are investigated the
principles
and causes of essences.
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Here he remained, pursuing
his studies, for three years; and left only when his patron was
treacherously murdered by the Persians.
Having retired to Mitylene, he soon afterward received an invi-
tation from Philip of Macedonia to undertake the education of his
son Alexander, then thirteen years old. Aristotle willingly obeyed
this summons; and retiring with his royal pupil to Mieza, a town
southwest of Pella, imparted his instruction in the Nymphæum,
which he had arranged in imitation of Plato's garden school. Alex-
ander remained with him three years, and was then called by his
father to assume important State duties. Whether Aristotle's in-
struction continued after that is uncertain; but the two men remained
fast friends, and there can be no doubt that much of the nobility,
self-control, largeness of purpose, and enthusiasm for culture, which
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ARISTOTLE
789
characterized Alexander's subsequent career, were due to the teach-
ing of the philosopher. What Aristotle was in the world of thought,
Alexander became in the world of action.
Aristotle remained in Macedonia ten years, giving instruction
to young Macedonians and continuing his own studies. He then
returned to Athens, and opened a school in the peripatos, or prom-
enade, of the Lyceum, the gymnasium of the foreign residents, a
school which from its location was called the Peripatetic. Here he
developed a manifold activity. He pursued all kinds of studies,
logical, rhetorical, physical, metaphysical, ethical, political, and æs-
thetic, gave public (exoteric) and private (esoteric) instruction, and
composed the bulk of the treatises which have made his name
famous. These treatises were composed slowly, in connection with
his lectures, and subjected to frequent revision. He likewise en-
deavored to lead an ideal social life with his friends and pupils,
whom he gathered under a common roof to share meals and elevated
converse in common.
Thus affairs went on for twelve fruitful years, and might have
gone on longer, but for the sudden death of Alexander, his friend
and patron.
Then the hatred of the Athenians to the conqueror
showed itself in hostility to his old master, and sought for means to
put him out of the way. How hard it was to find a pretext for so
doing is shown by the fact that they had to fix upon the poem
which he had written on the death of his friend Hermias many
years before, and base upon it—as having the form of the pæan,
sacred to Apollo-a charge of impiety. Aristotle, recognizing the
utter flimsiness of the charge, and being unwilling, as he said, to
allow the Athenians to sin a second time against philosophy, retired
beyond their reach to his villa at Chalcis in Euboea, where he died
of stomach disease the year after (322). In the later years of his life,
the friendship between him and his illustrious pupil had, owing to
certain outward circumstances, become somewhat cooled; but there
never was any serious breach. His body was carried to Stagira,
which he had induced Philip to restore after it had been destroyed,
and whose inhabitants therefore looked upon him as the founder of
the city. As such he received the religious honors accorded to
heroes: an altar was erected to him, at which an annual festival was
celebrated in the month named after him.
As a
We may sum up the character of Aristotle by saying that he was
one of the sanest and most rounded men that ever lived.
philosopher, he stands in the front rank. "No time," says Hegel,
"has a man to place by his side. " Nor was his moral character in-
ferior to his intellect. No one can read his 'Ethics,' or his will (the
text of which is extant), without feeling the nobleness, simplicity,
## p. 790 (#208) ############################################
790
ARISTOTLE
purity, and modernness of his nature. In his family relations, espe-
cially, he seems to have stood far above his contemporaries. The
depth of his æsthetic perception is attested by his poems and his
'Poetics. '
The unsatisfactory and fragmentary condition in which Aristotle's
works have come down to us makes it difficult to judge of his style.
Many of them seem mere collections of notes and jottings for lec-
tures, without any attempt at style. The rest are distinguished by
brevity, terseness, and scientific precision. No other man ever en-
riched philosophic language with so many original expressions. We
know, from the testimony of most competent judges, such as Cicero,
that his popular writings, dialogues, etc. , were written in an elegant
style, casting even that of Plato into the shade; and this is borne
fully out by some extant fragments.
Greek philosophy culminates in Aristotle. Setting out with a
naïve acceptance of the world as being what it seemed, and trying to
reduce this Being to some material principle, such as water, air, etc. ,
it was gradually driven, by force of logic, to distinguish Being from
Seeming, and to see that while the latter was dependent on the
thinking subject, the former could not be anything material. This
result was reached by both the materialistic and spiritualistic schools,
and was only carried one step further by the Sophists, who main-
tained that even the being of things depended on the thinker. This
necessarily led to skepticism, individualism, and disruption of the old
social and religious order.
Then arose Socrates, greatest of the Sophists, who, seeing that the
outer world had been shown to depend on the inner, adopted as his
motto, "Know Thyself," and devoted himself to the study of mind.
By his dialectic method he showed that skepticism and individualism,
so far as anarchic, can be overcome by carrying out thought to its
implications; when it proves to be the same for all, and to bring
with it an authority binding on all, and replacing that of the old
external gods. Thus Socrates discovered the principle of human lib-
erty, a principle necessarily hostile to the ancient State, which
absorbed the man in the citizen. Socrates was accordingly put to
death as an atheist; and then Plato, with good intentions but preju-
diced insight, set to work to restore the old tyranny of the State.
This he did by placing truth, or reality (which Socrates had found in
complete thought, internal to the mind), outside of both thought and
nature, and making it consist of a group of eternal schemes, or
forms, of which natural things are merely transient phantoms, and
which can be reached by only a few aristocratic souls, born to rule
the rest. On the basis of this distortion he constructed his Repub-
lic, in which complete despotism is exercised by the philosophers
## p. 791 (#209) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
791
through the military; man is reduced to a machine, his affections and
will being disregarded; community of women and of property is the
law; and science is scouted.
Aristotle's philosophy may be said to be a protest against this
view, and an attempt to show that reality is embodied in nature,
which depends on a supreme intelligence, and may be realized in
other intelligences, or thought-centres, such as the human mind. In
other words, according to Aristotle, truth is actual in the world and
potential in all minds, which may by experience put on its forms.
Thus the individualism of the Sophists and the despotism of Plato
are overcome, while an important place is made for experience, or
science.
Aristotle, accepting the world of common-sense, tried to ration-
alize it; that is, to realize it in himself. First among the Greeks
he believed it to be unique, uncreated, and eternal, and gave his
reasons. Recognizing that the phenomenal world exists in change,
he investigated the principle and method of this. Change he con-
ceives as a transition from potentiality to actuality, and as always
due to something actualized, communicating its form to something
potential. Looking at the "world" as a whole, and picturing it as
limited, globular, and constructed like an onion, with the earth in
the centre, and round about it nine concentric spheres carrying the
planets and stars, he concludes that there must be at one end some-
thing purely actual and therefore unchanging,— that is, pure form
or energy; and at the other, something purely potential and there-
fore changing,- that is, pure matter or latency. The pure actuality
is at the circumference, pure matter at the centre. Matter, however,
never exists without some form. Thus, nature is an eternal circular
process between the actual and the potential. The supreme Intel-
ligence, God, being pure energy, changelessly thinks himself, and
through the love inspired by his perfection moves the outmost sphere;
which would move all the rest were it not for inferior intelligences,
fifty-six in number, who, by giving them different directions, diver-
sify the divine action and produce the variety of the world. The
celestial world is composed of eternal matter, or æther, whose only
change is circular motion; the sublunary world is composed of chan-
ging matter, in four different but mutually transmutable forms-fire,
air, water, earth-movable in two opposite directions, in straight
lines, under the ever-varying influence of the celestial spheres.
Thus the world is an organism, making no progress as a whole,
but continually changing in its various parts. In it all real things
are individuals, not universals, as Plato thought. And forms pass
from individual to individual only. Peleus, not humanity, is the par-
ent of Achilles; the learned man only can teach the ignorant. In ·
## p. 792 (#210) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
792
the world-process there are several distinct stages, to each of which
Aristotle devotes a special work, or series of works. Beginning with
the "four elements" and their changes, he works up through the
mineral, vegetable, and animal worlds, to man, and thence through
the spheral intelligences to the supreme, divine intelligence, on which
the Whole depends. Man stands on the dividing line between the
temporal and the eternal; belonging with his animal part to the for-
mer, with his intelligence (which "enters from without") to the
latter. He is an intelligence, of the same nature as the sphere-
movers, but individuated by mutable matter in the form of a body,
matter being in all cases the principle of individuation. As intelli-
gence, he becomes free; takes the guidance of his life into his own
hand; and, first through ethics, politics, and æsthetics, the forms of
his sensible or practical activity, and second through logic, science,
and philosophy, the forms of his intellectual activity, he rises to
divine heights and "plays the immortal. » His supreme activity is
contemplation. This, the eternal energy of God, is possible for man
only at rare intervals.
Aristotle, by placing his eternal forms in sensible things as their
meaning, made science possible and necessary. Not only is he the
father of scientific method, inductive and deductive, but his actual
contributions to science place him in the front rank of scientists.
His Zoology, Psychology, Logic, Metaphysics, Ethics, Politics, and
Esthetics, are still highly esteemed and extensively studied. At the
same time, by failing to overcome the dualism and supernaturalism
of Plato, by adopting the popular notions about spheres and sphere-
movers, by separating intelligence from sense, by conceiving matter
as independent and the principle of individuation, and by making
science relate only to the universal, he paved the way for astrology,
alchemy, magic, and all the forms of superstition, retarding the
advance of several sciences, as for example astronomy and chemistry,
for many hundred years.
After Aristotle's death, his school was continued by a succession of
studious and learned men, but did not for many centuries deeply
affect contemporary life. At last, in the fifth century A. D. , his
thought found its way into the Christian schools, giving birth to
rationalism and historical criticism. At various times its adherents
were condemned as heretics and banished, mostly to Syria. Here, at
Edessa and Nisibis, they established schools of learning which for
several centuries were the most famous in the world. The entire
works of Aristotle were turned into Syriac; among them several spuri-
ous ones of Neo-Platonic origin, notably the famous 'Liber de Causis'
and the Theology of Aristotle. ' Thus a Neo-Platonic Aristotle came
to rule Eastern learning. On the rise of Islâm, this Aristotle was
## p. 793 (#211) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
793
borrowed by the Muslims, and became ruler of their schools at Bag-
dad, Basra, and other places,-schools which produced many remarka-
ble men. On the decay of these, he passed in the twelfth century
into the schools of Spain, and here ruled supreme until Arab phi-
losophy was suppressed, shortly before 1200. From the Arabs he
passed into the Christian Church about this date; and though at first
resisted, was finally accepted, and became "the philosopher" of the
schools, and the inspirer of Dante. The Reformers, though decrying
him, were forced to have recourse to him; but his credit was not
re-established until the present century, when, thanks to Hegel, Tren-
delenburg, Brandis, and the Berlin Academy, his true value was rec-
ognized and his permanent influence insured.
The extant works of Aristotle, covering the whole field of science,
may be classified as follows:
A. Logical or Formal, dealing with the form rather than the mat-
ter of science:-'Categories,' treating of Being and its determination,
which, being regarded ontologically, bring the work into the meta-
physical sphere; On Interpretation,' dealing with the proposition;
'Former Analytics,' theory of the syllogism; 'Later Analytics,' the-
ory of proof; Topics,' probable proofs; Sophistical proofs,' fallacies.
These works were later united by the Stoics under the title Orga-
non,' or Instrument (of science).
B. Scientific or Philosophical, dealing with the matter of science.
These may be subdivided into three classes: (a) Theoretical, (b) Prac-
tical, (c) Creative.
(a) The Theoretical has further subdivisions: (a) Metaphysical, (b)
Physical, (c) Mathematical. (a) The Metaphysical works include the
incomplete collection under the name 'Metaphysics. '— (b) The Physi-
cal works include 'Physics,' 'On the Heavens,' 'On Generation and
Decay,' 'On the Soul,' with eight supplementary tracts on actions
of the soul as combined with the body; viz. , 'On Sense and Sensi-
bles,' 'On Memory and Reminiscence,' 'On Sleep and Waking,' 'On
Dreams,' 'On Divination from Dreams,' 'On Length and Shortness
of Life,' On Life and Death,' On Respiration, Meteorologics,'
'Histories of Animals' (Zoögraphy), 'On the Parts of Animals,' 'On
the Generation of Animals,' 'On the Motion of Animals,' 'Problems'
(largely spurious), On the Cosmos,' 'Physiognomics,' 'On Wonderful
Auditions,' 'On Colors. '- The Mathematical works include On Indi-
visible Lines,' 'Mechanics. '
――――
(b) The Practical works are 'Nicomachean Ethics,' 'Endemean
Ethics,' 'Great Ethics' (Magna Moralia'), really different forms of
the same work; 'Politics,' 'Constitutions' (originally one hundred
and fifty-eight in number; now represented only by the recently
## p. 794 (#212) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
794
discovered 'Constitution of Athens'), 'On Virtues and Vices,' 'Rhet-
oric to Alexander,' 'Economics. '
(c) Of Creative works we have only the fragmentary 'Poetics. '
To these may be added a few poems, one of which is given here.
Besides the extant works of Aristotle, we have titles, fragments,
and some knowledge of the contents of a large number more.
Among these are the whole of the "exoteric" works, including nine-
teen Dialogues. A list of his works, as arranged in the Alexandrian
Library (apparently), is given by Diogenes Laërtius in his 'Life of
Aristotle' (printed in the Berlin and Paris editions of 'Aristotle'); a
list in which it is not easy to identify the whole of the extant works.
The 'Fragments' appear in both the editions just named. Some
of the works named above are almost certainly spurious; e. g. , the
'Rhetoric to Alexander,' the Economics, etc.
The chief editions of Aristotle's works, exclusive of the 'Constitu-
tion of Athens,' are that of the Berlin Academy (Im. Bekker), con-
taining text, scholia, Latin translation, and Index in Greek (5 vols. ,
square 4to); and the Paris or Didot (Dübner, Bussemaker, Heitz),
containing text, Latin translation, and very complete Index in Latin
(5 vols. , 4to). Of the chief works the best editions are:- 'Organon,'
Waitz; 'Metaphysics,' Schwegler, Bonitz; 'Physics,' Prantl; 'Meteor-
ologics,' Ideler; 'On the Generation of Animals,' Aubert and Wim-
mer; 'Psychology,' Trendelenburg, Torstrik, Wallace (with English
translation); 'Nicomachean Ethics,' Grant, Ramsauer, Susemihl; 'Poli-
tics, Stahr, Susemihl; 'Constitution of Athens,' Kenyon, Sandys;
'Poetics,' Susemihl, Vahlen, Butcher (with English translation). There
are few good English translations of Aristotle's works; but among
these may be mentioned Peter's 'Nicomachean Ethics,' Jowett's and
Welldon's 'Politics,' and Poste's 'Constitution of Athens. ' There is
a fair French translation of the principal works by Barthélemy
St. -Hilaire. The Berlin Academy is now (1896) publishing the ancient
Greek commentaries on Aristotle in thirty-five quarto volumes. The
best work on Aristotle is that by E. Zeller, in Vol. iii. of his 'Philoso-
phie der Griechen. ' The English works by Lewes and Grote are
inferior. For Bibliography, the student may consult Ueberweg,
'Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie,' Vol. i. , pages 196 seq.
Shavar David
## p. 795 (#213) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
795
THE NATURE OF THE SOUL
From On the Soul,' Book iii. , Chapter 6
C
ONCERNING that part of the soul, however, by which the soul
knows (and is prudentially wise) whether it is separable or
not separable, according to magnitude, but according to rea-
son, it must be considered what difference it possesses, and how
intellectual perception is produced. If, therefore, to perceive in-
tellectually is the same thing as to perceive sensibly, it will either
be to suffer something from the intelligible, or something else of
this kind. It is necessary, however, that it should be impassive,
but capable of receiving form; and in capacity a thing of this
kind, but not this; and also, that as the sensitive power is to
sensibles, so should intellect be to intelligibles. It is necessary,
therefore, since it understands all things, that it should be un-
mingled, as Anaxagoras says, that it may predominate: but this
is that it may know; for that which is foreign at the same time
presenting itself to the view, impedes and obstructs.
Hence, neither is there any other nature of it than this, that
it is possible. That, therefore, which is called the intellect of
soul (I mean the intellect by which the soul energizes dianoeti-
cally and hypoleptically), is nothing in energy of beings before
it intellectually perceives them. Hence, neither is it reasonable
that it should be mingled with body; for thus it would become a
thing with certain quality, would be hot or cold, and would have
a certain organ in the same manner as
the sensitive power.
Now, however, there is no organ of it. In a proper manner,
therefore, do they speak, who say that the soul is the place of
forms; except that this is not true of the whole soul, but of that
which is intellective; nor is it forms in entelecheia, but in ca-
pacity. But that the impassivity of the sensitive and intellective
power is not similar, is evident in the sensoria and in sense.
For sense cannot perceive from a vehement sensible object (as
for instance, sounds from very loud sounds; nor from strong
odors and colors can it either see or smell): but intellect, when
it understands anything very intelligible, does not less under-
stand inferior concerns, but even understands them in a greater
degree; for the sensitive power is not without body, but intellect
is separate from body].
When however it becomes particulars, in such a manner as he
is said to possess scientific knowledge who scientifically knows
## p. 796 (#214) ############################################
796
ARISTOTLE
in energy (and this happens when it is able to energize through
itself), then also it is similarly in a certain respect in capacity,
yet not after the same manner as before it learnt or discovered;
and it is then itself able to understand itself. By the sensitive
power, therefore, it distinguishes the hot and the cold, and those
things of which flesh is a certain reason; but by another power,
either separate, or as an inflected line subsists with reference to
itself when it is extended, it distinguishes the essence of flesh.
Further still, in those things which consist in ablation, the
straight is as the flat nose; for it subsists with the continued.
Some one, however, may question, if intellect is simple and
impassive and has nothing in common with anything, as Anax-
agoras says, how it can perceive intellectually, if to perceive in-
tellectually is to suffer something; for so far as something is
common to both, the one appears to act, but the other to suffer.
Again, it may also be doubted whether intellect is itself intel-
ligible. For either intellect will also be present with other
things, if it is not intelligible according to another thing, but the
intelligible is one certain thing in species; or it will have some-
thing mingled, which will make it to be intelligible in the same
manner as other things. Or shall we say that to suffer subsists
according to something common? On which account, it was
before observed that intellect is in capacity, in a certain respect,
intelligibles, but is no one of them in entelecheia, before it under-
stands or perceives intellectually. But it is necessary to conceive
of it as of a table in which nothing is written in entelecheia;
which happens to be the case in intellect. But in those things
which have matter, each of the intelligibles is in capacity only.
Hence, intellect will not be present with them; for the intellect
of such things is capacity without matter. But with intellect the
intelligible will be present.
Since, however, in every nature there is something which is
matter to each genus (and this because it is all those in capacity),
and something which is the cause and affective, because it pro-
duces all things (in such a manner as art is affected with respect
to matter), it is necessary that these differences should also be
inherent in the soul. And the one is an intellect of this kind
because it becomes all things; but the other because it produces
all things as a certain habit, such for instance as light. For in a
certain respect, light also causes colors which are in capacity to
## p. 797 (#215) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
797
be colors in energy. And this intellect is separate, unmingled,
and impassive, since it is in its essence energy; for the efficient
is always more honorable than the patient, and the principle than
matter. Science, also, in energy is the same as the thing [which
is scientifically known]. But science which is in capacity is prior
in time in the one [to science in energy]; though, in short, neither
[is capacity prior to energy] in time. It does not, however, per-
ceive intellectually at one time and at another time not, but sepa-
rate intellect is alone this very thing which it is; and this alone
is immortal and eternal. We do not, however, remember because
this is impassive; but the passive intellect is corruptible, and
without this the separate intellect understands nothing.
ON THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HISTORY AND POETRY, AND
HOW HISTORICAL MATTER SHOULD BE USED IN POETRY
From the Poetics,' Chapter 9
Β'
UT it is evident from what has been said that it is not the
province of a poet to relate things which have happened,
but such as might have happened, and such things as are
possible according to probability, or which would necessarily have
happened. For a historian and a poet do not differ from each
other because the one writes in verse and the other in prose; for
the history of Herodotus might be written in verse, and yet it
would be no less a history with metre than without metre. But
they differ in this, that the one speaks of things which have hap-
pened, and the other of such as might have happened. Hence,
poetry is more philosophic, and more deserving of attention, than
history. For poetry speaks more of universals, but history of
particulars. But universal consists, indeed, in relating or perform-
ing certain things which happen to a man of a certain descrip-
tion, either probably or necessarily [to which the aim of poetry
is directed in giving names]; but particular consists in narrating
what [for example] Alcibiades did, or what he suffered. In
comedy, therefore, this is now become evident.
For comic poets
having composed a fable through things of a probable nature,
they thus give whatever names they please to their characters,
and do not, like iambic poets, write poems about particular per-
sons. But in tragedy they cling to real names.
ever, of this is, that the possible is credible.
which have not yet been done, we do not
The cause, how-
Things therefore
yet believe to be
## p. 798 (#216) ############################################
798
ARISTOTLE
possible: but it is evident that things which have been done are
possible, for they would not have been done if they were impos-
sible.
Not indeed but that in some tragedies there are one or two
known names, and the rest are feigned; but in others there is
no known name, as for instance in 'The Flower of Agatho. '
For in this tragedy the things and the names are alike feigned,
and yet it delights no less. Hence, one must not seek to adhere
entirely to traditional fables, which are the subjects of tragedy.
For it is ridiculous to make this the object of search, because
even known subjects are known but to a few, though at the
same time they delight all men. From these things, therefore,
it is evident that a poet ought rather to be the author of fables
than of metres, inasmuch as he is a poet from imitation, and he
imitates actions. Hence, though it should happen that he relates
things which have happened, he is no less a poet. For nothing
hinders but that some actions which have happened are such as
might both probably and possibly have happened, and by [the
narration of] such he is a poet.
But of simple plots and actions, the episodic are the worst.
But I call the plot episodic, in which it is neither probable nor
necessary that the episodes follow each other. Such plots, how-
ever, are composed by bad poets, indeed, through their own
want of ability; but by good poets, on account of the players.
For, introducing [dramatic] contests, and extending the plot
beyond its capabilities, they are frequently compelled to distort
the connection of the parts. But tragedy is not only an imi-
tation of a perfect action, but also of actions which are terri-
ble and piteous, and actions principally become such (and in
a greater degree when they happen contrary to opinion) on
account of each other. For thus they will possess more of the
marvelous than if they happened from chance and fortune; since
also of things which are from fortune, those appear to be most
admirable which seem to happen as it were by design. Thus
the statue of Mityus at Argos killed him who was the cause of
the death of Mityus by falling as he was surveying it. For such
events as these seem not to take place casually. Hence it is
necessary that fables of this kind should be more beautiful.
## p. 799 (#217) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
ON PHILOSOPHY
Quoted in Cicero's Nature of the Gods>
799
F THERE were men whose habitations had been always under
ground, in great and commodious houses, adorned with stat-
ues and pictures, furnished with everything which they who
are reputed happy abound with: and if, without stirring from
thence, they should be informed of a certain divine power and
majesty, and after some time the earth should open and they
should quit their dark abode to come to us, where they should
immediately behold the earth, the seas, the heavens; should con-
sider the vast extent of the clouds and force of the winds; should
see the sun and observe his grandeur and beauty, and perceive
that day is occasioned by the diffusion of his light through the
sky; and when night has obscured the earth they should contem-
plate the heavens, bespangled and adorned with stars, the sur-
prising variety of the moon in her increase and wane, the rising
and setting of all the stars and the inviolable regularity of their
courses, when, says he, "they should see these things, they
would undoubtedly conclude that there are gods, and that these
are their mighty works. "
ON ESSENCES
From The Metaphysics,' Book xi. , Chapter 1
HE
of speculative science) is essence.
are investigated the principles and causes of essences.
truth is, if the All be regarded as a whole, essence is its
first (or highest) part. Also, if we consider the natural order of
the categories, essence stands at the head of the list; then comes
quality; then quantity. It is true that the other categories, such
as qualities and movements, are not in any absolute sense at
all, and the same is true of [negatives, such as] not-white or
not-straight. Nevertheless, we use such expressions as "Not-
white is. "
Moreover, no one of the other categories is separabie [or
independent]. This is attested by the procedure of the older
philosophers; for it was the principles, elements, and causes of
essence that were the objects of their investigations. The think-
ers of the present day, to be sure, are rather inclined to consider
In it
## p. 800 (#218) ############################################
800
ARISTOTLE
universals as essence. For genera are universals, and these they
hold to be principles and essences, mainly because their mode
of investigation is a logical one. The older philosophers, on
the other hand, considered particular things to be essences; e. g. ,
fire and earth, not body in general.
There are three essences. Two of these are sensible, one
being eternal and the other transient. The latter is obvious to
all, in the form of plants and animals; with regard to the former,
there is room for discussion, as to whether its elements are one
or many. The third, differing from the other two, is immutable
and is maintained by certain persons to be separable. Some
make two divisions of it, whereas others class together, as of
one nature, ideas and mathematical entities; and others again.
admit only the latter. The first two essences belong to physical
science, for they are subject to change; the last belongs to
another science, if there is no principle common to all.
ON COMMUNITY OF STUDIES
From The Politics,' Book 8
N°
ONE, therefore, can doubt that the legislator ought princi-
pally to attend to the education of youth. For in cities
where this is neglected, the politics are injured. For every
State ought to be governed according to its nature; since the
appropriate manners of each polity usually preserve the polity,
and establish it from the beginning. Thus, appropriate democratic
manners preserve and establish a democracy, and oligarchic an
oligarchy. Always, however, the best manners are the cause of
the best polity. Further still, in all professions and arts, there are
some things which ought previously to be learnt, and to which
it is requisite to be previously accustomed, in order to the perform-
ance of their several works; so that it is evident that it is also
necessary in the practice of virtue.
Since, however, there is one purpose to every city, it is evident
that the education must necessarily be one and the same in all
cities; and that the attention paid to this should be common. At
the same time, also, no one ought to think that any person takes
care of the education of his children separately, and privately
teaches them that particular discipline which appears to him to
be proper.
But it is necessary that the studies of the public
## p. 801 (#219) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
801
should be common. At the same time, also, no one ought to
think that any citizen belongs to him in particular, but that all
the citizens belong to the city; for each individual is a part of
the city. The care and attention, however, which are paid to each
of the parts, naturally look to the care and attention of the whole.
And for this, some one may praise the Lacedæmonians; for they
pay very great attention to their children, and this in common.
It is evident, therefore, that laws should be established concerning
education, and that it should be made common.
HYMN TO VIRTUE
VIRT
IRTUE, to men thou bringest care and toil;
Yet art thou life's best, fairest spoil!
O virgin goddess, for thy beauty's sake
To die is delicate in this our Greece,
Or to endure of pain the stern strong ache.
Such fruit for our soul's ease
Of joys undying, dearer far than gold
Or home or soft-eyed sleep, dost thou unfold!
It was for thee the seed of Zeus,
Stout Herakles, and Leda's twins, did choose
Strength-draining deeds, to spread abroad thy name:
Smit with the love of thee
Aias and Achilleus went smilingly
Down to Death's portal, crowned with deathless fame.
Now, since thou art so fair,
Leaving the lightsome air,
Atarneus' hero hath died gloriously.
Wherefore immortal praise shall be his guerdon:
His goodness and his deeds are made the burden
Of songs divine
II-51
Sung by Memory's daughters nine,
Hymning of hospitable Zeus the might
And friendship firm as fate in fate's despite.
Translation of J. A. Symonds.
## p. 802 (#220) ############################################
802
JÓN ARNASON
(1819-1888)
J
ÓN ARNASON was born in 1819, at Hof, Akàgaströnd, in Ice-
land, where his father, Arm Illugason, was clergyman.
After completing the course at the Bessastad Latin School,
at that time the most famous school in Iceland, he took his first
position as librarian of the so-called Stiptbókasafn Islands (since 1881
called the National Library), which office he held till 1887, when he
asked to be relieved from his official duties. During this period he
had been also the first librarian of the Reykjavik branch of the Ice-
landic Literary Society; a teacher and the custodian of the library at
the Latin School, which in the mean time had been moved from
Bessastad to Reykjavik; secretary of the bishop, Helgi Thordersen,
and custodian of the growing collection of Icelandic antiquities which
has formed the nucleus of a national museum. He had found time,
besides, during these years, for considerable literary work; and apart
from several valuable bibliographies had, alone and in collaboration,
made important contributions to his native literature. He died at
Reykjavik in 1888.
His principal literary work, and that by which alone he is known
outside of Iceland, is the collection of folk-tales that appeared in
Iceland in 1862-64, in two volumes, with the title Islenzkar Thoosö-
gur og Æfintyri' (Icelandic Popular Legends and Tales). A small
preliminary collection, called 'Islenzk Æfintyri' (Icelandic Tales),
made in collaboration with Magnus Grimsson, had been published in
1852. Subsequently, Jón Arnason went to work single-handed to
make an exhaustive collection of the folk-tales of the country, which
by traveling and correspondence he drew from every nook and corner
of Iceland. No effort was spared to make the collection complete,
and many years were spent in this undertaking. The results were in
every way valuable. No more important collection of folk-tales exists
in the literature of any nation, and the work has become both a
classic at home and a most suggestive link in the comparative study
of folklore elsewhere. Arnason thus performed for his native land
what the Grimms did for Germany, and what Asbjörnsen and Moe
did for Norway. He has frequently been called the "Grimm of Ice-
land. " The stories of the collection have since found their way all
over the world, many of them having been translated into English,
German, French, and Danish.
In his transcription of the tales, Arnason has followed, even more
conscientiously, the plan of the Grimms in adhering to the local or
## p. 803 (#221) ############################################
JÓN ARNASON
803
individual form in which the story had come to him in writing or
by oral transmission. We get in this way a perfect picture of the
national spirit, and a better knowledge of life and environment in
Iceland than from any other source. In these stories there is much
to say of elves and trolls, of ghosts and "fetches," of outlaws and
the devil. Magic plays an important part, and there is the usual lore
of beasts and plants. Many of them are but variants of folk-tales
that belong to the race. Others, however, are as plainly local evolu-
tions, which in their whole conception are as weird and mysterious
as the environment that has produced them.
All the stories are from 'Icelandic Legends': Translation of Powell and Mag-
nusson
THE MERMAN
L
ONG ago a farmer lived at Vogar, who was a mighty fisher-
man; and of all the farms about, not one was so well situ-
ated with regard to the fisheries as his.
One day, according to custom, he had gone out fishing; and
having cast down his line from the boat and waited awhile, found
it very hard to pull up again, as if there were something very
heavy at the end of it. Imagine his astonishment when he found
that what he had caught was a great fish, with a man's head and
body! When he saw that this creature was alive, he addressed
it and said, "Who and whence are you? "
"A merman from the bottom of the sea," was the reply.
The farmer then asked him what he had been doing when
the hook caught his flesh.
The other replied, "I was turning the cowl of my mother's
chimney-pot, to suit it to the wind. So let me go again, will
you? »
"You shall serve
"Not for the present," said the fisherman.
me awhile first. " So without more words he dragged him into
the boat and rowed to shore with him.
When they got to the boat-house, the fisherman's dog came to
him and greeted him joyfully, barking and fawning on him, and
wagging his tail. But his master's temper being none of the
best, he struck the poor animal; whereupon the merman laughed
for the first time.
Having fastened the boat, he went toward his house, dragging
his prize with him over the fields, and stumbling over a hillock
## p. 804 (#222) ############################################
804
JON ARNASON
which lay in his way, cursed it heartily; whereupon the merman
laughed for the second time.
When the fisherman arrived at the farm, his wife came out to
receive him, and embraced him affectionately, and he received
her salutations with pleasure; whereupon the merman laughed for
the third time.
Then said the farmer to the merman, "You have laughed
three times, and I am curious to know why you have laughed.
Tell me, therefore. "
"Never will I tell you," replied the merman, "unless you
promise to take me to the same place in the sea wherefrom you
caught me, and there to let me go free again. " So the farmer
made him the promise.
"Well," said the merman, "I laughed the first time because
you struck your dog, whose joy at meeting you was real and
sincere. The second time, because you cursed the mound over
which you stumbled, which is full of golden ducats. And the
third time, because you received with pleasure your wife's empty.
and flattering embrace, who is faithless to you, and a hypocrite.
And now be an honest man, and take me out to the sea whence
you brought me. "
The farmer replied, "Two things that you have told me I
have no means of proving; namely, the faithfulness of my dog
and the faithlessness of my wife. But the third I will try the
truth of; and if the hillock contain gold, then I will believe the
rest. "
Accordingly he went to the hillock, and having dug it up,
found therein a great treasure of golden ducats, as the merman
had told him. After this the farmer took the merman down to
the boat, and to that place in the sea whence he had brought
him. Before he put him in, the latter said to him:-
"Farmer, you have been an honest man, and I will reward
you for restoring me to my mother, if only you have skill enough
to take possession of property that I shall throw in your way.
happy and prosper. "
Be
Then the farmer put the merman into the sea, and he sank
out of sight.
It happened that not long after seven sea-gray cows were seen
on the beach, close to the farmer's land. These cows appeared
to be very unruly, and ran away directly the farmer approached
them. So he took a stick and ran after them, possessed with the
## p. 805 (#223) ############################################
JÓN ARNASON
805
fancy that if he could burst the bladder which he saw on the
nose of each of them, they would belong to him. He contrived
to hit the bladder on the nose of one cow, which then became so
tame that he could easily catch it, while the others leaped into
the sea and disappeared.
The farmer was convinced that this was the gift of the mer-
man. And a very useful gift it was, for better cow was never
seen nor milked in all the land, and she was the mother of the
race of gray cows so much esteemed now.
And the farmer prospered exceedingly, but never caught any
more mermen. As for his wife, nothing further is told about
her, so we can repeat nothing.
THE FISHERMAN OF GÖTUR
IT
Is told that long ago a peasant living at Götur in Myrdalur
went out fishing round the island of Dyrhólar. In returning
from the sea, he had to cross a morass. It happened once
that on his way home after nightfall, he came to a place where a
man had lost his horse in the bog, and was unable to recover it
without help. The fisherman, to whom this man was a stranger,
aided him in freeing his horse from the peat.
you.
When the animal stood again safe and sound upon the dry
earth, the stranger said to the fisherman, "I am your neighbor,
for I live in Hvammsgil, and am returning from the sea, like
But I am so poor that I cannot pay you for this service as
you ought to be paid. I will promise you, however, this much:
that you shall never go to sea without catching fish, nor ever, if
you will take my advice, return with empty hands.
But you
must never put to sea without having first seen me pass your
house, as if going toward the shore. Obey me in this matter,
and I promise you that you shall never launch your boat in
vain. "
The fisherman thanked him for this advice; and sure enough
it was that for three years afterward, never putting to sea till
he had first seen his neighbor pass his door, he always launched
his boat safely, and always came home full-handed.
But at the end of the three years it fell out that one day in
the early morning, the fisherman, looking out from his house,
saw the wind and weather favorable, and all other fishers hurry-
ing down to the sea to make the best of so good a time. But
## p. 806 (#224) ############################################
806
JÓN ARNASON
though he waited hour after hour in the hope of seeing his
neighbor pass, the man of Hvammsgil never came.
At last,
losing his patience, he started out without having seen him go
by. When he came down to the shore, he found that all the
boats were launched and far away.
Before night the wind rose and became a storm, and every
boat that had that day put to sea was wrecked, and every fisher
drowned; the peasant of Götur alone escaping, for he had been
unable to go out fishing. The next night he had a strange
dream, in which his neighbor from Hvammsgil came to him and
said, “Although you did not yesterday follow my advice, I yet so
far felt kindly toward you that I hindered you from going out
to sea, and saved you thus from drowning; but look no more
forth to see me pass, for we have met for the last time. " And
never again did the peasant see his neighbor pass his door.
THE MAGIC SCYTHE
A
CERTAIN day-laborer once started from his home in the south
to earn wages for hay-cutting in the north country. In
the mountains he was suddenly overtaken by a thick mist
and sleet-storm, and lost his way. Fearing to go on further, he
pitched his tent in a convenient spot, and taking out his provis-
ions, began to eat.
While he was engaged upon his meal, a brown dog came into
the tent, so ill-favored, dirty, wet, and fierce-eyed, that the poor
man felt quite afraid of it, and gave it as much bread and meat
as it could devour. This the dog swallowed greedily, and ran off
again into the mist. At first the man wondered much to see a
dog in such a wild place, where he never expected to meet with
a living creature; but after a while he thought no more about
the matter, and having finished his supper, fell asleep, with his
saddle for a pillow.
At midnight he dreamed that he saw a tall and aged woman
enter his tent, who spoke thus to him: "I am beholden to you,
good man, for your kindness to my daughter, but am unable to
reward you as you deserve. Here is a scythe which I place be-
neath your pillow; it is the only gift I can make you, but despise
it not. It will surely prove useful to you, as it can cut down all
that lies before it. Only beware of putting it into the fire to
-
## p. 807 (#225) ############################################
JÓN ARNASON
807
Sharpen it, however, as you will, but in that way
So saying, she was seen no more.
When the man awoke and looked forth, he found the mist all
gone and the sun high in heaven; so getting all his things to-
gether and striking his tent, he laid them upon the pack-horses,
saddling last of all his own horse. But on lifting his saddle from
the ground, he found beneath it a small scythe blade, which
seemed well worn and was rusty. On seeing this, he at once
recalled to mind his dream, and taking the scythe with him, set
out once more on his way. He soon found again the road which
he had lost, and made all speed to reach the well-peopled dis-
trict to which he was bound.
temper it.
never. "
When he arrived at the north country, he went from house
to house, but did not find any employment, for every farmer had
laborers enough, and one week of hay-harvest was already past.
He heard it said, however, that one old woman in the district,
generally thought by her neighbors to be skilled in magic and
very rich, always began her hay-cutting a week later tha any-
body else, and though she seldom employed a laborer, always
contrived to finish it by the end of the season.
When by any
chance- and it was a rare one she did engage a workman, she
was never known to pay him for his work.
Now the peasant from the south was advised to ask this old
woman for employment, having been warned of her strange
habits.
-
He accordingly went to her house, and offered himself to her
as a day laborer. She accepted his offer, and told him that he
might, if he chose, work a week for her, but must expect no
payment.
«< Except,"
," she said, "you can cut more grass in the whole
week than I can rake in on the last day of it. "
To these terms he gladly agreed, and began mowing. And
a very good scythe he found that to be which the woman had
given him in his dream; for it cut well, and never wanted sharp-
ening, though he worked with it for five days unceasingly. He
was well content, too, with his place, for the old woman was
kind enough to him.
One day, entering the forge next to her house, he saw a vast
number of scythe-handles and rakes, and a big heap of blades,
and wondered beyond measure what the old lady could want
with all these. It was the fifth day-the Friday-and when
## p. 808 (#226) ############################################
808
JÓN ARNASON
he was asleep that night, the same elf-woman whom he had
seen upon the mountains came again to him and said:
"Large as are the meadows you have mown, your employer
will easily be able to rake in all that hay to-morrow, and if she
does so, will, as you know, drive you away without paying you.
When therefore you see yourself worsted, go into the forge, take
as many scythe-handles as you think proper, fit their blades to
them, and carry them out into that part of the land where the
hay is y uncut. There you must lay them on the ground, and
you shal see how things go. "
This id, she disappeared, and in the morning the laborer,
getting up, set to work as usual at his mowing.
At six o'clock the old witch came out, bringing five rakes
with her, and said to the man, "A goodly piece of ground you.
have mowed, indeed! "
And so saying, she spread the rakes upon the hay. Then the
man saw, to his astonishment, that though the one she held in
her hand raked in great quantities of hay, the other four raked
in no less each, all of their own accord, and with no hand to
wield them.
-:
At noon, seeing that the old woman would soon get the best
of him, he went into the forge and took out several scythe-
handles, to which he fixed their blades, and bringing them out
into the field, laid them down upon the grass which was yet
standing. Then all the scythes set to work of their own accord,
and cut down the grass so quickly that the rakes could not keep
pace with them.
And so they went on all the rest of the day,
and the old woman was unable to rake in all the hay which lay
in the fields. After dark she told him to gather up his scythes
and take them into the house again, while she collected her
rakes, saying to him:-
"You are wiser than I took you to be, and you know more
than myself; so much the better for you, for you may stay as
long with me as you like. "
He spent the whole summer in her employment, and they
agreed very well together, mowing with mighty little trouble a
vast amount of hay. In the autumn she sent him away, well
laden with money, to his own home in the south. The next
summer, and more than one summer following, he spent in her
employ, always being paid as his heart could desire, at the end.
of the season.
## p. 809 (#227) ############################################
JON ARNASON
809
After some years he took a farm of his own in the south
country, and was always looked upon by all his neighbors as an
honest man, a good fisherman, and an able workman in whatever
he might put his hand to. He always cut his own hay, never
using any scythe but that which the elf-woman had given him
upon the mountains; nor did any of his neighbors ever finish
their mowing before him.
One summer it chanced that while he was fishing, one of his
neighbors came to his house and asked his wife to lend him her
husband's scythe, as he had lost his own. The farmer's wife
looked for one, but could only find the one upon which her hus-
band set such store. This, however, a little loth, she lent to the
man, begging him at the same time never to temper it in the
fire; for that, she said, her good man never did. So the neigh-
bor promised, and taking it with him, bound it to a handle and
began to work with it. But, sweep as he would, and strain as
he would (and sweep and strain he did right lustily), not a single
blade of grass fell. Wroth at this, the man tried to sharpen it,
but with no avail. Then he took it into his forge, intending to
temper it, for, thought he, what harm could that possibly do?
but as soon as the flames touched it, the steel melted like wax,
and nothing was left but a little heap of ashes. Seeing this, he
went in haste to the farmer's house, where he had borrowed it,
and told the woman what had happened; she was at her wits'
end with fright and shame when she heard it, for she knew well
enough how her husband set store by this scythe, and how angry
he would be at its loss.
And angry indeed he was, when he came home, and he beat
his wife well for her folly in lending what was not hers to lend.
But his wrath was soon over, and he never again, as he never
had before, laid the stick about his wife's shoulders.
THE MAN-SERVANT AND THE WATER-ELVES
I
NA large house, where all the chief rooms were paneled, there
lived once upon a time a farmer, whose ill-fate it was that
every servant of his that was left alone to guard the house
on Christmas Eve, while the rest of the family went to church,
was found dead when the family returned home.
As soon as
the report of this was spread abroad, the farmer had the greatest
## p. 810 (#228) ############################################
810
JÓN ARNASON
difficulty in procuring servants who would consent to watch alone
in the house on that night; until at last one day a man, a strong
fellow, offered him his services, to sit up alone and guard the
house. The farmer told him what fate awaited him for his rash-
ness; but the man despised such a fear, and persisted in his
determination.
On Christmas Eve, when the farmer and all his family, except
the new man-servant, were preparing for church, the farmer said
to him, "Come with us to church; I cannot leave you here to
die. "
But the other replied, "I intend to stay here, for it would be
unwise in you to leave your house unprotected; and besides, the
cattle and sheep must have their food at the proper time. "
"Never mind the beasts," answered the farmer. "Do not be
so rash as to remain in the house this night; for whenever we
have returned from church on this night, we have always found
every living thing in the house dead, with all its bones broken. "
But the man was not to be persuaded, as he considered all
these fears beneath his notice; so the farmer and the rest of the
servants went away and left him behind, alone in the house.
As soon as he was by himself he began to consider how to
guard against anything that might occur; for a dread had stolen
over him, in spite of his courage, that something strange was
about to take place. At last he thought that the best thing to do
was, first of all to light up the family room; and then to find
some place in which to hide himself. As soon as he had lighted
all the candles, he moved two planks out of the wainscot at the
end of the room, and creeping into the space between it and the
wall, restored the planks to their places, so that he could see
plainly into the room and yet avoid being himself discovered.
He had scarcely finished concealing himself, when two fierce
and strange-looking men entered the room and began looking
about.
One of them said, "I smell a human being. "
"No," replied the other, "there is no human being here. "
Then they took a candle and continued their search, until they
found the man's dog asleep under one of the beds. They took it
up, and having dashed it on the ground till every bone in its
body was broken, hurled it from them. When the man-servant
saw this, he congratulated himself on not having fallen into their
hands.
his studies, for three years; and left only when his patron was
treacherously murdered by the Persians.
Having retired to Mitylene, he soon afterward received an invi-
tation from Philip of Macedonia to undertake the education of his
son Alexander, then thirteen years old. Aristotle willingly obeyed
this summons; and retiring with his royal pupil to Mieza, a town
southwest of Pella, imparted his instruction in the Nymphæum,
which he had arranged in imitation of Plato's garden school. Alex-
ander remained with him three years, and was then called by his
father to assume important State duties. Whether Aristotle's in-
struction continued after that is uncertain; but the two men remained
fast friends, and there can be no doubt that much of the nobility,
self-control, largeness of purpose, and enthusiasm for culture, which
## p. 788 (#203) ############################################
ARISTOTLE.
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## p. 789 (#207) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
789
characterized Alexander's subsequent career, were due to the teach-
ing of the philosopher. What Aristotle was in the world of thought,
Alexander became in the world of action.
Aristotle remained in Macedonia ten years, giving instruction
to young Macedonians and continuing his own studies. He then
returned to Athens, and opened a school in the peripatos, or prom-
enade, of the Lyceum, the gymnasium of the foreign residents, a
school which from its location was called the Peripatetic. Here he
developed a manifold activity. He pursued all kinds of studies,
logical, rhetorical, physical, metaphysical, ethical, political, and æs-
thetic, gave public (exoteric) and private (esoteric) instruction, and
composed the bulk of the treatises which have made his name
famous. These treatises were composed slowly, in connection with
his lectures, and subjected to frequent revision. He likewise en-
deavored to lead an ideal social life with his friends and pupils,
whom he gathered under a common roof to share meals and elevated
converse in common.
Thus affairs went on for twelve fruitful years, and might have
gone on longer, but for the sudden death of Alexander, his friend
and patron.
Then the hatred of the Athenians to the conqueror
showed itself in hostility to his old master, and sought for means to
put him out of the way. How hard it was to find a pretext for so
doing is shown by the fact that they had to fix upon the poem
which he had written on the death of his friend Hermias many
years before, and base upon it—as having the form of the pæan,
sacred to Apollo-a charge of impiety. Aristotle, recognizing the
utter flimsiness of the charge, and being unwilling, as he said, to
allow the Athenians to sin a second time against philosophy, retired
beyond their reach to his villa at Chalcis in Euboea, where he died
of stomach disease the year after (322). In the later years of his life,
the friendship between him and his illustrious pupil had, owing to
certain outward circumstances, become somewhat cooled; but there
never was any serious breach. His body was carried to Stagira,
which he had induced Philip to restore after it had been destroyed,
and whose inhabitants therefore looked upon him as the founder of
the city. As such he received the religious honors accorded to
heroes: an altar was erected to him, at which an annual festival was
celebrated in the month named after him.
As a
We may sum up the character of Aristotle by saying that he was
one of the sanest and most rounded men that ever lived.
philosopher, he stands in the front rank. "No time," says Hegel,
"has a man to place by his side. " Nor was his moral character in-
ferior to his intellect. No one can read his 'Ethics,' or his will (the
text of which is extant), without feeling the nobleness, simplicity,
## p. 790 (#208) ############################################
790
ARISTOTLE
purity, and modernness of his nature. In his family relations, espe-
cially, he seems to have stood far above his contemporaries. The
depth of his æsthetic perception is attested by his poems and his
'Poetics. '
The unsatisfactory and fragmentary condition in which Aristotle's
works have come down to us makes it difficult to judge of his style.
Many of them seem mere collections of notes and jottings for lec-
tures, without any attempt at style. The rest are distinguished by
brevity, terseness, and scientific precision. No other man ever en-
riched philosophic language with so many original expressions. We
know, from the testimony of most competent judges, such as Cicero,
that his popular writings, dialogues, etc. , were written in an elegant
style, casting even that of Plato into the shade; and this is borne
fully out by some extant fragments.
Greek philosophy culminates in Aristotle. Setting out with a
naïve acceptance of the world as being what it seemed, and trying to
reduce this Being to some material principle, such as water, air, etc. ,
it was gradually driven, by force of logic, to distinguish Being from
Seeming, and to see that while the latter was dependent on the
thinking subject, the former could not be anything material. This
result was reached by both the materialistic and spiritualistic schools,
and was only carried one step further by the Sophists, who main-
tained that even the being of things depended on the thinker. This
necessarily led to skepticism, individualism, and disruption of the old
social and religious order.
Then arose Socrates, greatest of the Sophists, who, seeing that the
outer world had been shown to depend on the inner, adopted as his
motto, "Know Thyself," and devoted himself to the study of mind.
By his dialectic method he showed that skepticism and individualism,
so far as anarchic, can be overcome by carrying out thought to its
implications; when it proves to be the same for all, and to bring
with it an authority binding on all, and replacing that of the old
external gods. Thus Socrates discovered the principle of human lib-
erty, a principle necessarily hostile to the ancient State, which
absorbed the man in the citizen. Socrates was accordingly put to
death as an atheist; and then Plato, with good intentions but preju-
diced insight, set to work to restore the old tyranny of the State.
This he did by placing truth, or reality (which Socrates had found in
complete thought, internal to the mind), outside of both thought and
nature, and making it consist of a group of eternal schemes, or
forms, of which natural things are merely transient phantoms, and
which can be reached by only a few aristocratic souls, born to rule
the rest. On the basis of this distortion he constructed his Repub-
lic, in which complete despotism is exercised by the philosophers
## p. 791 (#209) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
791
through the military; man is reduced to a machine, his affections and
will being disregarded; community of women and of property is the
law; and science is scouted.
Aristotle's philosophy may be said to be a protest against this
view, and an attempt to show that reality is embodied in nature,
which depends on a supreme intelligence, and may be realized in
other intelligences, or thought-centres, such as the human mind. In
other words, according to Aristotle, truth is actual in the world and
potential in all minds, which may by experience put on its forms.
Thus the individualism of the Sophists and the despotism of Plato
are overcome, while an important place is made for experience, or
science.
Aristotle, accepting the world of common-sense, tried to ration-
alize it; that is, to realize it in himself. First among the Greeks
he believed it to be unique, uncreated, and eternal, and gave his
reasons. Recognizing that the phenomenal world exists in change,
he investigated the principle and method of this. Change he con-
ceives as a transition from potentiality to actuality, and as always
due to something actualized, communicating its form to something
potential. Looking at the "world" as a whole, and picturing it as
limited, globular, and constructed like an onion, with the earth in
the centre, and round about it nine concentric spheres carrying the
planets and stars, he concludes that there must be at one end some-
thing purely actual and therefore unchanging,— that is, pure form
or energy; and at the other, something purely potential and there-
fore changing,- that is, pure matter or latency. The pure actuality
is at the circumference, pure matter at the centre. Matter, however,
never exists without some form. Thus, nature is an eternal circular
process between the actual and the potential. The supreme Intel-
ligence, God, being pure energy, changelessly thinks himself, and
through the love inspired by his perfection moves the outmost sphere;
which would move all the rest were it not for inferior intelligences,
fifty-six in number, who, by giving them different directions, diver-
sify the divine action and produce the variety of the world. The
celestial world is composed of eternal matter, or æther, whose only
change is circular motion; the sublunary world is composed of chan-
ging matter, in four different but mutually transmutable forms-fire,
air, water, earth-movable in two opposite directions, in straight
lines, under the ever-varying influence of the celestial spheres.
Thus the world is an organism, making no progress as a whole,
but continually changing in its various parts. In it all real things
are individuals, not universals, as Plato thought. And forms pass
from individual to individual only. Peleus, not humanity, is the par-
ent of Achilles; the learned man only can teach the ignorant. In ·
## p. 792 (#210) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
792
the world-process there are several distinct stages, to each of which
Aristotle devotes a special work, or series of works. Beginning with
the "four elements" and their changes, he works up through the
mineral, vegetable, and animal worlds, to man, and thence through
the spheral intelligences to the supreme, divine intelligence, on which
the Whole depends. Man stands on the dividing line between the
temporal and the eternal; belonging with his animal part to the for-
mer, with his intelligence (which "enters from without") to the
latter. He is an intelligence, of the same nature as the sphere-
movers, but individuated by mutable matter in the form of a body,
matter being in all cases the principle of individuation. As intelli-
gence, he becomes free; takes the guidance of his life into his own
hand; and, first through ethics, politics, and æsthetics, the forms of
his sensible or practical activity, and second through logic, science,
and philosophy, the forms of his intellectual activity, he rises to
divine heights and "plays the immortal. » His supreme activity is
contemplation. This, the eternal energy of God, is possible for man
only at rare intervals.
Aristotle, by placing his eternal forms in sensible things as their
meaning, made science possible and necessary. Not only is he the
father of scientific method, inductive and deductive, but his actual
contributions to science place him in the front rank of scientists.
His Zoology, Psychology, Logic, Metaphysics, Ethics, Politics, and
Esthetics, are still highly esteemed and extensively studied. At the
same time, by failing to overcome the dualism and supernaturalism
of Plato, by adopting the popular notions about spheres and sphere-
movers, by separating intelligence from sense, by conceiving matter
as independent and the principle of individuation, and by making
science relate only to the universal, he paved the way for astrology,
alchemy, magic, and all the forms of superstition, retarding the
advance of several sciences, as for example astronomy and chemistry,
for many hundred years.
After Aristotle's death, his school was continued by a succession of
studious and learned men, but did not for many centuries deeply
affect contemporary life. At last, in the fifth century A. D. , his
thought found its way into the Christian schools, giving birth to
rationalism and historical criticism. At various times its adherents
were condemned as heretics and banished, mostly to Syria. Here, at
Edessa and Nisibis, they established schools of learning which for
several centuries were the most famous in the world. The entire
works of Aristotle were turned into Syriac; among them several spuri-
ous ones of Neo-Platonic origin, notably the famous 'Liber de Causis'
and the Theology of Aristotle. ' Thus a Neo-Platonic Aristotle came
to rule Eastern learning. On the rise of Islâm, this Aristotle was
## p. 793 (#211) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
793
borrowed by the Muslims, and became ruler of their schools at Bag-
dad, Basra, and other places,-schools which produced many remarka-
ble men. On the decay of these, he passed in the twelfth century
into the schools of Spain, and here ruled supreme until Arab phi-
losophy was suppressed, shortly before 1200. From the Arabs he
passed into the Christian Church about this date; and though at first
resisted, was finally accepted, and became "the philosopher" of the
schools, and the inspirer of Dante. The Reformers, though decrying
him, were forced to have recourse to him; but his credit was not
re-established until the present century, when, thanks to Hegel, Tren-
delenburg, Brandis, and the Berlin Academy, his true value was rec-
ognized and his permanent influence insured.
The extant works of Aristotle, covering the whole field of science,
may be classified as follows:
A. Logical or Formal, dealing with the form rather than the mat-
ter of science:-'Categories,' treating of Being and its determination,
which, being regarded ontologically, bring the work into the meta-
physical sphere; On Interpretation,' dealing with the proposition;
'Former Analytics,' theory of the syllogism; 'Later Analytics,' the-
ory of proof; Topics,' probable proofs; Sophistical proofs,' fallacies.
These works were later united by the Stoics under the title Orga-
non,' or Instrument (of science).
B. Scientific or Philosophical, dealing with the matter of science.
These may be subdivided into three classes: (a) Theoretical, (b) Prac-
tical, (c) Creative.
(a) The Theoretical has further subdivisions: (a) Metaphysical, (b)
Physical, (c) Mathematical. (a) The Metaphysical works include the
incomplete collection under the name 'Metaphysics. '— (b) The Physi-
cal works include 'Physics,' 'On the Heavens,' 'On Generation and
Decay,' 'On the Soul,' with eight supplementary tracts on actions
of the soul as combined with the body; viz. , 'On Sense and Sensi-
bles,' 'On Memory and Reminiscence,' 'On Sleep and Waking,' 'On
Dreams,' 'On Divination from Dreams,' 'On Length and Shortness
of Life,' On Life and Death,' On Respiration, Meteorologics,'
'Histories of Animals' (Zoögraphy), 'On the Parts of Animals,' 'On
the Generation of Animals,' 'On the Motion of Animals,' 'Problems'
(largely spurious), On the Cosmos,' 'Physiognomics,' 'On Wonderful
Auditions,' 'On Colors. '- The Mathematical works include On Indi-
visible Lines,' 'Mechanics. '
――――
(b) The Practical works are 'Nicomachean Ethics,' 'Endemean
Ethics,' 'Great Ethics' (Magna Moralia'), really different forms of
the same work; 'Politics,' 'Constitutions' (originally one hundred
and fifty-eight in number; now represented only by the recently
## p. 794 (#212) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
794
discovered 'Constitution of Athens'), 'On Virtues and Vices,' 'Rhet-
oric to Alexander,' 'Economics. '
(c) Of Creative works we have only the fragmentary 'Poetics. '
To these may be added a few poems, one of which is given here.
Besides the extant works of Aristotle, we have titles, fragments,
and some knowledge of the contents of a large number more.
Among these are the whole of the "exoteric" works, including nine-
teen Dialogues. A list of his works, as arranged in the Alexandrian
Library (apparently), is given by Diogenes Laërtius in his 'Life of
Aristotle' (printed in the Berlin and Paris editions of 'Aristotle'); a
list in which it is not easy to identify the whole of the extant works.
The 'Fragments' appear in both the editions just named. Some
of the works named above are almost certainly spurious; e. g. , the
'Rhetoric to Alexander,' the Economics, etc.
The chief editions of Aristotle's works, exclusive of the 'Constitu-
tion of Athens,' are that of the Berlin Academy (Im. Bekker), con-
taining text, scholia, Latin translation, and Index in Greek (5 vols. ,
square 4to); and the Paris or Didot (Dübner, Bussemaker, Heitz),
containing text, Latin translation, and very complete Index in Latin
(5 vols. , 4to). Of the chief works the best editions are:- 'Organon,'
Waitz; 'Metaphysics,' Schwegler, Bonitz; 'Physics,' Prantl; 'Meteor-
ologics,' Ideler; 'On the Generation of Animals,' Aubert and Wim-
mer; 'Psychology,' Trendelenburg, Torstrik, Wallace (with English
translation); 'Nicomachean Ethics,' Grant, Ramsauer, Susemihl; 'Poli-
tics, Stahr, Susemihl; 'Constitution of Athens,' Kenyon, Sandys;
'Poetics,' Susemihl, Vahlen, Butcher (with English translation). There
are few good English translations of Aristotle's works; but among
these may be mentioned Peter's 'Nicomachean Ethics,' Jowett's and
Welldon's 'Politics,' and Poste's 'Constitution of Athens. ' There is
a fair French translation of the principal works by Barthélemy
St. -Hilaire. The Berlin Academy is now (1896) publishing the ancient
Greek commentaries on Aristotle in thirty-five quarto volumes. The
best work on Aristotle is that by E. Zeller, in Vol. iii. of his 'Philoso-
phie der Griechen. ' The English works by Lewes and Grote are
inferior. For Bibliography, the student may consult Ueberweg,
'Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie,' Vol. i. , pages 196 seq.
Shavar David
## p. 795 (#213) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
795
THE NATURE OF THE SOUL
From On the Soul,' Book iii. , Chapter 6
C
ONCERNING that part of the soul, however, by which the soul
knows (and is prudentially wise) whether it is separable or
not separable, according to magnitude, but according to rea-
son, it must be considered what difference it possesses, and how
intellectual perception is produced. If, therefore, to perceive in-
tellectually is the same thing as to perceive sensibly, it will either
be to suffer something from the intelligible, or something else of
this kind. It is necessary, however, that it should be impassive,
but capable of receiving form; and in capacity a thing of this
kind, but not this; and also, that as the sensitive power is to
sensibles, so should intellect be to intelligibles. It is necessary,
therefore, since it understands all things, that it should be un-
mingled, as Anaxagoras says, that it may predominate: but this
is that it may know; for that which is foreign at the same time
presenting itself to the view, impedes and obstructs.
Hence, neither is there any other nature of it than this, that
it is possible. That, therefore, which is called the intellect of
soul (I mean the intellect by which the soul energizes dianoeti-
cally and hypoleptically), is nothing in energy of beings before
it intellectually perceives them. Hence, neither is it reasonable
that it should be mingled with body; for thus it would become a
thing with certain quality, would be hot or cold, and would have
a certain organ in the same manner as
the sensitive power.
Now, however, there is no organ of it. In a proper manner,
therefore, do they speak, who say that the soul is the place of
forms; except that this is not true of the whole soul, but of that
which is intellective; nor is it forms in entelecheia, but in ca-
pacity. But that the impassivity of the sensitive and intellective
power is not similar, is evident in the sensoria and in sense.
For sense cannot perceive from a vehement sensible object (as
for instance, sounds from very loud sounds; nor from strong
odors and colors can it either see or smell): but intellect, when
it understands anything very intelligible, does not less under-
stand inferior concerns, but even understands them in a greater
degree; for the sensitive power is not without body, but intellect
is separate from body].
When however it becomes particulars, in such a manner as he
is said to possess scientific knowledge who scientifically knows
## p. 796 (#214) ############################################
796
ARISTOTLE
in energy (and this happens when it is able to energize through
itself), then also it is similarly in a certain respect in capacity,
yet not after the same manner as before it learnt or discovered;
and it is then itself able to understand itself. By the sensitive
power, therefore, it distinguishes the hot and the cold, and those
things of which flesh is a certain reason; but by another power,
either separate, or as an inflected line subsists with reference to
itself when it is extended, it distinguishes the essence of flesh.
Further still, in those things which consist in ablation, the
straight is as the flat nose; for it subsists with the continued.
Some one, however, may question, if intellect is simple and
impassive and has nothing in common with anything, as Anax-
agoras says, how it can perceive intellectually, if to perceive in-
tellectually is to suffer something; for so far as something is
common to both, the one appears to act, but the other to suffer.
Again, it may also be doubted whether intellect is itself intel-
ligible. For either intellect will also be present with other
things, if it is not intelligible according to another thing, but the
intelligible is one certain thing in species; or it will have some-
thing mingled, which will make it to be intelligible in the same
manner as other things. Or shall we say that to suffer subsists
according to something common? On which account, it was
before observed that intellect is in capacity, in a certain respect,
intelligibles, but is no one of them in entelecheia, before it under-
stands or perceives intellectually. But it is necessary to conceive
of it as of a table in which nothing is written in entelecheia;
which happens to be the case in intellect. But in those things
which have matter, each of the intelligibles is in capacity only.
Hence, intellect will not be present with them; for the intellect
of such things is capacity without matter. But with intellect the
intelligible will be present.
Since, however, in every nature there is something which is
matter to each genus (and this because it is all those in capacity),
and something which is the cause and affective, because it pro-
duces all things (in such a manner as art is affected with respect
to matter), it is necessary that these differences should also be
inherent in the soul. And the one is an intellect of this kind
because it becomes all things; but the other because it produces
all things as a certain habit, such for instance as light. For in a
certain respect, light also causes colors which are in capacity to
## p. 797 (#215) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
797
be colors in energy. And this intellect is separate, unmingled,
and impassive, since it is in its essence energy; for the efficient
is always more honorable than the patient, and the principle than
matter. Science, also, in energy is the same as the thing [which
is scientifically known]. But science which is in capacity is prior
in time in the one [to science in energy]; though, in short, neither
[is capacity prior to energy] in time. It does not, however, per-
ceive intellectually at one time and at another time not, but sepa-
rate intellect is alone this very thing which it is; and this alone
is immortal and eternal. We do not, however, remember because
this is impassive; but the passive intellect is corruptible, and
without this the separate intellect understands nothing.
ON THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HISTORY AND POETRY, AND
HOW HISTORICAL MATTER SHOULD BE USED IN POETRY
From the Poetics,' Chapter 9
Β'
UT it is evident from what has been said that it is not the
province of a poet to relate things which have happened,
but such as might have happened, and such things as are
possible according to probability, or which would necessarily have
happened. For a historian and a poet do not differ from each
other because the one writes in verse and the other in prose; for
the history of Herodotus might be written in verse, and yet it
would be no less a history with metre than without metre. But
they differ in this, that the one speaks of things which have hap-
pened, and the other of such as might have happened. Hence,
poetry is more philosophic, and more deserving of attention, than
history. For poetry speaks more of universals, but history of
particulars. But universal consists, indeed, in relating or perform-
ing certain things which happen to a man of a certain descrip-
tion, either probably or necessarily [to which the aim of poetry
is directed in giving names]; but particular consists in narrating
what [for example] Alcibiades did, or what he suffered. In
comedy, therefore, this is now become evident.
For comic poets
having composed a fable through things of a probable nature,
they thus give whatever names they please to their characters,
and do not, like iambic poets, write poems about particular per-
sons. But in tragedy they cling to real names.
ever, of this is, that the possible is credible.
which have not yet been done, we do not
The cause, how-
Things therefore
yet believe to be
## p. 798 (#216) ############################################
798
ARISTOTLE
possible: but it is evident that things which have been done are
possible, for they would not have been done if they were impos-
sible.
Not indeed but that in some tragedies there are one or two
known names, and the rest are feigned; but in others there is
no known name, as for instance in 'The Flower of Agatho. '
For in this tragedy the things and the names are alike feigned,
and yet it delights no less. Hence, one must not seek to adhere
entirely to traditional fables, which are the subjects of tragedy.
For it is ridiculous to make this the object of search, because
even known subjects are known but to a few, though at the
same time they delight all men. From these things, therefore,
it is evident that a poet ought rather to be the author of fables
than of metres, inasmuch as he is a poet from imitation, and he
imitates actions. Hence, though it should happen that he relates
things which have happened, he is no less a poet. For nothing
hinders but that some actions which have happened are such as
might both probably and possibly have happened, and by [the
narration of] such he is a poet.
But of simple plots and actions, the episodic are the worst.
But I call the plot episodic, in which it is neither probable nor
necessary that the episodes follow each other. Such plots, how-
ever, are composed by bad poets, indeed, through their own
want of ability; but by good poets, on account of the players.
For, introducing [dramatic] contests, and extending the plot
beyond its capabilities, they are frequently compelled to distort
the connection of the parts. But tragedy is not only an imi-
tation of a perfect action, but also of actions which are terri-
ble and piteous, and actions principally become such (and in
a greater degree when they happen contrary to opinion) on
account of each other. For thus they will possess more of the
marvelous than if they happened from chance and fortune; since
also of things which are from fortune, those appear to be most
admirable which seem to happen as it were by design. Thus
the statue of Mityus at Argos killed him who was the cause of
the death of Mityus by falling as he was surveying it. For such
events as these seem not to take place casually. Hence it is
necessary that fables of this kind should be more beautiful.
## p. 799 (#217) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
ON PHILOSOPHY
Quoted in Cicero's Nature of the Gods>
799
F THERE were men whose habitations had been always under
ground, in great and commodious houses, adorned with stat-
ues and pictures, furnished with everything which they who
are reputed happy abound with: and if, without stirring from
thence, they should be informed of a certain divine power and
majesty, and after some time the earth should open and they
should quit their dark abode to come to us, where they should
immediately behold the earth, the seas, the heavens; should con-
sider the vast extent of the clouds and force of the winds; should
see the sun and observe his grandeur and beauty, and perceive
that day is occasioned by the diffusion of his light through the
sky; and when night has obscured the earth they should contem-
plate the heavens, bespangled and adorned with stars, the sur-
prising variety of the moon in her increase and wane, the rising
and setting of all the stars and the inviolable regularity of their
courses, when, says he, "they should see these things, they
would undoubtedly conclude that there are gods, and that these
are their mighty works. "
ON ESSENCES
From The Metaphysics,' Book xi. , Chapter 1
HE
of speculative science) is essence.
are investigated the principles and causes of essences.
truth is, if the All be regarded as a whole, essence is its
first (or highest) part. Also, if we consider the natural order of
the categories, essence stands at the head of the list; then comes
quality; then quantity. It is true that the other categories, such
as qualities and movements, are not in any absolute sense at
all, and the same is true of [negatives, such as] not-white or
not-straight. Nevertheless, we use such expressions as "Not-
white is. "
Moreover, no one of the other categories is separabie [or
independent]. This is attested by the procedure of the older
philosophers; for it was the principles, elements, and causes of
essence that were the objects of their investigations. The think-
ers of the present day, to be sure, are rather inclined to consider
In it
## p. 800 (#218) ############################################
800
ARISTOTLE
universals as essence. For genera are universals, and these they
hold to be principles and essences, mainly because their mode
of investigation is a logical one. The older philosophers, on
the other hand, considered particular things to be essences; e. g. ,
fire and earth, not body in general.
There are three essences. Two of these are sensible, one
being eternal and the other transient. The latter is obvious to
all, in the form of plants and animals; with regard to the former,
there is room for discussion, as to whether its elements are one
or many. The third, differing from the other two, is immutable
and is maintained by certain persons to be separable. Some
make two divisions of it, whereas others class together, as of
one nature, ideas and mathematical entities; and others again.
admit only the latter. The first two essences belong to physical
science, for they are subject to change; the last belongs to
another science, if there is no principle common to all.
ON COMMUNITY OF STUDIES
From The Politics,' Book 8
N°
ONE, therefore, can doubt that the legislator ought princi-
pally to attend to the education of youth. For in cities
where this is neglected, the politics are injured. For every
State ought to be governed according to its nature; since the
appropriate manners of each polity usually preserve the polity,
and establish it from the beginning. Thus, appropriate democratic
manners preserve and establish a democracy, and oligarchic an
oligarchy. Always, however, the best manners are the cause of
the best polity. Further still, in all professions and arts, there are
some things which ought previously to be learnt, and to which
it is requisite to be previously accustomed, in order to the perform-
ance of their several works; so that it is evident that it is also
necessary in the practice of virtue.
Since, however, there is one purpose to every city, it is evident
that the education must necessarily be one and the same in all
cities; and that the attention paid to this should be common. At
the same time, also, no one ought to think that any person takes
care of the education of his children separately, and privately
teaches them that particular discipline which appears to him to
be proper.
But it is necessary that the studies of the public
## p. 801 (#219) ############################################
ARISTOTLE
801
should be common. At the same time, also, no one ought to
think that any citizen belongs to him in particular, but that all
the citizens belong to the city; for each individual is a part of
the city. The care and attention, however, which are paid to each
of the parts, naturally look to the care and attention of the whole.
And for this, some one may praise the Lacedæmonians; for they
pay very great attention to their children, and this in common.
It is evident, therefore, that laws should be established concerning
education, and that it should be made common.
HYMN TO VIRTUE
VIRT
IRTUE, to men thou bringest care and toil;
Yet art thou life's best, fairest spoil!
O virgin goddess, for thy beauty's sake
To die is delicate in this our Greece,
Or to endure of pain the stern strong ache.
Such fruit for our soul's ease
Of joys undying, dearer far than gold
Or home or soft-eyed sleep, dost thou unfold!
It was for thee the seed of Zeus,
Stout Herakles, and Leda's twins, did choose
Strength-draining deeds, to spread abroad thy name:
Smit with the love of thee
Aias and Achilleus went smilingly
Down to Death's portal, crowned with deathless fame.
Now, since thou art so fair,
Leaving the lightsome air,
Atarneus' hero hath died gloriously.
Wherefore immortal praise shall be his guerdon:
His goodness and his deeds are made the burden
Of songs divine
II-51
Sung by Memory's daughters nine,
Hymning of hospitable Zeus the might
And friendship firm as fate in fate's despite.
Translation of J. A. Symonds.
## p. 802 (#220) ############################################
802
JÓN ARNASON
(1819-1888)
J
ÓN ARNASON was born in 1819, at Hof, Akàgaströnd, in Ice-
land, where his father, Arm Illugason, was clergyman.
After completing the course at the Bessastad Latin School,
at that time the most famous school in Iceland, he took his first
position as librarian of the so-called Stiptbókasafn Islands (since 1881
called the National Library), which office he held till 1887, when he
asked to be relieved from his official duties. During this period he
had been also the first librarian of the Reykjavik branch of the Ice-
landic Literary Society; a teacher and the custodian of the library at
the Latin School, which in the mean time had been moved from
Bessastad to Reykjavik; secretary of the bishop, Helgi Thordersen,
and custodian of the growing collection of Icelandic antiquities which
has formed the nucleus of a national museum. He had found time,
besides, during these years, for considerable literary work; and apart
from several valuable bibliographies had, alone and in collaboration,
made important contributions to his native literature. He died at
Reykjavik in 1888.
His principal literary work, and that by which alone he is known
outside of Iceland, is the collection of folk-tales that appeared in
Iceland in 1862-64, in two volumes, with the title Islenzkar Thoosö-
gur og Æfintyri' (Icelandic Popular Legends and Tales). A small
preliminary collection, called 'Islenzk Æfintyri' (Icelandic Tales),
made in collaboration with Magnus Grimsson, had been published in
1852. Subsequently, Jón Arnason went to work single-handed to
make an exhaustive collection of the folk-tales of the country, which
by traveling and correspondence he drew from every nook and corner
of Iceland. No effort was spared to make the collection complete,
and many years were spent in this undertaking. The results were in
every way valuable. No more important collection of folk-tales exists
in the literature of any nation, and the work has become both a
classic at home and a most suggestive link in the comparative study
of folklore elsewhere. Arnason thus performed for his native land
what the Grimms did for Germany, and what Asbjörnsen and Moe
did for Norway. He has frequently been called the "Grimm of Ice-
land. " The stories of the collection have since found their way all
over the world, many of them having been translated into English,
German, French, and Danish.
In his transcription of the tales, Arnason has followed, even more
conscientiously, the plan of the Grimms in adhering to the local or
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803
individual form in which the story had come to him in writing or
by oral transmission. We get in this way a perfect picture of the
national spirit, and a better knowledge of life and environment in
Iceland than from any other source. In these stories there is much
to say of elves and trolls, of ghosts and "fetches," of outlaws and
the devil. Magic plays an important part, and there is the usual lore
of beasts and plants. Many of them are but variants of folk-tales
that belong to the race. Others, however, are as plainly local evolu-
tions, which in their whole conception are as weird and mysterious
as the environment that has produced them.
All the stories are from 'Icelandic Legends': Translation of Powell and Mag-
nusson
THE MERMAN
L
ONG ago a farmer lived at Vogar, who was a mighty fisher-
man; and of all the farms about, not one was so well situ-
ated with regard to the fisheries as his.
One day, according to custom, he had gone out fishing; and
having cast down his line from the boat and waited awhile, found
it very hard to pull up again, as if there were something very
heavy at the end of it. Imagine his astonishment when he found
that what he had caught was a great fish, with a man's head and
body! When he saw that this creature was alive, he addressed
it and said, "Who and whence are you? "
"A merman from the bottom of the sea," was the reply.
The farmer then asked him what he had been doing when
the hook caught his flesh.
The other replied, "I was turning the cowl of my mother's
chimney-pot, to suit it to the wind. So let me go again, will
you? »
"You shall serve
"Not for the present," said the fisherman.
me awhile first. " So without more words he dragged him into
the boat and rowed to shore with him.
When they got to the boat-house, the fisherman's dog came to
him and greeted him joyfully, barking and fawning on him, and
wagging his tail. But his master's temper being none of the
best, he struck the poor animal; whereupon the merman laughed
for the first time.
Having fastened the boat, he went toward his house, dragging
his prize with him over the fields, and stumbling over a hillock
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JON ARNASON
which lay in his way, cursed it heartily; whereupon the merman
laughed for the second time.
When the fisherman arrived at the farm, his wife came out to
receive him, and embraced him affectionately, and he received
her salutations with pleasure; whereupon the merman laughed for
the third time.
Then said the farmer to the merman, "You have laughed
three times, and I am curious to know why you have laughed.
Tell me, therefore. "
"Never will I tell you," replied the merman, "unless you
promise to take me to the same place in the sea wherefrom you
caught me, and there to let me go free again. " So the farmer
made him the promise.
"Well," said the merman, "I laughed the first time because
you struck your dog, whose joy at meeting you was real and
sincere. The second time, because you cursed the mound over
which you stumbled, which is full of golden ducats. And the
third time, because you received with pleasure your wife's empty.
and flattering embrace, who is faithless to you, and a hypocrite.
And now be an honest man, and take me out to the sea whence
you brought me. "
The farmer replied, "Two things that you have told me I
have no means of proving; namely, the faithfulness of my dog
and the faithlessness of my wife. But the third I will try the
truth of; and if the hillock contain gold, then I will believe the
rest. "
Accordingly he went to the hillock, and having dug it up,
found therein a great treasure of golden ducats, as the merman
had told him. After this the farmer took the merman down to
the boat, and to that place in the sea whence he had brought
him. Before he put him in, the latter said to him:-
"Farmer, you have been an honest man, and I will reward
you for restoring me to my mother, if only you have skill enough
to take possession of property that I shall throw in your way.
happy and prosper. "
Be
Then the farmer put the merman into the sea, and he sank
out of sight.
It happened that not long after seven sea-gray cows were seen
on the beach, close to the farmer's land. These cows appeared
to be very unruly, and ran away directly the farmer approached
them. So he took a stick and ran after them, possessed with the
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JÓN ARNASON
805
fancy that if he could burst the bladder which he saw on the
nose of each of them, they would belong to him. He contrived
to hit the bladder on the nose of one cow, which then became so
tame that he could easily catch it, while the others leaped into
the sea and disappeared.
The farmer was convinced that this was the gift of the mer-
man. And a very useful gift it was, for better cow was never
seen nor milked in all the land, and she was the mother of the
race of gray cows so much esteemed now.
And the farmer prospered exceedingly, but never caught any
more mermen. As for his wife, nothing further is told about
her, so we can repeat nothing.
THE FISHERMAN OF GÖTUR
IT
Is told that long ago a peasant living at Götur in Myrdalur
went out fishing round the island of Dyrhólar. In returning
from the sea, he had to cross a morass. It happened once
that on his way home after nightfall, he came to a place where a
man had lost his horse in the bog, and was unable to recover it
without help. The fisherman, to whom this man was a stranger,
aided him in freeing his horse from the peat.
you.
When the animal stood again safe and sound upon the dry
earth, the stranger said to the fisherman, "I am your neighbor,
for I live in Hvammsgil, and am returning from the sea, like
But I am so poor that I cannot pay you for this service as
you ought to be paid. I will promise you, however, this much:
that you shall never go to sea without catching fish, nor ever, if
you will take my advice, return with empty hands.
But you
must never put to sea without having first seen me pass your
house, as if going toward the shore. Obey me in this matter,
and I promise you that you shall never launch your boat in
vain. "
The fisherman thanked him for this advice; and sure enough
it was that for three years afterward, never putting to sea till
he had first seen his neighbor pass his door, he always launched
his boat safely, and always came home full-handed.
But at the end of the three years it fell out that one day in
the early morning, the fisherman, looking out from his house,
saw the wind and weather favorable, and all other fishers hurry-
ing down to the sea to make the best of so good a time. But
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806
JÓN ARNASON
though he waited hour after hour in the hope of seeing his
neighbor pass, the man of Hvammsgil never came.
At last,
losing his patience, he started out without having seen him go
by. When he came down to the shore, he found that all the
boats were launched and far away.
Before night the wind rose and became a storm, and every
boat that had that day put to sea was wrecked, and every fisher
drowned; the peasant of Götur alone escaping, for he had been
unable to go out fishing. The next night he had a strange
dream, in which his neighbor from Hvammsgil came to him and
said, “Although you did not yesterday follow my advice, I yet so
far felt kindly toward you that I hindered you from going out
to sea, and saved you thus from drowning; but look no more
forth to see me pass, for we have met for the last time. " And
never again did the peasant see his neighbor pass his door.
THE MAGIC SCYTHE
A
CERTAIN day-laborer once started from his home in the south
to earn wages for hay-cutting in the north country. In
the mountains he was suddenly overtaken by a thick mist
and sleet-storm, and lost his way. Fearing to go on further, he
pitched his tent in a convenient spot, and taking out his provis-
ions, began to eat.
While he was engaged upon his meal, a brown dog came into
the tent, so ill-favored, dirty, wet, and fierce-eyed, that the poor
man felt quite afraid of it, and gave it as much bread and meat
as it could devour. This the dog swallowed greedily, and ran off
again into the mist. At first the man wondered much to see a
dog in such a wild place, where he never expected to meet with
a living creature; but after a while he thought no more about
the matter, and having finished his supper, fell asleep, with his
saddle for a pillow.
At midnight he dreamed that he saw a tall and aged woman
enter his tent, who spoke thus to him: "I am beholden to you,
good man, for your kindness to my daughter, but am unable to
reward you as you deserve. Here is a scythe which I place be-
neath your pillow; it is the only gift I can make you, but despise
it not. It will surely prove useful to you, as it can cut down all
that lies before it. Only beware of putting it into the fire to
-
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JÓN ARNASON
807
Sharpen it, however, as you will, but in that way
So saying, she was seen no more.
When the man awoke and looked forth, he found the mist all
gone and the sun high in heaven; so getting all his things to-
gether and striking his tent, he laid them upon the pack-horses,
saddling last of all his own horse. But on lifting his saddle from
the ground, he found beneath it a small scythe blade, which
seemed well worn and was rusty. On seeing this, he at once
recalled to mind his dream, and taking the scythe with him, set
out once more on his way. He soon found again the road which
he had lost, and made all speed to reach the well-peopled dis-
trict to which he was bound.
temper it.
never. "
When he arrived at the north country, he went from house
to house, but did not find any employment, for every farmer had
laborers enough, and one week of hay-harvest was already past.
He heard it said, however, that one old woman in the district,
generally thought by her neighbors to be skilled in magic and
very rich, always began her hay-cutting a week later tha any-
body else, and though she seldom employed a laborer, always
contrived to finish it by the end of the season.
When by any
chance- and it was a rare one she did engage a workman, she
was never known to pay him for his work.
Now the peasant from the south was advised to ask this old
woman for employment, having been warned of her strange
habits.
-
He accordingly went to her house, and offered himself to her
as a day laborer. She accepted his offer, and told him that he
might, if he chose, work a week for her, but must expect no
payment.
«< Except,"
," she said, "you can cut more grass in the whole
week than I can rake in on the last day of it. "
To these terms he gladly agreed, and began mowing. And
a very good scythe he found that to be which the woman had
given him in his dream; for it cut well, and never wanted sharp-
ening, though he worked with it for five days unceasingly. He
was well content, too, with his place, for the old woman was
kind enough to him.
One day, entering the forge next to her house, he saw a vast
number of scythe-handles and rakes, and a big heap of blades,
and wondered beyond measure what the old lady could want
with all these. It was the fifth day-the Friday-and when
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JÓN ARNASON
he was asleep that night, the same elf-woman whom he had
seen upon the mountains came again to him and said:
"Large as are the meadows you have mown, your employer
will easily be able to rake in all that hay to-morrow, and if she
does so, will, as you know, drive you away without paying you.
When therefore you see yourself worsted, go into the forge, take
as many scythe-handles as you think proper, fit their blades to
them, and carry them out into that part of the land where the
hay is y uncut. There you must lay them on the ground, and
you shal see how things go. "
This id, she disappeared, and in the morning the laborer,
getting up, set to work as usual at his mowing.
At six o'clock the old witch came out, bringing five rakes
with her, and said to the man, "A goodly piece of ground you.
have mowed, indeed! "
And so saying, she spread the rakes upon the hay. Then the
man saw, to his astonishment, that though the one she held in
her hand raked in great quantities of hay, the other four raked
in no less each, all of their own accord, and with no hand to
wield them.
-:
At noon, seeing that the old woman would soon get the best
of him, he went into the forge and took out several scythe-
handles, to which he fixed their blades, and bringing them out
into the field, laid them down upon the grass which was yet
standing. Then all the scythes set to work of their own accord,
and cut down the grass so quickly that the rakes could not keep
pace with them.
And so they went on all the rest of the day,
and the old woman was unable to rake in all the hay which lay
in the fields. After dark she told him to gather up his scythes
and take them into the house again, while she collected her
rakes, saying to him:-
"You are wiser than I took you to be, and you know more
than myself; so much the better for you, for you may stay as
long with me as you like. "
He spent the whole summer in her employment, and they
agreed very well together, mowing with mighty little trouble a
vast amount of hay. In the autumn she sent him away, well
laden with money, to his own home in the south. The next
summer, and more than one summer following, he spent in her
employ, always being paid as his heart could desire, at the end.
of the season.
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JON ARNASON
809
After some years he took a farm of his own in the south
country, and was always looked upon by all his neighbors as an
honest man, a good fisherman, and an able workman in whatever
he might put his hand to. He always cut his own hay, never
using any scythe but that which the elf-woman had given him
upon the mountains; nor did any of his neighbors ever finish
their mowing before him.
One summer it chanced that while he was fishing, one of his
neighbors came to his house and asked his wife to lend him her
husband's scythe, as he had lost his own. The farmer's wife
looked for one, but could only find the one upon which her hus-
band set such store. This, however, a little loth, she lent to the
man, begging him at the same time never to temper it in the
fire; for that, she said, her good man never did. So the neigh-
bor promised, and taking it with him, bound it to a handle and
began to work with it. But, sweep as he would, and strain as
he would (and sweep and strain he did right lustily), not a single
blade of grass fell. Wroth at this, the man tried to sharpen it,
but with no avail. Then he took it into his forge, intending to
temper it, for, thought he, what harm could that possibly do?
but as soon as the flames touched it, the steel melted like wax,
and nothing was left but a little heap of ashes. Seeing this, he
went in haste to the farmer's house, where he had borrowed it,
and told the woman what had happened; she was at her wits'
end with fright and shame when she heard it, for she knew well
enough how her husband set store by this scythe, and how angry
he would be at its loss.
And angry indeed he was, when he came home, and he beat
his wife well for her folly in lending what was not hers to lend.
But his wrath was soon over, and he never again, as he never
had before, laid the stick about his wife's shoulders.
THE MAN-SERVANT AND THE WATER-ELVES
I
NA large house, where all the chief rooms were paneled, there
lived once upon a time a farmer, whose ill-fate it was that
every servant of his that was left alone to guard the house
on Christmas Eve, while the rest of the family went to church,
was found dead when the family returned home.
As soon as
the report of this was spread abroad, the farmer had the greatest
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JÓN ARNASON
difficulty in procuring servants who would consent to watch alone
in the house on that night; until at last one day a man, a strong
fellow, offered him his services, to sit up alone and guard the
house. The farmer told him what fate awaited him for his rash-
ness; but the man despised such a fear, and persisted in his
determination.
On Christmas Eve, when the farmer and all his family, except
the new man-servant, were preparing for church, the farmer said
to him, "Come with us to church; I cannot leave you here to
die. "
But the other replied, "I intend to stay here, for it would be
unwise in you to leave your house unprotected; and besides, the
cattle and sheep must have their food at the proper time. "
"Never mind the beasts," answered the farmer. "Do not be
so rash as to remain in the house this night; for whenever we
have returned from church on this night, we have always found
every living thing in the house dead, with all its bones broken. "
But the man was not to be persuaded, as he considered all
these fears beneath his notice; so the farmer and the rest of the
servants went away and left him behind, alone in the house.
As soon as he was by himself he began to consider how to
guard against anything that might occur; for a dread had stolen
over him, in spite of his courage, that something strange was
about to take place. At last he thought that the best thing to do
was, first of all to light up the family room; and then to find
some place in which to hide himself. As soon as he had lighted
all the candles, he moved two planks out of the wainscot at the
end of the room, and creeping into the space between it and the
wall, restored the planks to their places, so that he could see
plainly into the room and yet avoid being himself discovered.
He had scarcely finished concealing himself, when two fierce
and strange-looking men entered the room and began looking
about.
One of them said, "I smell a human being. "
"No," replied the other, "there is no human being here. "
Then they took a candle and continued their search, until they
found the man's dog asleep under one of the beds. They took it
up, and having dashed it on the ground till every bone in its
body was broken, hurled it from them. When the man-servant
saw this, he congratulated himself on not having fallen into their
hands.
