But I should prefer not to embark on that
question
today.
Adorno-Metaphysics
.
.
.
.
.
-
a rationalization
? ? ? ? LECTURE TEN 75
? or secularization of a doctrine of the animating forces of nature. This mythical, natural origin of avuyK'ry, or necessity, survives in Aristotle in that this kind of necessity is attributed to matter, and not, as is the case in modern philosophy, above all in Kant, to the reflecting subject. And, of course, it never occurred to Aristotle to consider this natural necessity, this avuYK1), merely as a conventionally subjective entity. No doubt, the substantiality of causality as a part of fate never became problematic for ancient people. This is precisely the point on which antiquity never went beyond mere reflection on its own mythological ideas. It also seems to me highly revealing that he attributes something else to matter: what in modern terms we would call 'chance', and for which there are two concepts in his work, firstly aVT6/LaTov, that which moves by itself, and secondly TUX1), containing the mythical idea of the way things just happen to turn out. I will point out -
although I do not want to pursue this very central problem here -
that the concepts of causality as natural causality and as chance, which appear to be strictly antithetical, have always been associated in a certain way in philosophy. Because the regularity of natural causal- ity can never equal the internal coherence of successive moments, as Aristotle seeks to describe it through his teleology, everything causal also seems to have a moment of the fortuitous. And, perhaps more important, apart from the moment of causality there are all those
moments which cannot be subsumed under the principle of identity and which, in accordance with the omnipotent principle of identity in thought, must appear as extraneous and accidental. There is thus a curious correlation between causality and chance; and the more relentless the dominance of causality, of causal-mechanical thinking, becomes in the world, the more the category of chance increases, as a kind of reminder of how much meaning, how much internal coher- ence, has been lost through the predominance of causality. No doubt there are also social reasons for this - the fact that, as rationality has increased in the means of social organization, the ends of social or- ganization have remained irrational, fortuitous. And this relationship
is reflected in the correlation of causality and chance, which, of course, are now undergoing a remarkable convergence, as the law of prob- ability, which is profoundly bound up with chance, has begun to displace causality in microphysics and quantum mechanics. 4
You can see, therefore, that Aristotle attributes far more than one
would expect to vA1), which he had himself demoted to something
totally abstract. It becomes, in a sense, the repository, the refuge of those mythical categories which were displaced by the advance of the Greek enlightenment, and especially by the rationality of Plato and Aristotle himself. And both these moments - on the one hand, blind
?
?
76 LECTURE TEN
? natural causality which is not transparent to itself, which is not an idea, the moment of blindness in causality, and on the other, TEAo? , teleology, which is like the idea of a creator - go back, like chance, to Aristotle. In his Metaphysics these moments have the function of limiting the purposive activity of pure form, of fLOPCP? , or, finally, of the 'unmoved mover'. 5 You therefore have before you a basic schema of the whole of western metaphysics; in it you can observe, as if under a microscope, the difference between natural causality and teleology, which has its foundation in reason or in freedom. This doctrine of a causality based on freedom, on a consciousness independent of blind
UVUYK1), goes back to the Aristotelian dualism and is reproduced in that of Kant. 6 However, as soon as the dichotomy of form and matter enters a state of flux, in which the two appear to be reciprocally mediated, this antithesis of causality and freedom also becomes fluid, dynamized, as it is in Hegel.
You can also see here - and I should like to close with this point - how a metaphysical theme such as that of freedom - which at the
beginning of these lectures I called one of the fundamental themes of metaphysics - only takes on the form familiar to us through the unmediated antithesis of vA1) and fLOPCP? , which is the special feature
of Aristotle's philosophy. I have explained the structure of Aristotle's Metaphysics at some length in order to show you that metaphysics does not consist in the isolated treatment of its so-called main themes, as first appeared when I read out a list of those resounding themes; it resides in the structural relationship between these themes, and finally in the tendency to unify them or form them into a system. And you will see that the concept of unity, the One, does indeed emerge at the apex of Aristotle's Metaphysics. ? You cannot, therefore, understand metaphysics by finding out how the separate metaphysical themes - being, God, freedom, immortality, or whatever they may be - are treated by different philosophers. You can only understand these categories through the place they occupy in a philosophy considered
as a whole. And if I may give you a piece of advice which may help your own philosophical understanding, it is that while you should always strive to understand philosophical categories as strictly and precisely as possible in terms of their meaning and effect in their particular place, you should also be aware that there is no philo- sophical category which does not take on a meaning that is different from its general meaning through the structure, the total context, of the thought in which it appears. And in understanding philosophy it is this specific meaning which matters.
? LECTURE ELEVEN
6July 1965
?
? ? I have discussed the determinants of matter in Aristotle's Metaphysics, and the negativity of these determinants, seen in its most extreme form in the concept of natural causality and chance. In Aristotle these are qualities of vAT) and not of fLOPCP? , and thus are qualities of 8vvafLt? , of abstract possibility (Hegel would say), and not of EVEpYEta, of ideas which have become concrete. Now, according to Aristotle, all the imperfection of nature originates in matter. All notions of inert, sluggish matter, of rudis indigesta moles, as the Latin poet expresses it,l go back to this thesis of Aristotle that matter is to blame for the imperfection of the world. So, too, in a sublimated form, do all ideas
of mere existence as something untouched and abandoned by mind and meaning. I do not think it is usually realized (and perhaps I may draw your attention to it here) how much the notions of so-called everyday life - what I call ' bleating', the ideas passed uncritically from mouth to mouth, or presented as self-evident in leading or not-so- leading articles in newspapers - how much almost all these notions are cultural assets which have sunk down from the upper stratum, to use the language of the sociology of literature. That is to say, they are simply residues of great metaphysics, of great philosophy, which,
through being severed from an original context which has lapsed into oblivion, take on the character of seemingly self-evident truths. The
self-evidence is only apparent, since they owe their obviousness or compellingness to the structures in which they first appeared, whereas they are now treated as matters of fact which require no further justification, and precisely thereby are transformed into untruths. This
?
78 LECTURE ELEVEN
? applies especially to the antithesis of matter and form in Aristotle, which can be said to have pre-formed the familiar dualisms in our received ideas to an extent of which we are entirely unaware. It is really the same as with Monsieur Jourdain in Moliere's Le Bourgeois
Gentilhomme, whose rhetoric teacher explains to him that there are two kinds of speech, prose and poetry, and who then asks: 'Oh really, and what do I speak? ' When he is told that it is prose, Jourdain exclaims proudly: 'Goodness! I've been speaking prose all my life and I didn't even know it! '2 And we speak Aristotle all our lives and 'don't even know it', except that this is not such an innocent matter
as the good Monsieur Jourdain's prose.
For example, the difference between the heavenly and earthly
spheres, which has become so central in Christian doctrine and led for the first time in Augustine to a kind of hierarchy of intra-mundane happenings,3 points back directly to this Aristotelian dichotomy or dualism. Even the categories of male and female are distinguished according to the same dualism by Aristotle, all the higher, form- giving categories being equated with the male - as was only too self- evident in a patriarchal society - and the merely material and existent with the female. No doubt you will all have endured a learned school- teacher telling you that the roots of mater and materia are related,
and you will recall the ensuing howl of triumph - that, too, is an echo from Aristotle's Metaphysics. Behind it, of course, lies the dis- tinction between the principle which controls nature and the nature oppressed by this principle and presented, because oppressed, as amorphous. With some exaggeration one might say that the world of vAY) in Aristotle is the world of the prehistoric imagination, which
Bachofen called matriarchal, while the world of logos, the world of the Olympian gods, of the centralizing principle, is equated with
fLOPCP? .
And you will see that this idea of the centralizing principle applies to his thought in a far stricter sense than emerges from what I have just said. But the most important quality attributed to matter is its resistance to form, and according to Aristotle this resistance explains something which is of special thematic importance for him: the specific character of change or development, which he conceives as gradua1. 4 What you have here is, fundamentally, the later problem of Christian theology: why the world created by God is not a divine world, why it is not already perfect. This, too, is answered in accord- ance with the same dualistic principle, which states that creation opposes, or in some way resists, pure identity with the creator. And even the complementary principle, that, on the other hand, some urge towards the highest principle is present in matter, in creation,S you will also find prefigured in Aristotle's Metaphysics. There is already
? ? --? -
? ? ? I
? ? LECTURE ELEVEN
? here, if you like, a sketch of the dialectic, even though Aristotle does not reflect thematically on this concept. And it would not surprise me if the Aristotelian motif had played a considerable role in the concep- tion of the world process or the absolute in Hegel, whose work can be very well described at an idealist reprise of Aristotle's. For accord- ing to this doctrine, movement is caused or triggered just because matter opposes its potential, is in contradiction to it, because any existing situation is inherently rigid; in later philosophy it was there- fore called 'mere existence'. Similarly, in the philosophy of history,
for example, it can be said that revolution was triggered in 1789 just because of the ossification of absolutist conditions in France, which was more extreme than in any other country. The special rigidity of such social conditions, their resistance to EVEpYELa, is thus made into the actual cause of the opposed, radical development.
Further, it is only matter, conceived in this way as a kind of auto- nomous principle, which in Aristotle makes it possible for the lowest generic concepts which we have - that is, the concept 'dog' or the concept 'human being' - to be split up into a multiplicity of individuals,
which have nothing general in them. This results from Aristotle's curious conception of the concrete, which I have mentioned to you repeatedly, as a kind of sum of the absolutely indeterminate and concept-less existing thing on the one hand and its concept on the other. It might be said with some exaggeration that matter is the principium individuationis in Aristotle, and not, as we are inclined to think, form, which is that which determines a particular thing as particular. For him, however, individuation itself is founded precisely on this particularization - the lack of identity, or full identity, of an
existent thing with its form. 6 Individuation thus becomes something negative in Aristotle. And that, too, is a basic thesis of all western metaphysics, as it reappears in Kant, where cognition is equated with the determining of an object in its generality and necessity, and as you find it worked through to its extreme in Hegel, where only the universal manifesting itself through individuation is the substantial - whereas anything which lies outside the identification with the universal principle is regarded as absolutely insignificant, ephemeral
and unimportant. I do not think I need to elaborate here the theme which was central to my lectures in the last semester:7 the incalculable consequences of the elevation of logical universality as the positive
metaphysical principle, and of the branding of individuation and par-
ticularity as the negative. If the so-called great tradition of philosophy
has anywhere lent its name to ideology, it is at this point. The univer- sal manifesting itself as pure form is, of course, the existing form of social dominance in abstracto; and according to this definition the
? ? ?
79
?
80
LECTURE ELEVEN
? bigger battalions in world history are justified in advance. You have here the equation of the universal with the good. You can say - as Zeller has rightly pointed outS - that antithetical definitions such as those applied by Aristotle to matter have turned matter into the opposite of what the concept of matter implies; that is, matter in his thought becomes a second principle endowed with its own force. That, too, later had uncommonly far-reaching consequences - I am trying today to make you aware of those moments in Aristotle which have been precipitated in the general stock of ideas and have domin-
ated the whole philosophical tradition to an incalculable degree. Its consequences were that people have forgotten, if they ever knew, that when they think of matter in general as that which is opposed to a principle of a different kind, the principle of mind, they are, if you like, dematerializing matter by turning it into a principle. What the concept of matter points towards, the only reasonable content and meaning
of this term, is the non-conceptual. And one of the most remarkable characteristics of the concept is that, although itself a concept, it can yet refer to something which is not a concept; indeed - if one traces out the reciprocal foundation of intentions - in the end it must mean something non-conceptual. Given the direction which the whole philo- sophical tradition has taken as a result of the Aristotelian dualism, it is the case that through the covert substitution of the general concept
of 'matter' for materials, matter has itself been turned into something ' which it ought precisely not to be: something conceptual. Only deter- . minants which are really of such a conceptual kind are recognized
qua matter. 9
The consequence which this had for philosophy was idealism, and
one might say without exaggeration that Aristotle was an objective idealist, except that he didn't know it, if you will forgive such a lax turn of phrase. In other words, the fact that I can only speak of matter in concepts, even if these concepts themselves mean something which is not material, prepares the ground for the identification of all mat- ter with the concept, and finally for the dissolution of all matter in the conceptual, the reduction of all objectivity to the thinking sub- ject, in which the idealist interpretation of philosophy later consisted. These considerations, extrapolated from some of the most remarkable definitions and characterizations in Aristotle's discussion of matter, make his ideas more plausible in retrospect than would a purely genetic approach, focused on the difference between knowledge for us and knowledge in itself at that time. They enable us to understand why Aristotle sometimes attributes primary being, 7TPWTY} ova{a, to pure, that is, formless, individual entities, to T6DE TL qua vAy}, and sometimes equates it with form itself. The explanation is that, because
? LECTURE ELEVEN 81
? of the relation between form and content posited in this dualism,
content, or matter, is itself multiply, if antithetically, determined. As
a result, Aristotle is never quite sure whether he should treat it as
primary being, 7Tpcf)7YJ ova{a, because it is something and has very
definite properties, or whether, in line with the general trend of his
Metaphysics, he should reserve the determination of 7TPWTYJ ova{a to ,"
f-LopcpYJ or EVEPYEW.
It is the relation of matter to form which gives rise to movement,
? or change of any kind, in Aristotle. Change is confined to that which has form, so that, correlatively, that which has no matter and is pure EVEpyna is not subject to change. One might say that pure actuality, actus purus - and this is the supreme paradox of this philosophy - is also the eternal. It may be supposed that the real purpose - or, better, the real interest - of Aristotle's Metaphysics lay in the attempt to bring together the change in being, or in existing things, which
was ineluctably taking place with the advance of empirical science - and he was an empirical scientist - with the Platonic moment of eternity and immutability. Latent in his philosophy is a contradiction between the Eleatic and Platonic element of the doctrine of being and the unmistakable moment of change associated with the advancing Greek or Hellenic enlightenment. Thus the whole construction of Aristotle's Metaphysics is really focused on this one problem: how is change possible? And this change or movement is derived by Aris- totle from the relation of form to matter; it is, so to speak, the result he obtains from his ontology, in which these moments are distinguished. The task is to deduce why mutability exists from the basic structure of being itself, that is, from the dualism of vAYJ and f-L0PCP? located within being. The mutable is to be spun out, so to speak, from the immutable - a problem which later recurs in Hegel, whose Logic is
both a prima philosophia (that is, an ontology) and a dialectic (that is, a radically elaborated theory of development). This ambiguity of philosophy at its later peak is also fully prefigured, therefore, in the philosophy of Aristotle.
The answer to this question given by Aristotle will not surprise you, after all we have said about his Metaphysics. It is that movement - by which he means an upward movement or change, the advancing
amelioration of everything which is through its increasing determina-
tion by the absolute - is to be equated with the realization of the
possible, in so far as the possible is opposed to natural causality. That
is
really Aristotle's central proposition. And this proposition, that movement is the realization of the possible, already implies the Hegelian thesis of history as progress in the consciousness of free-
dom. 1O I remind you that for Aristotle determination by fLOPrp? is the
?
?
82
LECTURE ELEVEN
? ? opposite of determination by avayK'Y], and thus of blind necessity. This conception also contains, at least implicitly, an inversion of the Hegelian proposition! ! of the reality of the rational (an inversion also to be found in Hegel himself). To formulate such a conception, Zeller
quotes a passage which does not come from the Metaphysics but from the Physics: ? TOU ovvaf-LEt OVTO? EVTEAEXEta ft TOLOUTOV. 12 That is to say, that which is by virtue of its possibility becomes by virtue of its entelechy; movement is the becoming real of the possible. But Aristotle is not content to let matters rest with this proposition about movement in abstracto. At this point he already feels the need for mediation or, as one also says, for concretion; he therefore asks how this movement arises in the first place. He now argues as follows: the impulse towards movement can only come from something which already is what the moved object is to become through its movement.
That is, I would say, a typically rationalistic inference based purely on concepts, of the kind you will find over and over again in the philosophy of the seventeenth century. It is exposed, of course, to the
entire Kantian critique of conclusions drawn from pure concepts. But in the sense that he drew conclusions from pure concepts Aristotle truly was a rationalist. And it was not just an external historical connection when medieval scholasticism, the philosophy whose essen- tial feature was the procedure of drawing conclusions from pure concepts, harked back to Aristotle. On this crucial point the thinking of Aristotle was, if you like, already scholastic - for example, in propositions like the one I have just mentioned: that the impulse towards movement can only come from something which already is what the moved object is to become through its movement. This presupposes that the two moments, the mover and the moved, are
structured in a rational, purpose-directed way, are inwardly deter- mined in precisely the manner from which the whole of modern natural science has emancipated itself. And if you imagine such a proposition in relation to the classical, causal-mechanical physics asso- ciated with the name of Newton, for example, you will understand why the genesis of the modern natural sciences has been to such a major degree an emancipation from Aristotle - from the doctrine of the reality of forms and the teleology dependent on it. Already implied in that doctrine is the motif of full-blown idealism, that the movement of the particular towards the absolute already presupposes that abso- lute. Aristotle's theory of motion is only comprehensible if one assumes that, in any movement, that towards which it wants to move is also the agent of the movement. And Hegel's Logic attempted to explicate precisely this presupposition, now applied to spirit, by means of epis- temological reflection, and to show how something which is effective
? ? LECTURE ELEVEN 83
? from the first subsequently manifests itself in and for itself. It can therefore be said in a precise sense that Hegel's work seeks to recover the ontological programme of Aristotle's metaphysics through a tran- scendental, subjectively directed analysis.
According to Aristotle, every movement presupposes two things: a mover and a moved. And for him this applies to self-moving things as well. Even when we can speak of something as moving itself, we find in it two different elements or principles: the moving and the moved. This doctrine in Aristotle is based on the human being, who is the
only self-moving entity - apart from animals - which we can know. According to this theory, the human being is divided into two prin- ciples; the moving principle, which is the higher, the immaterial and the spiritual; and the moved, the material principle. This provides another illustration of how we all 'speak Aristotle' without knowing
it. For the entire figure of the dualism of body and soul, the so-called body-mind problem which dominates the whole of western thinking and becomes an overt philosophical theme in the seventeenth-century rationalism of Descartes, goes back to Aristotle's conception of the human being that has just been mentioned. The whole later dualism of substances, of body and soul, and thus the whole question of how these dualistic moments, body and soul, are interrelated, was formu- lated for the first time, and in all its trenchancy, in this ontological
anthropology, which divided the human being itself into a moving principle and a moved, material principle. In this division the mover is the actual or the form, and the moved is the potential or matter. Only form - EVEpyna - causes matter, despite the moments of resist- ance it contains, to move towards it. It should not be overlooked here that in Aristotle - who, like all truly significant philosophers,
was more concerned with expressing phenomena than with unifying them seamlessly and without contradictions - the question of the relationship between what might be called the immanent tendency of matter, and the opposed principle of the resistance of matter to form, was never completely articulated and elaborated. For whereas I ex- plained to you earlier that matter was defined essentially as the resist-
ant, antithetical and thus dialectical moment in face of the reality of
form, it is also the case (as I believe I pointed out to you at the outset,
together with the affinity of this theory to the later one of Schelling)13
that matter itself is also endowed with a yearning, an 0pEyw{}at or
0Pf1-? ' towards form as the good or the divine. This points again, of
course, towards the Hegelian motif I mentioned to you: that matter
itself, without knowing it, simply through its possibility, is already
spirit. For only as something spiritual can it be endowed with this 0Pf1-? which is gradually realized in it.
?
?
84
LECTURE ELEVEN
? And this need of matter for form is defined by Aristotle as the need for the good or the divine. The identification of form as the universal, of the good as the moral norm and of the divine as the highest
metaphysical principle, is already accomplished in Aristotle's Meta- physics. And that, too, has become through Christianity a universal idea, which we generally accept simply as a result of our education, without reflecting on its connection to a specific philosophy, and therefore on the philosophical problems implicit in it. Now, Aristotle
states that where matter and form touch movement must always and necessarily arise. 14 This proposition of the touching of matter and form is, one might say, another of the Aristotelian archaisms. That is, it is one of those elements or moments in his thought which we find it hard to envisage, since these two moments, matter and form, are here suddenly separated as two absolutely different principles, and then retrospectively brought together. This inconsistency is, how- ever, connected to the fact (as I have repeatedly pointed out, and
would reiterate here) that subjective reflection is essentially absent in Aristotle, so that he is not really aware of the abstract character of either his concept of form or his concept of matter as principles, and therefore hypostatizes both moments. The remarkable, exciting, but at the same time constantly puzzling thing about Aristotle's philosophy is that he simultaneously recognizes the reciprocity, the interdepend? ence of form and matter, and nevertheless treats them as so separate that their interdependence remains a merely external relation and their internal mediation is not recognized. True, they are mediated in the sense that one cannot really exist without the other - with a crucial exception which we shall come back to in the next lecture - but this dependence is not such that one principle contains the other within it as a condition of its possibility. This externality is strikingly demonstrated in Aristotle's doctrine that these two prin? ciples actually do touch each other from outside - almost, one might say, as if they were two different substances, if that does not sound too paradoxical - so that movement only arises through the kindling which occurs when the two things come together. It is easy to poke fun at the somewhat mythological aspect of this idea from our later
standpoint. But if you picture once more the basic structure I tried so strenuously to make clear to you in the first part of this lecture series, you will see that this apparent naivety is itself the necessary fruit of the basic structure.
And now, the decisive question for Aristotle - which takes us to the central problem of the connection between the dynamic moment and the ontological moment - is how these two moments are related structurally.
But I should prefer not to embark on that question today.
? ? ? LECTURE TWELVE
8July 1965
? ,,
I told you in the last lecture that in Aristotle's Metaphysics move- ment arises from the touching of matter and form. And I pointed out that the additive moment of these two basic categories emerges very clearly in his work. That is to say that while he knows that one does not exist without the other - to that extent he entertained the idea of mediation - he did not perceive this mediation within the categories themselves, but only in their amalgamation. It might be useful at this point, where we are nearing the end of our discussion of Aristotle, if I add something which I ought, perhaps, to have said earlier, as it might have facilitated understanding. When one hears
terms such as 'matter' or 'form' - and this really applies not just to Aristotle but to an understanding of the whole of ancient philosophy - one is not quite sure what to make of them. I did at least touch on this problem by saying! that when Aristotle speaks of matter he sub- stitutes the concept of matter for matter itself, and that this substitution - or 'subreption', as Kant would have called it - is the vehicle which allows him to make matter into a kind of second principle. Now there
is something rather peculiar about all these categories in antiquity. I imagine that you are at least vaguely aware, from the history of philosophy, that the term 'hylozoism',2 meaning the animation of natural categories, is applied to the earliest Greek philosophers, the Ionian nature philosophers. And you will recall that in them physical and metaphysical entities, that is, physical concepts and metaphysical essences, were curiously intertwined - which is connected to the fact, of course, that the ancient concepts are essentially secularized gods.
?
86 LECTURE TWELVE
? Something of this archaic wavering, this archaic ambiguity, survived throughout Greek philosophy. And it cannot be properly understood if the distance separating it from us, which I mentioned early in these lectures,3 is not respected, and these concepts are simply translated into ours. So that if Aristotle speaks of matter, he is referring neither to the philosophically sublimated concept of matter which is found in modern philosophy, nor simply to the animated matter of primeval times, since both these moments, the metaphysical and the physical,
are not yet strictly distinguished in all these concepts. This distinction' only occurred at a relatively late state of reflection, though the ground for it was decisively prepared by the radical dualism of matter and form, the divine and the earthly, body and soul, which I spoke of in the last lecture. You may well, therefore, have difficulties - which are logically undeniable and self-evident - in understanding what I illuminated from different sides in my last lecture: that the concept
of matter in Aristotle is itself a moment of a principle which has not only an essence of its own but a kind of immanent tendency. The fundamental reason for this difficulty of understanding is, no doubt, that in such concepts the meaning of the hylozoic element, that is, matter, oscillates between something archaically animated and a pure concept - an echo of both of these is contained within it. And commit an anachronistic error if we translate these concepts naively into our own kind of conceptuality. For it is first necessary to under- stand such philosophies before we set about criticizing them - al- though I do not believe the two activities can seriously be separated.
.
we
? ? Our modern concepts are the outcome, of course, of many centuries of mathematical science, in which these animistic or hylozoic tenden- cies have been thoroughly exterminated.
Now the real point in Aristotle's philosophy which bears on the concept of motion is as follows: he teaches not only that form and matter are in themselves something eternal, but that the relationship in which form and matter stand to each other is also eternal. As I made clear to you in the last lecture, the real interest of Aristotle, who wanted to combine a largely enlightened, dynamized Hellenistic mode of thinking with Platonic conceptual realism, lies in his explanation of movement, of dynamics. And that is done by the means I indicated to you - by asserting that the relationship of form to matter - and not just the two entities in themselves - was eternal. This thesis of Aristotle's has had incalculable consequences for the history of philosophy. If it can be said of Hegel (as was also mentioned earlier)4
that his philosophy is at the same time dynamic 'as a dialectic and ontological as a theory of being - is at the same time static and dynamic - that is, if you like, a continuation or sublimation of one
? ? LECTURE TWELVE
87
? of the basic theses of western metaphysics, which you find prefigured in Aristotle. But that is not all: in our own time this doctrine of the eternal character of the relationship of matter and form, and thus the doctrine of the eternity of movement, has cropped up again in Heidegger's theory which seeks to grasp historicity or temporality as an invariant, an Existenzial, that is, a basic condition of exist- ence. 5 It is clearly always the case, when the dynamic of society, which is reflected in thought, causes the assumption of invariants to become problematic, that philosophy shows a tendency to make that variability, and thus change itself, into an invariant. In this way even change is assimilated into the doctrine of a static ontology, and is thus rescued. And that is precisely what also happens in Aristotle, who was on the one hand a teleological philosopher of development, and on the other a philosopher of being, an ontologist. He extricated himself from the difficulty by ontologizing change itself, as we would put it today. And this in turn had the consequence that, through his conceptual sleight of hand, through his reducing movement to its concept and thereby immobilizing it, change is in reality conjured out of his thought. By being reinterpreted as a condition of being, change is concretely neutralized, in the sense that, in face of this uni- versal mutability, concrete changes no longer carry any weight. This idea is also fully consonant with the other basic thesis of Aristotle's that I expounded to you: the one which endows the universal, as
against the particular, with both metaphysical and moral priority. Now, the reason given by Aristotle for this eternal quality of
the relationship between the two basic categories, and thus for the eternal nature of movement itself - which, incidentally, was also conceived ontologically by Heraclitus - is none other than that both the genesis and the disappearance of this movement, and thus of the relationship between the two, can in turn only be caused by a move- ment. Under all conceivable circumstances, therefore, movement must be eternal. Hence the doctrine that movement can never have begun and can never cease. In this way the dynamic itself is made an invari- ant, is made static. And Goethe's dictum that all striving and struggle amount to everlasting peace in the Lord6 also has its model in this theory of Aristotle - just to demonstrate that these Aristotelian con- cepts have indeed become common property of the western mind.
Or, to put it differently, it shows how much that which is taken for granted by unreflective consciousness within our culture is dependent on a highly specific philosophy, and - far more important - how much its truth, its validity, itself depends on the validity of the philosophy from which such theses are derived. ? I repeat yet again that even here, where we are concerned with the concepts of that which moves, with
?
? ?
? 88 LECTURE TWELVE
? motion, change, the eternity of movement, they are dealt with by deduction from pure concepts, without regard to their sensible content. And in this procedure of drawing conclusions from pure concepts, more than in the explicit content of the doctrine of the precedence of the universal over the particular, Aristotle's conceptual-realistic or
anti-nominalist moment is expressed, although up to now we have had much occasion to talk about precisely the opposite, nominalist moment. Now, according to this kind of deduction, the ultimate reason for eternal movement must be something immobile, otherwise we should arrive at a regressus ad infinitum. I have mentioned antiquity's dislike of the concept of infinity,8 which should really be seen as an aversion rather than a result of mathematical ignorance. It is very characteristic of this outlook that, for Aristotle, the fact that failure
to assume such an immobile entity at the outset would have led to an infinite regression was sufficient grounds for assuming the existence of an 'unmoved mover', or, as he calls it, a a. K{V7jTOV KLVOVV, that is, something which, unmoved itself, moves all things. And with this concept we have made the transition from Aristotelian metaphysics to what might perhaps be called Aristotelian theology.
Perhaps I might remind you here that I said to you earlier9 that metaphysics in the precise sense I have set out here is both a critique and a reprise, a resumption, of theology. It is a peculiarity of meta- physical thinking - it is, I might almost say, one of the invariants of metaphysical thinking, which are repeated over and over again in its history - that the conceptual operations it performs, which aim initially at something like a critique of mythological beings, repeatedly end in reinstating these mythical beings, or the divinity; but it no longer does so in a belief in the direct experience or the sensible perceptibility or the substantial existence of the divinities or divinity, but on the basis of conceptual thought. What I said earlier about the rescuing intention which accompanies the critical aim of all meta- physics now takes on its precise meaning, which is quite simply that metaphysics attempts to rescue through concepts what it simultane- ously calls into question through its critique. That is a moment which can be traced through the entire history of western metaphysics. Now, in Aristotle this first and unmoved thing, or this first and unmoved being, this a. K{V7jTOV KLVOVV, is immaterial; it is form without matter, it is pure actuality. The later medieval concept of the actus purus is a direct translation of this notion of the prime mover as the purely immaterial being. Aristotle harks back here to a doctrine I have also described to you,10 and which only now, so to speak, bears fruit in the economy of his thought - and, in general, the theorems of thinkers
are apt to have their origins very far from the terminus ad quem;
? ? LECTURE TWELVE 89
? that is to say that they are conceived in such a way that they only yield a profit at the end, if I may express it so vulgarly. I am saying, therefore, that only here does the doctrine that matter, as something fortuitous, could always equally well be other than it is, come to fruition, only here does it come into its own. Only the incorporeal,
according to Aristotle, is immutable and absolutely immobile: you have here, therefore, in this doctrine of the ultimate being as some- thing at the same time immobile, immutable and incorporeal, the basic thesis of objective idealism - although, and I repeat this too/1 the reflection on the subject which this idealism later carries through is not performed in Aristotle's Metaphysics. Here, practically every- thing which in Hegel, whose thought can be seen as running closely parallel to Aristotle's, is developed by transcendental analysis, that is, from absolute and pure subjectivity, is attributed, in intentione recta, to principles or concepts existing in themselves. Form is the perfect
being and matter the imperfect - and from that Aristotle concludes that the prime mover, as pure form, and on account of its very purity, is the absolutely perfect.
You find here two moments which became very important in the later history of western thought and to which I should like to draw your special attention. First there is the affirmative and optimistic
moment possessed by almost all great metaphysical systems. It holds that just because form is the perfect and matter the imperfect, and because form is in every sense given priority over reality, reality is thereby itself made into something positive which, if not perfect, at least tends towards perfection. This affirmative trait which has accompanied philosophy for so long is already present in Plato and, as you see here, in Aristotle too. That is to say, that by reducing the
world to its concept and making the concept the supreme and perfect entity, this thinking already has the tendency to justify the world itself in its current state of being so and not otherwise. The second of these moments that I want to point out to you is that the conclusion that the prime mover must be the absolutely perfect entity is an ancient precursor of the ontological proof of God. Absolute perfection and
absolute reality are equated, since reality for Aristotle is precisely EVEpYELa, that which has become form and to that extent is the higher. However - unlike 5t Anselm of Canterbury later - Aristotle does not draw conclusions about existence from the concept of perfection, but concludes from the structure of existence - the structure of the preced- ence of form over matter - that the being of God must arise virtually out of pure thought. Furthermore - and this, too, is in agreement with motifs of the later Plato which date back in the history of philosophy to Pythagoreanism - the prime mover must necessarily be only One.
?
?
90 LECTURE TWELVE
? That is to say that it is itself the ultimate purpose - and apart from this ultimate purpose, this 00 EVEKa or TEAo? , no other purpose is conceivable. This is where you find the idealistic motif most strongly, as the antithesis between unity, as the unity of subjectivity, and the diversity of diffuse and divergent nature, is the real theme of any idealist philosophy. What is astonishing is that the whole instru- mentarium, if you like, of later idealism is to be found in Aristotle,
although that which was later to constitute its conceptual foundation, the reference to the thinking subject, is not yet explicitly present. But he nowhere comes closer to what in the later terminology can
be called the principle of identity than here, where he deals with the oneness of the prime mover. This proposition is arrived at by Aristotle, however, more or less from the empirical side, just as, indeed, it is one of the basic endeavours of his metaphysics to present metaphysical propositions as if they not only agreed with the observa- tions of natural science but were necessarily generated by them. To this extent, one might say anachronistically, Aristotle is really much like a philosopher of the seventeenth century. From the oneness of the world and the oneness of movement as he conceives it, he deduces cosmologically the absolute oneness of the prime mover.
What I said about the transition of Aristotle's metaphysics to theology can be seen most clearly here, for in this notion of the abso- lutely single prime mover, which for purely logical reasons - that is,
by virtue of the theory of movement - can tolerate no other beside it, you already find Christian monotheism speculatively prefigured in Greek philosophy. And it is undoubtedly no accident that Plato, who certainly did not want to be guilty of impiety towards Greek poly-
theism, speaks very often, at least through the mouth of Socrates, of a {h6? , the god, and not of Ot {hoL, the gods. In this, the doctrine of the absolutely unitary prime mover is in complete agreement with the
immanently monotheistic tendency of speculative philosophy, which is already hinted at in the principle of the oneness of synthesis as opposed to the multiplicity of the material of experience - or, as it is called here, of matter or mere potentiality. The decisive breakthrough of what I have called Aristotle's objective, but not yet self-aware, idealism occurs in the proposition - and this is indeed an openly idealist proposition - that the prime mover as absolutely incorporeal spirit is, to use Aristotle's term, VOV? ;12 the expression vov? is derived from the word VOELV, which in Greek means much the same as 'to think', in the sense of the subjective activity of thinking. This goes back to the famous proposition of Parmenides, that being - which Parmenides understands as nothing other than absolute and abstract oneness - is the same as thinking. 13 I am well aware that in modern
? LECTURE TWELVE 91
? philological criticism the meaning of this proposition of Parmenides is a subject of controversy. 14 And there will no doubt be not a few classical philologists who will refuse to reduce this vav,) and the VOELV associated with it to the subjective human mind. In this they will undoubtedly be in accord with Aristotle's explicit intention; without question, Aristotle would have said precisely the same thing. Never- theless, it might reasonably be wondered whether, without such a VOELV, without the model derived from the human activity of think- ing, this notion of pure, self-sufficient thought would have been con- ceivable at all. Consequently, although this reflection on subjectivity does not take place in Aristotle, it is palpably close - if anything as
insubstantial as pure thought can be referred to as palpable. That is to say, that a different model for this pure and disembodied actuality of the divinity as the pure act of thought simply cannot be found. It is the point at which the project for an objective ontology clashes with the concept and violently absorbs it, and this in turn implies the recourse to subjectivity on which all idealist metaphysics is founded.
The ultimate ground of all movement, therefore - to state the matter in Aristotelian terms - is the divinity itself as pure and perfect mind or spirit (Geist). Its activity - so Aristotle's argumentation runs - can only consist in thought. This is the working out of the idea of
vav,) as the truly absolute entity; I would remind you in passing that the concept of vov') in this strong, metaphysical sense has a long prehistory going back to Anaxagoras. The activity of the pure, divine spirit can only consist in thought because, according to this philosophy, any other activity - that is, what is understood by praxis both in the
moral sense, 7TpaTTEtV, and in the sense of making things, 7TOtELv - has its purpose outside itself, whereas that is inconceivable in the case of the first, pure, self-sufficient being. This can have its purpose only in itself; it is purpose to itself alone. 15 That is the justification for the proposition that god is pure actuality and is not determined by a purpose lying outside himself; that is the argumentation underlying Aristotle's doctrine of the actus purus. Now, this argument has a further, extraordinarily far-reaching consequence in Aristotle's Meta- physics. This pure activity of the mind, which has no purpose outside
itself, is equated by Aristotle with &Ewp{a - pure, purposeless thinking related to no real praxis. And the apotheosis of pure thought, pure contemplation regarded as an end in itself without any relation to anything existing outside it - that is, the absolute status granted to pure mental activity, which is the foundation of everything which has later in a precise sense been called western culture, and against which the fiercest criticism of idealism has been directed - that apotheosis
had its
origin in this theoretical concept of Aristotle's. 16
?
? 92 LECTURE TWELVE
? This apotheosis also leaves its imprint on his ethics, in that the latter gives precedence to the so-called dianoetic virtues - the virtues residing in pure contemplation and self-reflection without regard to action - over all other virtues. Thinking, unlike praxis, is sufficient unto itself. It is as if the separation of physical and mental work, which
is connected to the process of the division of labour and in which mental work has gained preponderance over physical labour, has now been reflected ideologically (one would have to say) by meta- physics. That which has now proved the dominant principle, namely AOYOS, and with it the people who are dispensed from physical work, is justified as the higher entity in and for itself, while no consideration is given to the necessary dependence of mind on that over which it rules and from which it has severed itself. That this marks a crucial historical turning point in ancient philosophy has often been pointed out, and you do not need me to present it to you as a great discovery. It means, however, that the glorification of pure theory as against praxis in the polis - a praxis which had been regarded as the highest category by the Pythagoreans and still played a decisive role in Plato - originated at a time (and Aristotle was, after all, the teacher and contemporary of Alexander the Great) when the possibility of auto-
nomous political activity by the individual had been reduced to a minimum, and when the individual was thus thrown back willy-nilly on reflection. Political praxis, as it had been carried on in accordance with traditional Greek - that is, Athenian or Attic - democracy, was no longer possible. And out of this necessity, this deprivation, the metaphysicizing of theory, which was taken to be the principle of the divinity itself, made not only a virtue, but the highest virtue. Accord? ingly, the object of divine thought could only be divine thought itself, because, as pure thought, it abided within itself. ! 7 You will be reminded here of the later Hegel's definition of logic as a game the world spirit plays with itself8 - and I would remind you that for Hegel, very much as for Aristotle, metaphysics and logic were really the same thing. 19 But I can only indicate this idea here, and must save its more detailed elaboration for the next lecture.
. ;
? ? ? ? LECTURE THIRTEEN
13 July 1965
? ? Today I should like to bring to an end my exposition of Aristotle's Metaphysics, and the reflections on it that we have been pursuing together. I would remind you that the object of divine thought, ac- cording to Aristotle, can only be divine thought itself. What is quite remarkable about this thesis is that - despite the fact that I have told you ad nauseam that subjective reflection, reference to the subject of knowledge, does not play any part in his philosophy, at least as a theme - this thesis in fact represents the extreme point reached by subjective idealism through subjective reflection. For in idealism it is the case that if everything is finally reducible to mind, then the con- tent of mind, that which itself is not mind, the not-I, nevertheless is mind; and that consequently the absolute, which corresponds in Aris- totle to the divine principle, can have nothing other than itself as its
content. The argumentation used by Aristotle to reach this conclusion is significantly different from that which I have indicated to you here. It is - how shall I say? - statically, hierarchically ontological, and not dialectical. It maintains that the value or validity of thinking depends on its content; but since the highest content which thought could have is the divine mind itself, then the content of the divine mind is - the divine mind! Accordingly, in the highest thoughts, subject and object coincide, just as they do later in absolute idealism; that is to say, the thought and the thinking are held to be the same. I would point out in passing that in this thesis, put forward with a certain innocence by Aristotle, there is manifested a paradox or an absurdity which disap-
pears in the more sophisticated presentation of these ideas at the height
?
?
94 LECTURE THIRTEEN
? ? of German idealism. We should not be persuaded, however, that it has ceased to exist; and we come across it, indeed we positively collide with it, when we meet these infinitely complex and difficult speculat- ive ideas in their elementary form in Aristotle. For in his case we are obliged to ask the question which must be addressed to all idealism: what does mind, or thinking, or knowledge really amount to, if it oilly thinks itself? Does this not make thought itself, and thus the absolute
which thought is supposed to be, one single, immense tautology? This moment recurs later, as I said, in idealism; but in Aristotle it is open to view in all its crassness. And the god who actually thinks
nothing but himself is not wholly unlike the navel-gazer we can see . downstairs in this building, in the form of the statue of the so-called sage,l who gives us the feeling that he represents being and reflects on being; and that what being says to him is only: being, being, being. I should say in fairness that this joke is not my own, but goes back to an admittedly somewhat different formulation of Hegel's. In a polemic
against Jacobi he remarked that the thought which immersed itself in the concept of being reminded him of the Tibetan rite of the prayer- wheel, in which the worshippers constantly say nothing but 'om', 'om', 'om'. 2 I don't wish to be disrespectful towards Aristotle, but if for a moment one steps outside the intellectual edifice - I almost said, the cathedral - which is his thought, such ideas do enter one's mind. In his work this notion is expressed in the absolutely idealist formulation that the thinking of god - Hegel would say: the thinking of the world
spirit - is a thinking of thinking or, to use the supreme formulation
of this principle in Aristotle: the v6'Y)at? VO? at:w? , the thinking of
thinking. 3 Now the scientist in Aristotle was clearly not too comfort-
able on this summit of his thought, and he justified the idea of the
v6'Y)at? vo? at:w? by saying that the beatitude of god lay in his self-
contemplation - a motif which became crucial to the whole of medi-
eval theology. Ideas such as that human beings are created as finite
and sinful creatures because God wants to be loved in freedom, for his
own sake as the absolute, by finite and fallible beings, are trans-
parently related to this motif. But this interpretation of divine thought
as v6'Y)at? vo? aEw? is so extraordinarily fertile because - and this is
perhaps still more important than the conception of the absolute it
contains - it amounts to something like a guide to the beatific life or
a guide to reason, since, in keeping with the Aristotelian principles of
analogy and teleology, the human mind should approximate itself to
the divine spirit as closely as it possibly can. Now, this idea already
contains the whole programme of philosophy as self-reflection. One
might almost say that since Aristotle philosophy in general has been the implementation of just this v6YJat? vo? aEw? that he ascribes to the
? ? ? ? '
LECTURE THIRTEEN 95
,
? divine principle as the primal image of all philosophy. One might embark here, incidentally, on some reflections along the lines of Feuerbachian enlightenment, to the effect that the idea that the divin- ity derives happiness from self-contemplation contains a quite imper- missible anthropomorphism - moreover, a narcissistic and thus a psychological anthropomorphism. Following up Feuerbach's motif, one might argue that the force of egoism, the stunting of human beings which prevents them from loving and makes them capable of loving only themselves - one might argue that this narcissistic tendency, this diversion of the capacity of love onto the self, is here projected onto the divinity in order to endow it with absolute metaphysical justifica- tion, whereas one might ask what sort of a divinity it is which, instead of loving its creatures, loves only itself. But great minds have not been much troubled by this for the past few thousand years.
All the same, this idea does contain a moment which is very im- portant for the concept of philosophy - the model of self-reflection. If divine thought is regarded as the thinking of thinking, then precisely the intentio obliqua which does not appear as such in Aristotle's thought - that the essential principle of philosophy does not lie in its thinking about objects or about what is different from itself, but in reflecting on itself - is anticipated as a metaphysical principle. 4 To that extent one might say that this intentio obliqua, which is
only carried out much later in the history of philosophy, is already prefigured dialectically, in intentione recta, in this definition of the absolute as the thinking of its own thought. Moreover, for the pro- fessor of physics which Aristotle also was, this metaphysics also yielded an immediate profit - if you will once more permit me such a slovenly manner of speech.
a rationalization
? ? ? ? LECTURE TEN 75
? or secularization of a doctrine of the animating forces of nature. This mythical, natural origin of avuyK'ry, or necessity, survives in Aristotle in that this kind of necessity is attributed to matter, and not, as is the case in modern philosophy, above all in Kant, to the reflecting subject. And, of course, it never occurred to Aristotle to consider this natural necessity, this avuYK1), merely as a conventionally subjective entity. No doubt, the substantiality of causality as a part of fate never became problematic for ancient people. This is precisely the point on which antiquity never went beyond mere reflection on its own mythological ideas. It also seems to me highly revealing that he attributes something else to matter: what in modern terms we would call 'chance', and for which there are two concepts in his work, firstly aVT6/LaTov, that which moves by itself, and secondly TUX1), containing the mythical idea of the way things just happen to turn out. I will point out -
although I do not want to pursue this very central problem here -
that the concepts of causality as natural causality and as chance, which appear to be strictly antithetical, have always been associated in a certain way in philosophy. Because the regularity of natural causal- ity can never equal the internal coherence of successive moments, as Aristotle seeks to describe it through his teleology, everything causal also seems to have a moment of the fortuitous. And, perhaps more important, apart from the moment of causality there are all those
moments which cannot be subsumed under the principle of identity and which, in accordance with the omnipotent principle of identity in thought, must appear as extraneous and accidental. There is thus a curious correlation between causality and chance; and the more relentless the dominance of causality, of causal-mechanical thinking, becomes in the world, the more the category of chance increases, as a kind of reminder of how much meaning, how much internal coher- ence, has been lost through the predominance of causality. No doubt there are also social reasons for this - the fact that, as rationality has increased in the means of social organization, the ends of social or- ganization have remained irrational, fortuitous. And this relationship
is reflected in the correlation of causality and chance, which, of course, are now undergoing a remarkable convergence, as the law of prob- ability, which is profoundly bound up with chance, has begun to displace causality in microphysics and quantum mechanics. 4
You can see, therefore, that Aristotle attributes far more than one
would expect to vA1), which he had himself demoted to something
totally abstract. It becomes, in a sense, the repository, the refuge of those mythical categories which were displaced by the advance of the Greek enlightenment, and especially by the rationality of Plato and Aristotle himself. And both these moments - on the one hand, blind
?
?
76 LECTURE TEN
? natural causality which is not transparent to itself, which is not an idea, the moment of blindness in causality, and on the other, TEAo? , teleology, which is like the idea of a creator - go back, like chance, to Aristotle. In his Metaphysics these moments have the function of limiting the purposive activity of pure form, of fLOPCP? , or, finally, of the 'unmoved mover'. 5 You therefore have before you a basic schema of the whole of western metaphysics; in it you can observe, as if under a microscope, the difference between natural causality and teleology, which has its foundation in reason or in freedom. This doctrine of a causality based on freedom, on a consciousness independent of blind
UVUYK1), goes back to the Aristotelian dualism and is reproduced in that of Kant. 6 However, as soon as the dichotomy of form and matter enters a state of flux, in which the two appear to be reciprocally mediated, this antithesis of causality and freedom also becomes fluid, dynamized, as it is in Hegel.
You can also see here - and I should like to close with this point - how a metaphysical theme such as that of freedom - which at the
beginning of these lectures I called one of the fundamental themes of metaphysics - only takes on the form familiar to us through the unmediated antithesis of vA1) and fLOPCP? , which is the special feature
of Aristotle's philosophy. I have explained the structure of Aristotle's Metaphysics at some length in order to show you that metaphysics does not consist in the isolated treatment of its so-called main themes, as first appeared when I read out a list of those resounding themes; it resides in the structural relationship between these themes, and finally in the tendency to unify them or form them into a system. And you will see that the concept of unity, the One, does indeed emerge at the apex of Aristotle's Metaphysics. ? You cannot, therefore, understand metaphysics by finding out how the separate metaphysical themes - being, God, freedom, immortality, or whatever they may be - are treated by different philosophers. You can only understand these categories through the place they occupy in a philosophy considered
as a whole. And if I may give you a piece of advice which may help your own philosophical understanding, it is that while you should always strive to understand philosophical categories as strictly and precisely as possible in terms of their meaning and effect in their particular place, you should also be aware that there is no philo- sophical category which does not take on a meaning that is different from its general meaning through the structure, the total context, of the thought in which it appears. And in understanding philosophy it is this specific meaning which matters.
? LECTURE ELEVEN
6July 1965
?
? ? I have discussed the determinants of matter in Aristotle's Metaphysics, and the negativity of these determinants, seen in its most extreme form in the concept of natural causality and chance. In Aristotle these are qualities of vAT) and not of fLOPCP? , and thus are qualities of 8vvafLt? , of abstract possibility (Hegel would say), and not of EVEpYEta, of ideas which have become concrete. Now, according to Aristotle, all the imperfection of nature originates in matter. All notions of inert, sluggish matter, of rudis indigesta moles, as the Latin poet expresses it,l go back to this thesis of Aristotle that matter is to blame for the imperfection of the world. So, too, in a sublimated form, do all ideas
of mere existence as something untouched and abandoned by mind and meaning. I do not think it is usually realized (and perhaps I may draw your attention to it here) how much the notions of so-called everyday life - what I call ' bleating', the ideas passed uncritically from mouth to mouth, or presented as self-evident in leading or not-so- leading articles in newspapers - how much almost all these notions are cultural assets which have sunk down from the upper stratum, to use the language of the sociology of literature. That is to say, they are simply residues of great metaphysics, of great philosophy, which,
through being severed from an original context which has lapsed into oblivion, take on the character of seemingly self-evident truths. The
self-evidence is only apparent, since they owe their obviousness or compellingness to the structures in which they first appeared, whereas they are now treated as matters of fact which require no further justification, and precisely thereby are transformed into untruths. This
?
78 LECTURE ELEVEN
? applies especially to the antithesis of matter and form in Aristotle, which can be said to have pre-formed the familiar dualisms in our received ideas to an extent of which we are entirely unaware. It is really the same as with Monsieur Jourdain in Moliere's Le Bourgeois
Gentilhomme, whose rhetoric teacher explains to him that there are two kinds of speech, prose and poetry, and who then asks: 'Oh really, and what do I speak? ' When he is told that it is prose, Jourdain exclaims proudly: 'Goodness! I've been speaking prose all my life and I didn't even know it! '2 And we speak Aristotle all our lives and 'don't even know it', except that this is not such an innocent matter
as the good Monsieur Jourdain's prose.
For example, the difference between the heavenly and earthly
spheres, which has become so central in Christian doctrine and led for the first time in Augustine to a kind of hierarchy of intra-mundane happenings,3 points back directly to this Aristotelian dichotomy or dualism. Even the categories of male and female are distinguished according to the same dualism by Aristotle, all the higher, form- giving categories being equated with the male - as was only too self- evident in a patriarchal society - and the merely material and existent with the female. No doubt you will all have endured a learned school- teacher telling you that the roots of mater and materia are related,
and you will recall the ensuing howl of triumph - that, too, is an echo from Aristotle's Metaphysics. Behind it, of course, lies the dis- tinction between the principle which controls nature and the nature oppressed by this principle and presented, because oppressed, as amorphous. With some exaggeration one might say that the world of vAY) in Aristotle is the world of the prehistoric imagination, which
Bachofen called matriarchal, while the world of logos, the world of the Olympian gods, of the centralizing principle, is equated with
fLOPCP? .
And you will see that this idea of the centralizing principle applies to his thought in a far stricter sense than emerges from what I have just said. But the most important quality attributed to matter is its resistance to form, and according to Aristotle this resistance explains something which is of special thematic importance for him: the specific character of change or development, which he conceives as gradua1. 4 What you have here is, fundamentally, the later problem of Christian theology: why the world created by God is not a divine world, why it is not already perfect. This, too, is answered in accord- ance with the same dualistic principle, which states that creation opposes, or in some way resists, pure identity with the creator. And even the complementary principle, that, on the other hand, some urge towards the highest principle is present in matter, in creation,S you will also find prefigured in Aristotle's Metaphysics. There is already
? ? --? -
? ? ? I
? ? LECTURE ELEVEN
? here, if you like, a sketch of the dialectic, even though Aristotle does not reflect thematically on this concept. And it would not surprise me if the Aristotelian motif had played a considerable role in the concep- tion of the world process or the absolute in Hegel, whose work can be very well described at an idealist reprise of Aristotle's. For accord- ing to this doctrine, movement is caused or triggered just because matter opposes its potential, is in contradiction to it, because any existing situation is inherently rigid; in later philosophy it was there- fore called 'mere existence'. Similarly, in the philosophy of history,
for example, it can be said that revolution was triggered in 1789 just because of the ossification of absolutist conditions in France, which was more extreme than in any other country. The special rigidity of such social conditions, their resistance to EVEpYELa, is thus made into the actual cause of the opposed, radical development.
Further, it is only matter, conceived in this way as a kind of auto- nomous principle, which in Aristotle makes it possible for the lowest generic concepts which we have - that is, the concept 'dog' or the concept 'human being' - to be split up into a multiplicity of individuals,
which have nothing general in them. This results from Aristotle's curious conception of the concrete, which I have mentioned to you repeatedly, as a kind of sum of the absolutely indeterminate and concept-less existing thing on the one hand and its concept on the other. It might be said with some exaggeration that matter is the principium individuationis in Aristotle, and not, as we are inclined to think, form, which is that which determines a particular thing as particular. For him, however, individuation itself is founded precisely on this particularization - the lack of identity, or full identity, of an
existent thing with its form. 6 Individuation thus becomes something negative in Aristotle. And that, too, is a basic thesis of all western metaphysics, as it reappears in Kant, where cognition is equated with the determining of an object in its generality and necessity, and as you find it worked through to its extreme in Hegel, where only the universal manifesting itself through individuation is the substantial - whereas anything which lies outside the identification with the universal principle is regarded as absolutely insignificant, ephemeral
and unimportant. I do not think I need to elaborate here the theme which was central to my lectures in the last semester:7 the incalculable consequences of the elevation of logical universality as the positive
metaphysical principle, and of the branding of individuation and par-
ticularity as the negative. If the so-called great tradition of philosophy
has anywhere lent its name to ideology, it is at this point. The univer- sal manifesting itself as pure form is, of course, the existing form of social dominance in abstracto; and according to this definition the
? ? ?
79
?
80
LECTURE ELEVEN
? bigger battalions in world history are justified in advance. You have here the equation of the universal with the good. You can say - as Zeller has rightly pointed outS - that antithetical definitions such as those applied by Aristotle to matter have turned matter into the opposite of what the concept of matter implies; that is, matter in his thought becomes a second principle endowed with its own force. That, too, later had uncommonly far-reaching consequences - I am trying today to make you aware of those moments in Aristotle which have been precipitated in the general stock of ideas and have domin-
ated the whole philosophical tradition to an incalculable degree. Its consequences were that people have forgotten, if they ever knew, that when they think of matter in general as that which is opposed to a principle of a different kind, the principle of mind, they are, if you like, dematerializing matter by turning it into a principle. What the concept of matter points towards, the only reasonable content and meaning
of this term, is the non-conceptual. And one of the most remarkable characteristics of the concept is that, although itself a concept, it can yet refer to something which is not a concept; indeed - if one traces out the reciprocal foundation of intentions - in the end it must mean something non-conceptual. Given the direction which the whole philo- sophical tradition has taken as a result of the Aristotelian dualism, it is the case that through the covert substitution of the general concept
of 'matter' for materials, matter has itself been turned into something ' which it ought precisely not to be: something conceptual. Only deter- . minants which are really of such a conceptual kind are recognized
qua matter. 9
The consequence which this had for philosophy was idealism, and
one might say without exaggeration that Aristotle was an objective idealist, except that he didn't know it, if you will forgive such a lax turn of phrase. In other words, the fact that I can only speak of matter in concepts, even if these concepts themselves mean something which is not material, prepares the ground for the identification of all mat- ter with the concept, and finally for the dissolution of all matter in the conceptual, the reduction of all objectivity to the thinking sub- ject, in which the idealist interpretation of philosophy later consisted. These considerations, extrapolated from some of the most remarkable definitions and characterizations in Aristotle's discussion of matter, make his ideas more plausible in retrospect than would a purely genetic approach, focused on the difference between knowledge for us and knowledge in itself at that time. They enable us to understand why Aristotle sometimes attributes primary being, 7TPWTY} ova{a, to pure, that is, formless, individual entities, to T6DE TL qua vAy}, and sometimes equates it with form itself. The explanation is that, because
? LECTURE ELEVEN 81
? of the relation between form and content posited in this dualism,
content, or matter, is itself multiply, if antithetically, determined. As
a result, Aristotle is never quite sure whether he should treat it as
primary being, 7Tpcf)7YJ ova{a, because it is something and has very
definite properties, or whether, in line with the general trend of his
Metaphysics, he should reserve the determination of 7TPWTYJ ova{a to ,"
f-LopcpYJ or EVEPYEW.
It is the relation of matter to form which gives rise to movement,
? or change of any kind, in Aristotle. Change is confined to that which has form, so that, correlatively, that which has no matter and is pure EVEpyna is not subject to change. One might say that pure actuality, actus purus - and this is the supreme paradox of this philosophy - is also the eternal. It may be supposed that the real purpose - or, better, the real interest - of Aristotle's Metaphysics lay in the attempt to bring together the change in being, or in existing things, which
was ineluctably taking place with the advance of empirical science - and he was an empirical scientist - with the Platonic moment of eternity and immutability. Latent in his philosophy is a contradiction between the Eleatic and Platonic element of the doctrine of being and the unmistakable moment of change associated with the advancing Greek or Hellenic enlightenment. Thus the whole construction of Aristotle's Metaphysics is really focused on this one problem: how is change possible? And this change or movement is derived by Aris- totle from the relation of form to matter; it is, so to speak, the result he obtains from his ontology, in which these moments are distinguished. The task is to deduce why mutability exists from the basic structure of being itself, that is, from the dualism of vAYJ and f-L0PCP? located within being. The mutable is to be spun out, so to speak, from the immutable - a problem which later recurs in Hegel, whose Logic is
both a prima philosophia (that is, an ontology) and a dialectic (that is, a radically elaborated theory of development). This ambiguity of philosophy at its later peak is also fully prefigured, therefore, in the philosophy of Aristotle.
The answer to this question given by Aristotle will not surprise you, after all we have said about his Metaphysics. It is that movement - by which he means an upward movement or change, the advancing
amelioration of everything which is through its increasing determina-
tion by the absolute - is to be equated with the realization of the
possible, in so far as the possible is opposed to natural causality. That
is
really Aristotle's central proposition. And this proposition, that movement is the realization of the possible, already implies the Hegelian thesis of history as progress in the consciousness of free-
dom. 1O I remind you that for Aristotle determination by fLOPrp? is the
?
?
82
LECTURE ELEVEN
? ? opposite of determination by avayK'Y], and thus of blind necessity. This conception also contains, at least implicitly, an inversion of the Hegelian proposition! ! of the reality of the rational (an inversion also to be found in Hegel himself). To formulate such a conception, Zeller
quotes a passage which does not come from the Metaphysics but from the Physics: ? TOU ovvaf-LEt OVTO? EVTEAEXEta ft TOLOUTOV. 12 That is to say, that which is by virtue of its possibility becomes by virtue of its entelechy; movement is the becoming real of the possible. But Aristotle is not content to let matters rest with this proposition about movement in abstracto. At this point he already feels the need for mediation or, as one also says, for concretion; he therefore asks how this movement arises in the first place. He now argues as follows: the impulse towards movement can only come from something which already is what the moved object is to become through its movement.
That is, I would say, a typically rationalistic inference based purely on concepts, of the kind you will find over and over again in the philosophy of the seventeenth century. It is exposed, of course, to the
entire Kantian critique of conclusions drawn from pure concepts. But in the sense that he drew conclusions from pure concepts Aristotle truly was a rationalist. And it was not just an external historical connection when medieval scholasticism, the philosophy whose essen- tial feature was the procedure of drawing conclusions from pure concepts, harked back to Aristotle. On this crucial point the thinking of Aristotle was, if you like, already scholastic - for example, in propositions like the one I have just mentioned: that the impulse towards movement can only come from something which already is what the moved object is to become through its movement. This presupposes that the two moments, the mover and the moved, are
structured in a rational, purpose-directed way, are inwardly deter- mined in precisely the manner from which the whole of modern natural science has emancipated itself. And if you imagine such a proposition in relation to the classical, causal-mechanical physics asso- ciated with the name of Newton, for example, you will understand why the genesis of the modern natural sciences has been to such a major degree an emancipation from Aristotle - from the doctrine of the reality of forms and the teleology dependent on it. Already implied in that doctrine is the motif of full-blown idealism, that the movement of the particular towards the absolute already presupposes that abso- lute. Aristotle's theory of motion is only comprehensible if one assumes that, in any movement, that towards which it wants to move is also the agent of the movement. And Hegel's Logic attempted to explicate precisely this presupposition, now applied to spirit, by means of epis- temological reflection, and to show how something which is effective
? ? LECTURE ELEVEN 83
? from the first subsequently manifests itself in and for itself. It can therefore be said in a precise sense that Hegel's work seeks to recover the ontological programme of Aristotle's metaphysics through a tran- scendental, subjectively directed analysis.
According to Aristotle, every movement presupposes two things: a mover and a moved. And for him this applies to self-moving things as well. Even when we can speak of something as moving itself, we find in it two different elements or principles: the moving and the moved. This doctrine in Aristotle is based on the human being, who is the
only self-moving entity - apart from animals - which we can know. According to this theory, the human being is divided into two prin- ciples; the moving principle, which is the higher, the immaterial and the spiritual; and the moved, the material principle. This provides another illustration of how we all 'speak Aristotle' without knowing
it. For the entire figure of the dualism of body and soul, the so-called body-mind problem which dominates the whole of western thinking and becomes an overt philosophical theme in the seventeenth-century rationalism of Descartes, goes back to Aristotle's conception of the human being that has just been mentioned. The whole later dualism of substances, of body and soul, and thus the whole question of how these dualistic moments, body and soul, are interrelated, was formu- lated for the first time, and in all its trenchancy, in this ontological
anthropology, which divided the human being itself into a moving principle and a moved, material principle. In this division the mover is the actual or the form, and the moved is the potential or matter. Only form - EVEpyna - causes matter, despite the moments of resist- ance it contains, to move towards it. It should not be overlooked here that in Aristotle - who, like all truly significant philosophers,
was more concerned with expressing phenomena than with unifying them seamlessly and without contradictions - the question of the relationship between what might be called the immanent tendency of matter, and the opposed principle of the resistance of matter to form, was never completely articulated and elaborated. For whereas I ex- plained to you earlier that matter was defined essentially as the resist-
ant, antithetical and thus dialectical moment in face of the reality of
form, it is also the case (as I believe I pointed out to you at the outset,
together with the affinity of this theory to the later one of Schelling)13
that matter itself is also endowed with a yearning, an 0pEyw{}at or
0Pf1-? ' towards form as the good or the divine. This points again, of
course, towards the Hegelian motif I mentioned to you: that matter
itself, without knowing it, simply through its possibility, is already
spirit. For only as something spiritual can it be endowed with this 0Pf1-? which is gradually realized in it.
?
?
84
LECTURE ELEVEN
? And this need of matter for form is defined by Aristotle as the need for the good or the divine. The identification of form as the universal, of the good as the moral norm and of the divine as the highest
metaphysical principle, is already accomplished in Aristotle's Meta- physics. And that, too, has become through Christianity a universal idea, which we generally accept simply as a result of our education, without reflecting on its connection to a specific philosophy, and therefore on the philosophical problems implicit in it. Now, Aristotle
states that where matter and form touch movement must always and necessarily arise. 14 This proposition of the touching of matter and form is, one might say, another of the Aristotelian archaisms. That is, it is one of those elements or moments in his thought which we find it hard to envisage, since these two moments, matter and form, are here suddenly separated as two absolutely different principles, and then retrospectively brought together. This inconsistency is, how- ever, connected to the fact (as I have repeatedly pointed out, and
would reiterate here) that subjective reflection is essentially absent in Aristotle, so that he is not really aware of the abstract character of either his concept of form or his concept of matter as principles, and therefore hypostatizes both moments. The remarkable, exciting, but at the same time constantly puzzling thing about Aristotle's philosophy is that he simultaneously recognizes the reciprocity, the interdepend? ence of form and matter, and nevertheless treats them as so separate that their interdependence remains a merely external relation and their internal mediation is not recognized. True, they are mediated in the sense that one cannot really exist without the other - with a crucial exception which we shall come back to in the next lecture - but this dependence is not such that one principle contains the other within it as a condition of its possibility. This externality is strikingly demonstrated in Aristotle's doctrine that these two prin? ciples actually do touch each other from outside - almost, one might say, as if they were two different substances, if that does not sound too paradoxical - so that movement only arises through the kindling which occurs when the two things come together. It is easy to poke fun at the somewhat mythological aspect of this idea from our later
standpoint. But if you picture once more the basic structure I tried so strenuously to make clear to you in the first part of this lecture series, you will see that this apparent naivety is itself the necessary fruit of the basic structure.
And now, the decisive question for Aristotle - which takes us to the central problem of the connection between the dynamic moment and the ontological moment - is how these two moments are related structurally.
But I should prefer not to embark on that question today.
? ? ? LECTURE TWELVE
8July 1965
? ,,
I told you in the last lecture that in Aristotle's Metaphysics move- ment arises from the touching of matter and form. And I pointed out that the additive moment of these two basic categories emerges very clearly in his work. That is to say that while he knows that one does not exist without the other - to that extent he entertained the idea of mediation - he did not perceive this mediation within the categories themselves, but only in their amalgamation. It might be useful at this point, where we are nearing the end of our discussion of Aristotle, if I add something which I ought, perhaps, to have said earlier, as it might have facilitated understanding. When one hears
terms such as 'matter' or 'form' - and this really applies not just to Aristotle but to an understanding of the whole of ancient philosophy - one is not quite sure what to make of them. I did at least touch on this problem by saying! that when Aristotle speaks of matter he sub- stitutes the concept of matter for matter itself, and that this substitution - or 'subreption', as Kant would have called it - is the vehicle which allows him to make matter into a kind of second principle. Now there
is something rather peculiar about all these categories in antiquity. I imagine that you are at least vaguely aware, from the history of philosophy, that the term 'hylozoism',2 meaning the animation of natural categories, is applied to the earliest Greek philosophers, the Ionian nature philosophers. And you will recall that in them physical and metaphysical entities, that is, physical concepts and metaphysical essences, were curiously intertwined - which is connected to the fact, of course, that the ancient concepts are essentially secularized gods.
?
86 LECTURE TWELVE
? Something of this archaic wavering, this archaic ambiguity, survived throughout Greek philosophy. And it cannot be properly understood if the distance separating it from us, which I mentioned early in these lectures,3 is not respected, and these concepts are simply translated into ours. So that if Aristotle speaks of matter, he is referring neither to the philosophically sublimated concept of matter which is found in modern philosophy, nor simply to the animated matter of primeval times, since both these moments, the metaphysical and the physical,
are not yet strictly distinguished in all these concepts. This distinction' only occurred at a relatively late state of reflection, though the ground for it was decisively prepared by the radical dualism of matter and form, the divine and the earthly, body and soul, which I spoke of in the last lecture. You may well, therefore, have difficulties - which are logically undeniable and self-evident - in understanding what I illuminated from different sides in my last lecture: that the concept
of matter in Aristotle is itself a moment of a principle which has not only an essence of its own but a kind of immanent tendency. The fundamental reason for this difficulty of understanding is, no doubt, that in such concepts the meaning of the hylozoic element, that is, matter, oscillates between something archaically animated and a pure concept - an echo of both of these is contained within it. And commit an anachronistic error if we translate these concepts naively into our own kind of conceptuality. For it is first necessary to under- stand such philosophies before we set about criticizing them - al- though I do not believe the two activities can seriously be separated.
.
we
? ? Our modern concepts are the outcome, of course, of many centuries of mathematical science, in which these animistic or hylozoic tenden- cies have been thoroughly exterminated.
Now the real point in Aristotle's philosophy which bears on the concept of motion is as follows: he teaches not only that form and matter are in themselves something eternal, but that the relationship in which form and matter stand to each other is also eternal. As I made clear to you in the last lecture, the real interest of Aristotle, who wanted to combine a largely enlightened, dynamized Hellenistic mode of thinking with Platonic conceptual realism, lies in his explanation of movement, of dynamics. And that is done by the means I indicated to you - by asserting that the relationship of form to matter - and not just the two entities in themselves - was eternal. This thesis of Aristotle's has had incalculable consequences for the history of philosophy. If it can be said of Hegel (as was also mentioned earlier)4
that his philosophy is at the same time dynamic 'as a dialectic and ontological as a theory of being - is at the same time static and dynamic - that is, if you like, a continuation or sublimation of one
? ? LECTURE TWELVE
87
? of the basic theses of western metaphysics, which you find prefigured in Aristotle. But that is not all: in our own time this doctrine of the eternal character of the relationship of matter and form, and thus the doctrine of the eternity of movement, has cropped up again in Heidegger's theory which seeks to grasp historicity or temporality as an invariant, an Existenzial, that is, a basic condition of exist- ence. 5 It is clearly always the case, when the dynamic of society, which is reflected in thought, causes the assumption of invariants to become problematic, that philosophy shows a tendency to make that variability, and thus change itself, into an invariant. In this way even change is assimilated into the doctrine of a static ontology, and is thus rescued. And that is precisely what also happens in Aristotle, who was on the one hand a teleological philosopher of development, and on the other a philosopher of being, an ontologist. He extricated himself from the difficulty by ontologizing change itself, as we would put it today. And this in turn had the consequence that, through his conceptual sleight of hand, through his reducing movement to its concept and thereby immobilizing it, change is in reality conjured out of his thought. By being reinterpreted as a condition of being, change is concretely neutralized, in the sense that, in face of this uni- versal mutability, concrete changes no longer carry any weight. This idea is also fully consonant with the other basic thesis of Aristotle's that I expounded to you: the one which endows the universal, as
against the particular, with both metaphysical and moral priority. Now, the reason given by Aristotle for this eternal quality of
the relationship between the two basic categories, and thus for the eternal nature of movement itself - which, incidentally, was also conceived ontologically by Heraclitus - is none other than that both the genesis and the disappearance of this movement, and thus of the relationship between the two, can in turn only be caused by a move- ment. Under all conceivable circumstances, therefore, movement must be eternal. Hence the doctrine that movement can never have begun and can never cease. In this way the dynamic itself is made an invari- ant, is made static. And Goethe's dictum that all striving and struggle amount to everlasting peace in the Lord6 also has its model in this theory of Aristotle - just to demonstrate that these Aristotelian con- cepts have indeed become common property of the western mind.
Or, to put it differently, it shows how much that which is taken for granted by unreflective consciousness within our culture is dependent on a highly specific philosophy, and - far more important - how much its truth, its validity, itself depends on the validity of the philosophy from which such theses are derived. ? I repeat yet again that even here, where we are concerned with the concepts of that which moves, with
?
? ?
? 88 LECTURE TWELVE
? motion, change, the eternity of movement, they are dealt with by deduction from pure concepts, without regard to their sensible content. And in this procedure of drawing conclusions from pure concepts, more than in the explicit content of the doctrine of the precedence of the universal over the particular, Aristotle's conceptual-realistic or
anti-nominalist moment is expressed, although up to now we have had much occasion to talk about precisely the opposite, nominalist moment. Now, according to this kind of deduction, the ultimate reason for eternal movement must be something immobile, otherwise we should arrive at a regressus ad infinitum. I have mentioned antiquity's dislike of the concept of infinity,8 which should really be seen as an aversion rather than a result of mathematical ignorance. It is very characteristic of this outlook that, for Aristotle, the fact that failure
to assume such an immobile entity at the outset would have led to an infinite regression was sufficient grounds for assuming the existence of an 'unmoved mover', or, as he calls it, a a. K{V7jTOV KLVOVV, that is, something which, unmoved itself, moves all things. And with this concept we have made the transition from Aristotelian metaphysics to what might perhaps be called Aristotelian theology.
Perhaps I might remind you here that I said to you earlier9 that metaphysics in the precise sense I have set out here is both a critique and a reprise, a resumption, of theology. It is a peculiarity of meta- physical thinking - it is, I might almost say, one of the invariants of metaphysical thinking, which are repeated over and over again in its history - that the conceptual operations it performs, which aim initially at something like a critique of mythological beings, repeatedly end in reinstating these mythical beings, or the divinity; but it no longer does so in a belief in the direct experience or the sensible perceptibility or the substantial existence of the divinities or divinity, but on the basis of conceptual thought. What I said earlier about the rescuing intention which accompanies the critical aim of all meta- physics now takes on its precise meaning, which is quite simply that metaphysics attempts to rescue through concepts what it simultane- ously calls into question through its critique. That is a moment which can be traced through the entire history of western metaphysics. Now, in Aristotle this first and unmoved thing, or this first and unmoved being, this a. K{V7jTOV KLVOVV, is immaterial; it is form without matter, it is pure actuality. The later medieval concept of the actus purus is a direct translation of this notion of the prime mover as the purely immaterial being. Aristotle harks back here to a doctrine I have also described to you,10 and which only now, so to speak, bears fruit in the economy of his thought - and, in general, the theorems of thinkers
are apt to have their origins very far from the terminus ad quem;
? ? LECTURE TWELVE 89
? that is to say that they are conceived in such a way that they only yield a profit at the end, if I may express it so vulgarly. I am saying, therefore, that only here does the doctrine that matter, as something fortuitous, could always equally well be other than it is, come to fruition, only here does it come into its own. Only the incorporeal,
according to Aristotle, is immutable and absolutely immobile: you have here, therefore, in this doctrine of the ultimate being as some- thing at the same time immobile, immutable and incorporeal, the basic thesis of objective idealism - although, and I repeat this too/1 the reflection on the subject which this idealism later carries through is not performed in Aristotle's Metaphysics. Here, practically every- thing which in Hegel, whose thought can be seen as running closely parallel to Aristotle's, is developed by transcendental analysis, that is, from absolute and pure subjectivity, is attributed, in intentione recta, to principles or concepts existing in themselves. Form is the perfect
being and matter the imperfect - and from that Aristotle concludes that the prime mover, as pure form, and on account of its very purity, is the absolutely perfect.
You find here two moments which became very important in the later history of western thought and to which I should like to draw your special attention. First there is the affirmative and optimistic
moment possessed by almost all great metaphysical systems. It holds that just because form is the perfect and matter the imperfect, and because form is in every sense given priority over reality, reality is thereby itself made into something positive which, if not perfect, at least tends towards perfection. This affirmative trait which has accompanied philosophy for so long is already present in Plato and, as you see here, in Aristotle too. That is to say, that by reducing the
world to its concept and making the concept the supreme and perfect entity, this thinking already has the tendency to justify the world itself in its current state of being so and not otherwise. The second of these moments that I want to point out to you is that the conclusion that the prime mover must be the absolutely perfect entity is an ancient precursor of the ontological proof of God. Absolute perfection and
absolute reality are equated, since reality for Aristotle is precisely EVEpYELa, that which has become form and to that extent is the higher. However - unlike 5t Anselm of Canterbury later - Aristotle does not draw conclusions about existence from the concept of perfection, but concludes from the structure of existence - the structure of the preced- ence of form over matter - that the being of God must arise virtually out of pure thought. Furthermore - and this, too, is in agreement with motifs of the later Plato which date back in the history of philosophy to Pythagoreanism - the prime mover must necessarily be only One.
?
?
90 LECTURE TWELVE
? That is to say that it is itself the ultimate purpose - and apart from this ultimate purpose, this 00 EVEKa or TEAo? , no other purpose is conceivable. This is where you find the idealistic motif most strongly, as the antithesis between unity, as the unity of subjectivity, and the diversity of diffuse and divergent nature, is the real theme of any idealist philosophy. What is astonishing is that the whole instru- mentarium, if you like, of later idealism is to be found in Aristotle,
although that which was later to constitute its conceptual foundation, the reference to the thinking subject, is not yet explicitly present. But he nowhere comes closer to what in the later terminology can
be called the principle of identity than here, where he deals with the oneness of the prime mover. This proposition is arrived at by Aristotle, however, more or less from the empirical side, just as, indeed, it is one of the basic endeavours of his metaphysics to present metaphysical propositions as if they not only agreed with the observa- tions of natural science but were necessarily generated by them. To this extent, one might say anachronistically, Aristotle is really much like a philosopher of the seventeenth century. From the oneness of the world and the oneness of movement as he conceives it, he deduces cosmologically the absolute oneness of the prime mover.
What I said about the transition of Aristotle's metaphysics to theology can be seen most clearly here, for in this notion of the abso- lutely single prime mover, which for purely logical reasons - that is,
by virtue of the theory of movement - can tolerate no other beside it, you already find Christian monotheism speculatively prefigured in Greek philosophy. And it is undoubtedly no accident that Plato, who certainly did not want to be guilty of impiety towards Greek poly-
theism, speaks very often, at least through the mouth of Socrates, of a {h6? , the god, and not of Ot {hoL, the gods. In this, the doctrine of the absolutely unitary prime mover is in complete agreement with the
immanently monotheistic tendency of speculative philosophy, which is already hinted at in the principle of the oneness of synthesis as opposed to the multiplicity of the material of experience - or, as it is called here, of matter or mere potentiality. The decisive breakthrough of what I have called Aristotle's objective, but not yet self-aware, idealism occurs in the proposition - and this is indeed an openly idealist proposition - that the prime mover as absolutely incorporeal spirit is, to use Aristotle's term, VOV? ;12 the expression vov? is derived from the word VOELV, which in Greek means much the same as 'to think', in the sense of the subjective activity of thinking. This goes back to the famous proposition of Parmenides, that being - which Parmenides understands as nothing other than absolute and abstract oneness - is the same as thinking. 13 I am well aware that in modern
? LECTURE TWELVE 91
? philological criticism the meaning of this proposition of Parmenides is a subject of controversy. 14 And there will no doubt be not a few classical philologists who will refuse to reduce this vav,) and the VOELV associated with it to the subjective human mind. In this they will undoubtedly be in accord with Aristotle's explicit intention; without question, Aristotle would have said precisely the same thing. Never- theless, it might reasonably be wondered whether, without such a VOELV, without the model derived from the human activity of think- ing, this notion of pure, self-sufficient thought would have been con- ceivable at all. Consequently, although this reflection on subjectivity does not take place in Aristotle, it is palpably close - if anything as
insubstantial as pure thought can be referred to as palpable. That is to say, that a different model for this pure and disembodied actuality of the divinity as the pure act of thought simply cannot be found. It is the point at which the project for an objective ontology clashes with the concept and violently absorbs it, and this in turn implies the recourse to subjectivity on which all idealist metaphysics is founded.
The ultimate ground of all movement, therefore - to state the matter in Aristotelian terms - is the divinity itself as pure and perfect mind or spirit (Geist). Its activity - so Aristotle's argumentation runs - can only consist in thought. This is the working out of the idea of
vav,) as the truly absolute entity; I would remind you in passing that the concept of vov') in this strong, metaphysical sense has a long prehistory going back to Anaxagoras. The activity of the pure, divine spirit can only consist in thought because, according to this philosophy, any other activity - that is, what is understood by praxis both in the
moral sense, 7TpaTTEtV, and in the sense of making things, 7TOtELv - has its purpose outside itself, whereas that is inconceivable in the case of the first, pure, self-sufficient being. This can have its purpose only in itself; it is purpose to itself alone. 15 That is the justification for the proposition that god is pure actuality and is not determined by a purpose lying outside himself; that is the argumentation underlying Aristotle's doctrine of the actus purus. Now, this argument has a further, extraordinarily far-reaching consequence in Aristotle's Meta- physics. This pure activity of the mind, which has no purpose outside
itself, is equated by Aristotle with &Ewp{a - pure, purposeless thinking related to no real praxis. And the apotheosis of pure thought, pure contemplation regarded as an end in itself without any relation to anything existing outside it - that is, the absolute status granted to pure mental activity, which is the foundation of everything which has later in a precise sense been called western culture, and against which the fiercest criticism of idealism has been directed - that apotheosis
had its
origin in this theoretical concept of Aristotle's. 16
?
? 92 LECTURE TWELVE
? This apotheosis also leaves its imprint on his ethics, in that the latter gives precedence to the so-called dianoetic virtues - the virtues residing in pure contemplation and self-reflection without regard to action - over all other virtues. Thinking, unlike praxis, is sufficient unto itself. It is as if the separation of physical and mental work, which
is connected to the process of the division of labour and in which mental work has gained preponderance over physical labour, has now been reflected ideologically (one would have to say) by meta- physics. That which has now proved the dominant principle, namely AOYOS, and with it the people who are dispensed from physical work, is justified as the higher entity in and for itself, while no consideration is given to the necessary dependence of mind on that over which it rules and from which it has severed itself. That this marks a crucial historical turning point in ancient philosophy has often been pointed out, and you do not need me to present it to you as a great discovery. It means, however, that the glorification of pure theory as against praxis in the polis - a praxis which had been regarded as the highest category by the Pythagoreans and still played a decisive role in Plato - originated at a time (and Aristotle was, after all, the teacher and contemporary of Alexander the Great) when the possibility of auto-
nomous political activity by the individual had been reduced to a minimum, and when the individual was thus thrown back willy-nilly on reflection. Political praxis, as it had been carried on in accordance with traditional Greek - that is, Athenian or Attic - democracy, was no longer possible. And out of this necessity, this deprivation, the metaphysicizing of theory, which was taken to be the principle of the divinity itself, made not only a virtue, but the highest virtue. Accord? ingly, the object of divine thought could only be divine thought itself, because, as pure thought, it abided within itself. ! 7 You will be reminded here of the later Hegel's definition of logic as a game the world spirit plays with itself8 - and I would remind you that for Hegel, very much as for Aristotle, metaphysics and logic were really the same thing. 19 But I can only indicate this idea here, and must save its more detailed elaboration for the next lecture.
. ;
? ? ? ? LECTURE THIRTEEN
13 July 1965
? ? Today I should like to bring to an end my exposition of Aristotle's Metaphysics, and the reflections on it that we have been pursuing together. I would remind you that the object of divine thought, ac- cording to Aristotle, can only be divine thought itself. What is quite remarkable about this thesis is that - despite the fact that I have told you ad nauseam that subjective reflection, reference to the subject of knowledge, does not play any part in his philosophy, at least as a theme - this thesis in fact represents the extreme point reached by subjective idealism through subjective reflection. For in idealism it is the case that if everything is finally reducible to mind, then the con- tent of mind, that which itself is not mind, the not-I, nevertheless is mind; and that consequently the absolute, which corresponds in Aris- totle to the divine principle, can have nothing other than itself as its
content. The argumentation used by Aristotle to reach this conclusion is significantly different from that which I have indicated to you here. It is - how shall I say? - statically, hierarchically ontological, and not dialectical. It maintains that the value or validity of thinking depends on its content; but since the highest content which thought could have is the divine mind itself, then the content of the divine mind is - the divine mind! Accordingly, in the highest thoughts, subject and object coincide, just as they do later in absolute idealism; that is to say, the thought and the thinking are held to be the same. I would point out in passing that in this thesis, put forward with a certain innocence by Aristotle, there is manifested a paradox or an absurdity which disap-
pears in the more sophisticated presentation of these ideas at the height
?
?
94 LECTURE THIRTEEN
? ? of German idealism. We should not be persuaded, however, that it has ceased to exist; and we come across it, indeed we positively collide with it, when we meet these infinitely complex and difficult speculat- ive ideas in their elementary form in Aristotle. For in his case we are obliged to ask the question which must be addressed to all idealism: what does mind, or thinking, or knowledge really amount to, if it oilly thinks itself? Does this not make thought itself, and thus the absolute
which thought is supposed to be, one single, immense tautology? This moment recurs later, as I said, in idealism; but in Aristotle it is open to view in all its crassness. And the god who actually thinks
nothing but himself is not wholly unlike the navel-gazer we can see . downstairs in this building, in the form of the statue of the so-called sage,l who gives us the feeling that he represents being and reflects on being; and that what being says to him is only: being, being, being. I should say in fairness that this joke is not my own, but goes back to an admittedly somewhat different formulation of Hegel's. In a polemic
against Jacobi he remarked that the thought which immersed itself in the concept of being reminded him of the Tibetan rite of the prayer- wheel, in which the worshippers constantly say nothing but 'om', 'om', 'om'. 2 I don't wish to be disrespectful towards Aristotle, but if for a moment one steps outside the intellectual edifice - I almost said, the cathedral - which is his thought, such ideas do enter one's mind. In his work this notion is expressed in the absolutely idealist formulation that the thinking of god - Hegel would say: the thinking of the world
spirit - is a thinking of thinking or, to use the supreme formulation
of this principle in Aristotle: the v6'Y)at? VO? at:w? , the thinking of
thinking. 3 Now the scientist in Aristotle was clearly not too comfort-
able on this summit of his thought, and he justified the idea of the
v6'Y)at? vo? at:w? by saying that the beatitude of god lay in his self-
contemplation - a motif which became crucial to the whole of medi-
eval theology. Ideas such as that human beings are created as finite
and sinful creatures because God wants to be loved in freedom, for his
own sake as the absolute, by finite and fallible beings, are trans-
parently related to this motif. But this interpretation of divine thought
as v6'Y)at? vo? aEw? is so extraordinarily fertile because - and this is
perhaps still more important than the conception of the absolute it
contains - it amounts to something like a guide to the beatific life or
a guide to reason, since, in keeping with the Aristotelian principles of
analogy and teleology, the human mind should approximate itself to
the divine spirit as closely as it possibly can. Now, this idea already
contains the whole programme of philosophy as self-reflection. One
might almost say that since Aristotle philosophy in general has been the implementation of just this v6YJat? vo? aEw? that he ascribes to the
? ? ? ? '
LECTURE THIRTEEN 95
,
? divine principle as the primal image of all philosophy. One might embark here, incidentally, on some reflections along the lines of Feuerbachian enlightenment, to the effect that the idea that the divin- ity derives happiness from self-contemplation contains a quite imper- missible anthropomorphism - moreover, a narcissistic and thus a psychological anthropomorphism. Following up Feuerbach's motif, one might argue that the force of egoism, the stunting of human beings which prevents them from loving and makes them capable of loving only themselves - one might argue that this narcissistic tendency, this diversion of the capacity of love onto the self, is here projected onto the divinity in order to endow it with absolute metaphysical justifica- tion, whereas one might ask what sort of a divinity it is which, instead of loving its creatures, loves only itself. But great minds have not been much troubled by this for the past few thousand years.
All the same, this idea does contain a moment which is very im- portant for the concept of philosophy - the model of self-reflection. If divine thought is regarded as the thinking of thinking, then precisely the intentio obliqua which does not appear as such in Aristotle's thought - that the essential principle of philosophy does not lie in its thinking about objects or about what is different from itself, but in reflecting on itself - is anticipated as a metaphysical principle. 4 To that extent one might say that this intentio obliqua, which is
only carried out much later in the history of philosophy, is already prefigured dialectically, in intentione recta, in this definition of the absolute as the thinking of its own thought. Moreover, for the pro- fessor of physics which Aristotle also was, this metaphysics also yielded an immediate profit - if you will once more permit me such a slovenly manner of speech.
