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Socrates' desire to ‘take a look at the argument’ (222b3) expresses itself in a very particular form. He has two questions to put to Lysis and Menexenus:
And I said, wanting to take a look at the argument (logos), ‘If belonging (to oikeion) is different from being like (to homoion), then we'd be saying something worth saying, so 222b5 it seems to me, Lysis and Menexenus, about what a friend (philos/philon) is; but if it's actually the case that they're the same thing, like (homoion) and belonging (oikeion), it's not easy to discard our previous argument (logos) to the effect that like was useless to like with respect to their likeness, and to concede that what is useless 222c1 is a friend (philon) strikes a false note. So are you prepared,’ I said, ‘since we're intoxicated with our argument, that we should agree to say that belonging is something different from being like?’
‘Yes, absolutely.’
‘Shall we then also lay it down that the good belongs [is oikeion] to everyone, and the bad is 222c5 alien [allotrion, sc. to everyone]? Or [shall we lay it down] that the bad belongs to the bad, to the good the good, and to the neither good nor bad the neither good nor bad?’
They both said it seemed to them like this, that each 222d1 belongs to each.
203a1 I was on my way from the Academy straight to the Lyceum along the rad that runs outside the wall, under the wall itself; but when I'd got to the small gate where the spring of Panops is, there I chanced on Hippothales son of Hieronymus and Ctesippus of the Paeania deme and other young lads 203a5 with them, all standing in a group. And when Hippothales caught sight of me coming towards them, he said ‘Socrates! Where is it you're on your way to, and 203b1 where from?’
‘From the Academy, ’ I said; ‘I'm on my way straight to the Lyceum. ’
‘Come straight here to us, ’ he said. ‘Won't you come over? It really will be worth your while.’
203b5 ‘Where do you mean, ’ I said, ‘and who are the “us” you want me to come over to?’
‘I mean here, ’ he said, showing me just over from the wall a kind of precinct with its door standing open; ‘and the ones passing our time there are those of us here now and others as well – quite a lot of them, and beauties too.’
204a1 ‘So what is this place, and how do you pass your time?’
‘It's a wrestling-school,’ he said, ‘one just recently built; we spend most of our time in discussions, and would gladly make you a part of them.’
‘Fine,’ I said, ‘if you do that; but who's teaching there?’
We have already made considerable use of the opening pages of the dialogue in analysing the rest: enough use, in fact, to make it unnecessary to provide any further justification for treating them as organically related to those other parts. Just because 203a–207b appears devoid of philosophical content, or at any rate of philosophical argument, a reader might be inclined to treat it merely as a kind of dramatic introduction, attractive in its own way but, in the end, dispensable, so that one could begin reading at 207b8 without losing anything essential. However our analysis has shown that the passage not only looks forward (introduces us), in a variety of ways, to the following conversation between the three protagonists, but is actually of a piece with it. The present short chapter, in which we revisit 203a–207b, is designed mainly to confirm and deepen that point.
What most of all ties this opening passage, 203a1–207b7, to the main part of the dialogue is the way the conclusion of that main part, at 222a6–7, is addressed (as it were) to Hippothales. We have suggested more than once that the whole of 207b–222a by this simple device becomes the promised demonstration to Hippothales of ‘the things a lover should say about a beloved to him or to others’ (205a1–2). Originally it seemed as if the demonstration extended only as far as Socrates' humbling of Lysis and the supposed demolition of his claim that his parents love him, in 207d–210d.
It is worthwhile seeking to attain more understanding regarding these things, though the resources at our disposal are few and we are at such a great distance from what happens in the heavens
(Aristotle, DC 292 a 14–17).
REMOTENESS
From the opening lines of the Meteorology the science of nature emerges as a systematic investigation of the natural world. This investigation is systematic in the sense that it consists of an inquiry into the different parts of the natural world in the attempt to discover the explanatory connections existing between its parts. If this investigation is successful, it does not provide mere knowledge of the natural world; it provides understanding of it. But this investigation is systematic also in the sense that it consists in a study of the natural world in its entirety. While Aristotle does not insist on this point in the opening lines of the Meteorology, he is more explicit towards the end of PA 1. This logos ends with an exhortation to the study of the entire natural world: the celestial together with the sublunary world, and this latter in all its parts, plants and animals included (645 a 4–7). Aristotle takes it for granted that the natural world is constituted by a celestial and a sublunary part, and argues that the study of each of these two parts has its own appeal. In this logos, however, the emphasis is on the study of plants and animals.
This book develops the investigation I began in Corpi e movimenti: il De caelo di Aristotele e la sua fortuna nel mondo antico (Naples, 2001). There I discussed Aristotle's reasons for the view that the celestial bodies are made of a special body which naturally performs circular motion and is different from, and not reducible to, earth, water, air, and fire. I have also shown that very few in antiquity, even within the school of Aristotle, were prepared to accept this doctrine, though many, if not most of them, shared Aristotle's view that the celestial world is a special and somehow distinct region of the natural world. This book incorporates material from the Italian one but presents it in the light of a new project. By studying the reception of the view that the heavens are made of a special body, I have come to appreciate not only how unusual Aristotle's conception of the natural world is; I have also come to understand how this conception may have affected the way Aristotle conceives of the science of nature. This book is an attempt to explore the significance of the study of the celestial bodies for Aristotle's project of investigation of the natural world.
While Aristotle argues, against his predecessors, that the celestial world is radically different from the sublunary world, he is not envisioning two disconnected, or only loosely connected, worlds.
if one accepted his assumptions regarding the fifth body
(Plotinus, ii 1. 2. 12–13).
ARISTOTLE'S LANGUAGE
In antiquity it was common to refer to the celestial simple body as the fifth body, the fifth substance, the fifth element, the fifth nature, or even the fifth genus. This language strongly suggests that there was a tendency to think of the celestial simple body as an additional body. In all probability, from very early on, the view that earth, water, air, and fire were the simple bodies out of which the other bodies are made was largely accepted and relatively uncontroversial. Disagreement was confined to the existence of a celestial simple body. This body was perceived as an innovation whose need was not transparent to everyone and called for an explanation. In other words, from very early on, the scope of the debate was narrowed down to, and focused on, the need for another body alongside earth, water, air, and fire. At the beginning of the DC, however, it is an entirely open question how many simple bodies or elements there are. It is only in the course of the argument that Aristotle comes to the conclusion that there is a celestial simple body which is naturally moving in a circle along with four sublunary simple bodies which naturally perform rectilinear motion.
Asked to what end one should choose to live, Anaxagoras replied “to study the heaven and the order of the whole cosmos”
(Aristotle, EE 1216 a 12–14 = DK 59 a 30).
Aristotle is not merely concerned with solving a list of problems or discussing a certain number of topics. He is engaged in an ambitious project of investigation. This project consists in an attempt to establish the right sort of connections – explanatory connections – between the things of the world. If this investigation is successful, it not only provides us with knowledge, but it gives us understanding of the world. The investigation of the natural world is no exception to this rule. Aristotle has left a certain number of logoi, each of which is a relatively independent and sufficiently self-contained argument devoted to a particular topic or problem. But there is no doubt that these logoi are conceived as parts of a unitary project of investigation. There is also no doubt that Aristotle has a certain understanding of the relations between these parts. This understanding is strongly dependent upon a specific conception of the natural world and the substantial assumption that this particular department of reality is, at least to some extent, intelligible to us. More directly, Aristotle is persuaded that the natural condition for human beings is to know and understand the truth, and that we can know and understand a lot about the natural world if only our investigation is conducted in the appropriate way.
Both Leucippus and Democritus speak of the primary bodies as always moving in the infinite void; they ought to say with what motion and what is their natural motion
(Aristotle, DC 300 b 8–10).
NATURAL AND NON-NATURAL MOTIONS
The student of nature assumes the reality of the natural world and conceives it as a certain arrangement of natural bodies. Within the broad compass of natural bodies is found a remarkable array of bodies. They range from the living celestial bodies performing a circular motion around the earth, to the living sublunary bodies endowed with the capacity for poreia and displaying the maximum degree of bodily complexity (perfect bodies), to the stationary living sublunary bodies (inferior animals and plants), and finally to the inanimate sublunary bodies. The student of nature is concerned with all these bodies on the assumption that they are either simple or composite bodies. Composite natural bodies are themselves composed of natural bodies. Earth, water, air, and fire are the sublunary simple bodies. They are the ultimate material principles of all the bodies that we encounter in the sublunary world, including the artificial bodies.
All these bodies are liable to undergo motion from one place to another. Consider the case of a stone: if dropped from a hand, a stone falls downwards. But why? Aristotle's view is that a stone is composed of earth, water, air, and fire in a certain ratio, and earth so predominates as to impart its own natural downward motion to the stone.
The science of nature is clearly concerned for the most part with bodies and magnitudes, the affections and motions of these, and the principles of this kind of substance
(Aristotle, DC 268 a 1–6).
By this point I hope to have established that Aristotle sees his science of nature as a systematic whole. It should also be clear that this science is seen as a systematic whole because it presents an account of a world that is similarly systematic. More directly, and more boldly, the science of nature mirrors the system of nature. Aristotle's conception of the natural world follows from the research program conducted in the science of nature. In other words, it is the study of the celestial and sublunary bodies that leads him to believe that the natural world is a causal arrangement of a certain type, and to the view that the study of the celestial world should precede, rather than follow, the study of the sublunary world. In the first two books of the DC are collected the results that Aristotle reached in the study of the celestial world. In the following chapters, I shall focus on specific parts of the DC and show how unusual Aristotle's conception of the celestial word is, especially if it is considered in its historical context in relation to his predecessors and successors.
One of the merits of Aristotle's approach to ethics is that it aims to be practical and, therefore, faithful to how human beings actually are. This surely helps to explain why Aristotle devotes one-fifth of his treatise to a topic that is usually neglected altogether by contemporary moral theory – friendship. We do not often find ourselves having to make a snap decision about how to steer a runaway trolley car. It rarely happens in daily life that we are engaged in delicate surgery and must face the question of whether to carve up a patient for his separate organs, for distribution to other patients who just happen to be prepped for the operating room and waiting to receive them. But friendships and “personal relationships” constitute the very fabric of daily life. If our living well does not depend on the relationships we form with others, and how we typically treat those close to us, then it is difficult to see on what it could depend. And surely Aristotle is correct in holding that any ideal of human happiness must include within it enduring and satisfying friendships: if someone were offered every good thing – wealth, good health, pleasures, and endless life – on the condition that he would be alone, he would not accept the offer (1169b17–18).
Aristotle's discussion of justice, which he regards as one among other character-related virtues, is quite different from a treatment of justice which one might find in John Stuart Mill or John Rawls. Aristotle devotes much labor, for instance, to defining justice as a “particular” rather than a “general” virtue. In order to appreciate why, we need (once again) to understand the Platonic context in which he is evidently writing.
Aristotle begins book 5 by remarking,
We observe, then, that everyone intends, in referring to “justice,” to mean that condition of character which makes someone the sort of person who does just actions, and responds justly, and who likes to see justice done. In the same way, by “injustice” they mean that which makes someone the sort of person who acts unjustly and likes to see injustice done. Very well, then, for a start, let us adopt these as schematic definitions.
(1129a6–11)
By the end of chapter 5 he has filled in those schemata, and he gives the following as his finished definitions:
Justice is that with respect to which a just person is said to be the sort of person who, of his own choice, does what is just, and who distributes goods, both to himself in his dealings with others, and to others in their relations to one another, not in such a way that he gets more of what is desirable, and his neighbor gets less (and contrariwise for harmful things), but rather in such a way that he gets an equal amount (that is, a proportionately equal amount), and, likewise, when he distributes goods to others, and he's not himself involved, he does so in such a way that the others each get an equal amount (again, a proportionately equal amount).[…]