, such as it is, the axe remains an axe
independently of any such realisation. For the statement that the Soul
is the _reason_ of a thing, that which gives it essential meaning and
reality, does not apply to such objects as an axe, but only to natural
bodies having power of spontaneous motion (including growth) and rest.

"Or we may illustrate what has been said by reference to the bodily
members. If the eye be a living creature, _sight_ will be its soul,
for this is the _rational_ substance (or function) of the eye. On the
other hand, the eye itself is the _material_ substance in which this
function subsists, which function being gone, the eye would no longer
be an eye, except in name, just as we can speak of the eye of a statue
or of a painted form. Now apply this illustration from a part of the
body to the whole. For as any one sense stands related to its organ,
so does the vital sense in general to the whole sensitive organism as
such, always remembering that we do not mean a dead body, but one which
really has in it potential life, as the seed or fruit has. Of course
there is a form of realisation to which the name applies in a specially
full sense, as when the axe is actually cutting, the eye actually
seeing, the man fully awake. But the Soul or Vital principle
corresponds rather with the _function_ of sight, or the _capacity_ for
cutting which {207} the axe has, the body, on the other hand, standing
in a relation of _potentiality_ to it. Now just as the eye may mean
both the actual organ or pupil, and also the function of sight, so also
the living creature means both the body and the soul. We cannot,
therefore, think of body apart from soul, or soul apart from body. If,
however, we regard the soul as composed of parts, we can see that the
realisation to which we give the name of soul is in some cases
essentially a realisation of certain parts of the body. We may,
however, conceive the soul as in other aspects separable, in so far as
the realisation cannot be connected with any bodily parts. Nay, we
cannot be certain whether the soul may not be the realisation or
perfection of the body as the sailor is of his boat. "

Observe that at the last Aristotle, though very tentatively, leaves an
opening for immortality, where, as in the case of man, there are
functions of the soul, such as philosophic contemplation, which cannot
be related to bodily conditions. He really was convinced that in man
there was a portion of that diviner aether which dwelt eternally in the
heavens, and was the ever-moving cause of all things. If there was in
man a _passive_ mind, which became all things, as all things through
sensation affected it, there was also, Aristotle argued, a _creative_
mind in man, which is above, and unmixed with, that which it
apprehends, {208} gives laws to this, is essentially prior to all
particular knowledge, is therefore eternal, not subject to the
conditions of time and space, consequently indestructible.

Finally, as a note on Aristotle's method, one may observe in this
passage, _first_, Aristotle's use of 'defining examples,' the wax, the
leaf and fruit, the axe, the eye, etc. ; _second_, his practice of
developing his distinctions gradually, Form and Matter in the abstract,
then in substances of every kind, then in natural bodies, then in
organic bodies of various grades, in separate organs, in the body as a
whole, and in the Soul as separable in man; and _thirdly_, his method
of approaching completeness in thought, by apparent contradictions or
qualifications, which aim at meeting the complexity of nature by an
equally organised complexity of analysis. To this let us simply add,
by way of final characterisation, that in the preceding pages we have
given but the merest fragment here and there of Aristotle's vast
accomplishment. So wide is the range of his ken, so minute his
observation, so subtle and complicated and allusive his illustrations,
that it is doubtful if any student of his, through all the centuries in
which he has influenced the world, ever found life long enough to
fairly and fully grasp him. Meanwhile he retains his grasp upon us.
Form and matter, final and efficient causes, potential and actual
existences, {209} substance, accident, difference, genus, species,
predication, syllogism, deduction, induction, analogy, and multitudes
of other joints in the machinery of thought for all time, were forged
for us in the workshop of Aristotle.




{210}

CHAPTER XXI

THE SCEPTICS AND EPICUREANS

_Greek decay--The praises of Lucretius--Canonics--Physics--The proofs
of Lucretius--The atomic soul--Mental pleasures--Natural
pleasures--Lower philosophy and higher_


Philosophy, equally complete, equally perfect in all its parts, had its
final word in Plato and Aristotle; on the great lines of universal
knowledge no further really original structures were destined to be
raised by Greek hands. We have seen a parallelism between Greek
philosophy and Greek politics in their earlier phases (see above, p.
82); the same parallelism continues to the end. Greece broke the bonds
of her intense but narrow civic life and civic thought, and spread
herself out over the world in a universal monarchy and a cosmopolitan
philosophy; but with this widening of the area of her influence
reaction came and disruption and decay; an immense stimulus was given
on the one hand to the political activity, on the other, to the thought
and knowledge of the world as a whole, but at the centre Greece was
'living Greece no more,' her politics sank to the level of a dreary
farce, her philosophy died down to a dull and spiritless scepticism, to
an Epicureanism {211} that 'seasoned the wine-cup with the dust of
death,' or to a Stoicism not undignified yet still sad and narrow and
stern. The hope of the world, alike in politics and in philosophy,
faded as the life of Greece decayed.

[356]

The first phase of the change, _Scepticism_, or Pyrrhonism, as it was
named from its first teacher, need not detain us long. Pyrrho was
priest of Elis; in earlier life he accompanied Alexander the Great as
far as India, and is said to have become acquainted with certain of the
philosophic sects in that country. In his sceptical doctrine he had,
like his predecessors, a school with its succession of teachers; but
the [358] world has remembered little more of him or them than two
phrases 'suspense of judgment'--this for the intellectual side of
philosophy; 'impassibility'--this for the moral. The doctrine is a
negation of doctrine, the idle dream of idle men; even Pyrrho once,
when surprised in some sudden access of fear, confessed that it was
hard for him 'to get rid of the man in himself. ' Vigorous men and
growing nations are never agnostic. They decline to rest in mere
suspense; they are extremely the opposite of impassive; they believe
earnestly, they feel strongly.

[365]

A more interesting, because more positive and constructive, personality
was that of Epicurus. This philosopher was born at Samos, in the year
341 B. C. , of Athenian parents. He came to Athens in his eighteenth
year. Xenocrates was then teaching at {212} the Academy, Aristotle at
the Lyceum, but Epicurus heard neither the one nor the other. After
some wanderings he returned to Athens and set up on his [366] own
account as a teacher of philosophy. He made it a matter of boasting
that he was a self-taught philosopher; and Cicero (_De Nat. Deor. _ i.
26) sarcastically remarks that one could have guessed as much, even if
Epicurus had not stated it himself; as one might of the proprietor of
an ugly house, who should boast that he had employed no architect. The
style of Epicurus was, in fact, plain and unadorned, but he seems all
the same to have been able to say what he meant; and few if any writers
ancient or modern have ever had so splendid a literary tribute, as
Epicurus had from the great Roman poet Lucretius, his follower and
expositor.

"Glory of the Greek race," he says, "who first hadst power to raise
high so bright a light in the midst of darkness so profound, shedding a
beam on all the interests of life, thee do I follow, and in the
markings of thy track do I set my footsteps now. Not that I desire to
rival thee, but rather for love of thee would fain call myself thy
disciple. For how shall the swallow rival the swan, or what speed may
the kid with its tottering limbs attain, compared with the brave might
of the scampering steed? Thou; O father, art the discoverer of nature,
thou suppliest to us a father's teachings, and from thy pages, {213}
illustrious one, even as bees sip all manner of sweets along the
flowery glades, we in like manner devour all thy golden words, golden
and right worthy to live for ever. For soon as thy philosophy, birth
of thy godlike mind, hath begun to declare the origin of things,
straightway the terrors of the soul are scattered, earth's walls are
broken apart, and through all the void I see nature in the working. I
behold the gods in manifestation of their power, I discern their
blissful seats, which never winds assail nor rain-clouds sprinkle with
their showers, nor snow falling white with hoary frost doth buffet, but
cloudless aether ever wraps them round, beaming in broad diffusion of
glorious light. For nature supplies their every want nor aught impairs
their peace of soul. But nowhere do I see any regions of hellish
darkness, nor does the earth impose a barrier to our sight of what is
done in the void beneath our feet.