Friday, July 5, 2024

GRICE ITALICO A/Z C7

 

Grice e Caracciolo: l’implicatura conversazionale del colloquio – filosofia italiana – Luigi Speranza (San Pietro di Morubio). Filosofo italiano. Grice: “I like Caracciolo – at Harvard, I joked on Schlipp, and stated that Heidegger was then the greatest (grossest, in German) living philosopher – as he then was, living --. Caracciolo has dedicated his life to translate Heidegger’s ‘Dutch’ mannerism into the ‘volgare’: and now I have concluded that Heidegger is perhaps the grossest dead philosopher – “in cammino verso il linguaggio: il dire originario” –“.  Grice: “Note that Caracciolo’s ‘cammino’ translates Heidegger’s ‘weg’ – my ‘way’ of words – but for Heidegger is ‘way to’ (weg zur) – as it should!” cf. Speranza, “in cammino verso la conversazione” – versus “il cammino della convresazione’ –“ Grice: “Note that in Italian, unlike German, you drop the otiose ‘the’ of ‘way – “Nel cammino” is o-kay, but “in cammino” is the choice by Caracciolo!” – cf. Aligheri, ‘nel cammino’ OF his life, towards heaven, or paradise, that is.” Studia a Verona e Pavia. Fa la conoscenza di Olivelli, con il quale collaborò alla stesura dei Quaderni del ribelle. Olivelli divenne uno dei più noti martiri della Resistenza e a lui Caracciolo dedica un saggio, “Teresio Olivelli: biografia di un martire” (Brescia). Insegna a Pavia, Lodi, Brescia, e Genova. La sua filosofia si sviluppa inizialmente all'interno della tradizione crociana, ma poi acquisisce tratti più originali a contatto con Jaspers, Löwith e Heidegger. In cammino verso il Linguaggio. Di particolare interesse e importanza sono i suoi studi sul nichilismo a partire da Leopardi e sulla dimensione religiosa dell'esistenza. Nella sua riflessione egli ha pure mostrato una forte attenzione per il rapporto tra pensiero e poesia, tra pensiero e musica. Altre opere: “L'estetica di Croce nel suo svolgimento e nei suoi limiti (Torino); L'estetica e la religione di Croce (Arona); Estetica (Brescia); Etica e trascendenza, Brescia); Arte e pensiero nelle loro istanze metafisiche. I problemi della "Critica del giudizio", Milano); Studi kantiani, Napoli); La persona e il tempo, Arona; Saggi filosofici, Genova); Studi jaspersiani, Milano); La religione come struttura e come modo autonomo della coscienza, Milano); Arte e linguaggio, Milano); Religione ed eticità, Napoli); Löwith, Napoli); Nichilismo, Napoli); Nichilismo ed etica, Genova); Studi heideggeriani, Genova); Nulla religioso e imperativo dell'eterno, Genova); Politica e autobiografia, Brescia); Leopardi e il nichilismo, Milano); La virtù e il corso del mondo (Alessandria); L'assolutezza del Cristianesimo e la storia delle religioni, Napoli); Filosofia della religione; In cammino verso il Linguaggio; Theophania. Lo spirito della religione antica. Filosofia umana. Esistenza e Trascendenza. Lo spazio della trascendenza. La prospettiva estetica ed etico-religiosa. Caracciolo. Sentieri del suo filosofare. Unterwegs zur Sprache. In cammino verso il linguaggio. Herrmann, Die Sprache. Il Linguaggio. Die Sprache im Gedicht. Il linguaggio nella poesia. Eine Erörterung von Georg Trakls Gedicht. Aus einem Gespräch von der Sprache. Zwischen einem Japaner und einem Fragenden. Das Wesen der Sprache. L’essenza del linguaggio. Das Wort. La parola. Il verbo. Der Weg zur Sprache. In cammino verso il linguaggio. Essere e tempo. La riflessione esplicita sul linguaggio. ζῷον λόγον ἔχον. Ermeneutica e metodo storico-ermeneutico. Il ‘non’ come fondamento. Più in alto della realtà sta la possibilità. La Kehre. L’essere: un problema che rimane problema. Poesia. L'arte come messa in opera della verità. Hӧlderlin. Il tempo della povertà. Il pensiero come Kehre. In cammino verso il silenzio. La differenza e il fondamento. In cammino verso il linguaggio: il dire originario. In cammino verso il linguaggio: il suono del silenzio. “Heidegger is the greatest living philosopher”.  Heidegger In cammino verso il linguaggio Curatore: C. Mursia. Heidegger scrisse In cammino verso il linguaggio. Ci sono alcune cose interessanti e volevo proporvele questa sera. Innanzi tutto l’esordio in cui è molto chiaro e molto deciso dice: L’uomo parla, noi parliamo nella veglia e nel sonno, parliamo sempre anche quando non proferiamo parola ma ascoltiamo o leggiamo soltanto perfino quando neppure ascoltiamo o leggiamo ma ci dedichiamo a un lavoro o ci perdiamo nell’ozio, in un modo o nell’altro parliamo ininterrottamente, parliamo perché il parlare ci è connaturato. Il parlare non nasce da un particolare atto di volontà, si dice che l’uomo è per natura parlante, e vale per acquisito, che l’uomo a differenza della pianta e dell’animale è l’essere vivente capace di parola, dicendo questo non si intende affermare soltanto che l’uomo possiede accanto ad altre capacità anche quella del parlare, si intende dire che proprio il linguaggio fa dell’uomo quell’essere vivente che egli è in quanto uomo. L’uomo è uomo in quanto parla, è la lezione di Humboldt, resta però da riflettere che cosa significhi “l’Uomo”. Ora considera una poesia di Kraus: Quando la neve cade alla finestra a lungo risuona la campana della sera, per molti la tavola è pronta, la casa è tutta in ordine. Alcuni nel loro errare giungono alla porta per oscuri sentieri, aureo fiorisce l’albero delle grazie, la fresca linfa della terra, silenzioso entra il viandante, il dolore ha pietrificato la soglia, là risplende in pura luce, sopra la tavola, pane e vino. La sua ferita piena di grazie lenisce la dolce forza dell’amore “o nuda sofferenza dell’uomo” colui che muto ha lottato con gli angeli. Ve l’ho letta visto che ne parla, che cosa “chiama” la prima strofa? Perché lui dice che il linguaggio è qualcosa che “chiama” le cose letteralmente dice “il linguaggio parla” ma come parla? Dove ci è dato cogliere questo suo parlare? questo già è interessante perché non è l’uomo, ma è il linguaggio che parla, dice: innanzi tutto in una parola già detta, in questa infatti il parlare si è già realizzato, il parlare non finisce in ciò che è stato detto. Qui sentirete a breve echeggiare anche molte cose di Lacan e di altri. In ciò che è stato detto il parlare resta custodito, in ciò che è stato detto il parlare riunisce il modo del suo perdurare, è ciò che grazie ad esso perdura, il suo perdurare, la sua essenza, ma per lo più, e troppo spesso, ciò che è stato detto noi lo incontriamo soltanto come il passato del parlare. // Lui considera la prima strofa e dice: che cosa “chiama” la prima strofa? Chiama cose, dice loro di venire, dove? Non certo qui, nel senso di farsi presenti fra ciò che è presente, sicché per esempio la tavola di cui parla Kraus venga a collocarsi fra le file di poltrone da loro occupate, il luogo  2 dell’arrivo che è con-chiamato nella chiamata, è una presenza serbata intatta nella sua natura di assenza, è questo il luogo in cui quel nominante chiamare dice alle cose di venire, in una assenza, poi preciserà fra breve il chiamare è un invitare tenete conto che sta dicendo della parola è l’invito alle cose ad essere veramente tali per gli uomini, la “caduta della neve” (qui cita un’altra strofa di Kraus) porta gli uomini sotto il cielo che si oscura inoltrandosi nella notte, il suonare della “campana della sera” li porta come mortali di fronte al divino, “casa” e “tavola” vincolano i mortali alla terra, le cose che la poesia nomina in tal modo “chiamate”, adunano presso di sé cielo e terra, i mortali e i divini, i quattro “cielo, terra, i mortali e i divini” costituiscono nel loro relazionarsi una unità originaria, le cose trattengono presso di sé il quadrato dei “quattro”, in questo adunare e trattenere consiste l’esser cosa delle cose, l’unitario quadrato di cielo e terra, mortali e divini, immanente all’essenza delle cose in quanto cose, noi lo chiamiamo “il mondo”. La poesia nominando le cose le chiama in tale loro essenza, queste nel loro essere e operare come cose dispiegano il mondo, nel mondo esse stanno e in questo loro stare nel mondo è la realtà e la loro durata, le cose in quanto sono e operano come tali portano a compimento il mondo. Nel tedesco antico “portare a compimento” si dice “bern, bären” donde i termini “gebären” “generare” e “Gebärde” “gesto”, quanto mettono in atto la loro essenza le cose sono cose, in quanto mettono in atto la loro essenza esse generano il mondo. La prima strofa chiama le cose al loro esser tali, dice loro di venire, tal dire chiamando le cose le chiama presso, le invita, al tempo stesso sospinge verso le cose, affida queste al mondo da cui si manifestano, per questo la prima strofa nomina non soltanto cose ma insieme il mondo, chiama i molti che come mortali fanno parte del quadrato del mondo, le cose condizionano i mortali ciò a questo punto significa: le cose visitano di volta in volta i mortali sempre e solo insieme col mondo. La prima strofa parla nell’atto che dice alle cose di venire, la seconda strofa parla in modo diverso dalla prima eccetera … qual è la questione qui? Importante perché ci sta dicendo che c’è il mondo che è fatto di che cosa? “dei, mortali, cielo, terra”, il mondo è ciò per cui le cose sono quelle che sono, adesso ve la dico in modo molto più semplice e capirete subito: “le cose” sono gli enti, il “mondo” è l’Essere. In questa posizione sta dicendo che senza il mondo cioè senza l’“Essere”, che poi questo mondo, lui è preciso qui quando dice “la caduta della neve” per esempio nel verso “porta gli uomini sotto il cielo che si oscura inoltrandosi nella notte e il suonare della campana della sera li porta come mortali di fronte al divino” cioè queste parole costruiscono la scena entro la quale la “cosa” può apparire, come se fosse, adesso preciseremo meglio, come se la “cosa” fosse una sorta di significante, adesso sto un po’ stravolgendo ma per farvi capire, il “mondo” il significato, senza significante non c’è significato e viceversa, il significato cioè ciò che questa “cosa”, questa parola produce, se lui nomina il “suonare della campana” è chiaro che questo suonare della campana evoca qualcosa, evoca il divino, evoca la religione, evoca tantissime cose, adesso lui ne cita solo una, ma potrebbero essere sterminate ed è all’interno di questo che l’ente compare, Intervento: come se le cose potessero apparire solo in questa scena che è il “mondo”. Esattamente, però senza gli enti il mondo non c’è. Intervento: il mondo è la totalità degli enti? Sì, esattamente, poi: Come il chiamare che nomina la cose chiama presso e rimanda lontano, così il dire che nomina il “mondo” è invito a questo a farsi vicino e al tempo stesso lontano. Cosa vuole dire che “chiama presso e rimanda lontano” questo “chiamare”? le chiama le cose parlando, io chiamo le cose quindi è come se me le avvicinassi ma mentre avvicino queste cose, queste cose si allontanano anche, si allontanano perché di cosa sono fatte? Intervento: c’è sempre quell’assenza di prima. Sì, queste parole sono assenti, nel senso che non sono lì in quanto tali, sono lì sempre in quanto riferite al mondo ecco: esso, il chiamare, affida il mondo alle cose e insieme accoglie e custodisce le cose nello splendore del mondo, il mondo concede alle cose la loro essenza. Quindi è questo mondo, questa scena, io adesso uso dei termini che lui non usa ma solo per rendere le cose più semplici, è questo “mondo” che dà alle cose la loro essenza, qui sembra essere ancora platonico, questo mondo  3 potrebbe essere pensato come il mondo delle idee ed è questo mondo delle idee che da alle cose, agli aggeggi la loro essenza. Le cose d’altra parte fanno essere il mondo, il mondo consente le cose. Il parlare delle prime due strofe parla nell’atto che sollecita le cose a venire verso il mondo e il mondo verso le cose- tenete sempre conto che sta descrivendo cosa fa il linguaggio: neppure però costituiscono soltanto una coppia, mondo e cose non sono infatti realtà che stiano l’una accanto all’altra, esse si compenetrano vicendevolmente, compenetrandosi i due passano attraverso una linea mediana, in questo si costituisce la loro unità, per tale unità sono intimi linea mediana e l’intimità, per indicare tale linea la lingua tedesca usa il termine “das …” il “fra” “fra mezzo” la lingua latina dice “inter”, all’“inter” latino corrisponde il tedesco “unter”. Intimità di mondo e cosa non è fusione - ora cominciate a pensare a queste due cose “mondo e cosa” come significato e significante e adesso vi dirò perché non è una fusione fra le due cose, pensate a De Saussure, L’intimità di mondo e cosa regna soltanto dove mondo e cosa nettamente si distinguono e restano distinti, nella linea che è a mezzo tra i due, nel fra mezzo di mondo e cosa, nel loro “inter”, questo “unter, domina lo stacco. ora adesso non so se è già il caso di dire qua, ecco qui comincia con la questione della “differenza”: L’intimità di mondo e cosa è nello stacco, “Schied” “del frammezzo” e nella “dif-ferenza” “Unter Schied”, il termine “differenza” è qui sottratto all’uso corrente e consueto non indica un concetto generico nella cui area rientrino molteplici specie di differenza, la “dif-ferenza” di cui qui si parla esiste solo come quest’una e unica, la dif-ferenza regge, non però con essa identificandosi, quella linea mediana nel modo e nella relazione alla quale, e grazie alla quale, mondo e cose trovano la loro unità, l’intimità della dif-ferenza è l’elemento unificante della diafora, di ciò che differenziando porta e compone, la dif-ferenza porta il mondo al suo esser mondo, porta le cose al suo esser cose, portandoli a compimento li porta l’un verso l’altro. Il termine “dif-ferenza” non indica per ciò più una distinzione posta tra oggetti del pensiero presentativo – Oggetti del pensiero presentativo sono quelli che il pensiero mostra, presenta – né la differenza è solo una relazione oggettivamente esistente tra mondo e cosa, che il pensiero presentativo venendovisi a imbattere possa constatare, né la differenza è comunque relazione tra mondo e cosa destinata ad essere in un ulteriore momento negata e trascesa – cioè non può togliersi – la differenza di mondo e cosa fa che le cose emergano come quelle che generano il mondo, fa che il mondo emerga come quello che consente le cose. La dif-ferenza è la dimensione in quanto misura nella sua interezza facendo essere nella sua propria essenza lo spazio di mondo e cosa, la differenza come linea mediana di mondo e cose rappresenta generandola la misura in cui mondo e cosa realizzano la loro essenza, nel nominare che chiama “cosa” e “mondo” quel che è propriamente nominato è la dif-ferenza. A questo punto è ovvio che ciascuno di voi ha pensato necessariamente a Derrida, il quale Derrida ha preso a man bassa da Heidegger ma tra breve sarà ancora più evidente, lui, Derrida ha preso Heidegger e lo ha riletto con De Saussure dice: “Questo chiamare” ricordate prima ha detto del chiamare: Questo chiamare è l’essenza del parlare, la dif-ferenza è la chiamata dalla quale soltanto ogni “chiamare” è esso stesso chiamato, alla quale pertanto ogni possibile “chiamare” appartiene. // Il linguaggio parla in quanto suono nella “quiete” (adesso dirà che cosa intende) la quiete acquieta, (ovviamente) portando mondo e cose alla loro essenza, il fondare e comporre mondo e cose nel modo dell’acquietamento è l’evento della dif-ferenza, il linguaggio, il suono della quiete è in quanto “la dif-ferenza”, è come farsi evento, l’essere del linguaggio è l’evenire della dif-ferenza. Il suono della quiete non è nulla di umano, certo l’uomo è nella sua essenza parlante, il termine “parlante” significa qui che emerge ed è fatto se stesso dal parlare del linguaggio. (lui è preciso su questo cioè non è l’uomo che parla, è il linguaggio che parla, e il linguaggio non è un ente, non è un oggetto al pari degli altri, infatti quando la logica parla di “linguaggio oggetto” compie un abominio per Heidegger, perché il linguaggio non è un oggetto, mai può essere oggetto dunque: In forza di tale evenire l’uomo nell’atto che è dalla lingua portato a se stesso, alla sua propria essenza continua ad appartenere all’essenza del linguaggio, al suono della quiete (cioè è l’uomo che appartiene all’essenza del linguaggio non viceversa) tale evento (il suono della quiete) si realizza in quanto l’essenza del linguaggio (il suono della quiete) si avvale del parlare dei mortali per essere dai mortali percepita come appunto “suono della quiete”, solo in quanto  4 gli uomini rientrano nel dominio del suono della quiete, i mortali sono a loro modo capaci di un parlare attuantesi in suoni. Il parlare dei mortali è un “nominante chiamare”, (questo è fondamentale in Heidegger lo ripeto “il parlare è un nominante chiamare”) è invito alle cose e al mondo farsi presso muovendo dalla semplicità della differenza. La pura del parlare mortale è la parola della poesia, l’autentica poesia non è mai un modo più elevato della lingua quotidiana vero è piuttosto il contrario, che cioè il parlare quotidiano è una poesia dimenticata come logorata nella quale a stento è dato ancora percepire il suono di un autentico chiamare. Ecco la questione che sta ponendo è esattamente quella che pone Derrida, questo suono, questo suono silenzioso che non si sente ma che tuttavia è ciò che costituisce la condizione della parola che chiama, beh è ciò che Derrida ha elaborato come “differance”, lui usa per indicare questo suono che non c’è, usa questo esempio, lui scrive in francese “difference” in francese si scrive così, però a “difference” sostituisce alla e una a, scrivendo quindi “differance” che in francese è scorretto perché si scrive “difference”, però dice anche cambiando la e con la a, il suono della parola in francese “differance” non cambia, è esattamente lo stesso cioè questa e non si sente, che metta la e o metta la a, è uguale, non si sente, cioè quella cosa che lui chiama la “differance” è esattamente questo suono muto, che tuttavia è quella cosa che consente alla parola di essere tale e cioè di, mettiamola così, lui, forse dovrei aggiungere qualcosa, lui, Derrida muove a queste considerazioni partendo da De Saussure, dal segno di De Saussure “significante/significato” e quindi ciò che dice è che questa barra è quella che divide il significante dal significato ma è quella che compone il segno, senza questa barra che distingue il significante dal significato il segno non c’è, però questa barra si scrive, si mette il trattino, come faceva De Saussure, ma non c’è, non suona né nel significante né nel significato ecco questa barra è la “dif-ferance”, è quella cosa che non compare, che non ha suono però è la condizione perché il segno sia segno, cioè perché la parola sia la parola è indeterminabile cioè questo suono di cui parla qui Heidegger il “suono della quiete” è questo suono, senza questo “cosa e mondo”, adesso la dico in modo molto rozzo ma si sovrapporrebbero l’uno altro, l’ente, cesserebbe di essere tale perché l’ente è tale perché inserito all’interno del mondo, e il mondo è tale perché esiste un ente che lo pone in essere, esattamente come il significante e il significato. Heidegger non parla né di significante né di significato, non gliene importa assolutamente nulla, per lui il mondo è l’essere, è l’esserci “Dasein”. Ciò che a noi interessa invece è intendere come anche in Heidegger si siano poste delle questioni molto precise intorno al linguaggio, soprattutto rispetto al fatto che il linguaggio non è un oggetto, non è una proprietà dell’uomo, non è una sua facoltà tra altre, ma è il linguaggio che parla, ricordate la famosa asserzione di Lacan quando dice “ça parle” cioè qualcosa parla, viene da qui ovviamente, è stato Heidegger a porre la questione in termini precisi, tali per cui ha preso atto del fatto che il linguaggio non è una proprietà, è questo che dice, non è una proprietà, non è un ente, non è qualcosa di cui gli umani dispongano ma è il linguaggio che parla. Che significa questo per quanto ci riguarda? Significa una cosa importante: è il linguaggio a parlare e a costruire l’uomo, e anche le cose, perché Heidegger dice che le chiama, le chiama alla presenza, però di fatto il linguaggio è quella struttura, come andiamo dicendo da tempo, senza la quale non sarebbe possibile per gli umani il dirsi tali, non sarebbe possibile costruire nessun pensiero, nulla. Quindi lui dice che il linguaggio “chiama le cose”, sì, le chiama nel senso che le crea, le produce letteralmente, e in effetti non lo dice, forse lo usa da qualche parte, non usa la parola “costruire” ma in ogni caso ciò che sta dicendo è che il linguaggio è quella cosa che in un certo senso, adesso permettetemi di dire questa cosa che ad Heidegger non piacerebbe, ma “preesiste” l’uomo in un certo senso, “preesiste” tra virgolette, perché è come se il linguaggio fosse da sempre lì, è questo mondo all’interno del quale qualche cosa può apparire. Ed è una posizione molto interessante che per altro moltissimi hanno ripreso, tutti coloro che si sono minimamente interrogati intorno al linguaggio in qualche modo hanno tenuto conto di queste asserzioni di Heidegger, questo testo è celeberrimo “In cammino verso il linguaggio”  5 Intervento: scusi, dicendo appunto dell’uomo e del linguaggio, non dice che il linguaggio “costruisce” o “inventa” l’uomo, ma dice che il linguaggio fa qualsiasi cosa, però non è giunto a dire che l’uomo non esisterebbe in quanto uomo, se non ci fosse il linguaggio? Nel senso che mantiene l’uomo un’entità che parla, che dice delle cose, o no? Dice in modo molto chiaro: Il linguaggio fa dell’uomo quell’essere vivente che egli è in quanto uomo, Dice ancora: La parola è cenno e non segno, nel senso di semplice denotazione la logica ma anche la linguistica ha sempre considerato la parola come un segno denotante qualche cosa, un segno linguistico che denota un aggeggio qualunque, lui dice che la parola è cenno, accennare a qualche cosa, alludere a qualche cosa, riferirsi indirettamente a qualche cosa, come dire lasciare che questa cosa appaia senza una determinazione precisa, cioè senza una denotazione, la denotazione appunto “de nota”, la denotazione dice qual è il significato di una cosa, ricordate la differenza fra denotazione e connotazione? Dicendo che la parola è cenno, qua nella parte in cui fa questo dialogo ipotetico con un giapponese, è come dire che la parola indica qualche cosa ma che è al di là della parola, la parola è un cenno in quanto indica il mondo all’interno del quale questa parola è inserita, ma lo accenna, non lo determina, non lo può determinare. Intervento: lo potrebbe determinare l’esserci, “Dasein”? è l’“esserci” nel mondo che determina la cosa, ovviamente di volta in volta. Sì, Heidegger oscilla però in genere tende a considerare che l’essere non può stare senza l’ente, altre volte invece sembra dire che, così notava Severino, che l’Essere possa darsi senza l’ente, cosa abbastanza improbabile, è come dire “un significante senza un significato” che cos’è? È niente. Intervento: non ho capito: che l’ente possa esserci senza l’essere, significante senza significato? Heidegger dice che l’ente e l’essere non possono darsi l’uno senza l’altro, così come, stavo dicendo, allo stesso modo come il significante e il significato non possono darsi l’uno senza l’altro. In questo senso dicevo, allora qui si riferisce a “Sein und Zeit”: Si trattava e si tratta, era ed è, di evidenziare l’essere dell’essente, certamente non più alla maniera della metafisica ma in modo che l’essere stesso si manifesti, l’essere stesso, ciò significa la presenza di ciò che può farsi presente, (la “presenza di ciò che può farsi presente”) vale a dire la differenza dei due momenti sulla base dell’unità, è questa differenza che esige l’uomo per la sua propria essenza … che è come dire cioè l’essere stesso, a questo punto se lui lo pone come la differenza dei due momenti “cosa/mondo” sulla base dell’unità, sulla base del fatto che sono inscindibili, dice che allora: è questa differenza che esige l’uomo per la sua propria essenza cioè questa differenza tra il fatto che mondo e cosa pur essendo assolutamente inscindibili sono tuttavia separati, è da lì che l’uomo trae la sua essenza, dal fatto che il significante e il significato cioè ogni parola che dice mostra si presentifica qualche cosa, nel senso che chiama qualche cosa ma mentre chiama la cosa, chiama anche il mondo all’interno del quale questa cosa è inserita e senza il quale mondo non esisterebbe neppure … Intervento: è molto vicino alla semiotica, in fondo parla di connessioni … Tutti coloro che si sono addentrati in queste questioni, e questa è un’altra cosa che forse compare in ciò che vado dicendo ultimamente, si sono trovati a interrogare questioni molto simili, perché quando si incomincia a riflettere sul modo in cui funziona il linguaggio è inevitabile accorgersi che la parola è all’interno di qualche cosa, per Heidegger è il mondo, per Greimas non è più il mondo ma un contesto di segni all’interno del quale il nucleo segnico acquista un significato, per la psicanalisi è la parola che non si può intendere se a questa parola non vengono associati tramite associazioni libere le connessioni alle quali è agganciata. Modi di interrogare una questione che sono sì differenti però incontrano molto spesso quasi una stessa direzione da seguire, quasi gli stessi elementi Intervento: però l’uomo incontrando il mondo lo simbolizza nella parola? Può accadere certo, siamo però già verso Lacan (lo evoca) sì evocandolo può anche simbolizzarlo, se vuole, non è proibito. Ecco qui parla del “non pensato” sempre riferendosi indirettamente alla differenza perché è l’impensato, non si può pensare la differenza in quanto tale, così come non può  6 neanche dirsi perché non c’è ma pur non essendoci in quanto ente costituisce, come dice Heidegger quel suono muto che tuttavia è ciò che consente a questi due elementi la cosa e il mondo di stare distinti ma al tempo stesso uniti. Intervento: non avevo conosciuto Heidegger su questo aspetto. All’Università … Su alcune cosa ha riflettuto attentamente, soprattutto intorno al linguaggio qui incomincia a parlarne in modo abbastanza esplicito già nel suo primo scritto “Essere e tempo” poi mano a mano riflettendo intorno all’Essere si accorge che una riflessione intorno all’Essere comporta una riflessione intorno al linguaggio necessariamente. Il parlare inteso nella sua pienezza significante trascende sempre la dimensione puramente fisico sensibile del suono ovviamente il parlare non è soltanto il suono ma il linguaggio come significato fattosi suono o segno scritto è qualcosa di essenzialmente soprasensibile, qualcosa che perennemente oltrepassa il puramente sensibile, il linguaggio così inteso è per sua costitutiva natura metafisico.) È la metafisica che rappresenta, badate bene: si parla, si rappresenta, se si rappresenta si compie un’operazione metafisica. Poi sul volere sapere: Il voler sapere e l’avida richiesta di spiegazioni non portano mai a un interrogare pensante, nel volere sapere si cela già sempre la presunzione di un auto coscienza che si appella a una ragione auto fondata e alla sua razionalità, il volere sapere non vuole che si stia in ascolto di fronte a ciò che è degno di essere pensato. Intervento: è una forma di controllo Esattamente, e poi c’è la seconda parte di cui ci occuperemo nel prosieguo perché ciò che stiamo facendo è straordinariamente vicino a ciò che qui Heidegger ci sta dicendo, lui non ha dubbi sul fatto che l’uomo è quello che è, perché c’è il linguaggio, non ha nessun dubbio lo pone proprio nelle prime pagine il che comporta ovviamente delle implicazioni, perché se l’uomo non è se non nel linguaggio allora, dice lui giustamente, occorre porsi in ascolto del linguaggio, che non significa ascoltare quello che qualcuno dice, ma porsi in ascolto del linguaggio e porsi in ascolto della domanda che c’è nel linguaggio, nella chiamata che il linguaggio è, il linguaggio è un chiamare le cose e fra le cose, chiama anche l’uomo nonostante che sia l’uomo la condizione perché ci sia questa chiamata. Questa è una questione sempre presente in Heidegger, infatti è stato accusato di “umanismo”, “accusato” tra virgolette, mentre lui si è sempre difeso da questo, la sua non è una posizione esistenzialista, ha dovuto attraversare l’esistenzialismo perché l’unico esistente è l’uomo, questo accendisigari per Heidegger non esiste, c’è, ma non esiste, solo gli umani esistono cioè soltanto coloro che sono in condizioni di porre la domanda, questo aggeggio, questo accendino non fa nessuna domanda. Per Heidegger l’uomo è il portatore in un certo senso del linguaggio, forse non necessariamente l’unico, però a quanto ci consta per il momento si, e questo, sempre per Heidegger, è fondamentale perché l’uomo può trarre la verità, cioè la verità sull’essere e quindi il fatto che l’essere non sia nient’altro che l’esserci dell’uomo in quanto progetto ciascuna volta, solamente nel dialogo. Nel dialogo tra umani ovviamente, ma un dialogo dove le cose si interrogano, dove si mantiene aperta la domanda non la chicchera, il parlare per il sentito dire, il sentito dire vuole dire anche averlo letto da qualche parte, ma non averlo interrogato in modo autentico. Interrogare in modo autentico e lasciarsi interrogare dalla cosa: una qualunque cosa pone delle questioni, per esempio “che cos’è?” o quando mi trovo all’interno di un progetto su come posso utilizzare quella certa cosa, pone comunque sempre delle domande, l’uomo è sempre all’interno di questo domandare, continuamente. Questo è il domandare autentico, quello che si lascia interrogare da ciò che sta dicendo, da ciò che sta facendo, le cose che sta incontrando, non da colui che invece si precipita a dare la risposta o come dicevo prima ha la fretta di sapere tutto dimenticandosi della domanda. Nella parte successiva ci saranno delle cose molto interessanti da dire. per esempio sulla poesia che per lui è importante perché la poesia accenna, e in questo accennare lascia che la parola chiami le cose, senza fermarle, senza bloccarle, senza mortificarle ma le lascia essere, lasciar essere questo è sempre stato fondamentale per Heidegger. Heidegger prosegue: La ricerca scientifica e filosofica mira da qualche tempo (siamo nel ‘59) in modo sempre più deciso a costruire ciò che viene chiamato “metalinguaggio” (qui ce l’ha con i filosofi analitici) giustamente pertanto la filosofia scientifica che si prefigge di costruire tale super linguaggio, intende se stessa come metalinguistica. Metalinguistica suona come metafisica, non soltanto suona “come” ma è, la metalinguistica è infatti la metafisica della totale trasformazione tecnica di ogni lingua in semplice strumento interplanetario di informazione, metalinguaggio e sputnik, metalinguistica e tecnica missilistica sono la stessa cosa. // (Poi cita una poesia, una poesia di Stefan George, il titolo è Das Wort (la parola). Meraviglia di lontano o sogno io portai al lembo estremo della mia terra e attesi fino a che la grigia Norna (Norna è la dea del fato, del destino) il nome trovò nella sua fonte, meraviglia o sogno potei allora afferrare consistente e forte ed ora fiorisce e splende per tutta la marca. (la marca è un territorio di confine) Un giorno giunsi colà dopo un viaggio felice con un gioiello ricco e fine, ella cercò a lungo e al fine mi annunciò “qui nulla di eguale dorme sul fondo”, al che esso sfuggì alla mia mano e mai più la mia terra ebbe il tesoro, così io appresi triste la rinuncia: “nessuna cosa è dove la parola manca”. Un numero infinito di persone considera non di meno anche questa cosa dello sputnik un prodigio, questa “cosa” che gira vertiginosamente in uno spazio del mondo ove non è mondo, e per molti essa era ed è tutt’ora un sogno, prodigio e sogno della tecnica moderna, la quale dovrebbe essere la meno disposta a riconoscere valido il pensiero che sia la parola a procurare alle cose la loro esistenza, non le parole ma le azioni contano nei calcoli dell’ossessivo calcolare planetario, lasciamo la fretta del pensare, non è proprio anche questa “cosa” quel che essa è, e così come essa è, in nome del suo nome? Certamente. Se l’affrettare nel senso del massimo potenziamento tecnico della velocità, di quella velocità nel cui spazio temporale soltanto le macchine e i congegni moderni possono essere quello che sono, (questi marchingegni sono quelli che sono perché esiste la velocità cioè esiste il concetto di velocità) se l’affrettare dunque, non avesse parlato all’uomo e non l’avesse posto sotto il suo comando, (sta parlando della tecnica ovviamente) questo comando non avesse spinto e disposto l’uomo alla fretta, se la parola di un tale disporre non avesse parlato non ci sarebbe nessuno sputnik, nessuna cosa è là dove la parola manca. La parola del linguaggio e il suo rapporto con la cosa, con qualunque cosa che è sotto il riguardo dell’essere e il modo di essere della cosa stessa resta un enigma. (l’enigma sarebbe il rapporto fra la parola e la cosa, ecco già questo dice delle cose perché nessuna cosa è dove la parola manca, beh la dice già lunga sul fatto che se non c’è la parola, se manca la parola non c’è nessuna cosa, non c’è nulla. Questo Heidegger l’aveva inteso molto bene ovviamente, non è un caso che riprenda questa poesia di Stefan George) Dice poi: l’ultimo verso infatti appunto “nessuna cosa è dove la parola manca” in tedesco “Kein ding ist wo das Wort gebricht” l’ultimo verso potrebbe allora avere anche un significato diverso da quello di un asserzione e costatazione volta nella forma del discorso indiretto che dice “nessuna cosa è dove la parola manca”, quel che segue i due punti, dopo la parola “rinuncia” (perché ci sono due punti dopo “così io presi triste la rinuncia: nessuna cosa è dove la parola manca”) non indica ciò cui si rinuncia, ma indica l’ambito entro cui la rinuncia deve immettersi, indica il comando a consentire e accordarsi al rapporto fra parola e cosa ora esperito, (“ora” esperito nel momento in cui si dice allora si esperisce la cosa, allora c’è la cosa, e la cosa è quello che è) ciò di cui il poeta ha preso la rinuncia è la sua precedente opinione nei riguardi del rapporto fra cosa e parola, rinuncia concerne il rapporto poetico con la parola a lui fino a quel momento consueto, la rinuncia è la disposizione a un rapporto diverso, nel verso “Kein ding sei wo das Wort gebricht” “sai” non sarebbe allora sul piano grammaticale un congiuntivo (“sai” vuol dire “sia”, l’indicativo è “ist”) al posto dell’indicativo “ist” bensì una forma dell’imperativo, un ordine cui il poeta obbedisce per rispettarlo anche in futuro, nel verso “nessuna cosa “sia” laddove la parola manca”, il “sia” significherebbe allora “non considerare d’ora in poi una cosa come esistente dove la parola manca” (è un imperativo categorico” e non so per quale via mi ha evocato le parole di Parmenide “sulla via del non essere non ti ci incamminerai, ma seguirai la via dell’Essere.” Con quel “sia” inteso come  8 comando, il poeta si dispone ad accettare quella rinuncia per cui egli abbandona la convinzione che qualcosa esista, già esista, anche quando la parola manca. (Non c’è già la cosa) Che significa rinuncia? La parola “Verzicht” Rientra nell’aria del verbo “verzeihen”; una locuzione antica dice “Sich eines Dinges verzeihen”, e significa “abbandonare qualcosa” “rinunciarvi”. Zeihen corrisponde al latino dicere, all’antico alto tedesco “sagan” (il sagen del tedesco moderno), da cui “saga”. La rinuncia è un Entsagen, letteralmente un “disdire”. Nella sua rinuncia il poeta dice “no” al suo precedente rapporto con la parola, questo soltanto? No. Nell’atto in cui rifiuta qualcosa, già gli è stato destinata una chiamata alla quale egli non si sottrae più. (nella sua rinuncia, dice, rinuncia soltanto all’idea che qualcosa ci sia anche senza la parola? già questa è una bella rinuncia. Rinuncia di fronte a ciò che incontro, a pensare che questa cosa che incontro sia già lì prima che io la dica, prima della parola, non che io la dica propriamente, però aggiunge no, non è proprio così, ciò a cui non si sottrae è ciò che gli è stato destinato “una chiamata alla quale egli non si sottrae più”. Chi lo chiama a quella maniera, se non la parola?) In termini più chiari il poeta ha capito che solo la parola fa sì che la parola appaia e sia pertanto presente come quella cosa che è, la rinuncia che il poeta apprende è della natura di quella compiuta rinuncia alla quale soltanto è dato attingere ciò che da lungo nascosto è propriamente già destinato. Il poeta esperisce la sua vocazione di poeta come una chiamata alla parola, ma cosa raggiunge il poeta? Non una semplice nozione, seguendo questa chiamata, egli giunge nel rapporto della parola con la cosa, questo rapporto non è però una relazione fra la cosa da una parte e la parola dall’altra (qui c’è la parola e lì c’è l’ente e la relazione è in mezzo) la parola stessa è il rapporto che via via incorpora e trattiene in sé la cosa, in modo che essa è una cosa. Sulle prime e per lungo tratto pare che alla fonte del linguaggio (poi dirà che è la parola la fonte dell’Essere) il poeta abbia bisogno di portare soltanto le meraviglie che lo incantano (qui sta sempre commentando la poesia di George) e i sogni che lo estasiano, pare che le parole che a quella fonte egli va, con non incrinata fiducia, a cercare siano solo quelle che convengono a quanto di meraviglia e sogno ha preso corpo nella sua fantasia, prima di allora il poeta, confermato in questo dalla felice riuscita delle sue precedenti composizioni poetiche, era dell’opinione (qui sta parlando di George) dell’opinione che le cose poetiche meraviglia e sogni avessero già, da e per sé, garanzia di esistenza (come ciascuno pensa) e che tutto consistesse poi nel saper trovare per esse anche la parola atta ad esprimerle e rappresentarle. (non è questo il pensiero comune?) Sulle prime e a lungo è parso che le parole fossero come pigli che afferrano ciò che già esiste, ed è per sé esistente considerato, e ad esso danno consistenza ed espressione portandolo così a bellezza. (qui ripete ancora una parte della poesia): Qui meraviglia e sogni, là nomi che afferrano gli uni e gli altri fusi in uno e la poesia era nata, tutto fuso insieme, bastava essa a quello che è il compito del poeta dar vita a ciò che permane, perché duri e sia? Ad un certo punto giunge però Stefan, per Stefan George il momento nel quale il poetare che fino allora gli era stato consueto, quel poetare sicuro di sé viene bruscamente meno riportandogli alla mente la parola di Hölderlin, ma ciò che permane fondano i poeti, infatti un giorno il poeta arriva il viaggio per di più è stato buono e anche per questo egli è pieno di speranza, dalla dea del destino carica d’anni e chiede il nome per il gioiello ricco e fine che porta sulla mano (questo gioiello ricco e fine è la parola) solo che lei chiede il nome della parola (e questo crea qualche problema) questo non è meraviglia di lontano e neppure sogno, la dea cerca a lungo ma invano, alla fine gli annuncia “nulla d’eguale dorme qui sul fondo” (non c’è la parola per dire la parola, “nulla d’eguale” cioè nulla che sia come il gioiello ricco e fine che gli sta sulla mano) la parola capace di far essere quel gioiello che sta semplicemente lì sulla mano quello che esso è, una tale parola dovrebbe scaturire da quella sicura custodia che riposa nella quiete di un sonno profondo, soltanto una parola veniente di lì potrebbe portare e fermare il gioiello nella ricchezza e gentilezza del suo semplice essere. (Ripete le parole del poeta) “Nulla di eguale dorme qui sul fondo” a tal dire esso sfuggì alla mia mano (questo gioiello) e mai più la mia terra ebbe il tesoro. Il fine ricco gioiello che era lì sulla mano non giunge all’essere di una cosa, non diventa tesoro cioè ricchezza custodita nella poesia di quella terra, il poeta non precisa la natura del gioiello che non poté divenire tesoro della sua terra ma che gli donò tuttavia l’esperienza del  9 linguaggio, l’occasione di apprendere quella rinuncia nella quale l’abdicazione corrisponde, da parte del rapporto fra parola e cosa, l’assenso a un disvelamento, l’oggetto ricco e fine è cosa diversa dalla meraviglia di lontano oppure sogno, se poi la parola canta il cammino poetico proposto proprio di Stefan George è lecito pensare che nel gioiello sia adombrata la delicata ricchezza della semplicità che nell’ultimo periodo della sua attività si presenta al poeta come ciò che deve essere detto “la parola della parola”. Qui Heidegger affronta una questione, poi diremo mano a mano, e se la porta appresso perché ovviamente non ha soluzione cioè quella parola che è all’origine della parola, e la Norna, la dea del destino, del fato glielo dice qui “sul fondo non giace nulla di simile”, non c’è, non c’è il fine, il limite del linguaggio, il punto da cui comincia. Certo che non c’è, Heidegger poi lo allude, lo allude nel dire autentico del poeta e il dire autentico del poeta è quello che ovviamente nel pensiero di Heidegger è quello che lascia dire l’Essere, lo lascia apparire, lo disvela, l’ἀλήθεια. Però ciò che qui il poeta cerca di fatto è la parola della parola, cioè l’essenza propriamente della parola, ma qui si scontra contro un qualche cosa che non c’è perché è la parola che dà l’essenza alle cose, dà l’Essere alle cose, e quindi ci vorrebbe un altro Essere che dia Essere all’Essere della parola, la cosa non avrebbe più senso. Heidegger lo pone come una sorta di enigma, però di fatto non possiamo parlare di enigma quanto piuttosto del tentativo di dare anche alla parola o meglio di trasformare la parola in ente, lui dirà tra un po’ che la parola non è un ente al pari di qualunque altro, è un'altra cosa, è ciò che da l’accesso all’ente, infatti lo dice utilizzando la poesia “nulla è là dove la parola manca”, se nulla è là dove la parola manca è ovvio che anche la parola potrebbe essere intesa come ente, ma a questo punto la cosa non funziona più. L’apparire di qualche cosa che è il λόγος, lo vedremo più avanti, λόγος non inteso come il discorso, il racconto, la ragione, nulla di tutto ciò, il λόγος è una delle forme dell’Essere per Heidegger, è questo logos che consente l’apertura cioè il linguaggio consente l’aprirsi della parola che nomina qualche cosa, nel momento in cui nomina qualche cosa questa cosa è. C’è. Intervento: la parola è ciò che differenzia l’istinto dalla pulsione. Intervento: l’uomo, diciamo, arrivando a possedere la parola nominando gli oggetti, qualificandosi come possessore della parola, identificandosi come ciò che padroneggia la realtà, come il bambino che si distacca dall’uniforme primordiale sia come essere sociale, essere sociale organizza la società che si differenzia dal gruppo indistinto dall’orda primitiva, o comunque dai gruppi degli animali. Intervento: dal branco degli animali, esattamente grazie, ecco possedendo la parola ecco io la intenderei così … Heidegger ha un’opinione differente, perché dice: “quando poniamo una domanda al linguaggio, una domanda sulla sua essenza, già del linguaggio deve esserci stato fatto dono, non possiamo chiederci qualcosa sul linguaggio se già non possediamo il linguaggio, se vogliamo porre una domanda sull’essenza, sull’essenza cioè del linguaggio allora anche del significato di “essenza” ci deve essere già stato fatto dono, domanda “a” e domanda “su” presuppongono qui, come sempre, che ciò cui e su cui va la domanda abbia già fatto giungere la parola sollecitatrice, ogni posizione di domanda è possibile solo in quanto ciò che si fa problema ha già iniziato a parlare e a dire di se stesso. // (cita ancora la frase: nessuna cosa è dove la parola manca) Accenna al rapporto tra parola e cosa prospettando il modo che la parola stessa risulti il rapporto, in quanto essa trae all’essere (la parola) e mantiene nell’essere ogni cosa (qualunque essa sia), senza la parola che si identifica con la forza del rapporto, il complesso delle cose, il mondo, sprofonda nel buio insieme all’io che porta all’estremo lembo della propria terra, alla fonte dei nomi ciò che ha incontrato di meraviglia e di sogno. Perché quel che ci interessa è un’esperienza, un essere in cammino, noi oggi in questa lezione che segna il passaggio tra la prima e la terza conferenza (in genere la seconda fa questo, il passaggio fra la prima e la terza) rifletteremo sul cammino, è necessaria al riguardo un’osservazione preliminare dato che la maggior parte di loro si occupa in prevalenza di ricerca scientifica, (il pubblico che aveva)nelle scienze la via al sapere va sotto il nome di metodo, “metodo” “μετα ὁδός” “attraverso il cammino” “lungo il cammino”, il metodo non è specie nella scienza moderna un puro strumento al servizio della scienza  10 anzi al contrario è il metodo che ha assunto a proprio servizio la scienza. Questo fatto è stato visto in tutta la sua portata per la prima volta da Nietzsche, che così ne parla nelle annotazioni che seguono, queste fanno parte del corpus degli inediti pubblicato postumo dal titolo “Der Wille zur Macht” “La volontà di potenza”. La prima dice “ciò che caratterizza il nostro XIX secolo non è la vittoria della scienza ma la vittoria del metodo scientifico sulla scienza”. L’altra notazione incomincia con la proposizione “Le idee più importanti furono trovate per ultime, ma le idee più importanti sono i metodi” in realtà anche Nietzsche è giunto assai tardi a scoprire questo rapporto tra metodo e scienza e precisamente l’ultimo anno della sua lucidità mentale nel 1888 a Torino. Nelle scienze non solo il tema viene posto dal metodo ma viene immesso nel metodo e vi resta sottoposto, la corsa folle, che oggi trascina le scienze verso mete che esse stesse ignorano, ha la sua forza propulsiva nel potenziamento e nel progressivo assoggettamento alla tecnica del metodo e delle possibilità a questo intrinseche, nel metodo è tutta la potenza del sapere, il tema rientra nel metodo. Bene vi lascio riflettere su queste questioni, mercoledì prossimo riprendiamo questo testo. Vi rileggo la poesia di Stefan George perché la riprende si chiama “La parola”, Das Wort: Meraviglia di lontano o sogno io portai al lembo estremo della mia terra e attesi fino a che la grigia Norna il nome trovò nella sua fonte, meraviglia o sogno potei allora afferrare consistente e forte ed ora fiorisce e splende per tutta la marca. Un giorno giunsi colà dopo viaggio felice con un gioiello ricco e fine, ella cercò a lungo e alfine mi annunciò “qui nulla d’eguale dorme sul fondo”. Al che esso sfuggì alla mia mano e mai più la mia terra ebbe il tesoro, così io appresi triste la rinuncia “nessuna cosa è dove la parola manca”. C’è da dire qui che la questione che sta ponendo questa poesia è interessante perché di fatto sta chiedendo alla Norna di fornirgli, dicevamo l’altra volta, la parola della parola, e cioè un qualche cosa che è fuori della parola e che dovrebbe garantire l’essere della parola. Ovviamente cercare la parola fuori dalla parola è un problema, tant’è che la Norna, saggia, dice “qui nulla d’eguale dorme sul fondo” e allora lui ha appreso la rinuncia: non troverà mai qualche cosa che da fuori della parola possa garantire la parola… Intervento: sarebbe il significato del significato? Non esattamente, perché il significato del significato è ancora un altro significato, quindi un altro termine, un altro elemento linguistico, qui cerca invece proprio la garanzia, cioè il qualche cosa che è fuori dal linguaggio e che dia alla parola la sua consistenza. “Nessuna cosa è dove la parola manca” accenna al rapporto tra parola e cosa, prospettandolo in modo che la parola stessa risulti il rapporto, in quanto essa trae all’essere e mantiene nell’essere ogni cosa, qualunque essa sia. // Infatti fra le primissime cose cui diede voce il pensiero occidentale rientra il rapporto tra cosa e parola e precisamente nella figura del rapporto tra essere e dire, questo rapporto sorprende il pensiero in modo così subitaneo e sconvolgente da dirsi in una sola parola, esso suona “λόγος”, ma ancora più sconcertante è per noi il fatto che in tutto questo non si fa un’esperienza pensante del linguaggio, nel senso cioè che il linguaggio stesso in base a quel rapporto giunga propriamente a dirsi. Cioè sta dicendo che il linguaggio non “si dice” nel senso che non c’è modo di aggirare il linguaggio, di uscire dal linguaggio e poi di lì parlare del linguaggio sapendo di che cosa si sta parlando, non c’è uscita dal linguaggio Se sempre il linguaggio ricusa, in questo senso, la sua essenza (cioè non dice mai che cosa realmente è, perché appunto dovrebbe uscire fuori dalla parola) allora questo rifiuto fa parte dell’essenza del linguaggio (il rifiuto della Norna). Il linguaggio non solo si trattiene così in se stesso nel nostro corrente parlarlo, ma trattenendosi esso in sé, con la sua origine nega la sua essenza a quel pensiero presentativo nel quale comunemente ci muoviamo, per questo non possiamo nemmeno più dire che l’essenza del linguaggio sia il linguaggio dell’essenza (come diceva prima) a meno che la parola “linguaggio” non indichi nel secondo caso qualcosa d’altro che cioè quel rifiuto dell’essenza del linguaggio a dirsi, proprio esso, parla. (In altri termini sta dicendo che il linguaggio non dice se  11 stesso, si trattiene dal dire di se stesso nell’accezione che indicavo prima, e cioè come se volesse parlare da fuori il linguaggio per dire che cos’è esattamente il linguaggio, si trattiene dal fare questo. Heidegger dice che non possiamo nemmeno più dire che l’“essenza del linguaggio sia il linguaggio dell’essenza” come diceva prima e cioè che l’essenza del linguaggio, ciò che è più proprio al linguaggio è il linguaggio dell’essenza, il linguaggio dell’essenza è quel linguaggio che parla di ciò che è proprio, a meno che, dice, questo linguaggio non lo si intenda nelle due cose in modo differente e cioè nel secondo caso intendendo che è proprio lui che parla e cioè il linguaggio dell’essenza è ciò che parla continuamente, il linguaggio dell’essenza vale a dire sarebbe, per dirla con Heidegger, il “dire originario”, quel dire cioè che muove nel momento in cui è qualcosa, qualcosa appare e questo dire lascia che ciò che appare interroghi, ciò che si dice, a questo punto, il “λόγος” ciò che fa esistere le cose, a questo punto è lui, è soltanto lui che parla. Qui c’è adesso forse qualcosa che è ancora più chiaro, dice:) “Nessuna cosa è (sia) dove la parola manca”. Così suona la rinuncia del poeta e noi abbiamo aggiunto che qui viene in evidenza il rapporto fra cosa e parola. (Il rapporto tra cosa e parola è importante perché è ciò che la metafisica ha sempre cercato di stabilire con certezza, lì c’è la parola e lì c’è la cosa, però è un problema come dicevamo la volta scorsa, è la questione tipica della metafisica e cioè il problema del “terzo uomo” come diceva già Aristotele, cioè c’è un terzo elemento che deve fare da tramite tra i due, il problema è che questo terzo elemento che deve consentire il bloccarsi di questa relazione tra cosa e parola, anziché compiere questo rinvia la cosa all’infinito, perché poi dopo il “terzo uomo” c’è il quarto, c’è il quinto c’è il sesto e così via all’infinito e quindi non raggiungerà mai la cosa): Abbiamo anche detto che “cosa” (lui lo mette tra virgolette) indica qui ogni possibile essente quale ne sia il modo d’essere. (cioè qualunque cosa) Abbiamo detto ancora riguardo alla parola, che questa non solo sta in rapporto con la cosa ma porta la cosa che di volta in volta nomina, la cosa in quanto essente che è e tale, “è”(tra virgolette) in questo reggendola, trattenendola, dandole per così dire il sostentamento a essere cosa, questo sarebbe il parlare autentico (la parola che fa essere ciò che dice, nel momento in cui dice le cose è in quel momento che esistono, che sono quello che sono. È questo che sta dicendo. Conseguentemente abbiamo detto che la parola non si limita ad essere in rapporto con la cosa ma che la parola stessa è ciò che porta e serba la cosa come cosa. (che è ancora di più che “la parola stessa è la cosa”, perché la parola è ciò che porta e “mantiene” e fa perdurare la cosa in quanto cosa, dice che la “parola in quanto ciò che porta e serba è il rapporto stesso”. Qui badate bene che dice “è il rapporto stesso” anzi l’ha già detto varie volte, come dire che questo rapporto tra parola e cosa è la parola stessa, quindi non c’è più la parola e la cosa ma c’è una relazione tra parola e cosa, nel senso che la parola rende la cosa quella che è, e solo la parola può farlo, cioè il λόγος, e questo è la parola. Qui si potrebbe anche fare un accenno alla questione della metafisica, così come trascorre da Platone fino a Heidegger, non è altro che lo spostare una cosa presente a una cosa che presente non è, e che deve dare il senso, il significato a ciò che è presente, da qui tutte le distinzioni dalle più antiche alle più recenti: “sensibile – ultrasensibile”, “immanente – trascendente”, “significante – significato”, “enunciazione – enunciato”, l’ultimo in ordine di tempo: “conscio – inconscio”. Per questo dico che tutta questa struttura è metafisica, è metafisica sempre in questa accezione ovviamente, cioè ciò che questo significato di “metafisica” che, come dicevo, trascorre da Platone fino ad Heidegger, indica che ciascuna volta in cui qualche cosa deve la sua esistenza, la sua essenza, il suo significato, a qualche cos’altro, questa è una struttura metafisica. Che ha degli effetti ovviamente, perché comporta la supposizione che una certa cosa sia quello che è in base a quell’altra, quindi quell’altra dà alla prima il suo significato, lo ferma, lo blocca e che quindi questo secondo elemento costituisca l’essenza, potremmo quasi dire, del primo, bloccandolo nel significato, ciò che potrebbe, dico “potrebbe”, consentire un passo fuori, ammesso che sia possibile, dalla metafisica. È da considerare che invece ciò che dà il significato al primo elemento costituisca anche questo un elemento che trae il proprio significato da altro, poi da altro, poi da altro ancora e così via all’infinito, a questo punto non c’è la possibilità di bloccare un significato  12 ovviamente, ma questo significato, come ci dice la semiotica, non è altro che un rinvio continuo, infatti, a quella serie di contrapposizioni potremmo anche aggiungere quella di Greimas, cioè i sememi danno un senso ai semi nucleari ché da solo, di per sé, il sema nucleare non significa niente. Ora è chiaro che è il linguaggio che è strutturato così, per questo da tempo sto dicendo che la metafisica illustra il modo in cui il linguaggio funziona, né più né meno, per cui non hanno neanche tutti i torti i metafisici a dire che non c’è uscita dalla metafisica. Posta in questi termini in effetti non c’è uscita dalla metafisica, e neanche attraverso la via immaginata da Heidegger ovviamente): La “parola per la parola” non è dato trovarla là dove il destino dona il linguaggio (cioè se c’è il linguaggio allora la parola per la parola non c’è, una parola che dica la parola in modo definitivo, l’ultima parola sulla parola, non c’è, non si trova perché c’è il linguaggio, il linguaggio che nomina e fa essere, quindi non c’è), linguaggio che nomina e fa essere per l’essente, non c’è la parola che dica l’essenza del linguaggio, perché questa sia e come essente splenda e fiorisca la parola per la parola un tesoro certamente ma un tesoro non conquistabile per la terra del poeta, e per il pensiero? Può il pensiero? Quando il pensiero cerca di meditare la parola poetica (cioè la parola autentica per Heidegger) questo si rivela: la parola, il dire non ha essere. Il nostro modo corrente di concepire si ribella quando gli si propone un pensiero così audace. Scritte o parlate ognuno pur vede e sente delle parole, esse sono. Possono essere come cose, realtà afferrabili dai nostri sensi, basta solo per far l’esempio più banale aprire un dizionario è pieno di “cose” stampate, certamente puri vocaboli, non una sola parola, poiché la parola grazie alla quale i vocaboli si fanno parola, un dizionario non è in grado né di captarla né di custodirla, dove dobbiamo andare a cercare la parola? dove il dire? Dall’esperienza poetica della parola ci viene un cenno che può essere di grande aiuto: la parola non è cosa, nulla di essente, invece noi abbiamo cognizione delle cose quando per esse c’è a disposizione la parola allora la cosa è. Ma qual è la natura di questo “è”, “la cosa è”? e questo “è” è anch’esso una cosa sovrapposta a un’altra, messale su come un cappuccio, noi non troviamo mai questo “è” come cosa sopra altra cosa, per questo “è” la situazione è la stessa che per la parola, questo “è” non fa parte delle cose che sono più di quanto non lo faccia la parola. (sta dicendo che la parola non è, nel senso dell’Essere, cioè come lo intende la filosofia comunemente, e cioè come ente, qui allude al fatto che la parola non sia determinabile, così come lo è per esempio un vocabolo, un lessema, quindi intende con parola ovviamente un’altra cosa.) Improvvisamente ci risvegliamo dalla sonnolenza di un pensare frettoloso, e scorgiamo qualcosa di diverso in ciò che l’esperienza del linguaggio dice, riguardo alla parola gioca il rapporto fra questo “è” che per sé non è, e la parola che si trova nella stessa situazione che cioè non è nulla che sia, (qui sta cercando di complicare le cose, adesso vediamo se) né l’“è” nella parola hanno l’essenza della cosa, (l’abbiamo detto prima: non sono enti) l’Essere né ha il rapporto con l’“è” la parola al quale è affidato il compito di concedere via, via un “è”, (sta dicendo che né questo è, quando diciamo che “la parola è qualcosa”, questo “è” per lui costituisce un problema, diciamo “la parola è”, “è” cosa? infatti né l’“è” né la parola in questa frase hanno l’essenza della cosa, cioè non hanno l’Essere) né ha (soggetto l’Essere) il rapporto fra l’“è” e la parola, ciò non di meno, né l’“è”, né la parola e il dire di questa, possono venire cacciati nel vuoto del niente (non sono niente, qualcosa pur sono) Che indica l’esperienza poetica della parola quando il pensiero riflette su di essa? Essa rimanda a quel degno d’essere pensato, pensare il quale si pone al pensiero fino dai tempi più antichi e anche se in modo velato come suo proprio compito, esso rimanda a quello di cui in tedesco può dirsi “es gibt senza che possa dirsi “ist” cioè è, “gibt” “esso dà” “si offre”, di ciò di cui può dirsi “est gibt” fa parte anche la parola (adesso incomincia a intravedersi che cosa intende con quello che sta dicendo “la parola non è, propriamente, ma è ciò che si dà, ciò che si offre”.)forse non solo anche, ma prima di ogni altra cosa, in modo tale che nella parola e nella sua essenza si cela quello che “gibt” appunto “dà”, nella parola si cela quello che essa stessa da. Della parola pensando con rigore non dovremmo mai dire “es ist” cioè “essa è” ma “es gibt”, ciò non nel senso di quando si dice “es gibt Worte” “qualcosa dà la parola” ma nel senso che la parola stessa dà, non è qualcosa che dà la parola ma è la parola che dà, la parola: la datrice. Ma che dà la parola?  13 secondo l’esperienza poetica e la tradizione più antica del pensiero la parola dà: l’Essere (ecco perché prima diceva che la parola non è l’Essere, la parola dà l’Essere) Ma se così stanno le cose allora in quel “es, das gibt” “esso, il dare” noi dovremmo pensando cercare la parola come ciò stesso che dà e mai è dato. La parola “es gibt” si trova in tedesco usata in molteplici modi, si dice per esempio “es gibt an der sonningen Halde Erdbeeren” “ci sono fragole sul pendio soleggiato”, “là ci sono le fragole”, nella nostra riflessione “es gibt” è usato diversamente non “des gibt …” “si dà la parola” ma “es das Word gibt…” cioè “essa la parola dà”. Quando Freud dice “Wo es war, soll Ich werden” questo “es” può essere inteso benissimo come “qualcosa” “là dove qualcosa era occorre che io avvenga” è una delle traduzioni che sono state fatte di questa frase. Così dilegua completamente lo spettro dell’“es” davanti al quale molti e a ragione trovano sconcerto, ma ciò che è degno di essere pensato resta, si fa anzi evidente, questa realtà semplice e inafferrabile che noi indichiamo con l’espressione “es, das word, gibt” si rivela come ciò che propriamente è degno di essere pensato e cioè che “essa” la parola da, per la determinazione di questo mancano ancora da per tutto i termini di misura forse il poeta li conosce ma il suo poetare ha appreso la rinuncia e tuttavia con la rinuncia nulla ha perduto (la rinuncia era quella del poeta di avere quella parola che dice la parola stessa, a questo rinuncia perché la Norna dice che non ce l’ha) il gioiello però gli sfugge certamente ma sfugge nella forma comportata dall’esser per esso negata la parola (questo gioiello sfugge, ma sfugge in che senso? Sfugge perché gli sfugge la parola per dirlo) Negare è trattenere ma qui appunto si rivela l’aspetto sorprendente del potere proprio della parola, il gioiello (che è la parola) non si dissolve affatto nell’inerte insignificanza del niente, (qui si riferisce a quando prima diceva, che la parola non è Essere, non ha l’Essere) la parola non sprofonda nella banale incapacità di dire (non è che la parola non può dirsi perché non siamo capaci a dirla, dice:) no, il poeta non abdica alla parola tuttavia il gioiello si sottrae nel mistero che riempie di stupore … per questo il poeta come dicono i versi introduttivi al canto medita anche più di prima, compone ancora, compone cioè un dire e in forma anche diversa da quella di prima. (ecco qui dicendo che non è la parola che si dà, ma è la parola che dà, ovviamente pone la parola come già aveva fatto in precedenza come λόγος in quanto Essere, nell’accezione che indica Heidegger ovviamente, cioè di “Dasein” “esserci”) Se però l’affinità tra poetare e pensare è quella del dire, allora siamo portati a supporre che l’evento domini come quel dire originario con il quale il linguaggio ci dice della sua essenza, il suo dire non si perde nel vuoto esso ha già sempre raggiunto il segno, che altro è questo segno se non l’uomo? Che l’uomo è uomo solo se ha risposto affermativamente alla parola del linguaggio, se è assunto nel linguaggio perché lo parli (ovviamente, questo dicevo è importante perché la presenza dell’uomo è ciò che fa, per Heidegger, la possibilità stessa dell’esserci, “esserci” riguarda l’esistente, l’esistente è l’uomo. Per questo si trova a dire molto spesso che l’Essere è il dialogo da uomo a uomo, perché la parola abita l’uomo. Anche le nuove teorie cioè i metodi della misurazione dello spazio e del tempo, la teoria della relatività e dei quanti e la fisica nucleare, non hanno cambiato in nulla il carattere parametrico di spazio e tempo (in tutte queste discipline i concetti di spazio e tempo sono sempre esattamente gli stessi, quelli per esempio di Anassagora) e nemmeno sono in grado di produrre un simile cambiamento, se ne fossero capaci ne verrebbe a crollare l’intero apparato della moderna scienza tecnica della natura. (perché non avrebbe più questi parametri sui quali è stata costruita ogni cosa) Tutto parla contro, in primo luogo la caccia alla formula fisica capace di interpretare il cosmo in termini matematici, la famosa teoria del “Tutto”, sennonché ciò che spinge al perseguimento affannoso di tale formula non è primariamente la passione personale dei ricercatori, ché questi si trovano ad essere quel che sono in forza di un esigenza prepotente che coinvolge e domina il pensiero moderno nella sua globalità, fisica e responsabilità, “bello!” e nella difficile situazione di oggi importante, ma resta una partita doppia dietro la quale si cela un passivo che non può essere sanato né da parte della scienza, né da parte della morale, sempre poi che sanabile sia. (Naturalmente poi qual è questo passivo che rimane? La dico così brutalmente “è il non sapere ciò che stanno facendo”, con tutto ciò che questo comporta ovviamente, poi ecco l’ultimo capitoletto si chiama “la parola”. Qui fa delle domande, tre domande): (Ripete di nuovo il verso  14 finale “Nessuna cosa è (sia) dove la parola manca) Si è tentati di trasformare il verso finale in un’asserzione “Nessuna cosa è dove la parola manca” dove qualcosa “es gebrit” “manca” cioè c’è una frattura, un danno, “recar danno a una cosa” vuol dire sottrarle qualcosa, farle mancare qualcosa, non c’è cosa dove la parola manca, solo quando c’è la parola per dirla la cosa è, (allora ecco le tre domande): 1) Che è la parola per avere tale potere? 2) Che è la cosa per avere bisogno della parola per essere? 3) Che significa qui “essere”, dal momento che appare come un dono conferito alla cosa dalla parola? (qui riassume in una parola tutto ciò che ha detto nel libro praticamente. Cioè l’Essere stesso appare come “un dono conferito alla cosa dalla parola”, qui è chiarissimo … Intervento: risponde alle domande poi, perché qui è un po’ antropocentrico? Si può dire anche di Heidegger che sia antropocentrico, anche se a lui non sarebbe piaciuto, infatti per lui l’uomo è oggetto di interesse, cioè l’esistenzialismo, solo perché si accorge che l’esistenza dell’uomo è la condizione per potere fare un discorso sull’Essere, cioè dice che non c’è l’Essere senza l’uomo, cioè senza colui che parla, senza colui che fa essere le cose.) Il primo verso della poesia dà la risposta “meraviglia di lontano o sogno” “nomi” per quello di cui al poeta giunge notizia di lontano come di cosa meravigliosa o per quello che lo visita nel sogno, l’uno e l’altro sono considerati dal poeta senza ombra di dubbio come realtà reali, come qualcosa che è, realtà che egli tuttavia non vuole tenere per sé ma vuole rappresentare, per questo occorrono i nomi. Tali nomi sono parole per mezzo delle quali ciò che già è e per tale è tenuto, assume così consistente concretezza che da quel momento splende e fiorisce e così facendo esercita tutta la regione e il dominio che è proprio della bellezza … i “nomi” sono le parole che rappresentano (Qui si può intendere in due modi, perché “i nomi sono le parole che rappresentano” può intendersi sia in questo modo e cioè che i nomi sono parole che rappresentano qualche cos’altro, ma anche che “i nomi rappresentano altre parole”. I nomi sono le parole che rappresentano parole rappresentanti altre cose, oppure i nomi sono le parole che rappresentano, sono le parole stesse che rappresentano i nomi,) Essi (i nomi) propongono all’immaginazione ciò che già è, grazie alla loro virtù rappresentativa i nomi testimoniano il loro decisivo dominio sulle cose, è l’esigenza stessa dei nomi che porta il poeta a poetare, per raggiungerli egli deve prima giungere con i viaggi là dove … Sono due casi, nel primo caso potremmo dire che “nomina sunt consequentia rerum” nel secondo “nomina non sunt consequentia rerum” “i nomi sono la conseguenza delle cose” nel secondo “i nomi non sono la conseguenza delle cose”. I nomi che la fonte custodisce (qui si riferisce sempre alla poesia di George) sono come qualcosa che dorme, che ha bisogno solo di essere destato per servire come rappresentazione delle cose, nomi e parole sono come un solido patrimonio finalizzato alle cose, che poi viene utilizzato per rappresentarle, sennonché la fonte, alla quale fino a quel momento il dire poetico ha attinto le parole cioè i nomi che rappresentano la realtà, non dona più nulla. Quale esperienza fa qui il poeta? Soltanto quella che quando si tratta del gioiello portato sulla mano il nome non si trova? (il gioiello è sempre la parola) soltanto quella che ora il gioiello deve sì restare senza nome, ma può tuttavia restare sulla mano del poeta? No, altro accade e ha dello sconcertante, ma sconcertante non è né il fatto che manca il nome, né il fatto che il gioiello scompare con il mancare della parola, è quindi la parola che trattiene il gioiello nel suo essere presente: (cioè la parola trattiene se stessa) la parola, nient’altro che la parola lo prende e lo porta a tale esser presente e in questo lo serba, la parola presenta improvvisamente un altro più alto potere, non è più solo la presa sulla realtà, come presenza già colta dall’immaginazione, quella presa che consiste nel dare un nome, non è soltanto mezzo per rappresentare ciò che sta dinnanzi, al contrario (qui veniamo alla questione) è la parola che conferisce la presenza cioè l’Essere, nel quale qualcosa si manifesta come essente, quest’altro potere della parola trae su di sé l’attenzione del poeta in modo brusco e improvviso, al tempo stesso però la parola che ha quel potere manca, perciò il gioiello dilegua, non per questo si dissolve nel nulla, resta un tesoro che poi il poeta non potrà mai custodire nella sua terra, (che cosa si dilegua, che cosa manca? Qui non siamo nella questione della “mancanza a essere”, siamo al fatto che ciò che manca è quella parola che da fuori del linguaggio finalmente dica che cos’è veramente la parola. Il nome che si dà alla parola è un’altra parola, non è qualcosa che da fuori  15 dovrebbe garantire che sia esattamente quella cosa. E qui insiste sul fatto che la parola fa sì che la cosa sia, cosa tutt’altro che irrilevante) Il tesoro e la terra del poeta mai giunge a possedere, è la parola per l’essenza del linguaggio, la potenza e la vita della parola scorta d’improvviso (qual è la potenza della parola? il fatto di fare essere le cose) il suo essere e operare vorrebbe pervenire alla parola, alla sua propria parola ma la parola, per l’essenza della parola, non viene concessa. La parola che dica che cosa veramente è, è questo che non viene concesso, è questo che manca, in questo senso diceva. L’ultimo capitoletto “In cammino verso il linguaggio” che poi dà il nome al testo. Ecco qui parla dell’¡λήθεια: il testo di Aristotele evidenzia con un dire chiaro e sobrio quella classica struttura in cui si cela l’essenza del linguaggio inteso come parlare, le lettere indicano i suoni, i suoni indicano le affezioni dell’anima, le affezioni indicano le cose che colpiscono l’anima, il “mostrare” “das Zeigen” è quello che costituisce e regge l’intera impalcatura, in modo vario, velando e disvelando, esso il mostrare, porta qualcosa ad apparire, fa che ciò che appare sia avvertito e ciò che viene avvertito sia considerato (cioè esista) quando riflettiamo sul linguaggio in quanto linguaggio già abbiamo abbandonato il modo di procedere rimasto finora consueto nella riflessione sul linguaggio. Non possiamo più andare alla ricerca di concetti generali come “energia” “attività” “lavoro” “forza spirituale” “visione del mondo”, espressione sotto i quali condurre il linguaggio come un caso particolare di tale generalità. Anziché spiegare il linguaggio come questa o quest’altra cosa fuggendone in tal modo lontano, il cammino verso il linguaggio vorrebbe fare esperire il linguaggio come linguaggio, nell’essenza del linguaggio, il linguaggio è sì compreso, ma afferrato per mezzo di altro da esso è il famoso metalinguaggio (di cui diceva prima il metalinguaggio come metafisica) se volgiamo invece l’attenzione unicamente al linguaggio come linguaggio, questo pretende allora da noi che mettiamo finalmente in evidenza tutto quello che fa parte del linguaggio in quanto linguaggio (è quello che ho cercato di fare in questi anni intendendo che cosa fa funzionare il linguaggio) Nel parlare rientrano i parlanti, ma il rapporto tra parlanti e parlare non è riducibile a quello tra causa ed effetto (se no sarebbe come dire che qualcosa dà la parola, mentre lui è stato preciso, “è la parola che dà”, ma cosa dà? Le cose, l’Essere.) I parlanti trovano piuttosto nel parlare il loro essere presenti, presenti a che? A ciò con cui parlano, presso cui dimorano in quanto realtà che sempre già li riguarda, è quanto dire “gli altri, le cose, tutto ciò che fa che queste siano cose, queste precise cose e quelli gli altri quei concreti altri” (questo fa la parola, fa esistere tutte queste cose qui) A tutto questo ora in un modo, ora in un altro già sempre è andato l’appello del parlare. // Ma come sono pensati il parlare e il “parlato”, nel breve racconto che si è precedentemente fatto del linguaggio? Essi si rivelano già come ciò per cui e in cui qualcosa si fa parola, giunge a farsi evidente in quanto qualcosa è detto. Dire e parlare non sono la stessa cosa, uno può parlare, parla senza fine, e tutto quel parlare non dice nulla, un altro invece tace, non parla e può col suo non parlare dire molto, ma che significa dire, “sagen” in tedesco? Per esperire questo è necessario attenersi a ciò che la lingua tedesca già costringe a pensare con la parola “sagen”. “Sagan” significa “mostrare” “far che qualcosa appaia” “si veda” “si senta” // Ciò che fa essere il linguaggio come linguaggio è il dire originario “die saghe” in quanto “mostrare” “die Zeige”, il mostrare proprio di questo non si basa su un qualche segno ma tutti i segni traggono origine da un mostrare nel cui ambito e per i cui fini soltanto acquistano la possibilità di essere segni. (Ma non sta proprio in questo mostrare, nel fatto che tutti i segni traggono origine da un mostrare che si impianta la metafisica stessa, la sua stessa possibilità? Ma ne riparleremo perché è una questione tutt’altro che semplice) // (siamo alla fine volevo riprendere le tre domande che faceva prima, adesso possiamo rispondere a ciò che si è domandato): Il dire originario è mostrare, in tutto ciò (ricordate: il dire originario è mostrare. Questo è il dire originario per Heidegger) in tutto ciò che ci volge la parola, che ci tocca come oggetto di parola o parola, che ci si partecipa, che in quanto non detto è in attesa di noi, non solo ma in quello stesso parlare, che noi veniamo mettendo in atto, che è operante il mostrare sempre e comunque, in virtù di questo che ciò che è presente appare, ciò che è assente dispare. Questo (è sempre il dire originario il soggetto) dischiude ciò che è presente nel suo esser presente (che sembra una ripetizione inutile “dischiude il suo essere presente nel suo essere presente” ma il fatto che qualcosa sia presente per Heidegger non è così automatico, occorre qualcosa che dischiuda, apra l’orizzonte entro il quale qualche cosa può essere presente, non basta che sia presente perché che sia presente da sé non significa niente se non c’è il linguaggio che fa essere presente.) il dire originario domina compone in unità la libera distesa di quella radura … da dove viene il mostrare? La domanda vuol sapere troppo e troppo in fretta (non è che possiamo sapere tutto subito) gioverà accontentarsi di osservare la natura e l’origine del moto presente nel mostrare, non è necessaria qui una lunga ricerca è sufficiente l’intuizione repentina, non obliabile e perciò sempre nuova, di ciò che, sì, è a noi familiare, ma che noi tuttavia lungi dal riconoscere nel modo che ci conviene neppure cerchiamo di conoscere, questa realtà sconosciuta e non di meno familiare da cui ogni mostrare del dire originario trae il proprio moto, è per ogni essere presente ed essere assente l’alba di quel mattino nel quale soltanto può trovare inizio la vicenda del giorno e della notte. Alba che insieme l’ora prima e l’ora più remota tale realtà appena ci è dato nominarla, essa è l’“ort” che non tollera “Er-örterung”. Il tempo che non concede di essere raggiunto perché è luogo di tutti i luoghi e di tutti gli spazi del gioco del tempo, noi la chiameremo con una parola antica e diremo: ciò che muove nel mostrare del dire originario è lo “Eignen”. Lo Eignen adduce ciò che è presente e assente in quello che gli è proprio, cosicché emergendone la cosa presente e assente, si rivela nella sua vera identità e resta se stessa. // Il linguaggio non si irrigidisce in se stesso nel senso di un narcisismo di tutto dimentico tranne che di sé, come sarebbe potuto apparire, (eventualmente) come dire originario il linguaggio è il mostrare appropriante, che appunto prescinde da sé per dischiudere così per mostrare la possibilità di rilevarsi nella figura che gli è propria, (cioè il linguaggio consente alla cosa di mostrarsi e permette anche alla cosa di mostrarsi per quello che è. Il linguaggio è questa possibilità delle cose di essere quelle che sono. Ma non toglie alle cose il fatto che sono quelle che sono.) Il linguaggio che parla dicendosi cura che il nostro parlare, ascoltare il dire che non ha suono, corrisponda a quel che esso (linguaggio) viene dicendo, in tal modo anche il silenzio che non di rado si pone a fondamento del linguaggio, come sua scaturigine, è già un corrispondere (corrispondere alla chiamata del dire, ovviamente, cioè del λόγος. La conclusione sarà a questo punto la risposta a quelle tre domande.) Poiché noi uomini, per essere quelli che siamo, restiamo immessi nel linguaggio, né mai possiamo uscirne e posarci a un punto da cui ci sia dato circoscriverlo con lo sguardo, noi vediamo il linguaggio sempre solo in quanto il linguaggio stesso già si è affissato su di noi (appoggiato su di noi, fissato su di noi) ci ha appropriato a sé, il fatto che del linguaggio ci è precluso il sapere, (perché per sapere sul linguaggio bisognerebbe uscire dal linguaggio e tutte queste storie) il sapere inteso secondo la concezione tradizionale fondata sull’idea che conoscere sia rappresentare, non è certamente un difetto bensì il privilegio grazie al quale siamo eletti e attratti in una sfera superiore, in quella in cui noi assunti a portare a parole il linguaggio dimoriamo come immortali insomma siamo fortunati ad essere parlanti. Allora le tre domande alle quali potete, a questo punto, rispondere voi stessi: Che è la parola per avere tanto potere? È l’Essere è il logos. Perché la parola ha tanto potere? Perché è ciò che in quanto Essere è ciò che consente alle cose di apparire, ma che è la cosa per avere bisogno della parola per essere? La parola ha bisogno della parola per essere la cosa, e quindi è quella cosa che diventa cosa soltanto se la parola la fa essere cosa. Terza domanda: che significa qui Essere dal momento che appare come un dono conferito alla cosa dalla parola? che significa qui Essere? Λόγος, nient’altro che λόγος e bell’è fatto. Ecco, io vi ho fatto considerare queste cose perché non è tanto il fatto del contenuto delle affermazioni di Heidegger quanto il modo in cui approccia la questione del linguaggio, in un modo che lui direbbe “non presentativo” cioè non mostra, non dice che cos’è il linguaggio come fa la linguistica, come fa la filosofia del linguaggio, come fa la filosofia in generale approcciando il linguaggio come ente, perché sta qui la differenza ontologica: ente/Essere. Il linguaggio è Essere non è ente. Sono considerazioni interessanti che possono portare ad altre considerazioni, possono aprire altre vie, per questo motivo vi ho letto alcune cose di questo testo di Martin Heidegger. The uttered speech of private life is fluctuating and variable. In  every period it varies according to the age, class, education, and habits of  the speaker. His social experience, traditions and general background,  his ordinary tastes and pursuits, his intellectual and moral cultivation are  all reflected in each man’s conversation. These factors determine and  modify a man’s mode of speech in innumerable ways. They may affect  his pronunciation, the speed of his utterance, his choice of vocabulary,  the shade of meaning he attaches to particular words, or turns of phrase,  the character of such similes and metaphors as occur in his speech, his  word order and the structure of his sentences.   But the individual speaker is also affected by the character of those  to whom he speaks. He adjusts himself in a hundred subtle ways to the  age, status, and mental attitude of the company in which he finds himself.  His own state of mind, and the mode of its expression are unconsciously  modified by and attuned to the varying degree of intimacy, agreement,  and community of experience in which he may stand with his companions  of the moment.   Thus an accomplished man of the world, in reality, speaks not  one but many slightly different idioms, and passes easily and instinc-  tively, often perhaps unknown to himself, from one to another, according  to the exigence of circumstances. The man who does not possess,  to some extent at least, this power of adjustment, is of necessity a stranger  in eveuy company but that of one particular type. No man who is not  a fool will consider it proper to address a bevy of Bishops in precisely  the same way as would be perfectly natural and suitable among a party  of fox-hunting country gentlemen.   A learned man, accustomed to choose his own topics of conversation  and dilate upon them at leisure in his College common room where he  can count upon the civil forbearance of other people like himself, would  be thought a tedious bore, and a dull one at that, if he carried his  pompous verbiage into the Officers’ Mess of a smart regiment. 'A  meere scholler is but a woefull creature says Sir Edmund Verney, in  a letter in which he discusses a proposal that his son should be sent to  Leyden, and observes concerning this— ‘ 'tis too private for a youth of  his yeares that must see company at convenient times, and studdy men as  well as bookes, or else his bearing may make him rather ridiculous then  esteemed ^   There is naturally a large body of colloquial expression which is  common to all classes, scholars, sportsmen, officers, clerics, and the rest,  but each class and interest has its own special way of expressing itself,  which is more or less foreign to those outside it. The average colloquial speech of any age is at best a compromise between a variety of different  jargons, each evolved in and current among the members of a particular  section of the community, and each, within certain social limits, affects  and is affected by the others. Most men belong by their ciicumstanccs  or inclinations to several speech-communities, and have little difficulty in  maintaining Ihhmsclvcs creditably in all of these. The wider the social  opportunities and experience of the individual, and the keener his lin-  guistic instinct, the more readily does he adapt himself to the company  in which he finds himself, and the more easily docs he fall into line with  its accepted traditions of speech and bc aiing.   But if so much variety in the details of colloquial usage exists in  a single age, with such well-marked differences between the conventions  of each, how much greater will be the gulf which separates the types of  familiar conversation in different ages. Do we realize that if we could,  by the workings of some Time Machine, be suddenly transported back  into the seventeenth century, most of us would find it extremely difficult  to carry on, even among the kind of people most nearly corresponding  with those with whom we are habitually associated in our present age,  the simplest kind of decent social intercourse? Even if the pronunciation  of the sixteenth century offered no difficulty, almost every other element  which goes to make up the medium of communication with our fellows  would do so.   We should not know how to greet or take leave of those we met, how  to express our thanks in an acceptable manner, how to ask a favour, pay  a compliment, or send a polite message to a gentleman's wife. We  should be at a loss how to begin and end the simplest note, whether to  an intimate friend, a near relative, or to a stranger. We could not scold  a footman, commend a child, express in appropriate terms admiration for  a woman’s beauty, or aversion to the opposite quality. We should hesitate  every moment how to address the person we were talking to, and should be  embarassed for the equivalent of such instinctive phrases as — look here, old  man ; my dear chap ; my dear Sir ; excuse me ; I beg your pardon ;  I’m awfully sorry; Oh, not at all; that 's too bad ; that ’s most amusing ;  you see ; don't you know ; and a hundred other trivial and meaningless  expressions with which most men fill out their sentences. Our innocent  impulses of pleasure, approval, dislike, anger, disgust, and so on, would  be nipped in the bud for want of words to express them. How should we  say, on the spur of the moment — what a pretty girl 1 ; what an amusing  play I ; how clever and witty Mr. Jones is ! ; poor woman ; that's a perfectly  rotten book ; I hate the way she dresses ; look here, Sir, you had better  lake care what you say ; Oh, shut up ; I'm hanged if I'll do that ; I’m very  much obliged to you. I'm sure ?   It is very probable that we perfectly grasp the equivalents of all these  and a thousand others when we read them in the pages of Congreve and  his contemporaries, but it is equally certain that the right expressions  would not rise naturally to our lips as we required them, were we  suddenly called upon to speak with My Lady Froth, or Mr. Brisk.   The fact is that we should feel thoroughly at sea in such company,  and should soon discover that we had to learn a new language of polite  society. In illustrating the colloquial style of the fifteenth century we have to  be content, either with the account of conversations given in letters, or with  such other passages from letters of the period as appear to be nearest  to the speech of everyday life.   The following passages are from the Shillingford Letters, to which  reference is repeatedly made in this book (see p. 65, &c.}, and are  extracted from the accounts given by the stout and genial Mayor of  Exeter, in letters to his friends, of his conversations with the Chancellor  during his visit to London.   Shillingford begins by referring to himself as ‘ the Mayer but suddenly  changes to the first person— in describing the actual meeting, again  returning for a moment to the impersonal phrase.   Jolm Shillingford*   ‘The Saterdey next (28 Oct. 1447) tberafter the mayer came to West-  minster sone apon ix. atte belle, and ther mette w* my lorde Chanceller atte  brode dore a litell fro the steire fote comyng fro the Sterrechamber, y yn  the courte and by the dore knellyng and salutyng hym yn the moste godely  wyse that y cowde and recommended yn to his gode and gracious lordship  my feloship and all the comminalte, his awne peeple and bedmen of the  Cite of Exceter. He seyde to the mayer ij tymes “ Well come ’’ and the  tyme “Right well come Mayer'’ and helde the Mayer a grete while faste by  the honde, and so went forth to his barge and w* hym grete presse, lordis  and other, &c. and yn especiall the tresorer of the kynges housholde, w*  wham he was at right grete pryvy communication. And therfor y, mayer,  drowe me apart, and mette w* hym at his goyng yn to his barge, and ther  toke my leve of hym, seyyng these wordis, “ My lord, y wolle awayte apon  youre gode lordship and youre better leyser at another tyme He seyde  to me ayen, “Mayer, y pray yow hertely that ye do so, and that ye speke w*  the Chief Justyse and what that ever he will y woll be all redy”. And thus  departed. A little later : —   * Nerthelez y awayted my tyme and put me yn presse and went right to my  lorde Chaunccller and seide, “My lorde y am come at your coinmaundc-  ment, but y se youre grete bysynesse is suchc that ye may not attencle ”,  He seide “Noo, by his trauthe and that y myght right well se”. Y scide  “Yee, and that y was sory and hadde pyty of his grete vexacion”. He  seide “ Mayer, y moste to morun ride by tyme to the Kyng, and come ayen  this wyke : ye most awayte apon my comyng, and then y wol speke the  justise and attende for yow ” &c. — p. 7.   * He seyde “ Come the morun Monedey ” (the Chancellor was speaking on  Sunday) . . . “the love of God ” Y seyde the tyme was to shorte, and prayed  hym of Wendysdey ; y enfourmed hym (of t)he grete malice and venym that  they have spatte to me yn theire answeris as hit appercth yn a copy that  y sende to yow of. My lorde seide, “ Alagge alagge, why wolde they do so ?  y woll sey right sbarpely to ham therfor and y nogh  Brews*   The following brief extracts from the letters of Brews, the  affianced wife of Jolm Fasten (junior) are like a ray of sunlight in the  dreary wilderness of business and litigation, which are the chief subjects  of correspondence between the Pa&tons. Even this Iove*letter is not wholly free from the taint, but the girl's gentle affection for her lover is  the prevailing note*   * Yf that ye cowde be content with that good and my por persone I wold  be the meryest mayclen on grounde, and yf ye thynke not your selffe soe  satysfyed or that ye myght hafe much mor good, as I hafe ujtidyrstonde be  youe afor ; good trewe and iovyng volentyne, that ye take no such labur  iippon yowe, as to come more for that matter, but let it passe, and never  more to be spokyn of, as I may be your trewe lover and bedewoman during  my lyfe .’ — Pas ton Letters^ hi, A few years later Mrs. Fasten writes to her 'trewe and Iovyng  volentyne ' : ' My mother in lawe thynketh longe she here no word from you. She is in  goode heaie, blissed be God, and al yowr babees also. I marvel I here no  word from you, weche greveth me ful evele. I sent you a letter be Basiour  sone of Norwiche, wher of I have no word.’ To this the young wife adds  the touching postscript : — ' Sir I pray yow if ye tary longe at London that it  wii plese to sende for me, for I thynke longe sen I lay in your armes.’ —  Paston Letie?-Sj  Sir Thomas More.   No figure in the eaily part of Henry VIII’s reign is more distin-  guished and at the same time more engaging than that of Sir Thomas  More* A few typical records of his conversation, as preserved by his  devoted biographer and son-in-law Roper, are chosen to illustrate the  English of this time. The context is given so that the extracts may  appear in Roper's own setting.   'Not long after this the Watter baylife of London (sonietyme his servaunte)  liereing, where he had beene at dinner, certayne Marchauntes^ liberally to  rayle against his ould Master, waxed so discontented therwith, that he  hastily came to him, and tould him what he had hard: "and were I Sir”  (quoth he) " in such favour and authoritie with my Prince as you are, such  men surely should not be suffered so villanously and falsly to misreport and  slander me. Wherefore 1 would wish you to call them before you, and to  there shame, for there lewde malice to punnish them.” Who smilinge upon  him sayde, " Watter Baylie, would you have me punnish them by whome  1 reccave more benefit! then by you all that be my frendes ? Let them  a Gods name speakc as lewdly as they list of me, and shoote never soe  many airowcs at me, so long as they do not hitt me, what am I the worse?  But if the should once hitt me, then would it a little trouble me : howbeit,  I trust, by Gods helpe, (here shall none of them all be able to touch me.  I have more cause, Water Bayly (I assure thee) to pittie them, then to  be angrie with them.” Such frutfiill communication had he often tymes  with his familiar frendes. Soe on a tyme walking a long the Thames syde  with me at Chelsey, in talkinge of other thinges he sayd to me, " Now,  would to God, Sonne Roger, upon condition three things are well estab-  lished in Christendome, I were put in a sacke, and here presently cast into the  Thames.” " What great thinges be these, Sir ” quoth I, " that should move  you $0 to wish?” "Wouldest thou know, sonne Roper, what they be”  quoth he? “Yea marry, Sir, with a good will if it please you”, quoth I,  “ I faith, they be these Sonne ”, quoth he. The first is, that where as the  most part of Christian princes be at mortall warrs, they weare at universal  peace. The second, that wheare the Church of Christ is at this present soare afflicted witli many heresies and errors, it were well settled in an  uniformity. The third, that where the Kinges matter of his marriage is now  come into question, it were to the glory of God and quietnesse of all parties  brought to a good conclusion : ’’ where by, as I could gather, he judged, that  otherwise it would be a disturbance to a great part of Christ endome/   ‘ When Sir Thomas Moore had continued a good while in the Tower, my  Ladye his wife obtayned license to see him, who at her first comminge like  a simple woman, and somewhat worldlie too, with this manner of salutations  bluntly saluted him, ‘‘What the good yeai'e, Moore” quoth shee,   I marvell that you, that have beene allwayes hitherimto taken for soe wise  a man, will now soe playe the foole to lye here in this close filthie prison, and  be content to be shutt upp amonge myse and rattes, when you might be  abroad at your libertie, and with the favour and good will both of the  King and his Councell, if you would but doe as all the Bushopps and best  learned of this Realme have done. And seeing you have at Chelsey a right  fayre house, your librarie, your books, your gallerie, your garden, your  orchards, and all other necessaries soe handsomely about you, where you  might, in the companie of me your wife, your children, and houshould be  merrie, I muse what a Gods name you meane here still thus fondlye to tarry.’'  After he had a while quietly hard her, “ I pray thee good Alice, tell me,  tell me one thinge.” “ What is that ? ” (quoth shee). “ Is not this house  as nighe heaven as myne owne?” To whome shee, after her accustomed  fashion, not likeinge such talke, answeared, “ Tilh valie, Tille valle ”  “How say you, Alice, is it not soe?” quoth he. Bone deus, bone  Deusy man, will this geare never be left?” quoth shee. “Well then  Alice, if it be soe, it is verie well. For I see noe great cause whie  I should soe much joye of my gaie house, or of any thinge belonginge  thereunto, when, if I should but seaven yeares lye buried under ground,  and then arise, and come thither againe, I should not fayle to finde some  Iherin that would bidd me gett out of the doores, and tell me that weare  none of myne. What cause have I then to like such an house as would  soe soone forgett his master?” Soe her perswasions moved him but a little.*   The last days of this good man on earth, and some of his sayings just  before his death, are told with great simplicity by Roper. We cannot  forbear to quote the affecting passage which tells of Sir Thomas More’s  last parting from his daughter, the writer’s wife.   ‘When Sir Tho. Moore came from Westminster to the Towreward againe,  his daughter my wife, desireous to see her father, whome shee thought shee  should never see in this world after, and alsoe to have his finall blessinge,  gave attendaunce aboutes the Towre wharfe, where shee knewe he should  passe by, eVe he could enter into the Towre. There tarriinge for his  coininge home, as soone as shee sawe him, after his blessinges on her  knees reverentlie receaved, shoe hastinge towards, without consideration  and care of her selfe, pressinge in amongest the midst of the thronge and  the Companie of the Guard, that with Hollbards and Billes weare round  about him, hastily ranne to him, and then openlye in the sight of all them  embraced and tooke him about the necke, and kissed him, whoe well likeing  her most daughterlye love and affection towards him, gave her his fatherlie  blessinge, and manye goodlie words of comfort besides, from whome after  shee was departed, shee not satisfied with the former sight of her deare  father, havinge respecte neither to her self, nor to the presse of the people  and multitude that were about him, suddenlye turned backe againe, and  rann to him as before, tqoke him about the necke, and divers tymes togeather  most lovinglay kissed him, and at last with a full heavie harte was fayne to  departe from him; the behouldinge whereof was to manye of them that were  present thereat soe lamentablcj that it made them for very sorrow to mourne  and weepe.’ In his last letter to his ' dearely beloved daughter, written with a Cole  Sir Thomas More refers to this incident :' And I never liked your  manners better, then when you kissed me last. For* I like when  daughterlie Love, and deare Charitie hath noe leasure to looke to worldlie  Curtesie   Next morning ‘ Sir Thomas even, and the Utas of St. Peeter in the yeare  of our Lord God, earlie in the morninge, came to him Sir Thomas  Pope, his singular trend, on messedge from the Kinge and his Councell,  that hee should before nyne of the clocke in the same morninge suffer  death, and that therefore fourthwith he should prepare himselfe thereto.   Pope sayth he, for your good tydinges I most hartily thankyou.  I have beene allwayes^ bounden much to the Kinges Highnes for the  benehtts and honors which he hath still from tyme to tyme most bounti-  fully heaped upon mee, and yete more bounden I ame to his Grace for  putting me into this place, where I have had convenient tyme and space to  have remembraunce of my end, and soe helpe me God most of all Pope,  am I bound to his Highnes, that it pleased him so shortlie to ridd me of  the miseries of this wretched world. And therefore will I not fayle most  earnestlye to praye for his Grace both here, and alsoe in another world, .And I beseech you, good Pope, to be a meane unto his Highnes, that  my daughter Margarette may be present at my buriall.’’ “ The King is well  contented allreadie*' (quoth M^’ Pope) ‘‘that your Wife, Children and other  frendes shall have free libertie to be present thereat “O how much be-  hoiilden” then said Sir Thomas Moore “am I to his Grace, that unto my  poore buriall vouchsafeth to have so gratious Consideration.*’ Wherewithal!   Pope takeinge his leave of him could not refrayne from weepinge, which  Sir Tho. Moore perceavinge, comforted him in this wise, “ Quiete yourselfe  good M^ Pope, and be not discomforted. For I trust that we shall once in  heaven see each other full merily, where we shall bee sure to live and love  togeather in joyfull blisse eternally.Wolsey.   The Ij/e of Wolsey, by George Cavendish, a faithful and  devoted servant of the Cardinal, who was with him on his death-bed,  gives a wonderfully interesting picture of this remarkable man, in affluence  and in adversity, and records a number of conversations which have  a convincing air of verisimilitude. The following specimens are taken  from the Kelmscott Press edition of 1893, which follows the spelling of  the author's MS. in the British Museum.   ‘ After ther departyng^ my lord came to the sayd howsse of Eston to his  lodgyng, where he had to supper with hyme dyvers of his frends of the court.  And syttyng at supper, in came to hyme Doctor Stephyns, the secretary,  late ambassitor unto Rome ; but to what entent he came I know not ;  howbeit my lord toke it that he came bothe to dissembell a certeyn  obedyence and love towards hyme, or ells to espie hys behaviour, and to  here his commynycacion at supper. Not withstandyng my lord bade hyme  well come, and commaundyd hyme to sytt down at the table to supper;  with whome my lord had thys commynycacion with hyme under thys  maner. Mayster Secretary, quod my lord, ye be-welcome home owt of  Rally; whan came ye frome Rome? Forsothe, quod he, I came home  allmost a monethe agoo ; and where quod my lord have you byn ever  sence? Forsothe, quod he, folowyng the court this progresse. Than have  ye hunted and had good game and pastyme. Forsothe, Syr, quod he, and  so I have, I thanke the kyngs Majestie, What good greyhounds have ye?  quod my lord. I have some syr quod he. And thus in huntyng, and in  lyke disports, , passed they all ther commynycacion at supper. And after  supper my lord and he talked secretly together until it was mydnyght or  they departed.’ Than all thyng beyng ordered as it is before reherced, my lord  prepared hyme to depart by water. ^ And before his departyng he com-  maundyd Syr William Gascoyne, his treasorer, to se these thyngs byfore  remembred, delyverd safely to the kyng at his repayer. That don, the  seyd Syr William seyd unto my lord. Syr I ame sorry for your grace, for  I understand ye shall goo strayt way to the tower. Ys this the good  comfort and councell, quod my lord, that ye can geve your mayster in  adversitie? Yt hathe byn allwayes your naturall inclynacion to be very  light of credytt, and mych more lighter in reporting of false newes,  I wold ye shold knowe, Syr William, and all other suche blasphemers,  that it is nothyng more false than that, for I never, thanks be to god,  deserved by no wayes to come there under any arrest, allthoughe it hathe  pleased the kyng to take my howse redy furnysshed for his pleasyr at this  tyme. I wold all the world knewe, and so I confesse to have no thyng,  other riches, honour, or dignyty, that hathe not growen of hyme and by  hyme ; therefore it is my verie dewtie to surrender the same to hyme agayn  as his very owen, with al my hart, or ells I ware and onkynd servaunt.  Therefore goo your wayes, and geve good attendaunce unto your charge,  that no thyng be embeselled.’ ‘And the next day we removed to Sheffeld Parke, where therle of Shrews-  bury lay within the loge, and all the way thetherward the people cried and  lamented, as they dyd in all places as we rode byfore. And whan we came  in to the parke of Sheffeld, nyghe to the logge, my lord of Shrewesbury, with  my lady his wyfe, a trayn of gentillwomen, and all my lords gentilmen, and  yomen, standyng without the gatts of the logge to attend my lords commy ng,  to receyve hyme with myche honor ; whome therle embraced, sayeng these  words. My lord quod he, your grace is most hartely welcome unto me, and  glade to se you in my poore loge ; the whiche I have often desired ; and  myche more gladder if you had come after another sort. Ah, my gentill  lord of Shrewesbury quod my lord, I hartely thanke you ; and allthoughe  I have no cause to rejoyce, yet as a sorowe full hart may joye, I rejoyce my  chaunce, which is so good to come into the hands and custody of so noble  a persone, whose approved honor and wysdome hathe byn allwayes right  well knowen to all nobell estats. And Sir, howe soever my ongentill accusers  hathe used ther accusations agenst me, yet I assure you, and so byfore your  lordshipe and all the world do I protest, that my demeanor and procedyngs  hathe byn just and loyall towards my soverayn and liege lord ; of whose  behaviour and doyngs your lordshipe hathe had good experyence ; and evyn  accordyng to my trowthe and faythfulnes, so I bescche god helpe me in this  my calamytie. I dought nothyng of your Irouthe, quod therle, tlierfore my  lorde I beseche you be of good chere and feare not, for I have receyved  letters from the kyng of his owen hand in your favour and entertaynyng the  whiche you shall se. Sir, I ame nothyng sory but that I have not wherwith  worthely to receyve you, and to entertayn you accordyng to your honour and  my good wyll ; but suche as I have ye are most hartely welcome therto,  desiryng you to accept my good wyll accordyngly, for I wol not receyve you  as a prisoner, but as my good lord, and the kyngs trewe faythfull subjecte ;  and here is my wyfe come to salute you. Whome my lord kyst barehedyd,  and all hir gentilwomen ; and toke my lords servaunts by the hands, as well  gentilmen and yomen as other. Then these two lords went arme in arme into the logge, conductyng my lord into a fayer chamber at thend of a goodly  gallery within a newe tower, and here my lord was lodged.’ Here are some short portions of dialogue between Wolsey and his  friends, just before his death :   * Uppon Monday in the mornyng, as I stode by his bedds' side, abought  viii of the clocke, the wyndowes beyng cloose shett, havyng wake lights  burnyng uppon the cupbord, I behyld hyme, as me seemed, drawyng fast to  his end. He perceyved my shadowe uppon the wall by his bedds side,  asked who was there. Sir I ame here, quod I. Howe do you ? quod he to  me. Very well Sir, if I myght se your grace well. What is it of the clocke ?  quod he to me. Forsothe Sir, quod I, it is past viii. of the clocke in the  mornyng. Eight of the clocke, quod he, that cannot be, rehersing dyvers  times eight of the clocke, eight of the clocke. Nay, nay, quod he at the last,  it cannot be viii of the clocke, for by viii of the clocke ye shal loose your  mayster ; for my tyme drawyth nere that I must depart out of this world.’‘ Mayster Kyngston farewell. I can no moore, but why she all thyngs to  have good successe. My tyme drawyth on fast. I may not tary with you.  And forget not I pray you, what I have seyd and charged you with all : for  whan I ame deade, ye shall peradventure remember my words myche better.  And even with these words he began to drawe his speche at lengthe and his  tong to fayle, his eyes beyng set in his hed, whos sight faylled hyme ; than  we began to put hyme in rembraunce of Christs passion, and sent for the  Abbott of the place to annele hyme ; who came with all spede and mynestred  unto hyme all the servyce to the same belongyng ; and caused also the gard  to stand by, bothe to here hyme talk byfore his deathe, and also to here  wytnes of the same ; and incontinent the clocke strake viii, at whiche tyme  he gave uppe the gost, and thus departed he this present lyfe.’Latimer.   The Sermons of Bp. Latimer present good examples^ of colloquial  oratory, and the style is but little removed from the colloquial style of the  period. The following are from the Sermon of the Ploughers, preached. ' For they that be lordes vyll yll go to plough. It is no mete office for  them. It is not semyng for their state. Thus came up lordyng loiterers.  Thus crept in vnprechinge prelates, and so haue they longe continued.   ‘ For how many vnlearned prelates haue we now at this day ? And no  maruel. For if ye plough men yat now be, were made lordes they woulde  cleane gyue ouer ploughinge, they woulde leaue of theyr labour and fall to  lordyng outright, and let the plough stand. And then bothe ploughes nor  walkyng nothyng shoulde be in the common weale but honger. For euer  sence the Prelates were made Loordes and nobles, the ploughe standeth,  there is no worke done, the people starue.   ‘ Thei hauke, thei hunt, thei card, they dyce, they pastyme m theyr pre-  lacies with galaunte gentlemen, with theyr daunsmge mmyons, and with  theyr freshe companions, so that ploughinge is set a syde. And by tne  lordinge and loytryng, preachynge and ploughinge is cleane gone . .   ^^‘But^iiowe for the defaulte of vnpreaching prelates me thinke I coulde  gesse what myghte be sayed for excusynge of them : They are so troubeled  wyth Lordelye lyuynge, they be so placed in palacies, couched m courte^  ruffelynge in theyr rentes, daunceyng in theyr dominions, burdened with  ambassages, pamperynge of theyr paunches lyke a monke that maketh his jubilie, moundiynge in their maungers, and moylynge in their gaye manoures  and mansions, and so troubeled wyth loy terynge in theyr Lordeshyppes : that  they canne not attende it. They are other wyse occupyed, some in the  kynges matters, some are ambassadoures, some of the pryuie counsell, some  to furnyslie the courte, some are Lordes of the Parliamente, some are  presidentes, and some comptroleres of myntes. Well, well.   Is thys theyr duetye? Is thys theyr offyee? Is thys theyr callyng?  Should we haue ministers of the church to be comptrollers of the myntes ?  Is thys a meete office for a prieste that hath cure of soules ? Is this hys  charge ? I woulde here aske one question : I would fayne knowe who comp-  trolleth the deuyll at home at his parishe, whyle he comptrolleth the mynte ?  If the Apostles mighte not ieaue the office of preaching to be deacons, shall  one Ieaue it for myntyng ? ’   Wilson’s Ar^e of Rhetorique (1560) has a section 'Of deliting the  hearers, and stirring them to laughter ’ in which are enumerated ' What  are the kindes of sporting, or mouing to laughter'. The subject is  illustrated by various ' pleasant ' stories, which if few of them would now  make us laugh, are at least couched in a very easy and colloquial style  and enlivened by scraps of actual conversation. The most amusing  element in the whole chapter is the attitude of the writer to the subject,  and the combination of seriousness and scurrility with which it is handled.   ' The occasion of laughter’ says Wilson, 'and themeane that maketh us mery  ... is the fondnes, the filthines, the deformitie, and all such euill be-  hauiour as we see to be in other? ... Now when we would abashe a  man for some words that he hath spoken, and can take none aduauntage  of his person, or making of his bodie, we either doubt him at the first,  and make him beleeue that he is no wiser then a Goose : or els we confute  wholy his sayings with some pleasaunt iest, or els we extenuate and diminish  his doings by some pretie meanes, or els we cast the like in his dish, and  with some other devise, dash hym out of countenance : or last of all, we  laugh him to scorne out right, and sometimes speake almost neuer a word,  but only in continuaunce, shewe our selues pleasaunt’. — ^p. 136.   ‘ A frend of mine, and a good fellowe, more honest then wealthie, yea and  more pleasant then thriftie, liauing need of a nagge for his iourney that he  had in hande, and being in the countrey, minded to go to Parlnaie faire in  Lincolnshire, not farre from the place where he then laie, and meeting by the  way one of his acquaintaunce, told him his arrande, and asked him how  horses went at the Faire. The other aunswered merely and saidc, some  trot sir, and some amble, as farre as I can see. If their paces be altered,  I praye you tell me at our next meeting. And so rid away as fast as his  horse could cary him, without saying any word more, whereat he then  being alone, fel a laughing hartely to him self, and looked after a good  while, vntil the other was out of sight.’ — p. 140.   'A Gentleman hauing heard a Sermon at Panics, and being come home,  was asked what the preacher said. The Gentleman answered he would  first heare what his man could saie, who then waited vpon him, with his  hatte and cloake, and calling his man to him, sayd, nowe sir, whate haue  you brought from the Sermon. Forsothe good Maister, sayd the seruaunt  your cloake and your hatte- A honest true dealing seruaunt out of doubt,  piaine as a packsadclle, bauing a better soule to God, though his witte was  simple, then those haue, that vnder the colour of hearing, giuc them selues  to priuie picking, and so bring other mens purses home in their bosomes,  in the steade of other mens Sermons.’— pp. 14X-2.   These two stories are intended to illustrate the point that ' We shall  delite the hearers, when they looke for one ansvvere, and we make them a cleane contrary, as though we would not seeme to vnderstand what they  would haue   ^Churlish aunsweres like the hearers sometimes very well. When the  father was cast in judgement, the Sonne seeing him weepe : why weepe  you Father? (quoth he) To whom his Father aunswered. ^What? Shall  I sing I pray thee seeing by Lawe I am condemned to "dye. Socrates  likewise bieing^ mooued of his wife, because he should dye an innocent  and guiltlesse in the Law: Why for shame woman (quoth he) wilt thou  haue me to dye giltic and deseruing. When one had falne into a ditch,  an other pitying his fall, asked him and saied : Alas how got you into  that pit ? Why Gods mother, quoth the other, doest thou aske me how  I got in, nay tell me rather in the mischiefe, how I shall get out.’   The nearest approach to the colloquial style in Bacon is to be found  in the Apophthegms, in which are scraps of conversation. A few may be  quoted, if only on account of the author.   ‘ Master Mason of Trinity College, sent his pupil to an other of the fellows,  to borrow a book of him, who told him, I am loth to lend my books out of  my chamber, but if it please thy tutor to come and read upon it in my chamber,  he shall as long as he will.” It was winter, and some days after the same  fellow sent to M^‘ Mason to borrow his bellows ; but M^’ Mason said to his  pupil, ‘‘ I am loth to lend my bellows out of my chamber, but if thy tutor  would come and blow the fire in my chamber, he shall as long as he will.”  —ApophtJi. There were fishermen drawing the river at Chelsea: M^* Bacon came  thither by chance in the afternoon, and offered to buy their draught : they  were willing. He askcvl them what they would take ? They asked thirty  shillings. M^ Bacon offered them ten. They refused it. Why then said  M^* Bacon, I will be only a looker on. They drew and catched nothing.  Saith M^ Bacon, Are not you mad fellows now, that might have had an  angel in your purse, to have made merry withal, and to have warmed you  thoroughly, and now you must go home with nothing. Ay but, saith the  fishermen, we had hope then to make a better gain of it. Saith M^’ Bacon,  ‘‘ Well my master, then I will tell you, hope is a good breakfast, but it is  a bad supper.” Otway^s Comedies have all the coarseness and raciness of dialogue  of the latter half of the seventeenth century, and a pretty vein of genuine  comicality. They are packed with the familiar slang and colloquialisms  of the period. A few passages from Friendship in Fashion illustrate  at once the speech and the manners of the day.    Enter Lady SQUEAMISH at the Door,   Sir Noble Clmnsey, Hah, my Lady Cousin ! —Faith Madam you see I am  at it.   Malagene, The Devil’s wit, I think ; we could no sooner talk of wh —  but she must come in, with a pox to her. Madam, your Ladyship’s most  humble Servant.   Ldy Squ. Oh, odious ! insufferable ! who would have thought Cousin, you  would have serv’d me so— fough, how he stinks of wine, I can smell him  hither. — How have you the Patience to hear the Noise of Fiddles, and  spend your time in nasty drinking ?   Sir Noble, Hum ! ’tis a good Creature : Lovely Lady, thou shalt take  thy Glass.   Ldy Sgu, Uh gud ; murder 1 I had rather you had offered me a toad.   B b   Sir N, Then Malagene, here’s a Health to my Lady Cousin’s Pelion  upon Ossa. [Drinks and breaks the   Ldy Squ, Lord, dear Malagene what ’s that ?   MaL A certain Place Madam, in Greece, much talk’t of by the Ancients ;  the noble Gentleman is well read.   Ldy Squ. 'Nay he’s an ingenious Person I’ll assure you.   Sir N. Now Lady bright, I am wholly thy Slave: Give me thy Hand,  I’ll go straight and begin my Grandmother’s Kissing Dance ; but first deign  me the private Honour of thy Lip.   Ldy Squ. Nay, fie Sir Noble 1 how I hate you now ! for shame be not so  rude : I swear you are quite spoiled. Get you gone you good-natur’d Toad  you. [Exetmti\    Malagene, . . . I’m a very good Mimick ; I can act Punchinello, Scara-  mouchir, Harlequin, Prince Prettyman or anything. 1 can act the rumbling  of a Wheel -barrow.   Valentine, The rumbling of a Wheel-barrow !   MaL Ay, the rumbling of a Wheel-barrow, so I say — Nay more than that,  I can act a Sow and Pigs, Saussages a broiling, a Shoulder of Mutton a  roasting : I can act a fly in a Honey-pot,   Truman, That indeed must be the Effect of very curious Observation.   MaL No, hang it, I never make it my business to observe anything, that  is Mechanicke. But all this I do, you shall see me if you will : But here  comes her Ladyship and Sir Noble.   Ldy Squ, Oh, dear M^ Truman, rescue me. Nay Sir Noble for Heav’n’s  sake.   Sir N, I tell thee Lady, I must embrace thee : Sir, do you know me ! I am  Sir Noble Clumsey : I am a Rogue of an Estate, and I live— Do you want  any money ? I have fifty pounds.   VaL Nay good Sir Noble, none of your Generosity we beseech you. The  Lady, the Lady, Sir Noble.   Sir N. Nay, ’tis all one to me if you won’t take ft, there it is. — Hang  Money, my Father was an Alderman.   MaL ’Tis pity good Guineas should be spoil’d, Sir Noble, by your leave.   [Picks up the Guineasl\   Sir N. But, Sir, you will not keep my Money ?   MaL Oh, hang Money, Sir, your Father was an Alderman.   Sir N, Well, get thee gone for an Arch-Wag — I do but sham all this  while i — ^but by Dad he ’s pure Company. Lady, once more I say be civil, and come kiss me.   VaL Well done Sir Noble, to her, never spare.   Ldy Squ, I may be even with you tho for all this, Valentine : Nay  dear Sir Noble : M^ Truman, I’ll swear he’ll put me into Fits.   Sir N, No, but let me salute the Hem of thy Garment, Wilt thou marry  me? [LTneels.]   MaL Faith Madam do, let me make the Match.   Ldy Squ, Let me die Malagene, you are a strange Man, and Fll  swear have a great deal of Wit. Lord, why don’t you write ?   MaL Write? I thank your Ladyship for that with all my Heart. No  I have a Finger in a Lampoon or so sometimes, that ’s all.   Truman, But he can act.   Ldy Squ, I’ll swear, and so he does better than any one upon our  Theatres; I have seen him. Oh the English Comedians are nothing, not  comparable to the French or Italian: Besides we want Poets.   SirN, Poets! Why I am a Poet; I have written three Acts of a Play,  and have nam’d it already. ’Tis to be a Tragedy.   Ldy Squ. Oh Cousin, if you undertake to write a Tragedy, take my Counsel : Be sure to say soft melting tender things in it that may be moving,  and make your Lady’s Characters virtuous whatever you do.   Sir N. Moving I Why, I can never read it myself but it makes me laugh :  well, ’tis the pretty’st Plot, and so full of Waggery.   Ldy Sgti, Oh ridiculous I   Mai But Knight, the Title ; Knight, the Title.   Sir N, Why let me see ; ’tis to be called The Merry Conceits of Love ;  or the Life and Death of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, with the Humours  of his Dog Boabdillo.   Mai PI a, ha, ha. . Ldy Squ, But dear Malagene, won’t you let us see you act a little  something of Harlequin? I’ll swear you do it so naturally, it makes me  think Fm at the Louvre or Whitehall all the time. [Mai acis.] O Lord,  don’t, don’t neither ; I’ll swear you’ll make me burst. Was there ever any-  thing so pleasant ?   Trwn, Was ever anything so affected and ridiculous ? Her whole Life  sure is a continued Scene of Impertinence. What a damn’d Creature is  a decay’d Woman, with all the exquisite Silliness and Vanity of her Sex, yet  none of the Charms ! [Mai s^peaks in PunchinelMs voicei\   Ldy Squ, O Lord, that, that ; that is a Pleasure intolerable. Well, let  me die if I can hold out any longer.   A Comparison between the Stages, wiih an Examen of the Generous  Conqueror^ printed in 1702, is a dialogue between ^ Two Gentlemen’,  Sullen and Ramble (see below), and ^a Critick’,upon the plays of the day and  others of an earlier date. The style is that of easy and natural familiar con-  versation, with little or no artificiality, and incidentally, the tract throws  light upon contemporary manners and social habits. The following  examples are designed to illustrate the colloquial handling of indifferent  topics, and the small-talk of the early eighteenth century, as well as  the treatment of the immediate subject of the essay.   Sullen. They may talk of the Country and what they will, but the Park  for my money.   Ramble. In its proper Season I grant you, when the Mall is pav’d with  lac’d shoes ; when the Air is perfum’d with the rosie Breath of so many fine  Ladies ; when from one end to the other the Sight is entertain’d with nothing  but Beauty, and the whole Prospect looks like an Opera.   Sull And when is it out of Season Ramble ?   Ram. When the Beauties desert it ; when the absence of this charming  Company makes it a Solitude : Then Sullen, the Park is to me no more than  a Wilderness, a very Common ; and a Grove in a country Garden with a  pretty Lady is by much the pleasanter Landscape.   Sull To a Man of your Quicksilver Constitution it may be so, and the  Cuckoo in May may be Music t’ee a hundred Miles off, when all the Masters  in Town can’t divert you.   Ram. I love everything as Nature and the Nature of Pleasure has con-  triv’d it ; I love the Town in Winter, because then the Country looks aged  and deform’d ; and I hate the Town in Summer, because then the Country is  in its Glory, and looks like a Mistress just drest out for enjoyment.   Sull Very well distinguish’d : Not like a Bride, but like a Mistress.   Ram. I distinguish ’em by that comparison because I love nothing well  enough to be wedded to ’t : I’m a Proteus in my Appetite, and love to change  my Abode with my Inclination,   Sull I differ from you for the very Reason you give for your change ; the  Town is evermore the same to me ; and tho* the Season makes it look after  another manner, yet still it has a Face to please me one way or other, and  both Winter and Summer make it agreeable, —pp. 1-3*   B b 2   Here is a conversation during dinner at the ' Blew Posts \   Critik, What have you order’d ?   Ramh. A Brace of Carp stew’d, a piece of Lamb, and a Sallet ; d’ee  like it ?   Crit, I like, anything in the World that will indure Cutting : Prithee  Cook make haste or expect I shall Storm thy Kitchin.   SulL Why thou’rt as hungry as if thou hadst been keeping Garrison in  Mantua : I don’t know whether Flesh and Blood is safe in thy Company.   CriL I wish with all my Heart thou wert there, that thou mightst under-  stand what it is to fast as 1 have done : Come, to our Places • . . the blessed  hour is come. . . . Sit, sit . . . fall to, Graces are out of Fashion.   Ramb. I wish the Charming Madam Subligny were here.   CriL Gad so don’t 1 : I had rather her P'eet were pegg’d down to the  Stage; at present my Appetite stands another way : Waiter, some Wine . , .  or I shall choak. . Suit, This Fellow eats like an Ostrich, the Bones of these great Fish are  no more to him than the Bones of an Anchovy ; they melt upon his Tongue  like marrow Puddings.   Crit Ay, you may talk, but I’m sure I find ’em not so gentle ; here ’s  one yet in my Throat will be my death ; the Flask . . . the Flask . . . ,   Ramb. But Critick, how did you like the Play last Night ?   Crit. I’ll tell you by and by, Lord Sir, you won’t give a Man time to break  his Fast: This Fish is such washy Meat ... a Man can’t fix his knife in ’t,  it runs away from him as if it were still alive, and was afraid of the Hook :  Put the Lamb this way.   SulL The Rogue quarrels with the Fish, and yet you cou’d eat up the  whole Pond ; the late Whale at Cuckold’s point, with all its oderiferous Gar-  badge, wou’d ha’ been but a Meal to him : Well, how do you like the Lamb ?  does that feel your knife?   Crit. A little more substantial, and not much : Well, I shou’d certainly be  starv’d if I were to feed with the French, I hate their thin slops, their Pot-  tages, Frigaces, and Ragous, where a Man may bury his Hand in the Sauce,  and dine upon Steam : No, no, commend me to King Jemmy’s English  Surloin, in whose gentle Flesh a Man may plunge a Case-knife to the tip of  the Handle, and then draw out a Slice that will surfeit half a Score Yeoman of  the Guard. Some Wine ye Dog . . . there . , . now I have slain the Giant ;  and now to your Question . . . what was it you askt me ?   Ramb. Won’t you stay the Desert ? Some Tarts and Cheese ?   Crit I abominate Tarts and Cheese, they’re like a faint After-kiss, when  a Man is sated with better Sport ; there ’s no more Nourishment in ’em, than  in the paring of an Apple. Here Waiter take away. . . .   Ramb. Then remove every Thing but the Table-cloth.’ , .   Ramb. Here Waiter — send to the Booksellers in Pell mell for the Generous  Conqueror and make haste . . , you say you know the Author Critick.   Crit. By sight I do, but no further ; he ’s a Gentleman of good Extraction,  and for ought I know, of good Sense.   Ramb. Surely that’s not to be questioned; I take it for granted that  a Man that can write a Play, must be a Man of good Sense.   Crit That is not always a consequence, I have known many a singing  Master have a worse voice than a Parish Clerk, and I know two dancing  Masters at this time, that are directly Cripples : . . . A Ship-builder may fit  up a Man of War for the West Indies, and perhaps not know his Compas :  Or a great Trpelier, with Heylin, that writ the Geography of the whole  World, may, like him, not know the way from the next Village to his  own House.   Ramb. Your Comparisons are remote M*^ Critick.   Cfit. Not so remote as some successful Authors are from good sense ;  Wit and Sense are no more the same than Wit and Humour; nay there is  even in Wit an uncertain Mode, a variable Fashion, that is as unstable as  the Fashion of our Cloaths : This may be proved by their Works who writ  a hundred Years ago, compar’d with some of the modern ; Sir Philip Sidney,  Don, Overbury, nay Ben himself took singular delight in playing with their  Words : Sir Philip is everywhere in his Arcadia jugling, which certainly by  the example of so great a Man, proves that sort of Wit then in Fashion ; now  that kind of Wit is call’d Punning and Quibbling, and is become too low for  the Stage, nay even for ordinary Converse ; so that when we find a Man who  still loves that old fashion’d Custom, we make him remarkable, as who is  more remarkable than Capt. Swan.   Ramb. Nay, your Quibble does well now a Days, your best Comedies  tast of ’em ; the Old Batchelor is rank.   Crit. But ’tis every Day decreasing, and Queen Betty’s Ruff and Fardin-  gale are not more exploded ; But Sense Gentlemen, is and will be the same  to the World’s end.   SulL And Nonsense is infinite, for England never had such a Stock and  such Variety.   Ramb. Yet I have heard the Poets that flourish’d in the last Reign but  two, complain of the same Calamity, and before that Reign the thing was the  same : All Ages have produced Murmurers ; and in the best of times you shall  hear the Trades-man cry — Alas Neighbour ! sad Times, very hard Times .. ,  not a Penny of Money stirring . . . Trade is quite dead, and nothing but War  . . . War and Taxes . . . when to my knowledge the gluttonous Rogue shall  drink his two Bottles at Dinner, and his Wife have half a Score of rich Suits,  a purse of Gold for the Gallant, and fifty Pounds worth of Gold and Silver  Lace on her under Petticoats.   Sail, Nay certainly, this that Ramble now speaks of is a great Truth;  those hypocritical Rogues are always grumbling; and tho’ our Nation never  had such a Trade, or so much Money, yet ’tis all too little for their voracious  Appetites : As I live — says he, I can’t afford this Silk one Penny cheaper —  d’ee mind the Rogues Equivocation ? as I live — ^that is, he lives like a Gen-  tleman — but let him live like a Tradesman and be hang’d ; let him wear  a Frock, and his Wife a blew Apron.   Ramb, See, the Book ’s here : go Waiter and shut the Door. — pp. 76-9.   The dialogue of Hichardson, ' sounynge in moral vertu ^ devoid of all  the lighter touches, is typical of the age that was beginning, the age of  reaction against the levities and negligences in speech and conduct  of the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries.   The following conversation of rather an agitated character, between  a mother and daughter, is from Letter XVI, in Clarissa Ifarlozue{i*j4S):   * • * • My mother came up to me. I love, she was pleased to say, to come  into this appartment.— No emotions child I No flutters ! — Am I not your  mother F—Am I not your fond, your indulgent mother P-— Do not discompose  me by discomposixig Do not occasion me uneasiness, when I would   glveyau nothing but pleasure. Come my dear, we will go into your closet. . . .  PI ear me out and then speak ; for I was going to expostulate. You are no  stranger to the end of M^ Solmes’s visits — O Madam! — Hear me out;  and then speak. — He is not indeed everything I wish him to be : but he is  a man of probity and has no vices — No vices Madam ! — Hear me out child. —  You have not behaved much amiss to him : we have seen with pleasur *. that  you have not — O Madam, must I not now speak ! I shall have done pre.‘ fently,  —A young creature of your virtuous and pious turn, she was pleased ! say,  cannot surely love a predicate ; you love your brother too well, to wish p see  any one who had like to have killed him, and who threatened youri incles  and defies us all You have had your own way six or seven times : v|? | w^nt  to secure you against a man so vile. Tell me (I have a right to know)  whether you prefer this man to all others ? — Yet God forbid that I should  know you do ; for such a declaration would make us all miserable. Yet tell  me, a.re your affections engaged to this man ?   I know what the inference would be if I had said they were not You hesitate  — You answer me not — You cannot answer me — Rising — Nevermore will  I look upon you with an eye of favour — O Madam, Madam ! Kill me not  with your displeasure — I would not, I need not, hesitate one moment, did  I not dread the inference, if I answer you as you wish. — Yet be that inference  what it will, your threatened displeasure will make me speak. And I declare  to you, that I know not my own heart if it be not absolutely free. And pray,  let me ask my dearest Mamma, in what has my conduct been faulty, that  like a giddy creature, I must be forced to marr^r, to save me from— from  what ? Let me beseech you Madam to be the Guardian of my reputation \  Let not your Clarissa be precipitated into a stale she wishes not to enter into  with any man ! And this upon a supposition that otherwise she shall marry  herself, and disgrace her whole family.   When then, Clary [passing over the force of my plea] if your heart be free  — O my beloved Mamma, let the usual generosity of your dear heart operate  in my favour.^ Urge not upon me the inference that made me hesitate.   I won’t be interrupted, Clary — You have seen in my behaviour to you, on  this occasion, a truly maternal tenderness ; you have observed that I have  undertaken the task with some reluctance, because the man is not everything ;  and because I know you carry your notions of perfection in a man too high.  — Dearest Madam, this one time excuse me ! Is there then any danger that  I should be guilty of an imprudent thing for the man’s sake you hint at ?  Again interrupted! Am I to be questioned, and argued with? You know  this won’t do somewhere else. You know it won’t. What reason then,  ungenerous girl, can you have for arguing with me thus, but because you  think from my indulgence to you you may ?   What can I say ? What can I do ? What must that cause be that will not  bear being argued upon ?   Again ! Clary Harlowe —   Dearest Madam forgive me : it was always my pride and my pleasure to  obey you. But look upon that man — see but the disagreeableness of his  person — Now, Clary, do I see whose pei'son you have in your eye ! — Now is  M^’ Solmes, I see, but coinparatively disagreeable ; disagreeable only as an«  other man has a much more specious person.   But, Madam, are not his manners equally so 1 — Is not his person the true  representation of his mind ? — That other man is not, shall not be, anything  to me, release me from this one man, whom my heart, unbidden, resists.   Condition thus with your father. Will he bear, do you think, to be thus  dialogued with? Have I not conjured you, as you value my peace — What is  it that / do not give up ?*~-This very task, because I apprehended you would  not be easily persuaded, is a task indeed upon me. And will you give up  nothing ? Have you not refused as many as have been offered to you ? If you  would not have us guess for whom, comply ; for comply you must, or be  looked upon as in a state of defiance with your whole family. And saying  thus she arose, and went from me.’   Miss AusteiL.   The following examples of Miss Austen’s dialogue are not selected  because they are the most sparkling conversations in her works, but  rather because they appear to be typical of the way of speech of the  period, and further they illustrate Miss Austeff s incomparable art. The  first passage is ixomEmma^ which was written between i8ii and  3^5   i8i6. Mr. Woodhouse and his daughter have just received an invitation  to dine with the Coles, enriched tradespeople who had settled in the  neighbourhood. Emma's view of them was that they were ' very respect-  able in their way, but they ought to be taught that it was not for them to  arrange the times on which the superior families would visit them On  the present occasion, however, ‘ she was not absolutely w^ithout inclina-  tion for the party. The Coles expressed themselves so properly — there  was so much real attention in the manner of it — so much consideration  for her father/ Emma having decided in her own mind to accept the  invitation — some of her intimate friends were going — it remained to  explain to her father, the ailing and fussy Mr. Woodhouse, that he  would be left alone without his daughter s company for the evening, as it  was out of the question that he should accompany her. ‘ He was soon  pretty well resigned.’   ‘ I am not fond of dinner-visiting ” said he ; “I never was. No more is  Emma. Late hours do not agree with us. I am sorry and Cole  should have done it. I think it would be much better if they would come in  one afternoon next summer and take their tea with us ; take us in their  afternoon walk, which they might do, as our hours are so reasonable, and  yet get home without being out in the damp of the evening. The dews of  a summer evening are what I would not expose anybody to. However as  they are so very desirous to have dear Emma dine with them, and as you  will both be there [this refers to his friend Weston and his wife], and  Knightley too, to take care of her I cannot wish to prevent it, provided  the weather be what it ought, neither damp, nor cold, nor windy.” Then  turning to Weston with a look of gentle reproach — “Ah, Miss Taylor,  if you had not married, you would have staled at home with me.”   “ Well, Sir ”, cried Weston, as I took Miss Taylor away, it is incumbent  upon me to supply her place, if I can ; and I will step to M^’® Goddard in  a moment if you wish it.” . . . With this treatment M^ Woodhouse was  soon composed enough for talking as usual. “ He should be happy to see  M^*® Goddard. He had a great regard for Goddard; and Emma  should write a line and invite her. James could take the note. But first  there must be an answer written to M’^® Cole.”   “ You will make my excuses, my dear, as civilly as possible. You will say  that I am quite an invalid, and go nowhere, and therefore must decline their  obliging invitation ; beginning with my comj^limentsy of course. But you will  do everything right. I need not tell you what is to be done. We must  remember to let James know that the carriage will be wanted on Tuesday.  I shall have no fears for you with him. We have never been there above  once since the new approach was made ; but still I have no doubt that James  will take you very safely ; and when you gel there you must tell him at what  time you would have him come for you again ; and you had better name an  early hour. You will not like staying late. You will get tired when tea is over.”   “ But you would not wish me to come away before I am tired, papa ? ”   Oh no my love ; but you will soon be tired. There will be a great many  people talking at once. You will not like the noise.”   “But my dear Sir,” cried M^’ Weston, “if Emma comes away early, it  will be breaking up the party.”   “ And no great harm if it does ” said Woodhouse. “ The sooner every  party breaks up the better.”   “ But you do not consider how it may appear to the Coles. Emma’s going  away directly after tea might be giving offense. They are good-natured  people, and think little of their own claims ; but still they must feel that  anybody’s hurrying away is no great compliment ; and Miss Woodhouse’s doing it would be more thought of than any other personas in the room.  You would not wish to disappoint and mortify the Coles, I am sure, sir;  friendly, good sort of people as ever lived, and who have been your neighbours  these /en years.”   ‘^No, upon no account in the world, Weston, I am much obliged to  you for reminding me. I should be extremely sorry to be giving them any  pain. I know what worthy people they are. Peny tells me that Cole  never touches malt liquor. You would not think it to look at him, but he is  bilious — M^' Cole is very bilious. No, I would not be the means of giving  them any pain. My dear Emma we must consider this. I am sure rather  than run any risk of hurting and Cole you would stay a little longer  than you might wish. You will not regard being tired. You will be perfectly  safe, you know, among your friends.”   Oh 5^es, papa. I have no fears at all for myself ; and I should have no  scruples of staying as late as Weston, but on your account. I am only  afraid of your silting up for me. I am not afraid of your not being ex-  ceedingly comfortable with Goddard. ^ She loves piquet, you know ; but  when she is gone home I am afraid you will be sitting up by youiself, instead  of going to bed at your usual time ; and the idea of that would entirely  destroy my comfort. You must promise me not to sit up.” *   The next example is in a very different vein. It is from Sense and  Sensibility (chap, xxi) and records the mode of conversation of the  Miss Steeles. These two ladies are among Miss Austen's vulgar  characters, and their speech lacks the restraint and decorum which her  better-bred personages invariably exhibit. While the Miss Steeles’ con-  versation is in sharp contrast with that of the Miss Dashwoods, with  whom they are here engaged, both in substance and manner, it evidently  passed muster among many of the associates of the latter, especially with  their cousin Sir John Middleton, in whose house, as relations of his  wife's, the Miss Steeles are staying. Apart from the vulgarity of thought,  the diction appears low when compared with that of most of Miss Austen's  characters. As a matter of fact it is largely the way of speech of the  better society of an earlier age, which has come down in the world, and  survives among a pretentious provincial bourgeoisie.   ‘ ‘^What a sweet woman Lady Middleton is” said Lucy Steele . . . '‘And  Sir John too ” cried the elder sistei', “ what a charming man he is ! ” . . .   And what a charming little family they have ! I never saw such fine children  in my life. I declare I quite doat upon them already, and indeed I am  always destractedly fond of children.” "I should guess so” said Elinor  with a smile “from what I witnessed this morning.”   “I have a notion” said Lucy, “you think the little Middletons rather too  much indulged ; perhaps they may be the outside of enough ; but it is natural  in Lady Middleton; and for my part I love to see children full of life and  spirits ; I cannot bear them if they are tame and quiet”   “I confess ” replied Elinor, “that while I am at Barton Park, I never  think of tame and quiet children with any abhorrence.” *    “ And how do you like Devonshire, Miss Dashwood ? (said Miss Steele)  I suppose you were very sorry to leave Sussex.”   In some suiyrise at the familiarity of this question, or at least in the  manner in which it was spoken, Elinor replied that she was.   “Norland is a prodigious beautiful place, is not it?” added Miss Steele,  “We have heard Sir John admire it excessively,” said Lucy, who seemed  to think some apology necessary for the freedom of her sister. “ I think     MISS LUCY STEELE    B11   every one admire it ’'replied Elinor, “who ever saw the place; though  it is not to be supposed that any one can estimate its beauties as we do."   “ And had you many smart beaux there ? I suppose you have not so many  in this part of the world ; for my part I think they are a vast addition  always."   “ But why should you think " said Lucy, looking ashamec^ of her sister,  “that there are not as many genteel young men in Devonshire as Sussex."   “ Nay, my dear, Fm sure I don’t pretend to say that there an’t. Fm sure  there ’s a vast many smart beaux in Exeter ; but you know, how could I tell  what smart beaux there might be about Norland? and I was only afraid the  Miss Dashwoods might find it dull at Barton ; if they had not so many as  they used to have. But perhaps you young ladies may not care about beaux,  and had as lief be without them as with them. For my part, I think they are  vastly agreeable, provided they dress smart and behave civil. But I can’t  bear to see them dirty and nasty. Now, there’s Rose at Exeter, a pro-  digious smart young man, quite a beau, clerk to Simpson, you know,  and yet if you do but meet him of a morning, he is not fit to be seen. I sup-  pose your brother was quite a beau, Miss Dashwood, before he married, as  he was so rich ? "   “ Upon my word," replied Elinor, “I cannot tell you, for I do not per-  fectly comprehend the meaning of the word. But this I can say, that if he  ever was a beau before he married, he is one still, for there is not the smallest  alteration in him."   “ Oh ! dear 1 one never thinks of married men’s being beaux — they have  something else to do."   “Lord! Anne", cried her sister, “you can talk of nothing but beaux; —  you will make Miss Dashwood believe you think of nothing else."’   It is not surprising that ‘ “ this specimen of the Miss Steeles’" was enough.  The vulgar freedom and folly of the eldest left her no recommendation  and as Elinor was not blinded by the beauty, or the shrewd look of the  youngest, to her want of real elegance and artlessness, she left the house  without any wish of knowing them better   Greetings and Farewells.   Only the slightest indication can be given of the various modes of greet-  ing and bidding farewell These seem to have been very numerous, and  less stereotyped in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries than at present. It  is not easy to be sure how soon the formulas which we now employ, or  their ancestral forms, came into current use. The same form often serves  both at meeting and parting.   In 1451, Agnes Paston records, in a letter, that "after evynsonge,  Angnes Ball com to me to my closett and dad me good evyn \ In the  account, quoted above, p. 362, given by Shillingford of his meetings  with the Chancellor, about 1447, he speaks of "saluting hym yn the  moste godely wyse that y coude ' but does not tell us the form he used.  The Chancellor, however, replies " Welcome^ ij times, and the tyme   Right met come Mayer'% and helde the Mayer a grete while faste by  the honde I   In the sixteenth century a great deal of ceremonial embracing and  kissing was in vogue. Wolsey and the King of France, according to  Cavendish, rode forward to meet each other, and they embraced each  other on horseback. Cavendish himself when he visits the castle of the  Lord of Cr^pin, a great nobleman, in order to prepare a lodging for the Cardinal, is met by this great personage, who ^ at his first coming  embraced me, saying I was right heartily welcome'. Henry VIII was  wont to walk with Sir Thomas More, ' with his arm about his neck \  The actual formula used in greeting and leave-taking is too often un-  recorded. When the French Embassy departs from England, whom  Wolsey has sb splendidly entertained, Cavendish says — ' My lord, after  humble commendations had to the French King bade them adieu'. The  Earl of Shrewsbury greets the Cardinal thus — ‘ My Lord, your Grace is  most heartily welcome unto me', and Wolsey replies ‘Ah my gentle  Lord of Shrewsbury, I heartily thank you '.   It is not until the appearance of plays that we find the actual forms of  greeting recorded with frequency. In Roister Doister, there are a fair  number: — God heepe thee worshipful Master Roister Doister; Welcome  my good wenche ; God you saue and see Nourse ; and the reply to this —  Welcome friend Merrygreeke; Good flight Roger old farewell   Roger old knaue ; well mef^ I bid you right welcome, A very favourite  greeting is God he with you,   God continue your Lordship is a form of farewell in Chapman's  Monsieur D'Olive, and God-den ‘ good evening occurs in Middleton's  Chaste Maid in Cheapside. Sir Walter Whorehoimd in the same play  makes use of the formula ‘ I embrace your acquaintance Sir \ to which  the reply is vows your service Str\ Massinger's New Way to pay  old Debts contains various formulas of greeting. I ain still your creature^  says Allworth to his step-mother Lady A. on taking leave ; of two old  domestics he takes leave with ‘ rny service to both \ and they reply ‘ ours  waits on you In reply to the simple Farewell Tom, of a friend,  All worth answers ^ All joy stay with you \ Sir Giles Overreach greets  Lord Lovel with ‘ Good day to My Lord ' ; and the prototype of the modern  how are you is seen in Lady Allworth's ‘ Hoiv dost thou Marrall P '  A graceful greeting in this play is ‘ Fou are happily encountered'.   The later seventeenth-century comedies exhibit the characteristic  urbanity of the age in their formulas of greeting and leave-taking.   ‘ A happy day to you Madam is Victoria's morning compliment to  Mrs. Goodvile in Otway's Friendship in Fashion, and that lady replies—  ‘ Dear Cousin, your humble servant'. Sir Wilfull Witwoud in Congreve's  Way of the World, says ‘ Save you Gentleman and Lady ' on entering  a room. His younger brother, on meeting him, greets him with ‘ Four  servant Brother", and the knight replies ‘ servant! Why yours Sir,  Four servant again ; "s heart, and your Friend and Servant to that \  Tm everlastingly your humble servant, deuce take me Madam, says Mr. Brisk  to Lady Froth, in the Double Dealer.   Your servant is a very usual formula at this period, on joining or  leaving company. In Vanbrugh's Journey to London, Colonel Courtly  on entering is greeted by Lady Headpiece — Colonel your servant; her  daughter Miss Betty varies it with^ — Four servant Colonel, and the visitor  replies to both — Ladies, your most ohedienL   Mr. Trim, the formal coxcomb in ShadwelFs Bury Fair, parts thus  from his friends — Sir, I kiss your hands ; Mr, Wildish— -S’/r your most  humble servant; Trim — Oldwii I am your most faithful servant;  Mr. Oldwit — Four servant sweet il/'* Trim, Four servant, madam good morrow to you, is Lady Arabella's greeting  to Lady Headpiece, who replies — to you Madam (Vanbrugh's  Journey to London). The early eighteenth century appears not to  differ materially from the preceding in its usage. Lord Formal in  Fielding's Love in Several Masques, says Ladies your most humble  servafit, and Sir Apish in the same play — Four Ladyships everlasting  creature^    Epistolary Formulas.   The writing of letters, both familiar and formal, is such an inevitable  part of everyday life, that it seems legitimate to include here some  examples of the various methods of beginning and ending private letters  from the early fifteenth century onwards. A proper and exhaustive  treatment of the subject would demand a rather elaborate classification,  according to the rank and status of both the writer and the recipient,  and the relation in which they stood to each other — whether master  and servant, or dependant, friend, subject, child, spouse, and so on.  In the comparatively few examples here given, out of many thousands,  nothing is attempted beyond a chronological arrangement The status  and relationship of the parties is, however, given as far as possible. We  note that the formula employed is frequently a conventional and more  or less fixed phrase which recurs, with slight variants, again and again.  At other times the opening and closing phrases are of a more personal  and individual character.   1418. Archbp* Chichele to Hen. V, Signs simply: your preest and bede-  man. — Ellis, i. i. 5.   142 5. IVilL Fasten to . Right worthy and worshepfull Sir. I recom-   maunde me to you, &c. Ends : Almyghty God have you in his governaunce.  Your frend unknowen. — Past. Letters, i. 19-20.   1440. Agnes to Will. Fasten. Inscribed: To my worshepful housbond  W. Paston be this letter takyn. Dere housbond I reccommaunde me to yow.  Ends : The Holy Trinite have you in governaunce. — P. L. i. 38-9.   1442-5. Dtike of Buckingham to Lord Beau 7 nont, Ryght worshipful and  with all my herte right enterly beloved brother, I recomaunde me to you,  thenking right hastili your good brotherhode for your gode and gentill letters.  I beseche the blissid Trinite preserve you in honor and prosperite. Your  trewe and feithfull broder H. Bukingham. — P. L- i. 61-2.   1443. Margaret to John Paston. Ryth worchipful husbon, I reccomande  me to yow desyryng her tel y to her of your wilfar. Almyth God have you in  his kepyn and sendo yow helth, Yorys M. Paston. — P. L. i. 48-9.   1444. James Gresham to Will. Fasten. Please it your good Lordship to  wete, &c. Ends : Wretyn right simply the Wednesday next to fore the Fest.  By your laiost symple servaunt — P. L. i, 50.   1444, Duchess of Norfolk to J. Past 07 i. Ryght tmsty and entirely wel-  bclovcd we grete you wel hertily as we kan , . . and siche agrement as, &c.  ... we shall duely performe yt with the myght of Jesu who haff you in his  blissed keping. — P. L. i. 57,   1444. Sir R. Ckamberlayn to Agn. Paston. Ryght worchepful cosyn,  I comand me to you. And I beseche almyty God kepe you. Your Cosyn  Sir Roger Chamberlain.   1445. Agnes to Edm. Fasten. To myn welbelovid sone. I grete you wel.  Be your Modre Angnes Paston.— i, 58, 59.     380 COLLOQUIAL IDIOM   1449, Marg, to John Paston. Wretyn at Norwych in hast, Be your gronyng  Wyfr.-~i. 76“7-   1449. Same to sa 7 ne. No mor I wryte to ^ow atte this tyme* Your Mar-  karyte Paston. — i. 42-3.   1449. John Paston, Ends : Be ^owre pore Broder*   1449. E Its. ^ Clare to J, Paston, No raore I wrighte to 50 w at this tyme,  but Holy Cost have 50W in kepyng. Wretyn in haste on Scynt Peterys day  be candel lyght, Be your Cosyn E. C. — P. L. i. 89-90.   1450. Duke of Suffolk to his son. My dear and only welbeloved sone.  Your trewe and lovynge fader Suffolk. — P. L. i. 12 1-2.   1450, IVilL Lomme to J, Paston, I prey you this bille may recomaunde  me to mastrases your moder and wyfe. Wretyn yn gret hast at London. —  P.L. i. 126.   1450. y. Gresham to ^ my Mats ter Whyte Esguyer\ After due recomen-  dacion I recomaund me to yow.   1450. J, Paston to above, James Gresham, I pray you labour for the, &c.  — i. 145*   1450. Justice Yelverton to Sir J, Fastolf, By your old Servaunt William  Yelverton Justice. — P, L. i. 166.   1453. Agnes toJ, Paston, Sone I grete you well and send you Godys  blessyng and myn. Wretyn at Norwych ... in gret hast, Be your moder  A. Paston. — P. L. i. 259.   1454. J, Paston to Earl of Oxford* Youre servaunte to his powr John  Paston. — P. L. i. 276,   1454. Lord Scales to J, Paston, Our Lord have you in governaunce. Your  frend The Lord Scales. — P. L. i. 289.   1454, Thomas Howes to J, Paston, I pray God kepe yow. Wiyt at Castr  hastly ij day of September, Your owne T. Howes. — P. L. i. 301.   1454. The same. Your chapleyn and bedeman Thomas Howes.— *i. 31 8.   1455. /• PoLstolf to Duke of Norfolk, Writen at my pore place of  Castre, Your humble man and servaunt. — P. L. i. 324.   1455. /. Cudworth, Bp. of Lmcoln^ to J, Patton, And Jesu preserve you,  J. Bysshopp of Lincoln. — P.L. i. 350.   1456. Archbp, Bourchier to Sir J, Fastolf, The blissid Trinitee have you  everlastingly in His keping, Written in my manoir of Lamehith, Your feith-  full and trew Th, Cant. — P. L. i. 382.   1456 (Nephew to uncle). H, Fylinglay to Sir J, Fastolf Ryght wor-  shipful unkell and my ryght good master, I recomniaund me to yow wyth all  my servys. And Sir, my brother Paston and I have, &c. . . . Your nevew  and servaunt — P. L. i. 397.   1458. John Jerningham to Marg, Paston. Nomor I wryte unto you at  this tyme. . . . Your owne umhle servant and cosyn J. J.— P, L. i. 429.   1458 (Daughter to her mother). Elh, Poynings to Agn, Paston, Right  worshipful and my most entierly belovde moder, in the most lowly maner  I recomaund me unto your gode moderhode. . . . And Jesu for his grete  mercy save yow. By your humble daughter. — P. L. i, 434-5.   1469. Chancellor and University of Oxford to Sir John Say, Ryght wor-  shipful our trusty and entierly welbeloued, after harty commendacyon. . . .  Ends : yo’-' trew and harty louers The Chancelir and Thuniversite of Oxon-  ford. — Ellis.   1477. John Paston to Ms mother* Your sone and humbyll servaunt P. —  P. L. iii. 176.   1481-4. Edm, Paston to Ms mother, umble son and servant. —   P. L. iii, 280.   1482. J, Paston to Ms mother. Your sone and trwest servaunt — P. h*  iii. 290.   1482. Margery Paston to her hushaftd. No more to you at this tyme, Be  your servaunt and bede woman.— iii. 293, 1485. Duke of Norfolk to J, Faston. Welbelovyd frend I cummaund me  to yow. . . . I shall content you at your metyng with me, Yower lover J. Nor-  folk.— iii. 320,   1485. Eliz, Browne to J. Paston. Your loving awnte E. B.   1485. Duke of Suffolk to f Paston, Ryght welbeloved we grete you well.  . , . Suffolk, yor frende. — iii. 324-5.   1490. Bp* of Durham to Sir fohn Paston* IH2, Xps*. Rygiit wortchipful  sire, and myne especial and of long tyme apprevyd, trusty and feythful frende,  I in myne hertyeste wyse recommaunde me un to you. . . , Scribyllyd in the  moste haste, at my castel or manoir of Aucland the xxvij of Januay. Your  own trewe luffer and frende John Duresme. — iii. 363.   1490. Lumen H ary son to Sir f Past on. Onerabyll and well be lov^^'d  Knythe, I commend me on to 5our masterchepe and to my lady 5owyr wyffe.  . , . No mor than God be wyth 50W, L. H. at ^ouyr comawndment.   1503. Q. Margaret of Scotland to her father Hen. VII. My moste dere  iorde and fader in the most humble wyse that I can thynke I recommaunde  me unto your Grace besechyng you off your dayly blessyngys. . . . Wrytyn  wyt the hand of your humble douter Margaret. — Ellis i. i. 43.   Hen. VI J to his Mother.^ the Countess of Richmond. Madam, my most  enterely wilbeloved Lady and Moder . . . with the hande of youre most  humble and lovynge sone. — Ellis, i. i. 43-5.   Margaret to Hen. VI 1 . My oune suet and most deare kynge and all my  worldly joy, yn as humble manner as y can thynke I recommand me to your  Grace ... by your feythful and trewe bedewoman, and humble modyr Mar-  garet R, — Ellis, i. I. 46.   1513. Q. Margaret oj Scotland to Hen. VI IL Richt excellent, richt hie  and mithy Prince, our derrist and best belovit Brothir. . . . Your louyn systar  Margaret. — Ellis, i. i. 65. (The Queen evidently employed a Scottish Secre-  tary.)   1515. Margaret to Wolsey. Yours Margaret R. — Ellis, i. i. 131.   1515. Thos. Lord Howard, Lord Admiral, to Wolsey. My owne gode  Master Awlmosner. . . . Scrybeled in gret hast in the Mary Rose at Plymouth  half o^' after xj at night . . . y^ own Thomas Howard.   c. 1515. West Bp. of Ely to Wolsey. Myne especiall good Lorde in my  most humble wise I recommaund me to your Grace besechyng you to con-  tynue my gode Lorde, and I schall euer be as I am bounden your dayly  bedeman. . . . Y^ chapelayn and bedman N 1 . Elien.   c. 1520. Archbp. Warham to Wolsey. Please ityo^ moost honorable Grace  to understand. ... At your Graces commaundement, Willm. Cantuar. —  Ellis, iii. I. 230. Also : Euer, your own Willm. Cantuar.   Langland Bp. of Lincoln to Wolsey. My bownden duety mooste lowly  remembrede unto Your good Grace. . . . Yo^ moste humble bedisman John  Lincoln.— Ellis, iii. l. 248.   Cath, of Aragon to Princess Mary. Doughter, I pray you thinke not, &c.  —Ellis, i, 2. 19, • . . Your lovyng mother Katherine the Queue.   Archibald, E. of Angus. Addresses letter to Wolsey : To my lord Car-  dinallis grace of Ingland. — Ellis, iii. i. 291.   1521. Bp. Tunstal to Wolsey. Addresses letter :— to the most reverend  fader in God and his most singler good Lorde Cardinal. — Ellis, iii. i* 273.   Ends a letter : By your Gracys most humble bedeman Cuthbert TunstalL  —Ellis, iii. I. 332 -   1515 or 1521. Duke of Buckingham to Wolsey, Yorys to my power  E. Bukyngham.   Gccvin Douglas, Bp. of Dunkeld, to Wolsey. ZgI chaplan wy^ his lawfull  seruyse Gavin bischop of Dunkeld.— Ellis, iii. i. 294- Zo^ humble servytor  and Chaplein of Dunkeld.— Ellis, iii. i. 296. Zo^ humble seruytor and  dolorous Chaplan of Dunkeld.— Ellis, iii. i. 303-   Wolsey to Gardiner {afterwards Bp. of Winchester)* Ends : Your assurjd  lover and bedysman T. Car^s Ebor.— Ellis, i. 2. 6. Again : Wryttyn hastely  at Asher with the rude and shackyng hand of your dayly bedysman and  assuryd frende T. Car^^® Ebor.   1532. T/ios, AudUy {Lord Keeper) to CromwelL Yo^' assured to his litell  Thomas Audeley Gustos Sigiili.   Edw. E, of Hertford {afterwards Lord Protector). Thus I comit you to  God hoo send yo^‘ lordshep as well to far as I would mi selfe . . . w^ the hand  of yo^ lordshepis assured E. Hertford.   Hen. VI 11 to Catherine Parr. No more to you at thys tyme swethart  both for lacke off tyme and gret occupation off bysynes, savyng we pray you  in our name our harte blessyngs to all our chyldren, and recommendations to  our cousin Marget and the rest off the laddis and gentyll women and to our  Consell alsoo. Wryttyn with the hand off your lovyng howsbande Henry R.  — Ellis, i. 2. 130.   Princess Mary to CromwelL Marye Princesse. Maister Cromwell I  commende me to you. — Ellis, i. 2. 24,   Prince Edward to Catherine Parr. Most honorable and entirely beloued  mother. . . . Your Grace, whom God have ever in his most blessed keping.  Your louing sonne, E. Prince. — Ellis, i. 2. 13 1.   1547. Henry Radclyf E. of Sussex, to his wife. Madame with most  lovyng and hertie commendations. — Ellis, i. 2. 137.   Princess Elizabeth to Ediv. VI. Your Maiesties humble sistar to com-  maundement Elizabeth. — Ellis, i. 2. 146 ; Your Maiesties most humble sistar  Elizabeth. — Ellis, i. 1. 148.   Princess Elizabeth to Lord Protector. Your assured frende to my litel  power Elizabeth. — Ellis, i. 2. 158.   Edward VI to Lord Protector Somerset. Derest Uncle. . . • Your good  neuew Edward. — Ellis, ii. i. 148.   Q.Mary to Lord Admiral Seymour. Your assured frende to my power  Marye. — Ellis, i. 2. 153.   Princess Elizabeth to Q. Mary (on being ordered to the Tower). Your  Highnes most faithful subjec that hath bine from the begining and wyl be to  my ende, Elizabeth. (Transcr. of 1732). — Ellis, ii. 2. 257.   1553, Princess Elizabeth to the Lords of the Council. Your verye lovinge  frende, Elizabeth- — Ellis, ii. 2. 213.   1554, Henry Darnley to Q. Mary of England. Your Maiesties moste  bounden and obedient subjecte and servant Henry Darnley.   Queen Dowager to Lord Admiral Seymour. By her ys and schalbe  your humble true and lovyng wyffe duryng her lyf Kateryn the Quenc. — Ellis,  i. 2. 152.   Q. Mary to Marquis of Winchester, Your Mystresse assured Marye the  Queue. -—Ellis, ii. 2. 252.   Sir John Grey of Pyrgo to Sir William Cecil. It is a great while me  thinkethe, Cowsine Cecill, since I sent unto you. ... By your lovyng cousin  and assured frynd John Grey. — Ellis, ii, 2. 73-4; Good cowsyne Cecil!. . , .  By yo^ lovyng Cousine and assured pouer frynd dowring lyfe John Grey. —  Ellis, ii. 2. 276.   Lady Catherine Grey, Cmmtess of Hertford, to Sir W, Cecil. Good cosyne  Cecill . . . Your assured frend and cosyne to my small power Katheryne  Hartford. — Ellis, ii. 2. 278 ; Your poore cousyne and assured frend to my  small power Katheryne Hartford. — Ellis, ii. 2. 287.   1564. Sir W. Cecil to Sir Thos. Smith. Your assured for ever W. Cecill.  — Ellis, ii. 2. 295 ; Yours assured W. Cecill— Ellis, ii, 2. 297 ; Your assured  to command W, Cecill — Ellis, ii. 2, 300.   1 566. Duchess of Somerset to Sir W. Cecil. Good M^ Secretary, yf I have  let you alone all thys whyle I pray you to thynke yt was to tary for my L, of  Leycesters assistans. ... I can nomore . . , and so do leave you to God Yo’^  assured lovyng frynd Anne Somerset,— Ellis, ii. 288. Christopher Jonson, Master of Winchester^ to Sir W, CeciL Right  honourable my duetie with all humblenesse consydered. . . . Your honoures  most due to commando, Christopher Jonson. — Ellis, ii. 2. 313.   1569. Lacfy Stanhope to Sir W, CeciL Right honorable, my humble  dewtie premised. . . . Your honors most humblie bound Anne Stanhope. —  Ellis, il 2. 324. _ ^ ^ ^ ,   1574. Sir Philip Sidney to the E. of Leicester, Righte Honorable and my  singular good Lorde and Uncle. . . . Your L. most obedi. . . , Philip Sidney.  —Works, p. 345.   1576. Sir Philip Sidney to Sir Francis Walsingham, Righte Honorable  ... I most humbly recommende my selfe unto yow, and leaue yow to the  Eternals most happy protection, . , . Yours humbly at commawndement  Philipp Sidney.   1578. Sir Philip Sidney to Edward Molineux^ Esq. (Secretary to Sir H.  Sidney), Molineux, Few words are best My letters to my father have  come to the eyes of some. Neither can I condemn any but you. . . . (The  writer assures M. that if he reads any letter of his to his father ^ without his  commandment or my consent, I will thrust my dagger into you. And trust  to it, for I speak it in earnest’. . . .) In the meantime farewell. From court  this last of May 1 578, By me Philip Sidney.— p. 328.   1580. Sir Philip Sidney to his brother Robert. My dear Brother . . .  God bless you sweet boy and accomplish the joyful hope I conceive of you.  , . . Lord I how I have babbled : once again farewell dearest brother. Your  most loving and careful brother Philip Sidney.   1582. Thomas Watson ^ To the frendly Reader^ (in Passionate Centurie of  Love). Courteous Reader , . . and so, for breuitie sake (I) aprubtlie make and  end ; committing the to God, and my worke to thy fauour. Thine as thou  art his, Thomas Watson.   Anne of Denmark to James L Sir ... So kissing your handes I remain  she that will ever love Yow best, Anna R. — Ellis, i. 3. 97.   c. 1585. Sir Philip to Walsingham. Sir , . . your louing cosin and frend.  In several letters to Walsingham Sidney signs *your humble Son’. ^   1586. Wm. Webbe to Ma. (= ^ Master ’) Edward Sulyard Esquire (Dedi-  catory Epistle to the Discourse of English Poetrie). May it please you Syr,  thys once more to beare with my rudenes, &c. ... I rest, Your worshippes  faithfull Seruant W. W.   1593. Edward Alleyn to his wife. My good sweete mouse . . . and so  swett mouse farwell. — Mem. of Edw. Alleyn, L 36; my good sweetharte and  loving mouse . . . thyn ever and no bodies else by god of heaven. — ibid.   1596, Thos., Lord Buckhurst, afterwards Earl of Dorset^ to Sir Robert  CeciL Sir . . . Your very lo: frend T. Buckhurst.   1 597, Sir W. Raleigh to Cecil. S*^ I humblie thanke yow for your letter . , .  S^ I pray love vs in your element and wee will love and honor yow in ours  and every wher. And remayne to be comanded by yow for evermore  W Ralegh.   1602. Same to same. Good Secretary. . . . Thus I rest, your very  loving and assured frend T, Buckhurst,— Works, xxxiv-xi.   1603. Same to same. My very good Lord. . ♦ . So I rest as you know,  Ever yours T. Buckurst   1605, Same to same. ... I pray God for your health and for mine own  and so rest Ever yours ...   1607. Same to the University of Oxford. Your very loving friend and  Chancellor T. Dorset— xlvi.   cr. 1608. Sir Menry Wotton to Henry Prince of Wales. Youre zealous  pooie servant H. W. — Ellis, i. 3* loo.   Q. Anne of Denmark to Sir George Villiers (afterwards Duke of Buc-  kingham). My kind Dog. # • . So wishing you all happiness Anna R.  Ellis, i. 3, ICO. Charles Duke of York to Prince Heniy. Most loving Brother  I long to see you, . . . Your H. most loving brother and obedient servant,  Charles. — Ellis, i. 3. 96.   1612. Prince Charles to James L Your most humble and most   obedient sone and servant Charles. — Ellis, i. 3. 102.   Same to Viljiers. Steenie, There is none that knowes me so well as your-  self. . , . Your treu and constant loving frend Charles P. — Ellis, i. 3. 104.   King Jaynes to Buckingham or to Prince Charles, My onlie sweete and  deare chylde I pray thee haiste thee home to thy deare dade by sunne setting  at the furthest. — Ellis, i. 3. 120.   Sa 7 ne to Buckingham, My Steenie. . . . Your clear dade, gosseppe and  stewarde. — Ellis, i. 3, 159.   Same to both. Sweet Boyes. . . . God blesse you both my sweete babes,  and sende you a safe and happie returne, James R. — Ellis, i. 3 121.   Prmce Charles a?id Buckingham to James, Y’our Majesties most humble  and obedient sone and servant Charles, and your humble slave and doge  Steenie.—Ellis, i. 3. 122.   1623. Buckingham to James. Dere Dad, Gossope and Steward. . . • Your  Majestyes most humble slave and doge Steenie. — Ellis, i, 3. 146-7.   1623. Lord Herbert to James, Your Sacred Majesties most obedient,  most loyal, and most affectionate subjecte and servant, E. Herbert   The letters of Sir John Suckling (Works, ii, Reeves & Turner) are  mostly undated, but one to Davenant has the date 1629, and another to  Sir Henry Vane that of 1632.   The general style is more modern in tone than those of any of the  letters so far referred to. (See on Suckling’s style, pp. 152-3.) The  beginnings and endings, too, closely resemble and are sometimes identical  with those of our own time.   To Davenant, Vane, and several other persons of both sexes, Suckling  signs simply — ^ Your humble servant J. S.’, or 'J. Suckling’. At least  two, to a lady, end * Your humblest servant The letter to Davenant  begins ‘WilL; that to Vane — ‘Right Honorable’. Several letters  begin ‘ Madam ‘ My Lord one begins ‘ My noble friend another  ‘ My Noble Lord several simply ‘ Sir The more fanciful letters,  to Aglaura, begin ‘ Dear Princess ’, ‘ Fair Princess ’, ‘ My clear Dear  ‘ When I consider, my dear Princess ’, &c. One to a cousin begins  ‘ Honest Charles   The habit of rounding off the concluding sentence of a letter so that  the valedictory formula and the writer’s name form an organic part of it,  a habit very common in the eighteenth century — in Miss Burney, for  instance — is found in Suckling’s letters. For example : ‘ I am still the   humble servant of my Lord that 1 was, and when I cease to be so,   I must cease to be John Suckling’; ‘yet could never think myself  unfortunate, while I can write myself Aglaura her humble servant ’ ; ‘ and  should you leave that lodging, more wretched than Montferrat needs  must be your humble servant J. S.’, and so on.   The longwindedness and prolixity wiiich generally distinguish the  openings and closings of letters of the fifteenth and the greater part of  the sixteenth century, begin to disappear before the end of the latter  period. Suckling is as neat and concise as the letter-writers of the  eighteenth century. ‘Madam, your most humble and faithful servant'  might serve for Dr. Johnson.  Most of our modern formulas were in use before the end of the first  half of the seventeenth century, though some of the older phrases still  survive. But we no longer find " I commend me unto your good master-  ship, beseeching the Blessed Trinity to have you in his governance and  such-like lengthy introductions. The Correspondence of Dr. Basire (see  pp. 163-4) is very instructive, as it covers the period from 1634 to 1675,  by which latter date letters have practically reached their modern form.  Dr. Basire writes in 1635-6 to Miss Frances Corbet, his fiancee, 'Deare  Fanny ^ Deare Love ^ ^ Love and ends ' Your most faithfuil frend J. B.',  'Thy faithful frend and loving servaunt J. B.", 'Your assured frend  and loving well-wisher J. B/, 'Your ever iouing frend J. B.' When  Miss Corbet has become his wife, he constantly writes to her in his  exile which lasted from 1640 to 1661, letters which apart from our present  purpose possess great human and historical interest. These letters generally  begin ' My Dearest', and ' My deare Heart', and he signs himself ' Your  very Iouing husband', 'Yours, more than ever', 'Your faithful husband',  ' My dearest. Your faithful friend ', ' Yours till death ' Meanewhile assure  your selfe of the constant love of— My dearest — ^Your loyall husband   The lady to whom these affectionate letters were addressed, bore with  wonderful patience and cheerfulness the anxieties and sufferings incident  upon a state bordering on absolute want caused by her husband's depriva-  tion of his living under the Commonwealth, his prolonged absence, together  with the cares of a family of young children, and very indifferent health.  She was a woman of great piety, and in her letters ‘ many a holy text  around she strews ' in reply to the religious soliloquies of her husband. Her  letters all begin ' My dearest ’, and they often begin and close with pious  exclamations and phrases — 'Yours as much as euer in the Lord, No, more  thene euer ' ; ' My dearest, I shall not faile to looke thos plases in the  criptur, and pray for you as becometh your obedient wife and serunt in  the Lord F. B. ’ ; another letter is headed ' Jesu 1 and ends — ' I pray God  send vs all a happy meting, I ham your faithful in the Lord, F. B.'  Many of the letters are headed with the Sacred Name. Others of  Mrs. Basire's letters end — 'Farwall my dearest, I ham yours faithful  for euer'; 'I euer remine Yours faithfuil in the Lord'; 'So with my  dayly prayers to God for you, I desire to remene your faithfuil loveing  and obedient wif '.   It may be worth while to give a few examples of beginnings and ends  of letters from other persons in the Basire Correspondence, to illustrate  the usage of the latter part of the seventeenth century.   These letters mostly bear, in the nature of an address, long superscrip-  tions such as 'To the Reverend and ever Honoured Doctour Basire,  Prebendary of the Cathedral Church in Durham. To be recommended  to the Postmaster of Darneton' (p. 213, dated 1662).   This letter, from Prebendary Wrench of Durham, begins ' Sir and  ends — ' Sir, Your faithfuil and unfeigned humble Servant R. W.'   In the same year the Bishop of St. David's begins a letter to Dr. Basire  — ' Sir and ends — ' Sir, youre uerie sincere friend and seruant, Wil.  St, David's p. 219,   The Doctor's son begins — ' Reverend Sir, and most loving Father '  and ends with the same formula, adding — ' Your very obedient Son, P. B ^   p. 221. To his Bishop (of Durham) Dr. Basire begins 'Right Rev.  Father in God, and my very good Lord ending ' I am still, My L<i,  Your Lp 3 . faithfull Servant Isaac Basire’. In 1666 the Bishop of Carlisle,  Dr. Rainbow, evidently an old friend of Dr. B/s, begins 'Good  Mr. Archdeacon and ends ' I commend you and yours to God’s grace  and remaine,'Your very faithfull frend Edw, Carlioi’, p. 254.   In 1668 the Bishop of Durham begins ' M^ Archdeacon ’ and ends ' In  the interim I shall not be wanting at this distance to doe all I can, who  am, Sir, Your very loving ffriend and servant TJo. Duresme', p. 273.  Dr. Barlow, Provost of Queen’s, begins 'My Reverend Friend’, and  ends ‘Your prayers are desired for, Sir, Your affectionate friend and  Seruant, Tho. Barlow’, p. 302 (1673). Dr. Basire begins a letter to  this gentleman — ‘ Rev. Sir and my Dear Friend ’ . . , ending ' I remain,  Reverend Sir, Your affectionate frend, and faithful servant To his  son Isaac, he writes in 1664 — 'Beloved Son’, ending — ‘So prays your  very lovinge and painfull Father, Isaac Basire ’.   Having now brought our examples of the various types of epistolary  formulas down to within measurable distance of our own practice, we  must leave this branch of our subject. Space forbids us to examine and illus-  trate here the letters of the eighteenth century, but this is the less necessary  as these are very generally accessible. The letters of that age, formal or  intimate, but always so courteous in their formulas, are known to most  readers. Some allusion has already been made (pp. 20-1) to the tinge of  ceremoniousness in address, even among friends, which survives far into  the eighteenth century, and may *be seen in the letters of Lady Mary  Montagu, of Gray, and Horace Walpole, while as late as the end of the  century we find in the letters of Cowper, unsurpassed perhaps among  this kind of literature for grace and charm, that combination of stateliness  with intimacy which has now long passed away.    Exclamations, Expletives, Oaths, &e.   Under these heads comes a wide range of expressions, from such as  are mere exclamations with little or no meaning for him who utters or  for him who hears them, or words and phrases added, by way of emphasis,  to an assertion, to others of a more formidable character which are  deliberately uttered as an expression of spleen, disappointment, or rage,  with a definitely blasphemous or injurious intention. In an age like  ours, where good breeding, as a rule, permits only exclamations of the  mildest and most meaningless kind, to express temporary annoyance,  disgust, surprise, or pleasure, the more full-blooded utterances of a former  age are apt to strike u$ as excessive. Exclamations which to those who  used them meant no more than ' By Jove ’ or ' my word ’ do to us, would  now, if they were revived appear almost like rather blasphemous irreve-  rence. It must be recognized, however, that swearing, from its mildest  to its most outrageous forms, has its own fashions. These vary from  age to age and from class to class. In every age there are expressions  which are permissible among well-bred people, and others which are not.  In certain circles an expression may be regarded with dislike, not so much because of any intrinsic wickedness attributed to it, as merely  because it is vulgar. Thus there are many sections of society at the  present time where such an expression as ‘ O Crikey * is not in use. No  one would now pretend that in its present form, whatever may underlie  it, this exclamation is peculiarly blasphemous, but many persons would  regard it with disfavour as being merely rather silly and distinctly  vulgar. It is not a gentleman’s expression. On the other hand, ^ Good  Heavens \ or ^ Good Gracious \ while equally innocuous in meaning and  intention, would pass muster perhaps, except among those who object, as  many do, to anything more forcible than ‘ dear me \   Human nature, even when most restrained, seems occasionally to  require some meaningless phrase to relieve its sudden emotions, and the  more devoid of all association with the cause of the emotion the better  will the exclamation serve its purpose. Thus some find solace in such  a formula as ‘ O liitle haiC which has the advantage of being neither  particularly funny nor of overstepping the limits of the nicest decorum,  unless indeed these be passed by the mere act of expressing any emotion  at all. It is really quite beside the mark to point out that utterances of  this kind are senseless. It is of the very essence of such outbursts — the  mere bubbles on the fountain of feeling — ^that they are quite unrelated  to any definite situation. There is a certain adjective, most offensive to  polite ears, which plays apparently the chief r 61 e in the vocabulary of  large sections of the community. It seems to argue a certain poverty  of linguistic resource when we find that this word is used by the same  speakers both to mean absolutely nothing — being placed before every  noun, and often adverbially before all adjectives — and also to mean a  great deal — everything indeed that is unpleasant in the highest degree.  It is rather a curious fact that the word in question while always impos-  sible, except perhaps when used as it were in inverted commas, in such  a way that the speaker dissociates himself from all responsibility for, or  proprietorship in it, would be felt to be father more than ordinarily  intolerable, if it were used by an otherwise polite speaker as an absolutely  meaningless adjective prefixed at random to most of the nouns in a sen-  tence, and worse than if it were used deliberately, with a settled and full  intent. There is something very terrible in an oath torn from its proper  home and suddenly implanted in the wrong social atmosphere. In these  circumstances the alien form is endowed by the hearers with mysterious  and uncanny meanings ; it chills the blood and raises gooseflesh.   We do not propose here to penetrate into the sombre history of  blasphemy proper, nor to exhibit the development through the last few  centuries of the ever-changing fashions of profanity. At every period  there has been, as Chaucer knew —   a companye   Of yonge folk, that haunteden folye,   As ryot, hasard, stewes and tavemes,   Wher-as with harpes, lutes and gitemes, ^   They daunce and pleye at dees both day and night,   And ete also and drinken over hit might,   Thurgh which they doon the devel sacrifyse  Within the develes tempel in cursed wyse,   By superfiuitee abhominable;   c c 2   Hir othes been so grete and so dampnable^   That it is grisly for to here hem swere ;   Our blissed lordes body they to-tere;   Hem though te Jewes rent him noght y-nough.   We are concerned, for the most part, with the milder sort of expres-  sions which serve to decorate discourse, without symbolizing any strong  feeling on the part of those who utter them. Some of the expletives  which in former ages were used upon the slightest occasion, would  certainly appear unnecessarily forcible for mere exclamations at the  present day, and the fact that such expressions were formerly used so  lightly, and with no blasphemous intention, shows how frequent must  have been their employment for familiarity to have robbed them of all  meaning.   So saintly a person as Sir Thomas More was accustomed, according  to the reports given of his conversation by his son-in-law, to make use  of such formulas as a Gods name^ p. xvi ; would to God, ibid. ; in good  faith, xxviii, but compared with some of the other personages mentioned  in his Life, he is very sparing of such phrases. The Duke of Norfolk,  ‘his singular deare friend*, coming to dine with Sir Thomas on one  occasion, ‘ fortuned to find him at Church singinge in the quiere with  a surplas on his backe ; to whome after service, as the(y) went home  togither arme in arme, the duke said, “ God body, God body, My lord  Chauncellor, a parish Clark, a parish Clarke ! ” '   On another occasion the same Duke said to him ^ By the Masse,  Moore, it is perillous strivinge with Princes ... for Gode's body,  Moore, Indignatio principis mors est *, p. xxxix. In the conversation  in prison, with his wife, quoted above, p. 364, we find that the good  gentlewoman ‘ after her accustomed fashion * gives vent to such exclama-  tions as ‘ What the goody ear e Moore ' : ‘ Tille mile, tille vallc ' ; ^ Bone   deus, hone Deus man \ ‘ I muse what a Gods name you meane here thus  fondly to tarry*. At the trial of Sir Thomas More, the Lord Chief  Justice swears by St, Julian — ‘ that was ever his oath p. li.   ‘ Tilly folly, Sir John, ne’er tell me and ‘ What the good year ! ' are  both also said by Mrs. Quickly in Henry IV, Pt. II, ii. 4. Marry, which  means no more than ‘ indeed *, was a universally used expletive in the  sixteenth century, Roper uses it in speaking to More, Wolsey uses it,  according to Cavendish ; it is frequent in Roister Doister, and is con-  stantly in the mouths of Sir John Falstaff and his merry companions.  By sweete Sanct Anne, by cocke, by gog, by cocks precious potsiick, kocks  nownes, by the armes of Caleys, and the more formidable by the passion of  God Sir do not so, all occur in Roister Doister, and further such exclama-  tions as O Lords, hoigh dagh !, I dare sweare, I shall so God me saue,  I make God a vow (also written avow), would Christ I had, &c. Meaning-  less imprecations like the Devil take me, a mischiefe take his token and him  and thee too are sprinkled about the dialogue of this play. The later plays  of the great period offer a mine of material of this kind, but only a few  can be mentioned here. What a Devil (instead of the Devil), what a pox,  hfr lady, bounds, d blood, Gods body, by the mass, a plague on thee, are  among the expressions in the First Part of Henry IV, In the Second  Part Mr. Justice Shallow swears by cock and pie. By the side of these  are mild formulas such as Tm a Jew else^ Tm a rogue if I drink today.   In Chapman’s comedies there is a rich sprinkling both of the slighter  forms of exclamatory phrases, as well as of the more serious kind. Of  the former we may note j/ faitk^ Ur lord^ Ur lady, by the Lord, How the  divell (instead of how a devil), all in A Humorous Day's Mirth ; He he  sworne, All Fooles; of the latter kind of expression Gods precious soles.,  H. D. M. ; sjoot, shodie, God^s my life, Mons. D'Olive ; Gods my passion,  H. D. M. ; swounds, zwoundes, Gentleman Usher.   Massinger's New Way to pay old Debts has 'slight, 'sdeath, and a fore-  shadowing of the form of asseveration so common in the later seventeenth  century in the phrase — ‘ If I know the mystery . . . may I perish ii. 2,   It is to the dramatists of the later seventeenth and early eighteenth  century that the curious inquirer will go for expletives and exclamatory  expressions of the greatest variety. Otway, Congreve, and Vanbrugh  appear to excel all their predecessors and contemporaries in the fertility  of their invention in this respect. It is indeed probable that while some  of the sayings of Mr. Caper, my Lady Squeamish, my Lady Plyant,  my Lord Foppington, and others of their kidney, are the creations of the  writers who call these ' strange pleasant creatures ' into existence, many  others were actually current coin among the fops and fine ladies of the  period. Even if many phrases used by these characters are artificial con-  coctions of the dramatists they nevertheless are in keeping with, and  express the spirit and manners of the age. If Mr. Galsworthy or  Mr. Bernard Shaw were to invent corresponding slang at the present  day, it would be very different from that of the so-called Restoration  Dramatists. The bulk of the following selection of expletives and oaths is  taken from the plays of Otway, Congreve, Wycherley, Mrs. Aphra Behn,  Vanbrugh, and Farquhar. A few occur in Shadwell, and many more  are common to all writers of comedies. These are undoubtedly genuine  current expressions some of which survive.   Among the more racy and amusing are : —   Ld me die : ‘ Let me die your Ladyship obliges me beyond expression*  (Mr. Saunter in Otway's Friendship in Fashion) ; ^ Let me die, you have  a great deal of wit' (Lady Froth, Congreve's Double Dealer); also  much used by Melantha, an affected lady in Dryden's Marriage \ la   Mode. . . 1   Ld me perish — ‘ I'm your humble servant let me perish ' (Brisk, Double   Dealer) ; also used by Wycherley, Love in a Wood.   ^le (Vanbrugh's Relapse),   Death and eternal iartures Sir, I vow the packet's (= pocket) too high  (Lord Foppington),   Burn me if I do (Farquhar, Way to win him).   Mai me, ^ rat my packet handkerchief (Lord Foppington).   Never Never stir if it did not' (Caper, Otway, Friendship in   Love) ; * Thou shalt enjoy me always, dear, dear friend, never stir '•   BU take my death you're handsomer ' (Mrs. Millamont, Congreve, Way   of the World). ,   Bm a Person (Lady Wishfort, Way of the World). Stap my vitals (Lord Foppington ; very frequent).   Split my wmdpipe — Lord Foppington gives his brother his blessing, on  finding that the latter has married by a trick the lady he had designed  for himself— 'You have married a woman beautiful in her person,  charming in her airs, prudent in her canduct, canstant in her inclina-  tions, and of a nice marality split my windpipe   As I hope to breathe (Lady Lurewell, Farquhar, Sir Harry Wildair),   Tm a Dog if do (Wittmore in Mrs. Behn’s Sir Patient Fancy).   By the Universe (Wycherley, Country Wife).   I swear and declare (Lady Plyant) ; / swear and vow (Sir Paul Plyant,  Double Dealer) ; I do protest and vow (Sir Credulous Easy, Aphra Behn’s  Sir Patient Fancy) ; I protest I swoon at ceremony (Lady Fancyfull,  Vanbrugh, Provok'd Wife) ; 1 profess ingenuously a very discreet young  man (Mrs, Aphra Behn, Sir Patient Fancy).   Gads my hfe (Lady Plyant).   O Crimine (Lady Plyant).   O Jeminy (Wycherley, Mrs. Pinchwife, Country Wife).   Gad take me, between you and I, I was deaf on both ears for three  weeks after (Sir Humphrey, Shadwell, Bury Fair).   ril lay my Life he deserves your assistance (Mrs. Sullen, Farquhar,  Beaux' Strategem).   By the Lord Harry (Sir Jos. Wittol, Congreve, Old Bachelor).  the universe (Wycherley, Mrs. Pinchwife, Country Wife).   Gadzooks (Heartfree, Vanbrugh, Provok'd Wife) ; Gadt s Bud (Sir Paul  Plyant, Double Dealer) ; Gud soons (Lady Arabella, Vanbrugh, Journey  to London) ; Marry-gep (Widow Blackacre, Wycherley, Plain Dealer) ;  ^sheart (Sir Wilful, Congreve, Way of the World) ; Eh Gud, eh Gud  (Mrs. Fantast, Shadwell, Bury Fair); Zoz I was a modest fool; ads^-  zoz (Sir Credulous Easy, Devonshire Knight, Aphra Behn, Sir  Petulant Fancy); 'D's diggers Sir (a groom in Sir Petulant Fancy);  ^sheart (Sir Wilf. Witwoud, Congreve, Way of the World); odsheart  (Sir Noble Clumsey, Otway, Friendship in Fashion); Adsheart (fkx Jos,  Wittol, Congreve, Old Bachelor) ; Gadswouns (Oldfox, Plain Dealer).  By the side of marry, frequent in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,  the curious expression Marry come up my dirty cousin occurs in Swift's  Polite Conversations (said by the young lady), and again in Fielding's  Tom Jones — said by the lady's maid Mrs. Honor. With this compare  marry gep above, which probably stands for ' go up   Such expressions as Lard are frequent in the seventeenth-century  comedies, and the very modern-sounding as sure as a gun is said by  Sir Paul Plyant in the Double Dealer.   The comedies of Dryden contain but few of the more or less mild, and  fashionable, semi-bantering exclamatory expressions which enliven the  pages of many of his contemporaries ; he sticks on the whole to the more  permanent oaths — 'sdeath, ^sblood, &c. It must be allowed that the  dialogue of Dry den's comedies is inferior to that of Otway or Congreve  in brilliancy and natural ease, and that it probably does not reflect the  familiar colloquial English of the period so faithfully as the conversation  in the works of these writers. Dryden himself says, in the Defense of  the Essay of Dramatic Poesy, ' I know I am not so fitted by Nature to write Comedy : 1 want that Gaiety of Flumour which is required to it.  My Conversation is slow and dull, my Humour Saturnine and reserv’d :  In sliortj I am none of those who endeavour to break all Jests in Com-  pmy, or make Repartees   It may be noted that the frequent use — almost in ever;^ sentence — of  such phrases as A/ me perish, hum me, and other meaningless interjec-  tions of this order, is attributed by the dramatists only to the most  frivolous fops and the most affected women of fashion. The more  serious characters, so far as such exist in the later seventeenth-century  comedies, aie addicted rather to the weightier and more sober sort of  swearing. It is perhaps unnecessary to pursue this subject beyond the*  first third of the eighteenth century. Farquhar has many of the manner-  isms of his slightly older contemporaries, and some stronger expressions,  e. g. ‘ There was a neighbour's daughter I had a woundy kindness for  Truman, in Twin Rivals ; but Fielding in his numerous comedies has  but few of the objurgatory catchwords of the earlier generation. Swearing,  both of the lighter kind as well as of the deliberately profane variety,  appears to have diminished in intensity, apart from the stage country  squire, suc h as Squire Badger in Don Quixote, who says ^ShodUkins and  ecod, and Squire Western, whose artless profanity is notorious. Ladies  in these plays, and in Swift's Polite Conversations, still say lard, O Ltid,  and la, and mercy, ^shuhs, God bless my eyesight, but the rich variety of  expression which we find in Lady Squeamish and her friends has  vanished. Some few of the old mouth-filling oaths, such as zounds,  ^sdeath, and so on, still linger in Goldsmith and Sheridan, but the number  of these available for a gentleman was very limited by the end of the  century. From the beginning of the nineteenth century it would seem  that nearly all the old oaths died out in good society, as having come to  be considered, from unfamiliarity, either too profane or else too devoid  of content to serve any purpose. It seems to be the case that the serious  oaths survive longest, or at any rate die hardest, while each age produces  its own ephemersil formulas of mere light expletive and asseveration.    Hyperbole ; Compliments ; Approval ; Disapproval ; Abuse,   Very characteristic of a particular age is the language of hyperbole  and exaggeration as found in phrases expressive on the one hand of  compliments, pleasure, approval, amusement, and so on, and of disgust,  dislike, anger, and kindred emotions, on the other. Incidentally, the  study of the different modes of expressing such feelings as these leads  us also to observe the varying fashion in intensives, corresponding to the  present-day awfully, frightfully, and the rest, and in exaggeration generally,  especially in paying compliments.   The following illustrations are chiefly drawn from the seventeenth  century, which offers a considerable wealth of material.   It is wonderful what a variety of expressions have been in use, more  or less transitorily, at different periods, as intensives, meaning no more  than i>iry, very much, &c. Rarely in Chapman^s Gentleman Usher —  ^How did you like me aunt? 0 rarely, rarely \ ^Oh lord, that, that is a pleasure intolerahU \ Lady Squeamish in Otway’s Friendship in Love ;  ‘Let me die if that was not extravaganily pleasant vtry amusing),  ibid. ; ^ I vow he himself sings a tune extreme prettily \ ibid. : ‘ I love  dancing immoderately \ ibid. ; ‘ O dear ’tis violent hot \ ibid. ; ‘ Deuce take  me if your Ladyship has not the art of surprising the most naturally in  the world — I hope you'll make me happy in communicating the Poem  Brisk in Congreve's Double Dealer ; ‘With the reserve of my Honour,  I aSvSure you Careless, I don't know anything in the World I would  refuse to a Person so meritorious — You’ll pardon my want of expression',  Lady Plyant in Double Dealer; to which Careless replies — ‘O your  “Xadyship is abounding in all Excellence^ particularly that of Phrase ; My  Lady Froth is very well in her Accomplishments — But it is when my  Lady Plyant is not thought of— if that can ever be ' ; Lady Plyant : —  ‘O you overcome me — That is so excessive' ; Brisk, asked to write notes  to Lady Froth's Poems, cries ‘ With all my Heart and Soul, and proud of  the vast Honour let me perish ‘ I swear Careless you are very  alluring^ and say so many fine Things, and nothing is so moving as a fine  Thing. . , . Well, sure if I escape your Importunities, I shall value myself  as long as I live, I swear ; Lady Plyant. The following bit of dialogue  between Lady Froth and Mr. Brisk illustrates the fashionable mode of  bandying exaggerated, but i*ather hollow compliments.   ‘ Ldy P. Ah Gallantry to the last degree — Brisk was ever anything so  well bred as My Lord ? Brisk — Never anything but your Ladyship let me  perish. Ldy F, O prettily turned again ; let me die but you have a great  deal of Wit. Mellefont don^t you think Brisk has a World of Wit ?  MeUefont — O yes Madam. Brisk — O dear Madam — Ldy F» An mfinite  deal! Brisk, O Heaven Madam. ■'Ldy F. More Wit — than Body.  Brisk — Pm everlastingly your humble Servant^ deuce take me Madam.   Lady Fancyful in Vanbrugh’s Provok'd Wife contrives to pay herself  a pretty compliment in lamenting the ravages of her beauty and the con-  sequent pretended annoyance to herself — ‘ To confess the truth to you,  Fm so everlastingly fatigued with the addresses of unfortunate gentlemen  that were it not for the extravagancy of the example, I should e'en tear  out these wicked eyes with my own fingers, to make both myself and  mankind easy   Swift's Polite Conversations consist of a wonderful string of slang  words, phrases, and clicMs^ all of which we may suppose to have been  current in the conversation of the more frivolous part of Society in the  early eighteenth century. The word pure is used for very — ‘ this almond  pudden is pure good ’ ; also as an Adj., in the sense of excellent^ as in ‘ by  Dad he's pure Company \ Sir Noble Clumsey's summing-up of the 'Arch-  Wag' Malagene. To divert in the characteristic sense of ‘amuse',  and instead of this — ‘ Well ladies and gentlemen, you are pleased to divert  yourselves'. Lady Wentworth in 1706 speaks of her ‘munckey' as  ‘ full of devertin tricks and twenty years earlier Cary Stewkley (Verney),  taxed by her brother with a propensity for gambling, writes ‘ whot dus  becom a gentilwoman as plays only for divariion I hope I know   The idiomatic use of obliging is shown in the Polite Conversations, by  Lady Smart, who remarks, in answer to rather excessive praise of her  house — ‘ My lord, your lordship is always very obliging ' ; in the same sense Lady Squeamish says 'I sweai*e Mr. Malagene you are a very  obliging person \   Extreme amusement, and approval of the persons who provoke it, are  frequently expressed with considerable exaggeration of phrase. Some  instances are quoted above, but a few more may be added^. ‘ A you mad  slave you, you are a ticUing Acior\ says Vincentio to Pogio in Chapman’s  Gentleman Usher.   Mr. Oldwit, in Shadwelbs Bury Fair, professes great delight at the  buffoonery of Sir Humphrey : — ‘ Forbear, pray forbear ; you'll be the  death of me ; 1 shall break a vein if I keep you company, you arch Wag  you, . . . Well Sir Humphrey Noddy, go thy ways, thou art the ar«hesT  Wit and Wag. I must forswear thy Company, thou'lt kill me elsei'  The arch wag asks ' What is the World worth without Wit and Waggery  and Mirth ? and describing some prank he had played before an admiring  friend, remarks — Mf you’d seen his Lordship laugh! I thought my  Lord would have killed himself. He desired me at last to forbear ; he  was not able to endure it! 'Why what a notable Wag^s this" is said  sarcastically in Mrs. Aphra Behn’s Sir Patient Fancy.   The passages quoted above, pp. 369-71, from Otway’s Friendship in  Love illustrate the modes of expressing an appreciation of ' Waggery   In the tract Reasons of Mr. Bays for changing his religion (1688),  Mr. Bays (Dryden) remarks a propos of something he intends to write —  ^you 'll half kill yourselves with laughing at the conceit and again  ' I protest Ml’ Crites you are enough to make anybody split with laugh-  ing', Similarly 'Miss’ in Polite Conversation declares — 'Well, I swear  you'll make one die with laughing   The language of abuse, disparagement, contempt, and disapproval,  whether real or in the nature of banter, is equally characteristic.   The following is uttered with genuine anger, by Malagene Goodvile  in Otway’s Friendship in Love, to the njusicians who are entertaining  the company — ' Hold, hold, what insufferable rascals are these ? Why  you scurvy thrashing scraping mongrels, ye make a worse noise than  crampt hedgehogs. ’Sdeath ye dogs, can’t you play more as a gentleman  sings ? ’   The seventeenth-century beaux and fine ladies were adepts in the art  of backbiting, and of conveying in a few words a most unpleasant picture  of an absent friend — 'O my Lady Toothless’ cries Mr. Brisk in the  Double Dealer, ' O she ’s a mortifying spectacle, she "s always chewing  the cud like an old Ewe ’ ; ' Fie M*^ Brisk, Eringos for her cough ’ pro-  tests Cynthia ; Lady Froth : — ' Then that t’other great strapping Lady—  I can't hit of her name ; the old fat fool that paints so exorbitantly ’ ;  Brisk : — ' I know whom you mean — But deuce take me I can't hit of her  Name neither— Paints d’ye say ? Why she lays it on with a trowel’   Mr. Brisk knows well how to 'just hint a fault ' Don't you apprehend  me My Lord? Careless is a very honest fellow, but harkee — ^you under-  stand me — somewhat heavy, a little shallow or so   Lady Froth has a picturesque vocabulary to express disapproval—  '0 Filthy M** Sneer? he's a nauseous figure, a most fulsamic Fop .  Nauseous and filthy are favourite words in this period, but are often used so  as to convey little or no specific meaning, or in a tone of rather affectionate banter. ^ He ’s one of those nauseous offerers at wit Wycherley’s Country  Wife ; ^ A man must endeavour to look wholesome ’ says Lord Foppington  in Vanbrugh's Relapse, ‘lest he make so nauseous a figure in the side  box, the ladies should be compelled to turn their eyes upon the Play ’ ;  again the same nobleman remarks ‘ While I was but a Knight I was  a very nauseous fellow ’ ; and, speaking to his tailor — I shall never be  reconciled to this nauseous packet A remarkable use of the verb, to  express a simple aversion, is found in Mrs. Millamont’s ^ I nauseate walking ;  'tis a country divertion ' (Congreve, Way of the World).   In the Old Bachelor, Belinda, speaking of Belmour with whom she is  Th In^e, cries out, at the suggestion of such a possibility — ‘ Filthy Fellow I  ... Oh I love your hideous fancy I Ha, ha, ha, love a Man 1 ' In the  same play Lucy the maid calls her lover, Setter, ‘ Beast, filthy toad ’  during an exchange of civilities. ‘ Foh, you filthy toad I nay, now IVe  done jesting ’ says Mrs. Squeamish in the Country Wife, when Horner  kisses her. ‘Out upon you for a filthy creature' cries ‘Miss^ in the  Polite Conversations, in reply to the graceful banter of Neverout.   Toad is a term of endearment among these ladies ; ‘ I love to torment  the confounded toad' says Lady Fidget, speaking of Mr. Horner for  whom she has a very pronounced weakness. ‘ Get you gone you good-  natur’d toad you ' is Lady Squeamish's reply to the rather outre compli-  ments of Sir Noble.   Plague (Vb.), plaguy^ plaguily are favourite expressions in Polite Con-  versations. Lord Sparkish complains to his host — ‘ My Lord, this venison  is plaguily peppered ' ; ' 'Sbubs, Madam, I have burnt my hand with your  plaguy kettle ' says Neverout, and the Colonel observes, with satisfaction,  that ‘ her Ladyship was plaguily bamb'd ‘ Don't be so teizing ; you  plague a body so ! can't you keep your filthy hands to yourself? ' is  a playful rap administered by ‘ Miss ' to Neverout.   Strange is another word used very indefinitely but suggesting mild  disapproval — ‘ I vow you'll make me hate you if you talk so strangely, but  let me die, I can't last longer ' says Lady Squeamish, implying a certain  degree of impropriety, which nevertheless makes her laugh ; again, she  says, ‘I'll vow and swear my cousin Sir Noble is a strange pleasant  creature   We have an example above of exorbitantly in the sense of ‘out-  rageously', and the adjective is also used in the same sense — ^‘Most  exorbitant and amazing' is Lady Fantast’s comment, in Bury Fair, upon  her husband's outburst against her airs and graces. We may close this  series of illustrations, which might be extended almost indefinitely, with  two from the Verney Memoirs, which contain idiomatic uses that have  long since disappeared. Susan Verney, wishing to say that her sister's  husband is a bad-tempered disagreeble fellow, writes ‘poore peg has  married a very humersome cros boy as ever I see' (Mem. ii. 361, 1:647).  Edmund Verney, Sir Ralph's heir, having had a quarrel with a neigh*  bouring squire concerning boundaries and rights of way, describes him  as ‘very malicious and stomachfull' (Mem. iv. 3:77, 1682). The phrase  ‘as ever I see' is common in the Verney letters, and also in the Went-  worth Papers. Preciosity, &c.   We close this chapter with some examples of seventeenth-century  preciosity and euphemism. The most characteristic specimens of this  kind of affected speech are put by the writers into the mopths of female  characters, and of these we select Shadwell's Lady Fantast and her  daughter (Bury Fair), Otway's Lady Squeamish, Congreve's Lady  Wishfort, and Vanbrugh's Lady Fancyful in the Provok'd Wife. Some  of the sayings of a few minor characters may be added ; the waiting-  maids of these characters are nearly as elegant, and only less absurd  than their mistresses.   Luce, Lady Fantast's woman, summons the latter's stepdaughter as  follows : — ^ Madam, my Lady Madam Fantast, having attir'd herself in  her morning habiliments, is ambitious of the honour of your Ladyship's  Company to survey the Fair ' ; and she thus announces to her mistress  the coming of Mrs. Gertrude the stepdaughter : — ‘ Madame, M^s Gatty  ' will kiss your Ladyship's hands here incontinently '. The ladies Fan-  tast, highly respectable as they are in conduct, are as arrant, pretentious,  and affected minxes as can be found, in manner and speech, given to  interlarding their conversation with sham French, and still more dubious  Latin. Says the daughter — ‘To all that which the World calls Wit and  Breeding, I have always had a natural Tendency, a penchen^ derived, as  the learned say, ex traduce, from your Ladyship : besides the great  Prevalence of your Ladyship's most shining Example has perpetually  stimulated me, to the sacrificing all my Endeavours towards the attaining  of those inestimable Jewels ; than which, nothing in the Universe can be  so much a mon gre, as the French say. And for Beauty, Madam, the  stock I am enrich'd with, comes by Emanation from your Ladyship, who  has been long held a Paragon of Perfection : most Charmanf, most Tuant!  ‘Ah my dear Child' replies the old lady, ‘II alas, alas 1 Time has been,  and yet I am not quite gone . When Gertrude her stepsister, an  attractive and sensible girl, comes in Mrs. Fantast greets her with  ‘ Sweet Madam Gatty, I have some minutes impatiently expected your  Arrival, that I might do myself the Great Honour to kiss your hands and  enjoy the Favour of your Company into the Fair ; which I see out of my  Window, begins to fill apace.'   To this piece of afifectation Gatty replies very sensibly, ‘ I got ready as  soon as e'er I could, and am now come to wait on you ', but old Lady  Fantast takes her to task, with ‘ Oh, fie, Daughter ! will you never attain  to mine, and my dear Daughter's Examples, to a more polite way of  Expression, and a nicer form of Breeding ? Fie, fie ; I come to wait on  you! You should have said; I assure you Madam the Honour is all  on my side ; and I cannot be ambitious of a greater, than the sweet  Society of so excellent a Person. This is Breeding/ ‘Breeding!'  exclaims Gatty, ‘ Why this had been a Flam, a meer Flam And with  this judgement, we may leave My Lady Fantast.   We pass next to Lady Squeamish, who is rather ironically described by  Goodvile as ‘the most exact Observer of Decorums and Decency alive  Her manner of greeting the ladies on entering, along with her cousin  Sir Noble Clumsey, if it has the polish, has also the insincerity of her age—' Dear Madam Goodvile, ten thousand Happinesses wait on you !  Fair Madam Victoria, sweet charming Camilla, which way shall I express  my Service to you ? — Cousin your honour, your honour to the Ladies. —  Sir Noble : — Ladies as low as Knee can bend, or Head can bow, I salute  you all : And Gallants, I am your most humble, most obliged, and most  devoted Servant/   The character of this charming lady, as well as her taste in language,  is well exhibited in the following dialogue between her and Victoria.   ^ Oh my dear Victoria ! the most unlock’d for Happiness ! the pleasantest  Wlc^ent ! the strangest Discovery ! the very thought of it were enough to  cure Melancholy. Valentine and Camilla, Camilla and Valentine, ha, ha, ha,   Viet, Dear Madam, what is ’t so transports you ?   Ldy Sqti, Nay ’tis too precious to be communicated : Hold me, hold me,  or I shall die with laughter — ha, ha, ha, Camilla and Valentine, Valentine and  Camilla, ha, ha, ha — 0 dear, my Heart’s broke.   Viet, Good Madam refrain your Mirth a little, and let me know the Story,  that I may have a share in it.   Ldy Squ, An Assignation, an Assignation tonight in the lower Garden ; —  by strong good Fortune I overheard it all just now — but to think of the  pleasant Consequences that will happen, drives me into an Excess of Joy  beyond all sufferance.   Viet, Madame in all probability the pleasantest Consequence is like to be  theirs, if any body’s ; and I cannot guess how it should touch your Ladyship  in the least.   Ldy Squ, O Lord, how can you be so dull ? Why, at the very Hour and  Place appointed will I greet Valentine in Camilla’s stead, before she can be  there herself ; then when she comes, expose her Infamy to the World, till  I have thorowly revenged my self for all the base Injuries her Lover has  done me.   Viet But Madam, can you endure to be so malicious ?   Ldy Squ, That, that ’s the dear Pleasure of the thing ; for I vow I’d  sooner die ten thousand Deaths, if I thought I should hazard the least  Temptation to the prejudice of my Honour.   Viet, But why should your Ladyship run into the mouth of Danger?  Who knows what scurvy lurking Devil may stand in readiness, and seize  your Virtue before you are aware of him ?   Ldy Squ, Temptation? No, I’d have you know I scorn Temptation:  I durst trust myself in a Convent amongst a Kennel of cramm’d Friers:  Besides, that ungrateful ill-bred fellow Valentine is iny mortal Aversion,  more odious to me than foul weather on a May-day, or ill smell in a Morning.  ... No, were I inclined to entertain Addresses, I assure you I need not  want for Servants ; for I swear I am so perplexed with Billet-Doux^ every  day, I know not which way to turn myself: Besides there’s no Fidelity, no  Honour in Mankind. O dear Victoria I whatever you do, never let Love  come near your Heart : Tho really 1 think true Love is the greatest Pleasure  in the World.’   And so we let Lady Squeamish go her ways for a brazen jilt, and an  affected, humoursome baggage. If any one wishes to know whither her  ways led her, let him read the play.   Only one more example of foppish refinement of speech from this  play — the remarks of the whimsical Mr. Caper to Sir Noble Clumsey,  who coming in drunk, takes him for a dandng-master — ^ I thought you  had known me’ says he, rather ruefully, but adds, brightening— 'I doubt you may be a little overtaken. Faith, dear Heart, Fm glad to see you so  merry I ’   The character of Lady Wishfort in the Way of the World is perhaps  one of the best that Congreve has drawn; her conversation in spite of  the deliberate affectation ir^ phrase is vivid and racy, and for all its  preciosity has a naturalness which puts it among the triumphs of Con-  greve’s art. He contrives to bring out to the full the absurdity of the  lady’s mannerisms, in feeling and expression, to combine these with vigour  and ease of diction, and to give to the whole that polish of which he is the  unquestioned master in his own age and for long after.   The position of Lady Wishfort is that of an elderly lady of great ouii  ward propriety of conduct, and a steadfast observer of decorum, in sjl^ch  no less than in manners. Her equanimity is considerably upset by the  news that an elderly knight has fallen in love with her portrait, and wishes  to press his suit with the original. The pretended knight is really a valet  in disguise, and the whole intrigue has been planned, for reasons into  which we need not enter here, by a rascally nephew of Lady Wishfort’s.  This, however, is not discovered until the lover has had an interview with  the sighing fair. The first extract reveals the lady discussing the coming  visit with Foible her maid (who is in the plot).   ‘ I shall never recompose my Features to receive Sir Rowland with any  Oeconomy of Face Fm absolutely decayed. Look, F oible.   Foible, Your Ladyship has frown’d a little too rashly, indeed Madam.  There are some Cracks discernible in the white Varnish.   Ldy W, Let me see the Glass— Cracks say’st thou ? Why I am arrantly  flead (e. g. flayed) — I look like an old peel’d Wall. Thou must repair me  Foible before Sir Rowland comes, or I shall never keep up to my picture.   F, I warrant you, Madam ; a little Art once made your picture like you ;  and now a little of the same Art must make you like your Picture. Your  Picture must sit for you, Madam.   Ldy W, But art thou sure Sir Rowland will not fail to come ? Or will he  not fail when he does come? Will he be importunate, Foible, and push?  For if he should not be importunate ... I shall never break Decorums —   I shall die with Confusion ; if I am forc’d to advance— O no, I can never  advance. ... I shall swoon if he should expect Advances. No, I hope  Sir Rowland is better bred than to j)ut a Lady to the Necessity of breaking  her Forms. I won’t be too coy neither.— I won’t give him Despair— But  a little Disdain is not amiss ; a little Scorn is 2X\mm%,--Foible.--h little  Scorn becomes your Ladyship . — Ldy IV. Yes, but Tendeimess becomes me  best— A Sort of a Dyingness— You see that Picture has a Sort of a — Ha  Foible !— A Swimmingness in the Eyes— Yes, I’ll look so— My Neice affects  it but she wants Features. Is Sir Rowland handsom ? Let my Toilet be  remov’d— I’ll dress above. I’ll receive Sir Rowland here. Is he handsom ?  Don’t answer me. I won’t know : I’ll be surpris’d ; He’ll be taken by Sm-  prise.— By Storm Madam. Sir Rowland’s a brisk Man.— TV.  —Is he ! O then he’ll importune, if he ’s a brisk Man. I shall save Decorums  if Sir Rowland importunes. I have a mortal Terror at the Apprehension of  offending against Decorums. O Pm glad he ’s a brisk Man. Let my things  be remov’d good Foible*’   The next passage reveals the lady ready dressed, and expectant of  Sir Rowlands arrival.   — ‘Well, and how do I look Foible! — Z; Most killing well, Madam.  Ldy IV, Well, and how shall I receive him ? In what Figure shall I give     39S colloquial IDIOM   his Heart the first Impression ? There is a great deal in the first Impression,  Shall I sit? — No, I won’t sit — I’ll walk— ay I’ll walk from the door upon his  Entrance; and then turn full upon him — No, that will be too sudden. I’ll  lie, ay Ell lie down — I’ll receive him in my little Dressing-Room. There *s  a Couch — Yes, yes, I’ll give the first Impression on a Couch — I won’t lie  neither, but loll, and lean upon one Elbow; with one Foot a little dangling  off, jogging in ^ thoughtful Way — Yes— Yes — and then as soon as he appears,  start, ay, start and be surpris’d, and rise to meet him in a pretty Disorder —  Yes — O, nothing is more alluring than a Levee from a Couch in some Con-  fusion— It shews the Foot to Advantage, and furnishes with Blushes and  recomposing Airs beyond Comparison. Hark ! there ’s a Coach.’   .^t it is when theure du Berger draws near, as she supposes, that  Lady Wishfort rises to the subiimest heights of expression : —   ‘Well, Sir Rowland, you have the Way, — you are no Novice in the Labyrinth  of Love— You have the Clue — But as I’m a Person, Sir Rowland, you must  not attribute my yielding to any sinister Appetite, or Indigestion of Widow-  hood ; nor impute my Complacency to any Lethar^ of Continence — I hope  you don’t think me prone to any iteration of Nuptials — If you do, I protest  I must recede — or think that I have made a Prostitution of Decorums, but  in the Vehemence of Compassion, or to save the Life of a Person of so much  Importance — Or else you wrong my Condescension — If you think the least  Scruple of Carnality was an Ingredient, or that —   Here Foible enters and announces that the Dancers are ready, and thus  puts an end to the scene at its supreme moment of beauty — and  absurdity. Even Congreve could not remain at that level any longer.   It is worth while to record that in this play, a maid, well called Mincings  announces — ‘ Mem, I am come to acquaint your Laship that Dinner is  impatient The hostess invites her guests to go into dinner with the  phrase — ‘ Gentlemen, will you walk ? '   This chapter and book cannot better conclude than with a typical piece  of seventeenth-century formality. May it symbolize at once the author's  leave-taking of the reader and the eagerness of the latter to pursue the  subject for himself.   The passage is from the Provok’d Wife : —   ‘ Lady FancyfuL Madam, your humble servant, I must take my leave.   Lady Brute. What, going already madam ?   Ldy F. I must beg you’ll excuse me this once ; for really 1 have eighteen  visits this afternoon. . . . {Goin^ Nay, you shan’t go one step out of  the room.   Ldy B. Indeed I’ll wait upon you down.   Ldy F. No, sweet Lady Brute, you know I swoon at ceremony.   Ldy B, Pray give me leave — Ldy F. You know I won’t — I^dy B. — You  know I must. — Ldy F. — Indeed you shan’t — Indeed I will — Indeed you shan’t  — Ldy B. — ^Indeed I will.   Ldy F. Indeed you shan’t. Indeed, indeed, indeed, you shan’t’   [Exit running. They follow.\ Alberto Caracciolo. Keywords: il colloquio, in cammino verso il linguaggio. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, “Grice e Caracciolo” – The Swimming-Pool Library.

 

Grice e Caramella: l’implicatura conversazionale degl’eroi di Vico – filosofia italiana – Caritone e Melanippo -- Luigi Speranza (Genova). Filosofo italiano. Grice:”I like Caramella – like me, he is into the metaphysics of conversation! And he reminds me that I should re-read Vico!” --  Grice: “I like Caramella; he prefaced Fichte’s influential tract on ‘la filosofia della massoneria’ – but also wrote on more orthodox subjects like Kant, Cartesio, Bergson, and most of them!” – Grice: “Like me, he thought truth is found in conversation!” Ancora al liceo, comincia a collaborare con Gobetti, il quale gli affida la trattazione della filosofia su “Energie Nove”. Dopo un primo contatto con PGobetti e La Rivoluzione liberale, su segnalazione di questi, entra in collaborazione con Radice, da cui apprese le dottrine del neo-idealismo di Croce e Gentile. Dopo la laurea, insegna a Genova. Per le sue idee antifasciste fu arrestato e rinchiuso prima nelle carceri di Marassi a Genova, e poi fu trasferito a San Vittore a Milano; fu scarcerato, ma venne sospeso dall'insegnamento e dalla libera docenza. Ottenne, per intercessione di Croce, l'incarico di filosofia a Messina. Vinse la cattedra a Catania. Prese parte ai convegni organizzati dalla Scuola di mistica fascista  Insegna a Palermo, ereditando la cattedra che era stata di Gentile. Il suo allievo principale, che ne cura il lascito, è Armetta, docente alla Pontifica Facoltà Teologica di Sicilia.  La sua vasta cultura, gli permise di vedere la continuità della filosofia antica romana classica e e, nell'ambito della filosofia italiana, l'unità delle opposte dialettiche nella legge vivente dello spirito e nel dinamismo della natura e della storia. Apprezzato storico della filosofia. La sua filosofia si può definire un neo-idealismo crociano e gentiliano, ma reinterpretatto alla luce dello spiritualismo. La sua filosofia supera lo storicismo e la dottrina crociana degli opposti e dei distinti, e si esprime nell'interpretazione della pratica come eticità storica.. La religione e la teosofia rappresentano la possibilità dello spirito attento da un lato alla concretezza dell'uomo e dall'altro all'ineffabilità. Lo spirito, anziché risolversi nella filosofia, colloca il proprio progresso in intima unità con il progresso della filosofia stessa: da un lato è esclusa la riduzione dello spirito ad atteggiamento pratico; dall'altro, le è conferito una distinta funzione teoretica.  Altre opere: “Problemi e sistemi della filosofia, Messina); “Religione, teosofia e filosofia”; “Logica e Fisica” (Roma); “La filosofia di Plotino e il neoplatonismo” Catania); Ideologia”; “Metafisica, filosofia dell'esperienza”; “Metalogica, filosofia dell'esperienza” (Catania); “Autocritica, in: Filosofi italiani contemporanei, M.F. Sciacca, Milano); “L'Enciclopedia di Hegel, Padova); “La filosofia dello Stato nel Risorgimento, Napoli); “Introduzione a Kant, Palermo); “Conoscenza e metafisica, Palermo); “La mia prospettiva etica, Palermo); “Carteggio con Croce. Carteggio. La dialettica del vero e del certo nella "metafisica vichiana" di C., in Miscellanea di scritti filosofici in memoria di Caramella, Palermo. Ontologia storico-dialettica di C..Lo spirito nella filosofia di C..C.. La verità in dialogo. Carteggio con Radice.Dizionario biografico degli italiani. Il linguaggio come auto-analisi. 2 C., La cultura ligure nell’alto Medioevo, in II Comune di Genova,  La recente Vita d i Bruno, con documenti e inediti 1, in cui Vincenzo Spampanato lia potuto finalmente sintetizzare oltre vent’anni di ricerche bruniane, mi suggerisce l’opportunità di un breve eenno sul soggiorno del filosofo nella n o s tra regione, così sulla base di quanto lo Spampanato ha messo novamente in luce come su quella delle antiche notizie da lui rinfrescate. Cel resto l’unica seria esposizione dei fatti che stiamo per narrare era, prima delle dotte pagine dello Spampanato, nella biografia del Berti2: ma sommaria e imprecisa per molti rispetti. Arrivò il Bruno in Genova poco prima della domenica delle Palme, nell’anno in cui la festa cadeva il 15 aprile? Cont raria m en te al parere del Berti, il quale sostiene non essere capace di prova che il filosofo sia entrato nella nostra città, dobb iam o infatti tener presente una scena del Candelaio dove tino dei protagonisti giura, entrando in scena, sulla « benedetta coda dell’asino, che adorano i Genoesi’3 », e il passo correlativo dello Spaccio d e lla B e stia trio n fa n te, che dice proprio così: « Ho visto io i religiosi di Castello in Genova mostrar per breve tempo e far baciare la velata coda, dicendo: non toccate, baciate: questa è la santa reliquia di quella benedetta asina che fu fatta degna di portar il nostro Dio dal monte Oliveto a Jerosolina. Adoratela, baciatela, -porgete limosina: Centum accipietis, et vita aeternam possidebitis». I « religiosi di Castello» sono, è evidente, i Domenicani di Santa Maria di Castello, dove uffiziavano: e la preziosa reliquia doveva certo esser mostrata 1 Messina, Principato, Vedi, per l’argomento di questa com unicazione, Torino, Paravia, ed. Spampanato (Bari, Laterza), ed. Gentile (Dial. morali di G. B.), Quetifet Echard, S c rip t. ord. praed., t. il, p. in. Società Ligure di Storia Patria - al p opolo nella precisa circostanza della commemorazione del giorno in cui Gesù discese trionfante su ll’asina a Gerusalemme 1. Il Bruno veniva da Roma, um ile fu ggiasco. A v ev a avu to notizia che il processo istruttorio p endente presso l’inquisizione, per i sospetti di erodossia avanzati contro di lui, non annunziava buon esito: e così, deposto l’ abito, si diresse verso la valle Padana. Più tardi raccontò egli stesso, ai giudici di V enezia, di essere andato subito a N oli. Ma è prob abile c h e la peste, da cui quella plaga fu proprio in quel torno di rem po violentemente aiflitta, lo abbia genericam ente con sigliato a v o lgersi verto la Liguria, contrada m eno infetta, o non ancora raggiunta dal contagio, e a fermarsi alm eno qualche giorno a Genova. Le sarcastiche espressioni dello Spaccio ci fanno im m aginare agevolmente il Bruno là sulla piazzetta della vetusta ch iesa romanica, pieno l’animo non già di ammirazione estetica perla caratteristica facciata o per gli ornamenti molteplici dell’ interno, eh’ è tutto un m usaico di con q uiste orientali, - e tanto meno di interesse psicologico e religioso per la folla affluente ed effluente dal tempio, - ma di cruccio e disdegno: lui da poco a ccostatosi alle nuove idee dei riformatori oltremontani, lui per questo costretto a fuggire di patria e dall’ am ato convento napoletano di San Domenico Maggiore, dove gli allievi p endevano dalla sua parola, dottamente teologizzante. La peste arrivò presto, anzi subito, anche a Genova; a Milano l’ ambasciatore veneto Ottaviano di Mazi ne aveva già n o ­ tizia tre giorni dapo il 15 aprile, il m ercoledì santo 2. E allora il Bruno, com e ci attestano, questa volta, più veracem ente, le sue note dichiarazioni ai giudici veneti, se ne andò a N oli. Forse il ricordo dantesco, che per lui u m anista p oteva con tar qualche cosa, e la simiglianza del nom e con quello della sua Nola; forse la persistente libertà della piccola repubblica, e anche, chissà, qualche lettera di raccomandazione, qualche c o n ­ siglio di amico lo spinsero in quel tranquillo rifugio, l’ unico veramente tranquillo per lui nella storia delie sue lunghe peregrinazioni. « Andai a Noli, territorio genoese, d ove m i intrattenni quattro o cinque mesi a insegnar la gram m atica a’ putti ». « Io 1 Per la storia d ella re liqu ia v. Imbriani, Natanar II in Propu gnatore, Vili, M utin elli, Storia arcana ed aneddotica d’Italia, Società Ligure di Storia Patria - biblioteca digitale - stetti in Noli circa quattro o cinque mesi, insegnando la grammatica a’ figliuoli e leggendo la Sfera o certi gentiluomini...1 ». Lo Spampanato, per ragioni di coerenza con ulteriori dati biografici, pensa che il soggiorno sia durato un po’ più di quattro mesi. Comunque, le occupazioni del Nolano a Noli sono ben chiare: l’ esule cercava di trar qualche mezzo di vita con lezioncine private. Ma anche « leggeva la Sfera a certi gentiluomini »: la Sfera, cioè il famoso trattato di Giovanni da Sacroboseo, professore alla Sorbona e monaco domenicano quasi contemporaneo di Dante: che si soleva considerare come perfetta e sintetica esposizione di una teoria fisico-geometrica fondamentale per l’astronomia tolemaica, (la teoria delle sfere celesti), e che Γ insinuarsi dell’ ipotesi copernicana aveva, nella seconda metà del Cinquecento, rimesso in gran voga2. Persino a Noli era dunque penetrato il novello interesse del secolo per i problemi astronomici; perfino a Noli alcuni giovani signori sentivano il bisogn o di stipendiare un povero erudito piovuto di lontano perchè spiegasse loro il sistema del mondo. E il Bruno cominciava di quia occuparsi direttamente di quelle indagini che fur o n o oggetto delle polemiche da lui sostenute in Inghilterra e che formano l’argomento della Cena delle Ceneri. Non possiamo n atu ralm e n te sapere (a meno che venissero fuori i quaderni di queste sue legioni liguri) s’ egli già a Noli professasse la dottrina copernicana, servendosi della Sfera per criticare il sistema tolem aico: o invece, come il Galilei ne’ suoi corsi allo Studio di Padova, si limitasse all’illustrazione del classico libretto. Un sacerdote napoletano, anzi padre Iazzarista, Raffaele de Martinis, che p otè consultare gli atti del Santo Uffizio, asserisce nella sua biografia del Bruno che a questi fu intentato in Vercelli un processo (che sarebbe il quarto dopo i primi due di Napoli 1 Docc. veneti, vili, c. 8 r-v. (SPAMPANATO). Vedi A. Pellizzar i, Il quadrivio nel Rinascimento (Genova, Perrella). Bruno (Napoli). Ma cfr. Amabile, in Atti Acc. Scienze mor. e politiche di Napoli n.; espampanato (e anche Tocco in Arch. fiir Gesch. der P h ilo s., Bonghi, ne La Cultura, Gentile, Bruno e il pensiero del Rinascimento, [Firenze, Vallecchi Società Ligure di Storia Patria -  e il terzo di Roma) « dalla Inquisizione dello Repubblica g e n o ­ vese»: ma dell’asserzione importantissima (secondo la quale si potrebbe proprio pensare aver il Bruno palesato ancora una volta la sua eterodossia nell’insegnamento di Noli) il De Martinis non dà, e confessa di non aver potuto trovare, le prove. E la notizia non pare affatto fondata, posto che manca ogni riferimento a questo processo genovese nei posteriori documenti processuali di Venezia, e di Roma dove pur dovrebbe trovarsi, posto che a Vercelli non ci consta che il Bruno facesse soggiorno (nè quindi l’inquisizione genovese avrebbe avuto ragione alcuna di perseguirvelo). « Eppoi me partii de là [da Noli] ed andai prima a Savona, dove stetti circa quindeci giorni; e da Savona a Turino, dove non trovando trattenimento a mia satisfazione venni a Venezia per il Po1 ». Da Venezia, di lì a due mesi, a Padova; da Padova a Brescia, Bergamo, Milano. Qui rivestì l’ abito, e poi per Buffalora, Novara, Vercelli, Chivasso, Torino, Susa arrivò alla Novalesa, sotto il Cenisio. Un giorno ancora e fu in Francia, oltre monti, lanciato per la gran carraia della Sua fortuna. Troverà onori, trionfi accademici, soddisfazioni di filosofo e di scrittore; ma la queta pace di Noli, mai più. C. 1 Docc. veti., c. 8La Logica di Porto Reale. Con Prefazione del Prof. Santino... Storia del pensiero e del gusto letterario in Italia ad uso dei licei.  La scuola di mistica fascista e la discoperta del vero VICO L'azione combinata della storiografia al bianchetto e della credulità strisciante fra le righe del conformismo teologico, ha fatto sparire la notizia della sfida al neoidealismo, che fu lanciata dalle avanguardie cattoliche inquadrate nella scuola milanese di mistica fascista. In tal modo la memoria storica degli italiani è stata privata della nozione necessaria a contrastare seriamente l'ideologia totalitaria e ad avviare gli studi filosofici su un cammino di ricerca opposto a quello tracciato dall'intossicante influsso del gramscismo. Un percorso, quella anticipato dalla scuola di mistica fascista, che avrebbe messo capo ad un'evoluzione del Novecento - un'autentica rivoluzione italiana - di segno contrario al coatto e calamitoso trasferimento (narrato da Zangrandi) degli intellettuali fascisti nel partito di Togliatti. L'accertata esistenza di una forte opposizione cattolica alla filosofia di matrice hegeliana, comunque, fa crollare i due pilastri della mistificazione comunista: la leggenda della complicità cattolica con l'ideologia anticomunista prevalente in Germania - leggenda sintetizzata dal calunnioso slogan «Pio XII papa di Hitler» - e la rappresentazione degli intellettuali italiani nella figura di un coacervo nazifascista, redento in extremis dalla longanimità del partito staliniano. La vicenda degli oppositori italiani all'idealismo rivela, invece, l'autonomia, la straordinaria vitalità e l'attitudine del pensiero cattolico ad entusiasmare ed orientare i giovani studiosi, che avevano aderito al fascismo senza separarsi dalla radice religiosa della patria italiana. Curiosamente, l'autorità del pensiero cattolico si rafforzò nella prima fase della II guerra mondiale, quando la Germania nazionalsocialista sembrava avviata a vincere la guerra. Dopo che il governo italiano ebbe sottoscritto l'alleanza con la Germania, il dubbio si era, infatti, diffuso fra i giovani, causando la divisione dell'area fascista in due opposte scuole di pensiero: una corrente maggioritaria, intesa a metter fine al dominio della cultura tedesca e perciò risoluta a percorrere la via d'uscita indicata dalla tradizione cattolica, e una corrente minoritaria, rimasta fedele ai princìpi dell'idealismo e perciò decisa a seguire le avanguardie germaniche sulla via del fanatismo e dell'estremismo anticristiano. Espressione del fermento in atto durante quegli anni cruciali è un magnifico saggio di Tripodi, interprete delle novità introdotte nella scuola milanese di mistica fascista da Schuster e dal fondatore dell'Università cattolica del Sacro Cuore, il francescano Gemelli (confronta «Il pensiero politico di Vico e la dottrina del fascismo», Milani). Tripodi, grazie ad una profonda conoscenza della filosofia italiana tentò un audace confronto tra lo storicismo cristiano di VICO e la dottrina politica di MUSSOLINI. L'affinità del fascismo e della scienza nuova, nell'acuta analisi di Tripodi, non è causata dalle letture (Mussolini, infatti, non cita mai Vico) ma dalla comune tendenza a riconoscere che «maestra non è la mente di questo o quell'uomo che razionalmente pone un principio, ma la storia delle attività di tutti gli uomini che si svolgono come debbono svolgersi perché provvidenzialmente si compia la socialità che ad esse è intrinseca». La scelta di Tripodi cade su Vico poiché «fu perenne nel suo spirito la distinzione tra la sostanza divina e quella delle creature, tra l'essenza o ragion di essere di Dio e quella delle cose create, come fu perenne ed inequivocabile la inintelligibilità di Dio se ricercata nel mondo bruto della natura anziché in quello della storia, nella quale la Provvidenza si manifesta, chiamando gli uomini a collaboratori della divinità». Pubblicato e presto rimosso dalla censura di sinistra e dall'indifferenza di destra, il saggio di Tripodi raccoglie e approfondisce i risultati delle ricerche iniziate da quegli studiosi cattolici (nel testo sono citati Chiocchetti, Vecchio, Amerio, Gemelli, Olgiati, C., Orestano, Carlini e Giuliano) che avevano sostenuto l'irriducibilità della tradizione italiana alla filosofia tedesca, confutando le tesi di Croce e di Gentile su VICO precursore dell'idealismo. Tripodi afferma, ad esempio, che il pensiero fascista, per quanto concerne l'ontologia, «ha sempre creduto nella finitezza dell'umano, riconoscendo che esiste una parete invalicabile, sulla quale lo spirito umano non può scrivere che una sola parola, Dio» mentre gli idealisti, convinti di sfondare quella parete, «hanno spiegato la dottrina fascista attraverso il monismo soggettivista o le dimostrazioni immanentistiche, falsando così gli inequivocabili atteggiamenti dualistici di essa». Di qui il ribaltamento della linea neoidealista e la scelta dello storicismo cristiano di VICO quale orizzonte filosofico della tradizione vivente in Italia malgrado gli apparenti successi della modernità: «La stessa barriera che Vico oppone, in nome della genuinità del pensiero italiano al razionalismo, la oppone il fascismo all'idealismo. Né GENTILE, né CROCE, anche se il primo ha la camicia nera e cercò di darla al secondo pongono gli estremi della nostra dottrina». Tripodi indica in VICO l'antagonista dell'irrealismo e del soggettivismo dominanti nell'età moderna: «Vico non può essere idealista perché la sua filosofia impugna Cartesio e fa impugnare in Kant gli iniziatori delle dottrine, costruite unicamente su di una realtà interiore». La filosofia vichiana, inoltre, è apprezzata perché rivendica la responsabilità dell'azione umana nei fatti della storia «che altre indagini speculative avevano invece interpretato o come involuti in una meccanica autonoma e materiale o come creazione ideale definita dal pensiero che l'aveva posta. La coscienza delle proprie virtù creatrici della storia non deve però indurre l'uomo a dimenticare che la causa prima di esse sta al di fuori della sua singolarità terrena. E non al di fuori perché affidata al caso o al fato, ma perché contenuta nella volontà di Dio e rappresentata nella linea tracciata dalla sua divina provvidenza». L'invito a separare il destino dell'Italia fascista dalle chimere del razionalismo e dalle suggestioni dell'attivismo prometeico e dell'amor fati, non poteva essere formulato con maggiore chiarezza. Nelle penetranti tesi formulate da Tripodi è in qualche modo anticipato lo schema della strategia culturale elaborata, nel dopoguerra, dai pensatori dell'avanguardia cattolica (Vecchio, Petruzzellis, Sciacca, Noce, Tejada, Montano, Grisi, Torti) che nella filosofia di VICO vedranno lo strumento adatto a contrastare e battere i poteri dell'astrazione hegeliana trasferita, intanto, nella parodia inscenata dal gramscismo. La posta in gioco era la corretta impostazione della dottrina del diritto naturale, in ultima analisi la soluzione del problema riguardante il rapporto tra la giustizia ideale e le cangianti leggi che i popoli producono nel corso della loro storia. Dagli scritti giuridici di Vico, Tripodi trasse una indicazione che gli permise di risolvere il problema senza nulla concedere alle dottrine storicistiche contemplanti un pensiero dell'assoluto che evolve nel tempo: «esiste non una separazione ma una diversa gradazione d'intensità etica tra giustizia e diritto. La prima è un diritto naturale soprastorico, che è patrimonio universale e depositario del sommo vero. Il secondo è dato dall'insieme delle norme che il mondo delle nazioni partitamente elabora nel suo progressivo avvicinamento alla giustizia». Di qui l'indicazione di due altri motivi del consenso fascista alla scienza nuova: il fermo rifiuto delle astrazioni suggerite dal contrattualismo e la confutazione delle teorie utilitaristiche, che ritengono l'interesse materiale unica molla delle azioni umane. Nella definizione del comune fondamento della teoria dello Stato, Tripodi sostiene, pertanto, che nel pensiero di Vico come in quello di Mussolini la Provvidenza fa prevalere la solidarietà sull'istinto egoistico: «la provvidenza ha il suo più alto attributo nel senso della socialità che perennemente richiama agli uomini, facendo loro vincere il senso egoistico per cui vorrebbero tutto l'utile per se e niuna parte per lo compagno». Tripodi conclude il suo ragionamento affermando che «l'unitario ordine di idee nel quale relativamente alla concezione dello Stato si muovono la dottrina vichiana e quella fascista» è dimostrato dalla condivisione del fine soprannaturale: «l'uomo trova nello Stato l'organizzazione storica che gli consente di realizzare quei principi morali conferitigli dalla divinità e con ciò di assolvere alla sua stessa funzione trascendente di uomo». E' evidente che l'identificazione della dottrina fascista con la filosofia vichiana era, per Tripodi, un mezzo usato al fine rafforzare la convinzione sulla necessità, imposta dai dubbi destati dall'alleanza con il nazionalsocialismo, di rompere con la cultura prevalente in Germania e di condurre all'approdo cattolico le vere ragioni dell'ideologia fascista. E' però incontestabile che le tesi di Tripodi erano un ottimo strumento per estinguere l'ipoteca che la filosofia tedesca aveva acceso sulla cultura italiana. Non a caso, nel dopoguerra, Tripodi occupò un posto di prima fila nel gruppo degli intellettuali dell'INSPE (Vecchio, Costamagna, Ottaviano, Marzio, Teodorani, Volpe, Sottochiesa, Tricoli, Siena, Grammatico, Rasi) l'istituto che progettava la trasformazione del MSI di Arturo Michelini in avanguardia di una moderna e rigorosa destra cattolica. L'attenzione prestata da Pio XII all'evoluzione del MSI in conformità alle tesi di Tripodi, aprivano le porte del futuro alla destra. Il congresso del MSI, che doveva tenersi a Genova, doveva, infatti, approvare in via definitiva la lungimirante linea culturale e politica di Tripodi, mandando a vuoto i progetti dell'oligarchia favorevole all'apertura a sinistra. Purtroppo la tollerata (dai democristiani) violenza della piazza comunista impedì lo svolgimento di quel congresso, respingendo il MSI nel sottosuolo dionisiaco del pensiero moderno e nelle magiche grotte del tradizionalismo spurio. La lunga immersione nell'area dell'indigenza filosofica impoverì a tal punto la cultura di destra che, quando la discesa in campo di Berlusconi offrì un'altra occasione all'inserimento nella politica di governo, la classe dirigente del MSI, ottusa dalla retorica almirantiana ed espropriata dal pensiero neodestro, non seppe produrre altro che le esangui e rachitiche tesi di Fiuggi.  Nato a Genova da Eleucadio e da Delfò, segui gli studi classici nella città natale. Ancora liceale, cominciò a collaborare a Energie nuove di Gobetti, con il quale aveva preso contatto epistolare, dicendosi lettore entusiasta del periodico e seguace della dottrina filosofica crociana. Il Gobetti, ormai orientato verso interessi più specificamente politici, affidò al giovane C. la trattazione sulla rivista dei temi filosofici. Su segnalazione del Gobetti, Radice cominciò ad accogliere i suoi scritti su L'Educazione nazionale.  In linea con l'orientamento pedagogico idealistico del Lombardo Radice, fin dall'inizio degli anni Venti il C. prese le distanze dal positivismo pedagogico con un contributo (Studi sul positivismo pedagogico, Firenze), nato proprio da un suggerimento del pedagogista siciliano che glielo aveva proposto come tema di studio.  È qui osteggiato un pensiero ispirato agli schemi dell'evoluzionismo deterministico e del positivismo scientifico; in particolare e avversato il meccanicismo naturalistico biologicoevolutivo (Spencer e Ardigò), cui viene opposta la concezione umanistica dell'educazione di un Angiulli, di un Siciliani, di un Gabelli. Un'idea di fondo anima le critiche del C.: è inutile ogni speculazione teoretica che non sappia apportare nuove indicazioni pedagogiche per il miglioramento delle condizioni di vita umana, sociale e pratica.  Nello stesso orizzonte critico degli Studi si muovono Le scuole di Lenin (Firenze), La pedagogia di Gioberti e la Guida bibliografica della pedagogia, specialmente italiana e recente , che faceva seguito alla Bibliografia ragionata della pedagogia (Milano) scritta in collaborazione con Radice.  Nutrito di idee democratiche, che gli facevano ritenere inadeguato per l'obiettivo della costruzione di una "nuova Italia" il vecchio quadro politico postunitario, il C. si impegnò politicamente partecipando alla costituzione a Genova di un gruppo democratico di sinistra, che aveva tra i leader Codignola. Collaborò sia all'Arduo, sia al quotidiano socialriformista Il Lavoro.  In particolare, tipico dei gruppo di pedagogisti che, in certo qual modo, si ponevano nell'ambito del pensiero gentiliano (verso cui anche il C. veniva avvicinandosi sulla scia del Lombardo Radice, sia pure su posizioni autonome), è il tema dell'educazione come strumento di realizzazione di una coscienza democratico-nazionale. Da qui, anche per l'influsso delle idee gobettiane, l'attenta considerazione di quanto veniva fatto in quel campo in Unione Sovietica, all'indomani della rivoluzione bolscevica. In Le scuole di Lenin l'ammirazione con cui il C. guardava al piano scolastico educativo diretto da Lunačarskij era determinata in concreto dalla considerazione che si trattava di una rivoluzione culturale unica nella storia dell'umanitàl tesa all'elevazione delle classi inferiori per farle partecipare alla guida della società; la critica più forte, propria della formazione laico-democratica del C., stava nella denuncia del carattere dogmatico delle idee del Lunačarskij, quando questi sosteneva che la sua scuola del lavoro non era disgiungibile dal sistema sociale comunista e dal controllo politico del partito. Conseguita la laurea in filosofia, ottenne presso l'università di Genova la libera docenza in storia della filosofia e vinse il concorso per le grandi sedi per la cattedra di filosofia, pedagogia ed economia negli istituti magistrali, ottenendo come sede Genova. Frattanto la collaborazione con Gobetti, che più che un sodalizio intellettuale aveva costituito un formativo comune impegno politico-sociale all'insegna del programma di democrazia liberale, lo portò in breve tempo allo scontro con il fascismo ormai trionfante.  è la diffida dei prefetto di Torino contro la Rivoluzione liberale (alla quale il C. collabora) e i suoi redattori. La conferma di questo impegno politico e intellettuale, il C. la offrì ulteriormente curando la pubblicazione postuma di Risorgimento senza eroi (Torino) del Gobetti e continuando a far uscire IlBaretti, pur orientando la rivista sempre più verso temi letterari e filosofici onde evitare scontri ancora più aspri con il regime. Nel 1926, grazie al Croce, che ormai era divenuto per lui - come per tanti altri antifascisti - "maestro di libertà", assunse la direzione della collana "Scrittori d'Italia" edita da Laterza. Nel maggio di quell'anno fu costretto a rinunciare alla collaborazione all'Enciclopedia Italiana, a cui era stato invitato dal Gentile, per gli atttacchi mossigli dalla stampa di regime.  Il dissenso dalla politica del fascismo ne provoco l'arresto; rinchiuso prima nelle carceri. di Marassi a Genova e quindi trasferito a S. Vittore a Milano, fu scarcerato. Venne sospeso dall'insegnamento e dalla libera docenza. Le accuse - come si legge in una lettera al Croce (in Il Dialogo) - erano tra l'altro di aver collaborato "al giornale socialistoide-democratico Il Lavoro" di Genova e di aver avuto rapporti con l'associazione antifascista Giovane Italia, insomma di essere "in una condizione di incompatibilità con le direttive generali del governo". Scagionato anche grazie all'intervento del Croce, il C. fu riammesso all'insegnamento e la libera docenza gli fu restituita con d. m. Venne però destinato all'istituto magistrale di Messina, dove prese servizio.  Dall'ottobre di quell'anno ottenne l'incarico di filosofia e storia della filosofia e di pedagogia presso il magistero dell'università di Messina. Mantenne questi incarichi finché vincitore di più concorsi, fu chiamato a coprire la cattedra di pedagogia nell'università di Catania. Passò alla cattedra di filosofia teoretica, conseguendo l'ordinariato.  Furono questi anni di studio intenso. Pur nel crocianesimo di base, si intravvede in Religione, teosofia, filosofia (Messina) e in Senso comune. Teoria e pratica (Bari) lo sforzo di plasmare un proprio e originale impianto teoretico.  In dialogo con i principali pensatori dell'idealismo tedesco e italiano, il C. si misura particolarmente con la crociana logica dei distinti. L'indagine si muove sul terreno dell'attività teoretico-pratica dello Spirito. Particolarmente Religione, teosofia, filosofia rappresenta questo tentativo compiuto dal C. per una revisione del sistema idealistico: vi è fatta emergere l'esigenza di un pensiero spirituale più attento da una parte alla concretezza dell'uomo e dall'altra alla ineffabilità di Dio. Perseguendo tale assunto, nella ricerca di un ordine della verità oltre la logica e la nozione di storia del Croce, il C. ripercorre in Senso comune le tappe storiche del pensiero occidentale, ricostruendo la genesi della dualità dello Spirito nella filosofia greca e poi seguendola nel suo sviluppo e nel suo problematicizzarsi nel pensiero moderno. La concezione della filosofia come educazione e storia, la stretta connessione tra la filosofia e la sua storia pongono il C. medianamente tra Croce e Gentile, e tuttavia nel senso di una sicura indipendenza dal loro pensiero. La sua posizione teoretica può essere così schematizzata: la teoresi è fondamentalmente caratterizzata dalla dialettica dei distinti, mentre la prassi genera lo scontro tra gli opposti; la sintesi dei distinti non è un tertium quid da essi distinto, ma consiste nella loro stessa inscindibile relazione. La loro circolarità consente, come riaffermerà in Ideologia (Catania), di guardare alla pratica come alla realizzazione della teoria, così che si può parlare e di un finalismo teoretico della pratica e di un finalismo pratico della teoria.  All'approfondimento critico dei neoidealismo italiano, il C. affianca l'approfondimento del rapporto tra ricerca filosofica e fede religiosa. Egli mantiene costante il dialogo tra filosofia, scienza e fede nelle trattazioni della piena maturità: Ideologia (Catania), Metalogica: filosofia dell'esperienza, Metafisica vichiana (Palermo), in cui è auspicata la possibilità della sopravvivenza del problema metafisico nell'orizzonte di una metafisica rinnovata, Conoscenza e metafisica. In quest'ultima opera è affrontato il rapporto verità-conoscere, con l'intento di delimitare i confini del sapere scientifico e di affermare razionalmente la capacità di intelligere la realtà della rivelazione. Qui la religione, anziché risolversi nella filosofia, colloca il proprio progresso in intima unità con il progresso della filosofia stessa: da un lato è esclusa la riduzione della religione ad atteggiamento pratico; dall'altro, le è conferita una distinta funzione teoretica. La piena adesione del C. allo spiritualismo cristiano, dunque, fa si che sia elusa la riduzione della filosofia a metodologia, senza dover rinunciare alla fondamentale esigenza di criticità, e che l'interesse si concentri su quelle istanze spiritualistiche, invero in lui presenti dagli anni giovanili sia come atteggiamento di vita - lo si evince dalle Lettere dal carcere - sia come ricerca originale di pensiero. In tal senso, l'adesione allo spiritualismo cristiano va dunque letta più nella prospettiva della continuità, dinamica e perciò trasformantesi e trasformante, che in quella della svolta.  Durante la sua lunga e proficua attività accademica, il C. ricoprì numerose cariche, tra cui quella di preside della facoltà di lettere e filosofia dell'università di Catania; fu presidente di sezione del British Council di Catania e presidente di sezione della Società filosofica italiana a Catania e a Palermo; fu anche presidente di sezione dell'Associazione pedagogica italiana. A Palermo si era stabilito definitivamente allorché venne chiamato prima alla cattedra di pedagogia e poi a quella di filosofia teoretica presso la facoltà di lettere e filosofia.  Il C. morì a Palermo. Opere: Per un elenco completo si rinvia a Bibliografia degli scritti di C., a cura di T. Caramella, in Miscellanea di studi filosofici in memoria di C. (Atti dell'Accad. di scienze lettere e arti di Palermo), Palermo. Oltre alle opere citate ci limitiamo a ricordare qui: Bergson, Milano; Antologia vichiana, Messina, Breve storia della pedagogia, La filosofia di Plotino e il neoplatonismo, Catania; Autocritica, in Filosofi italiani contemporanei, a cura di Sciacca, Milano L'Enciclopedia di Hegel, Padova; La filosofia dello Stato nel Risorgimento, Napoli; Introduzione a Kant, Palermo La pedagogia tedesca in Italia, Roma; Pedagogia. Saggio di voci nuove, Fonti e Bibl.: Roma, Arch. centrale dello Stato, Casellario politico centrale, Per l'epistolario del C. contributi in: Lettere dal carcere di C., in Giornale di metafisica, Carteggio con Croce e Gobetti, in Il Dialogo, Carteggio Radice-C., a cura di T. Caramella, Genova. Vedi inoltre: M.F. Sciacca, Profilo di C., in Annali della facoltà di magistero della università di Palermo,  Di Vona, Religione e filosofia nel pensiero giovanile di C., Conigliaro, Verità e dialogo nel pensiero di C., in Il Dialogo, Guzzo, C., in Filosofia, Sciacca, Il pensiero di C., in Atti dell'Accad. di scienze lettere e arti di Palermo, Sofia, Il dialogo di S. C. con gli uomini d'oggi, in Labor, Cafaro, Commemoraz. di C., in Nuova Riv. pedagogica, Piovani, La dialettica del vero e del certo nella "metafisica vichiana" di C., in Miscellanea di scritti filosofici in memoria di C., Palermo Ganci, C., Raschini, Commemoraz. del prof. S. C., in Giornale di metafisica, Brancato, C.: senso fine e significato della storia, Trapani; V. Mathieu, Filosofia contemporanea, Firenze; P. Prini, La ontologia storico-dialettica di C., in Theorein, Pareyson, Inizi e caratteri del pensiero di C., in Giornale di metafisica, Corselli, La vita dello spirito nella filosofia di C., in Labor, Raschini, Storiografia e metafisica nella interpretazione vichiana di C., in Filosofia oggi; M. Corselli, La figura di C., in Labor, Sciacca, C. filosofo, pedagogista, educatore, in Pegaso. Annali della facoltà di magistero della università di Palermo. δικά , ώς φησιν Ηρακλείδης  ο Ποντικός εν τω περί Ερωτικών. ούτοι Φανέντες επιβουλεύοντες Φαλάριδί, Chariton& Melanippus και βασανιζόμενοι αναγκαζόμενοί τε λέγειν τους συν- confpirant  ειδότας,ουμόνονουκατείπον, αλλά καιτονΦάλα- adν.Ρhala ριν αυτόν είς έλεον ' των βασάνων ήγαγον , ως α π ο λύσαι αυτουςπολλά επαινέσαντα. διοκαιοΑπόλ. λων, ησθείς επί τούτοις, αναβολην του θανάτου το Φαλάριδίέχαρίσατο, τούτο έμφήνας τουςπυν θανομέ νουςτης Πυθία ςόπωςαυτόεπιθώνται έχρησέτεκαι cπερί των αμφί τον Χαρίτωνα, προτάξας του εξαμέ τρου το πεντάμετρον, καθάπερ ύστερον και Διονύσιος 'Αθηναίος εποίησεν, ο επικληθεις Χαλκους, εν τοις Έλεγείοις. έστιδεοχρησμόςόδε  ετε -- Ευδαίμων Χαρίτων και Μελάνιππος έφυ, θείαςαγητηρες έφαμερίοις φιλότατος. 1 Perperamέλαιονms. Εp. & moxα πολαύσαι1ns. A.proαπολύσαι. α> 737 Σ 2 Alibi άγητήρες. 2 amasius, ut ait Heraclides Ponticus in libro de Amatoriis. Hi igitur deprehensi insidias ftruxisse Phalaridi & tormentis subiecti quo coniuratos denunciare coge rentur, non modo non denunciarunt, fed etiam Phala rin ipsum ad misericordiam tormentorum commoverunt , ut plurimum collaudatos dimitteret. Quare etiam Apollo, delectatusfacto, moram mortisindullit Phalaridi, hoc ipsum declarans his qui ipsum de ratione, qua tyran num adgrederentur, consuluerunt: atque et iamde Charitone et Melanippo oraculum edidit, in quo pentame ter praepofitus hexametro erat; quemadmodum etiam poftea Dionysius Athenienfis, isqui Aeneuseft cognomi natus , in Elegiis fecit. Erat autem oraculum hocce Felix & Chariton & Melanippus erat, mortalium genti auctores coeleftis amoris. Santino Caramella. Keywords: il culto dell’eroe, gl’eroi, il culto degl’eroi, Niso ed Eurialo, Nicodemo, gl’eroi di Vico, “la verita in dialogo”, soggetto, intersoggetivita, lo spirito oggetivo, spiriti intersoggetivi, Apollo su Nicodemo. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, “Grice e Caramella” – The Swimming-Pool Library.

 

Grice e Caramello: l’implictatura conversazionale dell’interpretare – filosofia italiana – Luigi Speranza (Torino). Filosofo Italiano. Grice: “I love Caramello – he exemplifies all that I say about latitudinal and longitudinal unities of philosophy – Aquinas is a ‘great,’ and Caramello has dedicated his life to him!”  Studia al prestigioso liceo classico Gioberti di Torino, entra in seminario e riceve l'ordinazione presbiteriale con una speciale dispensa papale dovuta alla giovane età a cui aveva completato gli studi. Si laurea a Torino. Insegna a Torino, e Chieri. Studia e cura Aquino. Praemittit autem huic operi philosophus prooemium, in quo sigillatim exponit ea, quae in hoc libro sunt tractanda. Et quia omnis scientia praemittit ea, quae de principiis sunt; partes autem compositorum sunt eorum principia; ideo oportet intendenti tractare de enunciatione praemittere de partibus eius. Unde dicit: primum oportet constituere, idest definire quid sit nomen et quid sit verbum. In Graeco habetur, primum oportet poni et idem significat. Quia enim demonstrationes definitiones praesupponunt, ex quibus concludunt, merito dicuntur positiones. Et ideo praemittuntur hic solae definitiones eorum, de quibus agendum est: quia ex definitionibus alia cognoscuntur.  Si quis autem quaerat, cum in libro praedicamentorum de simplicibus dictum sit, quae fuit necessitas ut hic rursum de nomine et verbo determinaretur; ad hoc dicendum quod simplicium dictionum triplex potest esse consideratio. Una quidem, secundum quod absolute significant simplices intellectus, et sic earum consideratio pertinet ad librum praedicamentorum. Alio modo, secundum rationem, prout sunt partes enunciationis; et sic determinatur de eis in hoc libro; et ideo traduntur sub ratione nominis et verbi: de quorum ratione est quod significent aliquid cum tempore vel sine tempore, et alia huiusmodi, quae pertinent ad rationem dictionum, secundum quod constituunt enunciationem. Tertio modo, considerantur secundum quod ex eis constituitur ordo syllogisticus, et sic determinatur de eis sub ratione terminorum in libro priorum.  Potest iterum dubitari quare, praetermissis aliis orationis partibus, de solo nomine et verbo determinet. Ad quod dicendum est quod, quia de simplici enunciatione determinare intendit, sufficit ut solas illas partes enunciationis pertractet, ex quibus ex necessitate simplex oratio constat. Potest autem ex solo nomine et verbo simplex enunciatio fieri, non autem ex aliis orationis partibus sine his; et ideo sufficiens ei fuit de his duabus determinare. Vel potest dici quod sola nomina et verba sunt principales orationis partes. Sub nominibus enim comprehenduntur pronomina, quae, etsi non nominant naturam, personam tamen determinant, et ideo loco nominum ponuntur: sub verbo vero participium, quod consignificat tempus: quamvis et cum nomine convenientiam habeat. Alia vero sunt magis colligationes partium orationis, significantes habitudinem unius ad aliam, quam orationis partes; sicut clavi et alia huiusmodi non sunt partes navis, sed partium navis coniunctiones.  His igitur praemissis quasi principiis, subiungit de his, quae pertinent ad principalem intentionem, dicens: postea quid negatio et quid affirmatio, quae sunt enunciationis partes: non quidem integrales, sicut nomen et verbum (alioquin oporteret omnem enunciationem ex affirmatione et negatione compositam esse), sed partes subiectivae, idest species. Quod quidem nunc supponatur, posterius autem manifestabitur.  Sed potest dubitari: cum enunciatio dividatur in categoricam et hypotheticam, quare de his non facit mentionem, sicut de affirmatione et negatione. Et potest dici quod hypothetica enunciatio ex pluribus categoricis componitur. Unde non differunt nisi secundum differentiam unius et multi. Vel potest dici, et melius, quod hypothetica enunciatio non continet absolutam veritatem, cuius cognitio requiritur in demonstratione, ad quam liber iste principaliter ordinatur; sed significat aliquid verum esse ex suppositione: quod non sufficit in scientiis demonstrativis, nisi confirmetur per absolutam veritatem simplicis enunciationis. Et ideo Aristoteles praetermisit tractatum de hypotheticis enu nciationibus et syllogismis. Subdit autem, et enunciatio, quae est genus negationis et affirmationis; et oratio, quae est genus enunciationis.  Si quis ulterius quaerat, quare non facit ulterius mentionem de voce, dicendum est quod vox est quoddam naturale; unde pertinet ad considerationem naturalis philosophiae, ut patet in secundo de anima, et in ultimo de generatione animalium. Unde etiam non est proprie orationis genus, sed assumitur ad constitutionem orationis, sicut res naturales ad constitutionem artificialium. Videtur autem ordo enunciationis esse praeposterus: nam affirmatio naturaliter est prior negatione, et iis prior est enunciatio, sicut genus; et per consequens oratio enunciatione. Sed dicendum quod, quia a partibus inceperat enumerare, procedit a partibus ad totum. Negationem autem, quae divisionem continet, eadem ratione praeponit affirmationi, quae consistit in compositione: quia divisio magis accedit ad partes, compositio vero magis accedit ad totum. Vel potest dici, secundum quosdam, quod praemittitur negatio, quia in iis quae possunt esse et non esse, prius est non esse, quod significat negatio, quam esse, quod significat affirmatio. Sed tamen, quia sunt species ex aequo dividentes genus, sunt simul natura; unde non refert quod eorum praeponatur. Praemisso prooemio, philosophus accedit ad propositum exequendum. Et quia ea, de quibus promiserat se dicturum, sunt voces significativae complexae vel incomplexae, ideo praemittit tractatum de significatione vocum: et deinde de vocibus significativis determinat de quibus in prooemio se dicturum promiserat. Et hoc ibi: nomen ergo est vox significativa et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, determinat qualis sit significatio vocum; secundo, ostendit differentiam significationum vocum complexarum et incomplexarum; ibi: est autem quemadmodum et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo quidem, praemittit ordinem significationis vocum; secundo, ostendit qualis sit vocum significatio, utrum sit ex natura vel ex impositione; ibi: et quemadmodum nec litterae et cetera.  Est ergo considerandum quod circa primum tria proponit, ex quorum uno intelligitur quartum. Proponit enim Scripturam, voces et animae passiones, ex quibus intelliguntur res. Nam passio est ex impressione alicuius agentis; et sic passiones animae originem habent ab ipsis rebus. Et si quidem homo esset naturaliter animal solitarium, sufficerent sibi animae passiones, quibus ipsis rebus conformaretur, ut earum notitiam in se haberet; sed quia homo est animal naturaliter politicum et sociale, necesse fuit quod conceptiones unius hominis innotescerent aliis, quod fit per vocem; et ideo necesse fuit esse voces significativas, ad hoc quod homines ad invicem conviverent. Unde illi, qui sunt diversarum linguarum, non possunt bene convivere ad invicem. Rursum si homo uteretur sola cognitione sensitiva, quae respicit solum ad hic et nunc, sufficeret sibi ad convivendum aliis vox significativa, sicut et caeteris animalibus, quae per quasdam voces, suas conceptiones invicem sibi manifestant: sed quia homo utitur etiam intellectuali cognitione, quae abstrahit ab hic et nunc; consequitur ipsum sollicitudo non solum de praesentibus secundum locum et tempus, sed etiam de his quae distant loco et futura sunt tempore. Unde ut homo conceptiones suas etiam his qui distant secundum locum et his qui venturi sunt in futuro tempore manifestet, necessarius fuit usus Scripturae.  Sed quia logica ordinatur ad cognitionem de rebus sumendam, significatio vocum, quae est immediata ipsis conceptionibus intellectus, pertinet ad principalem considerationem ipsius; significatio autem litterarum, tanquam magis remota, non pertinet ad eius considerationem, sed magis ad considerationem grammatici. Et ideo exponens ordinem significationum non incipit a litteris, sed a vocibus: quarum primo significationem exponens, dicit: sunt ergo ea, quae sunt in voce, notae, idest, signa earum passionum quae sunt in anima. Dicit autem ergo, quasi ex praemissis concludens: quia supra dixerat determinandum esse de nomine et verbo et aliis praedictis; haec autem sunt voces significativae; ergo oportet vocum significationem exponere.  Utitur autem hoc modo loquendi, ut dicat, ea quae sunt in voce, et non, voces, ut quasi continuatim loquatur cum praedictis. Dixerat enim dicendum esse de nomine et verbo et aliis huiusmodi. Haec autem tripliciter habent esse. Uno quidem modo, in conceptione intellectus; alio modo, in prolatione vocis; tertio modo, in conscriptione litterarum. Dicit ergo, ea quae sunt in voce etc.; ac si dicat, nomina et verba et alia consequentia, quae tantum sunt in voce, sunt notae. Vel, quia non omnes voces sunt significativae, et earum quaedam sunt significativae naturaliter, quae longe sunt a ratione nominis et verbi et aliorum consequentium; ut appropriet suum dictum ad ea de quibus intendit, ideo dicit, ea quae sunt in voce, idest quae continentur sub voce, sicut partes sub toto. Vel, quia vox est quoddam naturale, nomen autem et verbum significant ex institutione humana, quae advenit rei naturali sicut materiae, ut forma lecti ligno; ideo ad designandum nomina et verba et alia consequentia dicit, ea quae sunt in voce, ac si de lecto diceretur, ea quae sunt in ligno. Circa id autem quod dicit, earum quae sunt in anima passionum, considerandum est quod passiones animae communiter dici solent appetitus sensibilis affectiones, sicut ira, gaudium et alia huiusmodi, ut dicitur in II Ethicorum. Et verum est quod huiusmodi passiones significant naturaliter quaedam voces hominum, ut gemitus infirmorum, et aliorum animalium, ut dicitur in I politicae. Sed nunc sermo est de vocibus significativis ex institutione humana; et ideo oportet passiones animae hic intelligere intellectus conceptiones, quas nomina et verba et orationes significant immediate, secundum sententiam Aristotelis. Non enim potest esse quod significent immediate ipsas res, ut ex ipso modo significandi apparet: significat enim hoc nomen homo naturam humanam in abstractione a singularibus. Unde non potest esse quod significet immediate hominem singularem; unde Platonici posuerunt quod significaret ipsam ideam hominis separatam. Sed quia hoc secundum suam abstractionem non subsistit realiter secundum sententiam Aristotelis, sed est in solo intellectu; ideo necesse fuit Aristoteli dicere quod voces significant intellectus conceptiones immediate et eis mediantibus res.  Sed quia non est consuetum quod conceptiones intellectus Aristoteles nominet passiones; ideo Andronicus posuit hunc librum non esse Aristotelis. Sed manifeste invenitur in 1 de anima quod passiones animae vocat omnes animae operationes. Unde et ipsa conceptio intellectus passio dici potest. Vel quia intelligere nostrum non est sine phantasmate: quod non est sine corporali passione; unde et imaginativam philosophus in III de anima vocat passivum intellectum. Vel quia extenso nomine passionis ad omnem receptionem, etiam ipsum intelligere intellectus possibilis quoddam pati est, ut dicitur in III de anima. Utitur autem potius nomine passionum, quam intellectuum: tum quia ex aliqua animae passione provenit, puta ex amore vel odio, ut homo interiorem conceptum per vocem alteri significare velit: tum etiam quia significatio vocum refertur ad conceptionem intellectus, secundum quod oritur a rebus per modum cuiusdam impressionis vel passionis.  Secundo, cum dicit: et ea quae scribuntur etc., agit de significatione Scripturae: et secundum Alexandrum hoc inducit ad manifestandum praecedentem sententiam per modum similitudinis, ut sit sensus: ita ea quae sunt in voce sunt signa passionum animae, sicut et litterae sunt signa vocum. Quod etiam manifestat per sequentia, cum dicit: et quemadmodum nec litterae etc.; inducens hoc quasi signum praecedentis. Quod enim litterae significent voces, significatur per hoc, quod, sicut sunt diversae voces apud diversos, ita et diversae litterae. Et secundum hanc expositionem, ideo non dixit, et litterae eorum quae sunt in voce, sed ea quae scribuntur: quia dicuntur litterae etiam in prolatione et Scriptura, quamvis magis proprie, secundum quod sunt in Scriptura, dicantur litterae; secundum autem quod sunt in prolatione, dicantur elementa vocis. Sed quia Aristoteles non dicit, sicut et ea quae scribuntur, sed continuam narrationem facit, melius est ut dicatur, sicut Porphyrius exposuit, quod Aristoteles procedit ulterius ad complendum ordinem significationis. Postquam enim dixerat quod nomina et verba, quae sunt in voce, sunt signa eorum quae sunt in anima, continuatim subdit quod nomina et verba quae scribuntur, signa sunt eorum nominum et verborum quae sunt in voce. Deinde cum dicit: et quemadmodum nec litterae etc., ostendit differentiam praemissorum significantium et significatorum, quantum ad hoc, quod est esse secundum naturam, vel non esse. Et circa hoc tria facit. Primo enim, ponit quoddam signum, quo manifestatur quod nec voces nec litterae naturaliter significant. Ea enim, quae naturaliter significant sunt eadem apud omnes. Significatio autem litterarum et vocum, de quibus nunc agimus, non est eadem apud omnes. Sed hoc quidem apud nullos unquam dubitatum fuit quantum ad litteras: quarum non solum ratio significandi est ex impositione, sed etiam ipsarum formatio fit per artem. Voces autem naturaliter formantur; unde et apud quosdam dubitatum fuit, utrum naturaliter significent. Sed Aristoteles hic determinat ex similitudine litterarum, quae sicut non sunt eaedem apud omnes, ita nec voces. Unde manifeste relinquitur quod sicut nec litterae, ita nec voces naturaliter significant, sed ex institutione humana. Voces autem illae, quae naturaliter significant, sicut gemitus infirmorum et alia huiusmodi, sunt eadem apud omnes.  Secundo, ibi: quorum autem etc., ostendit passiones animae naturaliter esse, sicut et res, per hoc quod eaedem sunt apud omnes. Unde dicit: quorum autem; idest sicut passiones animae sunt eaedem omnibus (quorum primorum, idest quarum passionum primarum, hae, scilicet voces, sunt notae, idest signa; comparantur enim passiones animae ad voces, sicut primum ad secundum: voces enim non proferuntur, nisi ad exprimendum interiores animae passiones), et res etiam eaedem, scilicet sunt apud omnes, quorum, idest quarum rerum, hae, scilicet passiones animae sunt similitudines. Ubi attendendum est quod litteras dixit esse notas, idest signa vocum, et voces passionum animae similiter; passiones autem animae dicit esse similitudines rerum: et hoc ideo, quia res non cognoscitur ab anima nisi per aliquam sui similitudinem existentem vel in sensu vel in intellectu. Litterae autem ita sunt signa vocum, et voces passionum, quod non attenditur ibi aliqua ratio similitudinis, sed sola ratio institutionis, sicut et in multis aliis signis: ut tuba est signum belli. In passionibus autem animae oportet attendi rationem similitudinis ad exprimendas res, quia naturaliter eas designant, non ex institutione.  Obiiciunt autem quidam, ostendere volentes contra hoc quod dicit passiones animae, quas significant voces, esse omnibus easdem. Primo quidem, quia diversi diversas sententias habent de rebus, et ita non videntur esse eaedem apud omnes animae passiones. Ad quod respondet Boethius quod Aristoteles hic nominat passiones animae conceptiones intellectus, qui numquam decipitur; et ita oportet eius conceptiones esse apud omnes easdem: quia, si quis a vero discordat, hic non intelligit. Sed quia etiam in intellectu potest esse falsum, secundum quod componit et dividit, non autem secundum quod cognoscit quod quid est, idest essentiam rei, ut dicitur in III de anima; referendum est hoc ad simplices intellectus conceptiones (quas significant voces incomplexae), quae sunt eaedem apud omnes: quia, si quis vere intelligit quid est homo, quodcunque aliud aliquid, quam hominem apprehendat, non intelligit hominem. Huiusmodi autem simplices conceptiones intellectus sunt, quas primo voces significant. Unde dicitur in IV metaphysicae quod ratio, quam significat nomen, est definitio. Et ideo signanter dicit: quorum primorum hae notae sunt, ut scilicet referatur ad primas conceptiones a vocibus primo significatas.  Sed adhuc obiiciunt aliqui de nominibus aequivocis, in quibus eiusdem vocis non est eadem passio, quae significatur apud omnes. Et respondet ad hoc Porphyrius quod unus homo, qui vocem profert, ad unam intellectus conceptionem significandam eam refert; et si aliquis alius, cui loquitur, aliquid aliud intelligat, ille qui loquitur, se exponendo, faciet quod referet intellectum ad idem. Sed melius dicendum est quod intentio Aristotelis non est asserere identitatem conceptionis animae per comparationem ad vocem, ut scilicet unius vocis una sit conceptio: quia voces sunt diversae apud diversos; sed intendit asserere identitatem conceptionum animae per comparationem ad res, quas similiter dicit esse easdem.  Tertio, ibi: de his itaque etc., excusat se a diligentiori harum consideratione: quia quales sint animae passiones, et quomodo sint rerum similitudines, dictum est in libro de anima. Non enim hoc pertinet ad logicum negocium, sed ad naturale. Postquam philosophus tradidit ordinem significationis vocum, hic agit de diversa vocum significatione: quarum quaedam significant verum vel falsum, quaedam non. Et circa hoc duo facit: primo, praemittit differentiam; secundo, manifestat eam; ibi: circa compositionem enim et cetera. Quia vero conceptiones intellectus praeambulae sunt ordine naturae vocibus, quae ad eas exprimendas proferuntur, ideo ex similitudine differentiae, quae est circa intellectum, assignat differentiam, quae est circa significationes vocum: ut scilicet haec manifestatio non solum sit ex simili, sed etiam ex causa quam imitantur effectus.  Est ergo considerandum quod, sicut in principio dictum est, duplex est operatio intellectus, ut traditur in III de anima; in quarum una non invenitur verum et falsum, in altera autem invenitur. Et hoc est quod dicit quod in anima aliquoties est intellectus sine vero et falso, aliquoties autem ex necessitate habet alterum horum. Et quia voces significativae formantur ad exprimendas conceptiones intellectus, ideo ad hoc quod signum conformetur signato, necesse est quod etiam vocum significativarum similiter quaedam significent sine vero et falso, quaedam autem cum vero et falso.  Deinde cum dicit: circa compositionem etc., manifestat quod dixerat. Et primo, quantum ad id quod dixerat de intellectu; secundo, quantum ad id quod dixerat de assimilatione vocum ad intellectum; ibi: nomina igitur ipsa et verba et cetera. Ad ostendendum igitur quod intellectus quandoque est sine vero et falso, quandoque autem cum altero horum, dicit primo quod veritas et falsitas est circa compositionem et divisionem. Ubi oportet intelligere quod una duarum operationum intellectus est indivisibilium intelligentia: in quantum scilicet intellectus intelligit absolute cuiusque rei quidditatem sive essentiam per seipsam, puta quid est homo vel quid album vel quid aliud huiusmodi. Alia vero operatio intellectus est, secundum quod huiusmodi simplicia concepta simul componit et dividit. Dicit ergo quod in hac secunda operatione intellectus, idest componentis et dividentis, invenitur veritas et falsitas: relinquens quod in prima operatione non invenitur, ut etiam traditur in III de anima.  Sed circa hoc primo videtur esse dubium: quia cum divisio fiat per resolutionem ad indivisibilia sive simplicia, videtur quod sicut in simplicibus non est veritas vel falsitas, ita nec in divisione. Sed dicendum est quod cum conceptiones intellectus sint similitudines rerum, ea quae circa intellectum sunt dupliciter considerari et nominari possunt. Uno modo, secundum se: alio modo, secundum rationes rerum quarum sunt similitudines. Sicut imago Herculis secundum se quidem dicitur et est cuprum; in quantum autem est similitudo Herculis nominatur homo. Sic etiam, si consideremus ea quae sunt circa intellectum secundum se, semper est compositio, ubi est veritas et falsitas; quae nunquam invenitur in intellectu, nisi per hoc quod intellectus comparat unum simplicem conceptum alteri. Sed si referatur ad rem, quandoque dicitur compositio, quandoque dicitur divisio. Compositio quidem, quando intellectus comparat unum conceptum alteri, quasi apprehendens coniunctionem aut identitatem rerum, quarum sunt conceptiones; divisio autem, quando sic comparat unum conceptum alteri, ut apprehendat res esse diversas. Et per hunc etiam modum in vocibus affirmatio dicitur compositio, in quantum coniunctionem ex parte rei significat; negatio vero dicitur divisio, in quantum significat rerum separationem.  Ulterius autem videtur quod non solum in compositione et divisione veritas consistat. Primo quidem, quia etiam res dicitur vera vel falsa, sicut dicitur aurum verum vel falsum. Dicitur etiam quod ens et verum convertuntur. Unde videtur quod etiam simplex conceptio intellectus, quae est similitudo rei, non careat veritate et falsitate. Praeterea, philosophus dicit in Lib. de anima quod sensus propriorum sensibilium semper est verus; sensus autem non componvel dividit; non ergo in sola compositione vel divisione est veritas. Item, in intellectu divino nulla est compositio, ut probatur in XII metaphysicae; et tamen ibi est prima et summa veritas; non ergo veritas est solum circa compositionem et divisionem.  Ad huiusmodi igitur evidentiam considerandum est quod veritas in aliquo invenitur dupliciter: uno modo, sicut in eo quod est verum: alio modo, sicut in dicente vel cognoscente verum. Invenitur autem veritas sicut in eo quod est verum tam in simplicibus, quam in compositis; sed sicut in dicente vel cognoscente verum, non invenitur nisi secundum compositionem et divisionem. Quod quidem sic patet.  Verum enim, ut philosophus dicit in VI Ethicorum, est bonum intellectus. Unde de quocumque dicatur verum, oportet quod hoc sit per respectum ad intellectum. Comparantur autem ad intellectum voces quidem sicut signa, res autem sicut ea quorum intellectus sunt similitudines. Considerandum autem quod aliqua res comparatur ad intellectum dupliciter. Uno quidem modo, sicut mensura ad mensuratum, et sic comparantur res naturales ad intellectum speculativum humanum. Et ideo intellectus dicitur verus secundum quod conformatur rei, falsus autem secundum quod discordat a re. Res autem naturalis non dicitur esse vera per comparationem ad intellectum nostrum, sicut posuerunt quidam antiqui naturales, existimantes rerum veritatem esse solum in hoc, quod est videri: secundum hoc enim sequeretur quod contradictoria essent simul vera, quia contradictoria cadunt sub diversorum opinionibus. Dicuntur tamen res aliquae verae vel falsae per comparationem ad intellectum nostrum, non essentialiter vel formaliter, sed effective, in quantum scilicet natae sunt facere de se veram vel falsam existimationem; et secundum hoc dicitur aurum verum vel falsum. Alio autem modo, res comparantur ad intellectum, sicut mensuratum ad mensuram, ut patet in intellectu practico, qui est causa rerum. Unde opus artificis dicitur esse verum, in quantum attingit ad rationem artis; falsum vero, in quantum deficit a ratione artis.  Et quia omnia etiam naturalia comparantur ad intellectum divinum, sicut artificiata ad artem, consequens est ut quaelibet res dicatur esse vera secundum quod habet propriam formam, secundum quam imitatur artem divinam. Nam falsum aurum est verum aurichalcum. Et hoc modo ens et verum convertuntur, quia quaelibet res naturalis per suam formam arti divinae conformatur. Unde philosophus in I physicae, formam nominat quoddam divinum.  Et sicut res dicitur vera per comparationem ad suam mensuram, ita etiam et sensus vel intellectus, cuius mensura est res extra animam. Unde sensus dicitur verus, quando per formam suam conformatur rei extra animam existenti. Et sic intelligitur quod sensus proprii sensibilis sit verus. Et hoc etiam modo intellectus apprehendens quod quid est absque compositione et divisione, semper est verus, ut dicitur in III de anima. Est autem considerandum quod quamvis sensus proprii obiecti sit verus, non tamen cognoscit hoc esse verum. Non enim potest cognoscere habitudinem conformitatis suae ad rem, sed solam rem apprehendit; intellectus autem potest huiusmodi habitudinem conformitatis cognoscere; et ideo solus intellectus potest cognoscere veritatem. Unde et philosophus dicit in VI metaphysicae quod veritas est solum in mente, sicut scilicet in cognoscente veritatem. Cognoscere autem praedictam conformitatis habitudinem nihil est aliud quam iudicare ita esse in re vel non esse: quod est componere et dividere; et ideo intellectus non cognoscit veritatem, nisi componendo vel dividendo per suum iudicium. Quod quidem iudicium, si consonet rebus, erit verum, puta cum intellectus iudicat rem esse quod est, vel non esse quod non est. Falsum autem quando dissonat a re, puta cum iudicat non esse quod est, vel esse quod non est. Unde patet quod veritas et falsitas sicut in cognoscente et dicente non est nisi circa compositionem et divisionem. Et hoc modo philosophus loquitur hic. Et quia voces sunt signa intellectuum, erit vox vera quae significat verum intellectum, falsa autem quae significat falsum intellectum: quamvis vox, in quantum est res quaedam, dicatur vera sicut et aliae res. Unde haec vox, homo est asinus, est vere vox et vere signum; sed quia est signum falsi, ideo dicitur falsa.  Sciendum est autem quod philosophus de veritate hic loquitur secundum quod pertinet ad intellectum humanum, qui iudicat de conformitate rerum et intellectus componendo et dividendo. Sed iudicium intellectus divini de hoc est absque compositione et divisione: quia sicut etiam intellectus noster intelligit materialia immaterialiter, ita etiam intellectus divinus cognoscit compositionem et divisionem simpliciter.  Deinde cum dicit: nomina igitur ipsa et verba etc., manifestat quod dixerat de similitudine vocum ad intellectum. Et primo, manifestat propositum; secundo, probat per signum; ibi: huius autem signum et cetera. Concludit ergo ex praemissis quod, cum solum circa compositionem et divisionem sit veritas et falsitas in intellectu, consequens est quod ipsa nomina et verba, divisim accepta, assimilentur intellectui qui est sine compositione et divisione; sicut cum homo vel album dicitur, si nihil aliud addatur: non enim verum adhuc vel falsum est; sed postea quando additur esse vel non esse, fit verum vel falsum.  Nec est instantia de eo, qui per unicum nomen veram responsionem dat ad interrogationem factam; ut cum quaerenti: quid natat in mari? Aliquis respondet, piscis. Nam intelligitur verbum quod fuit in interrogatione positum. Et sicut nomen per se positum non significat verum vel falsum, ita nec verbum per se dictum. Nec est instantia de verbo primae et secundae personae, et de verbo exceptae actionis: quia in his intelligitur certus et determinatus nominativus. Unde est implicita compositio, licet non explicita.  Deinde cum dicit: signum autem etc., inducit signum ex nomine composito, scilicet Hircocervus, quod componitur ex hirco et cervus et quod in Graeco dicitur Tragelaphos; nam tragos est hircus, et elaphos cervus. Huiusmodi enim nomina significant aliquid, scilicet quosdam conceptus simplices, licet rerum compositarum; et ideo non est verum vel falsum, nisi quando additur esse vel non esse, per quae exprimitur iudicium intellectus. Potest autem addi esse vel non esse, vel secundum praesens tempus, quod est esse vel non esse in actu, et ideo hoc dicitur esse simpliciter; vel secundum tempus praeteritum, aut futurum, quod non est esse simpliciter, sed secundum quid; ut cum dicitur aliquid fuisse vel futurum esse. Signanter autem utitur exemplo ex nomine significante quod non est in rerum natura, in quo statim falsitas apparet, et quod sine compositione et divisione non possit verum vel falsum esse.  Postquam philosophus determinavit de ordine significationis vocum, hic accedit ad determinandum de ipsis vocibus significativis. Et quia principaliter intendit de enunciatione, quae est subiectum huius libri; in qualibet autem scientia oportet praenoscere principia subiecti; ideo primo, determinat de principiis enunciationis; secundo, de ipsa enunciatione; ibi: enunciativa vero non omnis et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo enim, determinat principia quasi materialia enunciationis, scilicet partes integrales ipsius; secundo, determinat principium formale, scilicet orationem, quae est enunciationis genus; ibi: oratio autem est vox significativa et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, determinat de nomine, quod significat rei substantiam; secundo, determinat de verbo, quod significat actionem vel passionem procedentem a re; ibi: verbum autem est quod consignificat tempus et cetera. Circa primum tria facit: primo, definit nomen; secundo, definitionem exponit; ibi: in nomine enim quod est equiferus etc.; tertio, excludit quaedam, quae perfecte rationem nominis non habent, ibi: non homo vero non est nomen.  Circa primum considerandum est quod definitio ideo dicitur terminus, quia includit totaliter rem; ita scilicet, quod nihil rei est extra definitionem, cui scilicet definitio non conveniat; nec aliquid aliud est infra definitionem, cui scilicet definitio conveniat.  Et ideo quinque ponit in definitione nominis. Primo, ponitur vox per modum generis, per quod distinguitur nomen ab omnibus sonis, qui non sunt voces. Nam vox est sonus ab ore animalis prolatus, cum imaginatione quadam, ut dicitur in II de anima. Additur autem prima differentia, scilicet significativa, ad differentiam quarumcumque vocum non significantium, sive sit vox litterata et articulata, sicut biltris, sive non litterata et non articulata, sicut sibilus pro nihilo factus. Et quia de significatione vocum in superioribus actum est, ideo ex praemissis concludit quod nomen est vox significativa.  Sed cum vox sit quaedam res naturalis, nomen autem non est aliquid naturale sed ab hominibus institutum, videtur quod non debuit genus nominis ponere vocem, quae est ex natura, sed magis signum, quod est ex institutione; ut diceretur: nomen est signum vocale; sicut etiam convenientius definiretur scutella, si quis diceret quod est vas ligneum, quam si quis diceret quod est lignum formatum in vas.  Sed dicendum quod artificialia sunt quidem in genere substantiae ex parte materiae, in genere autem accidentium ex parte formae: nam formae artificialium accidentia sunt. Nomen ergo significat formam accidentalem ut concretam subiecto. Cum autem in definitione omnium accidentium oporteat poni subiectum, necesse est quod, si qua nomina accidens in abstracto significant quod in eorum definitione ponatur accidens in recto, quasi genus, subiectum autem in obliquo, quasi differentia; ut cum dicitur, simitas est curvitas nasi. Si qua vero nomina accidens significant in concreto, in eorum definitione ponitur materia, vel subiectum, quasi genus, et accidens, quasi differentia; ut cum dicitur, simum est nasus curvus. Si igitur nomina rerum artificialium significant formas accidentales, ut concretas subiectis naturalibus, convenientius est, ut in eorum definitione ponatur res naturalis quasi genus, ut dicamus quod scutella est lignum figuratum, et similiter quod nomen est vox significativa. Secus autem esset, si nomina artificialium acciperentur, quasi significantia ipsas formas artificiales in abstracto.  Tertio, ponit secundam differentiam cum dicit: secundum placitum, idest secundum institutionem humanam a beneplacito hominis procedentem. Et per hoc differt nomen a vocibus significantibus naturaliter, sicut sunt gemitus infirmorum et voces brutorum animalium.  Quarto, ponit tertiam differentiam, scilicet sine tempore, per quod differt nomen a verbo. Sed videtur hoc esse falsum: quia hoc nomen dies vel annus significat tempus. Sed dicendum quod circa tempus tria possunt considerari. Primo quidem, ipsum tempus, secundum quod est res quaedam, et sic potest significari a nomine, sicut quaelibet alia res. Alio modo, potest considerari id, quod tempore mensuratur, in quantum huiusmodi: et quia id quod primo et principaliter tempore mensuratur est motus, in quo consistit actio et passio, ideo verbum quod significat actionem vel passionem, significat cum tempore. Substantia autem secundum se considerata, prout significatur per nomen et pronomen, non habet in quantum huiusmodi ut tempore mensuretur, sed solum secundum quod subiicitur motui, prout per participium significatur. Et ideo verbum et participium significant cum tempore, non autem nomen et pronomen. Tertio modo, potest considerari ipsa habitudo temporis mensurantis; quod significatur per adverbia temporis, ut cras, heri et huiusmodi.  Quinto, ponit quartam differentiam cum subdit: cuius nulla pars est significativa separata, scilicet a toto nomine; comparatur tamen ad significationem nominis secundum quod est in toto. Quod ideo est, quia significatio est quasi forma nominis; nulla autem pars separata habet formam totius, sicut manus separata ab homine non habet formam humanam. Et per hoc distinguitur nomen ab oratione, cuius pars significat separata; ut cum dicitur, homo iustus.  Deinde cum dicit: in nomine enim quod est etc., manifestat praemissam definitionem. Et primo, quantum ad ultimam particulam; secundo, quantum ad tertiam; ibi: secundum vero placitum et cetera. Nam primae duae particulae manifestae sunt ex praemissis; tertia autem particula, scilicet sine temporeit, manifestabitur in sequentibus in tractatu de verbo. Circa primum duo facit: primo, manifestat propositum per nomina composita; secundo, ostendit circa hoc differentiam inter nomina simplicia et composita; ibi: at vero non quemadmodum et cetera. Manifestat ergo primo quod pars nominis separata nihil significat, per nomina composita, in quibus hoc magis videtur. In hoc enim nomine quod est equiferus, haec pars ferus, per se nihil significat sicut significat in hac oratione, quae est equus ferus. Cuius ratio est quod unum nomen imponitur ad significandum unum simplicem intellectum; aliud autem est id a quo imponitur nomen ad significandum, ab eo quod nomen significat; sicut hoc nomen lapis imponitur a laesione pedis, quam non significat: quod tamen imponitur ad significandum conceptum cuiusdam rei. Et inde est quod pars nominis compositi, quod imponitur ad significandum conceptum simplicem, non significat partem conceptionis compositae, a qua imponitur nomen ad significandum. Sed oratio significat ipsam conceptionem compositam: unde pars orationis significat partem conceptionis compositae.  Deinde cum dicit: at vero non etc., ostendit quantum ad hoc differentiam inter nomina simplicia et composita, et dicit quod non ita se habet in nominibus simplicibus, sicut et in compositis: quia in simplicibus pars nullo modo est significativa, neque secundum veritatem, neque secundum apparentiam; sed in compositis vult quidem, idest apparentiam habet significandi; nihil tamen pars eius significat, ut dictum est de nomine equiferus. Haec autem ratio differentiae est, quia nomen simplex sicut imponitur ad significandum conceptum simplicem, ita etiam imponitur ad significandum ab aliquo simplici conceptu; nomen vero compositum imponitur a composita conceptione, ex qua habet apparentiam quod pars eius significet.  Deinde cum dicit: secundum placitum etc., manifestat tertiam partem praedictae definitionis; et dicit quod ideo dictum est quod nomen significat secundum placitum, quia nullum nomen est naturaliter. Ex hoc enim est nomen, quod significat: non autem significat naturaliter, sed ex institutione. Et hoc est quod subdit: sed quando fit nota, idest quando imponitur ad significandum. Id enim quod naturaliter significat non fit, sed naturaliter est signum. Et hoc significat cum dicit: illitterati enim soni, ut ferarum, quia scilicet litteris significari non possunt. Et dicit potius sonos quam voces, quia quaedam animalia non habent vocem, eo quod carent pulmone, sed tantum quibusdam sonis proprias passiones naturaliter significant: nihil autem horum sonorum est nomen. Ex quo manifeste datur intelligi quod nomen non significat naturaliter.  Sciendum tamen est quod circa hoc fuit diversa quorumdam opinio. Quidam enim dixerunt quod nomina nullo modo naturaliter significant: nec differt quae res quo nomine significentur. Alii vero dixerunt quod nomina omnino naturaliter significant, quasi nomina sint naturales similitudines rerum. Quidam vero dixerunt quod nomina non naturaliter significant quantum ad hoc, quod eorum significatio non est a natura, ut Aristoteles hic intendit; quantum vero ad hoc naturaliter significant quod eorum significatio congruit naturis rerum, ut Plato dixit. Nec obstat quod una res multis nominibus significatur: quia unius rei possunt esse multae similitudines; et similiter ex diversis proprietatibus possunt uni rei multa diversa nomina imponi. Non est autem intelligendum quod dicit: quorum nihil est nomen, quasi soni animalium non habeant nomina: nominantur enim quibusdam nominibus, sicut dicitur rugitus leonis et mugitus bovis; sed quia nullus talis sonus est nomen, ut dictum est.  Deinde cum dicit: non homo vero etc., excludit quaedam a nominis ratione. Et primo, nomen infinitum; secundo, casus nominum; ibi: Catonis autem vel Catoni et cetera. Dicit ergo primo quod non homo non est nomen. Omne enim nomen significat aliquam naturam determinatam, ut homo; aut personam determinatam, ut pronomen; aut utrumque determinatum, ut Socrates. Sed hoc quod dico non homo, neque determinatam naturam neque determinatam personam significat. Imponitur enim a negatione hominis, quae aequaliter dicitur de ente, et non ente. Unde non homo potest dici indifferenter, et de eo quod non est in rerum natura; ut si dicamus, Chimaera est non homo, et de eo quod est in rerum natura; sicut cum dicitur, equus est non homo. Si autem imponeretur a privatione, requireret subiectum ad minus existens: sed quia imponitur a negatione, potest dici de ente et de non ente, ut Boethius et Ammonius dicunt. Quia tamen significat per modum nominis, quod potest subiici et praedicari, requiritur ad minus suppositum in apprehensione. Non autem erat nomen positum tempore Aristotelis sub quo huiusmodi dictiones concluderentur. Non enim est oratio, quia pars eius non significat aliquid separata, sicut nec in nominibus compositis; similiter autem non est negatio, id est oratio negativa, quia huiusmodi oratio superaddit negationem affirmationi, quod non contingit hic. Et ideo novum nomen imponit huiusmodi dictioni, vocans eam nomen infinitum propter indeterminationem significationis, ut dictum est.  Deinde cum dicit: Catonis autem vel Catoni etc., excludit casus nominis; et dicit quod Catonis vel Catoni et alia huiusmodi non sunt nomina, sed solus nominativus dicitur principaliter nomen, per quem facta est impositio nominis ad aliquid significandum. Huiusmodi autem obliqui vocantur casus nominis: quia quasi cadunt per quamdam declinationis originem a nominativo, qui dicitur rectus eo quod non cadit. Stoici autem dixerunt etiam nominativos dici casus: quos grammatici sequuntur, eo quod cadunt, idest procedunt ab interiori conceptione mentis. Et dicitur rectus, eo quod nihil prohibet aliquid cadens sic cadere, ut rectum stet, sicut stilus qui cadens ligno infigitur.  Deinde cum dicit: ratio autem eius etc., ostendit consequenter quomodo se habeant obliqui casus ad nomen; et dicit quod ratio, quam significat nomen, est eadem et in aliis, scilicet casibus nominis; sed in hoc est differentia quod nomen adiunctum cum hoc verbo est vel erit vel fuit semper significat verum vel falsum: quod non contingit in obliquis. Signanter autem inducit exemplum de verbo substantivo: quia sunt quaedam alia verba, scilicet impersonalia, quae cum obliquis significant verum vel falsum; ut cum dicitur, poenitet Socratem, quia actus verbi intelligitur ferri super obliquum; ac si diceretur, poenitentia habet Socratem.  Sed contra: si nomen infinitum et casus non sunt nomina, inconvenienter data est praemissa nominis definitio, quae istis convenit. Sed dicendum, secundum Ammonium, quod supra communius definit nomen, postmodum vero significationem nominis arctat subtrahendo haec a nomine. Vel dicendum quod praemissa definitio non simpliciter convenit his: nomen enim infinitum nihil determinatum significat, neque casus nominis significat secundum primum placitum instituentis, ut dictum est. Postquam philosophus determinavit de nomine: hic determinat de verbo. Et circa hoc tria facit: primo, definit verbum; secundo, excludit quaedam a ratione verbi; ibi: non currit autem, et non laborat etc.; tertio, ostendit convenientiam verbi ad nomen; ibi: ipsa quidem secundum se dicta verba, et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, ponit definitionem verbi; secundo exponit eam; ibi: dico autem quoniam consignificat et cetera.  Est autem considerandum quod Aristoteles, brevitati studens, non ponit in definitione verbi ea quae sunt nomini et verbo communia, relinquens ea intellectui legentis ex his quae dixerat in definitione nominis. Ponit autem tres particulas in definitione verbi: quarum prima distinguit verbum a nomine, in hoc scilicet quod dicit quod consignificat tempus. Dictum est enim in definitione nominis quod nomen significat sine tempore. Secunda vero particula est, per quam distinguitur verbum ab oratione, scilicet cum dicitur: cuius pars nihil extra significat.  Sed cum hoc etiam positum sit in definitione nominis, videtur hoc debuisse praetermitti, sicut et quod dictum est, vox significativa ad placitum. Ad quod respondet Ammonius quod in definitione nominis hoc positum est, ut distinguatur nomen ab orationibus, quae componuntur ex nominibus; ut cum dicitur, homo est animal. Quia vero sunt etiam quaedam orationes quae componuntur ex verbis; ut cum dicitur, ambulare est moveri, ut ab his distinguatur verbum, oportuit hoc etiam in definitione verbi iterari. Potest etiam aliter dici quod quia verbum importat compositionem, in qua perficitur oratio verum vel falsum significans, maiorem convenientiam videbatur verbum habere cum oratione, quasi quaedam pars formalis ipsius, quam nomen, quod est quaedam pars materialis et subiectiva orationis; et ideo oportuit iterari.  Tertia vero particula est, per quam distinguitur verbum non solum a nomine, sed etiam a participio quod significat cum tempore; unde dicit: et est semper eorum, quae de altero praedicantur nota, idest signum: quia scilicet nomina et participia possunt poni ex parte subiecti et praedicati, sed verbum semper est ex parte praedicati.  Sed hoc videtur habere instantiam in verbis infinitivi modi, quae interdum ponuntur ex parte subiecti; ut cum dicitur, ambulare est moveri. Sed dicendum est quod verba infinitivi modi, quando in subiecto ponuntur, habent vim nominis: unde et in Graeco et in vulgari Latina locutione suscipiunt additionem articulorum sicut et nomina. Cuius ratio est quia proprium nominis est, ut significet rem aliquam quasi per se existentem; proprium autem verbi est, ut significet actionem vel passionem. Potest autem actio significari tripliciter: uno modo, per se in abstracto, velut quaedam res, et sic significatur per nomen; ut cum dicitur actio, passio, ambulatio, cursus et similia; alio modo, per modum actionis, ut scilicet est egrediens a substantia et inhaerens ei ut subiecto, et sic significatur per verba aliorum modorum, quae attribuuntur praedicatis. Sed quia etiam ipse processus vel inhaerentia actionis potest apprehendi ab intellectu et significari ut res quaedam, inde est quod ipsa verba infinitivi modi, quae significant ipsam inhaerentiam actionis ad subiectum, possunt accipi ut verba, ratione concretionis, et ut nomina prout significant quasi res quasdam.  Potest etiam obiici de hoc quod etiam verba aliorum modorum videntur aliquando in subiecto poni; ut cum dicitur, curro est verbum. Sed dicendum est quod in tali locutione, hoc verbum curro, non sumitur formaliter, secundum quod eius significatio refertur ad rem, sed secundum quod materialiter significat ipsam vocem, quae accipitur ut res quaedam. Et ideo tam verba, quam omnes orationis partes, quando ponuntur materialiter, sumuntur in vi nominum.  Deinde cum dicit: dico vero quoniam consignificat etc., exponit definitionem positam. Et primo, quantum ad hoc quod dixerat quod consignificat tempus; secundo, quantum ad hoc quod dixerat quod est nota eorum quae de altero praedicantur, cum dicit: et semper est et cetera. Secundam autem particulam, scilicet: cuius nulla pars extra significat, non exponit, quia supra exposita est in tractatu nominis. Exponit ergo primum quod verbum consignificat tempus, per exemplum; quia videlicet cursus, quia significat actionem non per modum actionis, sed per modum rei per se existentis, non consignificat tempus, eo quod est nomen. Curro vero cum sit verbum significans actionem, consignificat tempus, quia proprium est motus tempore mensurari; actiones autem nobis notae sunt in tempore. Dictum est autem supra quod consignificare tempus est significare aliquid in tempore mensuratum. Unde aliud est significare tempus principaliter, ut rem quamdam, quod potest nomini convenire, aliud autem est significare cum tempore, quod non convenit nomini, sed verbo.  Deinde cum dicit: et est semper etc., exponit aliam particulam. Ubi notandum est quod quia subiectum enunciationis significatur ut cui inhaeret aliquid, cum verbum significet actionem per modum actionis, de cuius ratione est ut inhaereat, semper ponitur ex parte praedicati, nunquam autem ex parte subiecti, nisi sumatur in vi nominis, ut dictum est. Dicitur ergo verbum semper esse nota eorum quae dicuntur de altero: tum quia verbum semper significat id, quod praedicatur; tum quia in omni praedicatione oportet esse verbum, eo quod verbum importat compositionem, qua praedicatum componitur subiecto.  Sed dubium videtur quod subditur: ut eorum quae de subiecto vel in subiecto sunt. Videtur enim aliquid dici ut de subiecto, quod essentialiter praedicatur; ut, homo est animal; in subiecto autem, sicut accidens de subiecto praedicatur; ut, homo est albus. Si ergo verba significant actionem vel passionem, quae sunt accidentia, consequens est ut semper significent ea, quae dicuntur ut in subiecto. Frustra igitur dicitur in subiecto vel de subiecto. Et ad hoc dicit Boethius quod utrumque ad idem pertinet. Accidens enim et de subiecto praedicatur, et in subiecto est. Sed quia Aristoteles disiunctione utitur, videtur aliud per utrumque significare. Et ideo potest dici quod cum Aristoteles dicit quod, verbum semper est nota eorum, quae de altero praedicantur, non est sic intelligendum, quasi significata verborum sint quae praedicantur, quia cum praedicatio videatur magis proprie ad compositionem pertinere, ipsa verba sunt quae praedicantur, magis quam significent praedicata. Est ergo intelligendum quod verbum semper est signum quod aliqua praedicentur, quia omnis praedicatio fit per verbum ratione compositionis importatae, sive praedicetur aliquid essentialiter sive accidentaliter.  Deinde cum dicit: non currit vero et non laborat etc., excludit quaedam a ratione verbi. Et primo, verbum infinitum; secundo, verba praeteriti temporis vel futuri; ibi: similiter autem curret vel currebat. Dicit ergo primo quod non currit, et non laborat, non proprie dicitur verbum. Est enim proprium verbi significare aliquid per modum actionis vel passionis; quod praedictae dictiones non faciunt: removent enim actionem vel passionem, potius quam aliquam determinatam actionem vel passionem significent. Sed quamvis non proprie possint dici verbum, tamen conveniunt sibi ea quae supra posita sunt in definitione verbi. Quorum primum est quod significat tempus, quia significat agere et pati, quae sicut sunt in tempore, ita privatio eorum; unde et quies tempore mensuratur, ut habetur in VI physicorum. Secundum est quod semper ponitur ex parte praedicati, sicut et verbum: ethoc ideo, quia negatio reducitur ad genus affirmationis. Unde sicut verbum quod significat actionem vel passionem, significat aliquid ut in altero existens, ita praedictae dictiones significant remotionem actionis vel passionis.  Si quis autem obiiciat: si praedictis dictionibus convenit definitio verbi; ergo sunt verba; dicendum est quod definitio verbi supra posita datur de verbo communiter sumpto. Huiusmodi autem dictiones negantur esse verba, quia deficiunt a perfecta ratione verbi. Nec ante Aristotelem erat nomen positum huic generi dictionum a verbis differentium; sed quia huiusmodi dictiones in aliquo cum verbis conveniunt, deficiunt tamen a determinata ratione verbi, ideo vocat ea verba infinita. Et rationem nominis assignat, quia unumquodque eorum indifferenter potest dici de eo quod est, vel de eo quod non est. Sumitur enim negatio apposita non in vi privationis, sed in vi simplicis negationis. Privatio enim supponit determinatum subiectum. Differunt tamen huiusmodi verba a verbis negativis, quia verba infinita sumuntur in vi unius dictionis, verba vero negativa in vi duarum dictionum.  Deinde cum dicit: similiter autem curret etc., excludit a verbo verba praeteriti et futuri temporis; et dicit quod sicut verba infinita non sunt simpliciter verba, ita etiam curret, quod est futuri temporis, vel currebat, quod est praeteriti temporis, non sunt verba, sed sunt casus verbi. Et differunt in hoc a verbo, quia verbum consignificat praesens tempus, illa vero significant tempus hinc et inde circumstans. Dicit autem signanter praesens tempus, et non simpliciter praesens, ne intelligatur praesens indivisibile, quod est instans: quia in instanti non est motus, nec actio aut passio; sed oportet accipere praesens tempus quod mensurat actionem, quae incepit, et nondum est determinata per actum. Recte autem ea quae consignificant tempus praeteritum vel futurum, non sunt verba proprie dicta: cum enim verbum proprie sit quod significat agere vel pati, hoc est proprie verbum quod significat agere vel pati in actu, quod est agere vel pati simpliciter: sed agere vel pati in praeterito vel futuro est secundum quid.  Dicuntur etiam verba praeteriti vel futuri temporis rationabiliter casus verbi, quod consignificat praesens tempus; quia praeteritum vel futurum dicitur per respectum ad praesens. Est enim praeteritum quod fuit praesens, futurum autem quod erit praesens.  Cum autem declinatio verbi varietur per modos, tempora, numeros et personas, variatio quae fit per numerum et personam non constituit casus verbi: quia talis variatio non est ex parte actionis, sed ex parte subiecti; sed variatio quae est per modos et tempora respicit ipsam actionem, et ideo utraque constituit casus verbi. Nam verba imperativi vel optativi modi casus dicuntur, sicut et verba praeteriti vel futuri temporis. Sed verba indicativi modi praesentis temporis non dicuntur casus, cuiuscumque sint personae vel numeri. Deinde cum dicit: ipsa itaque etc., ostendit convenientiam verborum ad nomina. Et circa hoc duo facit: primo, proponit quod intendit; secundo, manifestat propositum; ibi: et significant aliquid et cetera. Dicit ergo primo, quod ipsa verba secundum se dicta sunt nomina: quod a quibusdam exponitur de verbis quae sumuntur in vi nominis, ut dictum est, sive sint infinitivi modi; ut cum dico, currere est moveri, sive sint alterius modi; ut cum dico, curro est verbum. Sed haec non videtur esse intentio Aristotelis, quia ad hanc intentionem non respondent sequentia. Et ideo aliter dicendum est quod nomen hic sumitur, prout communiter significat quamlibet dictionem impositam ad significandum aliquam rem. Et quia etiam ipsum agere vel pati est quaedam res, inde est quod et ipsa verba in quantum nominant, idest significant agere vel pati, sub nominibus comprehenduntur communiter acceptis. Nomen autem, prout a verbo distinguitur, significat rem sub determinato modo, prout scilicet potest intelligi ut per se existens. Unde nomina possunt subiici et praedicari.  Deinde cum dicit: et significant aliquid etc., probat propositum. Et primo, per hoc quod verba significant aliquid, sicut et nomina; secundo, per hoc quod non significant verum vel falsum, sicut nec nomina; ibi: sed si est, aut non est et cetera. Dicit ergo primo quod in tantum dictum est quod verba sunt nomina, in quantum significant aliquid. Et hoc probat, quia supra dictum est quod voces significativae significant intellectus. Unde proprium vocis significativae est quod generet aliquem intellectum in animo audientis. Et ideo ad ostendendum quod verbum sit vox significativa, assumit quod ille, qui dicit verbum, constituit intellectum in animo audientis. Et ad hoc manifestandum inducit quod ille, qui audit, quiescit.  Sed hoc videtur esse falsum: quia sola oratio perfecta facit quiescere intellectum, non autem nomen, neque verbum si per se dicatur. Si enim dicam, homo, suspensus est animus audientis, quid de eo dicere velim; si autem dico, currit, suspensus est eius animus de quo dicam. Sed dicendum est quod cum duplex sit intellectus operatio, ut supra habitum est, ille qui dicit nomen vel verbum secundum se, constituit intellectum quantum ad primam operationem, quae est simplex conceptio alicuius, et secundum hoc, quiescit audiens, qui in suspenso erat antequam nomen vel verbum proferretur et eius prolatio terminaretur; non autem constituit intellectum quantum ad secundam operationem, quae est intellectus componentis et dividentis, ipsum verbum vel nomen per se dictum: nec quantum ad hoc facit quiescere audientem.  Et ideo statim subdit: sed si est, aut non est, nondum significat, idest nondum significat aliquid per modum compositionis et divisionis, aut veri vel falsi. Et hoc est secundum, quod probare intendit. Probat autem consequenter per illa verba, quae maxime videntur significare veritatem vel falsitatem, scilicet ipsum verbum quod est esse, et verbum infinitum quod est non esse; quorum neutrum per se dictum est significativum veritatis vel falsitatis in re; unde multo minus alia. Vel potest intelligi hoc generaliter dici de omnibus verbis. Quia enim dixerat quod verbum non significat si est res vel non est, hoc consequenter manifestat, quia nullum verbum est significativum esse rei vel non esse, idest quod res sit vel non sit. Quamvis enim omne verbum finitum implicet esse, quia currere est currentem esse, et omne verbum infinitum implicet non esse, quia non currere est non currentem esse; tamen nullum verbum significat hoc totum, scilicet rem esse vel non esse.  Et hoc consequenter probat per id, de quo magis videtur cum subdit: nec si hoc ipsum est purum dixeris, ipsum quidem nihil est. Ubi notandum est quod in Graeco habetur: neque si ens ipsum nudum dixeris, ipsum quidem nihil est. Ad probandum enim quod verba non significant rem esse vel non esse, assumpsit id quod est fons et origo ipsius esse, scilicet ipsum ens, de quo dicit quod nihil est (ut Alexander exponit), quia ens aequivoce dicitur de decem praedicamentis; omne autem aequivocum per se positum nihil significat, nisi aliquid addatur quod determinet eius significationem; unde nec ipsum est per se dictum significat quod est vel non est. Sed haec expositio non videtur conveniens, tum quia ens non dicitur proprie aequivoce, sed secundum prius et posterius; unde simpliciter dictum intelligitur de eo, quod per prius dicitur: tum etiam, quia dictio aequivoca non nihil significat, sed multa significat; et quandoque hoc, quandoque illud per ipsam accipitur: tum etiam, quia talis expositio non multum facit ad intentionem praesentem. Unde Porphyrius aliter exposuit quod hoc ipsum ens non significat naturam alicuius rei, sicut hoc nomen homo vel sapiens, sed solum designat quamdam coniunctionem; unde subdit quod consignificat quamdam compositionem, quam sine compositis non est intelligere. Sed neque hoc convenienter videtur dici: quia si non significaret aliquam rem, sed solum coniunctionem, non esset neque nomen, neque verbum, sicut nec praepositiones aut coniunctiones. Et ideo aliter exponendum est, sicut Ammonius exponit, quod ipsum ens nihil est, idest non significat verum vel falsum. Et rationem huius assignat, cum subdit: consignificat autem quamdam compositionem. Nec accipitur hic, ut ipse dicit, consignificat, sicut cum dicebatur quod verbum consignificat tempus, sed consignificat, idest cum alio significat, scilicet alii adiunctum compositionem significat, quae non potest intelligi sine extremis compositionis. Sed quia hoc commune est omnibus nominibus et verbis, non videtur haec expositio esse secundum intentionem Aristotelis, qui assumpsit ipsum ens quasi quoddam speciale. Et ideo ut magis sequamur verba Aristotelis considerandum est quod ipse dixerat quod verbum non significat rem esse vel non esse, sed nec ipsum ens significat rem esse vel non esse. Et hoc est quod dicit, nihil est, idest non significat aliquid esse. Etenim hoc maxime videbatur de hoc quod dico ens: quia ens nihil est aliud quam quod est. Et sic videtur et rem significare, per hoc quod dico quod et esse, per hoc quod dico est. Et si quidem haec dictio ens significaret esse principaliter, sicut significat rem quae habet esse, procul dubio significaret aliquid esse. Sed ipsam compositionem, quae importatur in hoc quod dico est, non principaliter significat, sed consignificat eam in quantum significat rem habentem esse. Unde talis consignificatio compositionis non sufficit ad veritatem vel falsitatem: quia compositio, in qua consistit veritas et falsitas, non potest intelligi, nisi secundum quod innectit extrema compositionis.  Si vero dicatur, nec ipsum esse, ut libri nostri habent, planior est sensus. Quod enim nullum verbum significat rem esse vel non esse, probat per hoc verbum est, quod secundum se dictum, non significat aliquid esse, licet significet esse. Et quia hoc ipsum esse videtur compositio quaedam, et ita hoc verbum est, quod significat esse, potest videri significare compositionem, in qua sit verum vel falsum; ad hoc excludendum subdit quod illa compositio, quam significat hoc verbum est, non potest intelligi sine componentibus: quia dependet eius intellectus ab extremis, quae si non apponantur, non est perfectus intellectus compositionis, ut possit in ea esse verum, vel falsum.  Ideo autem dicit quod hoc verbum est consignificat compositionem, quia non eam principaliter significat, sed ex consequenti; significat enim primo illud quod cadit in intellectu per modum actualitatis absolute: nam est, simpliciter dictum, significat in actu esse; et ideo significat per modum verbi. Quia vero actualitas, quam principaliter significat hoc verbum est, est communiter actualitas omnis formae, vel actus substantialis vel accidentalis, inde est quod cum volumus significare quamcumque formam vel actum actualiter inesse alicui subiecto, significamus illud per hoc verbum est, vel simpliciter vel secundum quid: simpliciter quidem secundum praesens tempus; secundum quid autem secundum alia tempora. Et ideo ex consequenti hoc verbum est significat compositionem. Postquam philosophus determinavit de nomine et de verbo, quae sunt principia materialia enunciationis, utpote partes eius existentes; nunc determinat de oratione, quae est principium formale enunciationis, utpote genus eius existens. Et circa hoc tria facit: primo enim, proponit definitionem orationis; secundo, exponit eam; ibi: dico autem ut homo etc.; tertio, excludit errorem; ibi: est autem oratio omnis et cetera.  Circa primum considerandum est quod philosophus in definitione orationis primo ponit illud in quo oratio convenit cum nomine et verbo, cum dicit: oratio est vox significativa, quod etiam posuit in definitione nominis, et probavit de verbo quod aliquid significet. Non autem posuit in eius definitione, quia supponebat ex eo quod positum erat in definitione nominis, studens brevitati, ne idem frequenter iteraret. Iterat tamen hoc in definitione orationis, quia significatio orationis differt a significatione nominis et verbi, quia nomen vel verbum significat simplicem intellectum, oratio vero significat intellectum compositum.  Secundo autem ponit id, in quo oratio differt a nomine et verbo, cum dicit: cuius partium aliquid significativum est separatim. Supra enim dictum est quod pars nominis non significat aliquid per se separatum, sed solum quod est coniunctum ex duabus partibus. Signanter autem non dicit: cuius pars est significativa aliquid separata, sed cuius aliquid partium est significativum, propter negationes et alia syncategoremata, quae secundum se non significant aliquid absolutum, sed solum habitudinem unius ad alterum. Sed quia duplex est significatio vocis, una quae refertur ad intellectum compositum, alia quae refertur ad intellectum simplicem; prima significatio competit orationi, secunda non competit orationi, sed parti orationis. Unde subdit: ut dictio, non ut affirmatio. Quasi dicat: pars orationis est significativa, sicut dictio significat, puta ut nomen et verbum, non sicut affirmatio, quae componitur ex nomine et verbo. Facit autem mentionem solum de affirmatione et non de negatione, quia negatio secundum vocem superaddit affirmationi; unde si pars orationis propter sui simplicitatem non significat aliquid, ut affirmatio, multo minus ut negatio.  Sed contra hanc definitionem Aspasius obiicit quod videtur non omnibus partibus orationis convenire. Sunt enim quaedam orationes, quarum partes significant aliquid ut affirmatio; ut puta, si sol lucet super terram, dies est; et sic de multis. Et ad hoc respondet Porphyrius quod in quocumque genere invenitur prius et posterius, debet definiri id quod prius est. Sicut cum datur definitio alicuius speciei, puta hominis, intelligitur definitio de eo quod est in actu, non de eo quod est in potentia; et ideo quia in genere orationis prius est oratio simplex, inde est quod Aristoteles prius definivit orationem simplicem. Vel potest dici, secundum Alexandrum et Ammonium, quod hic definitur oratio in communi. Unde debet poni in hac definitione id quod est commune orationi simplici et compositae. Habere autem partes significantes aliquid ut affirmatio, competit soli orationi, compositae; sed habere partes significantes aliquid per modum dictionis, et non per modum affirmationis, est commune orationi simplici et compositae. Et ideo hoc debuit poni in definitione orationis. Et secundum hoc non debet intelligi esse de ratione orationis quod pars eius non sit affirmatio: sed quia de ratione orationis est quod pars eius sit aliquid quod significat per modum dictionis, et non per modum affirmationis. Et in idem redit solutio Porphyrii quantum ad sensum, licet quantum ad verba parumper differat. Quia enim Aristoteles frequenter ponit dicere pro affirmare, ne dictio pro affirmatione sumatur, subdit quod pars orationis significat ut dictio, et addit non ut affirmatio: quasi diceret, secundum sensum Porphyrii, non accipiatur nunc dictio secundum quod idem est quod affirmatio. Philosophus autem, qui dicitur Ioannes grammaticus, voluit quod haec definitio orationis daretur solum de oratione perfecta, eo quod partes non videntur esse nisi alicuius perfecti, sicut omnes partes domus referuntur ad domum: et ideo secundum ipsum sola oratio perfecta habet partes significativas. Sed tamen hic decipiebatur, quia quamvis omnes partes referantur principaliter ad totum perfectum, quaedam tamen partes referuntur ad ipsum immediate, sicut paries et tectum ad domum, et membra organica ad animal: quaedam vero mediantibus partibus principalibus quarum sunt partes; sicut lapides referuntur ad domum mediante pariete; nervi autem et ossa ad animal mediantibus membris organicis, scilicet manu et pede et huiusmodi. Sic ergo omnes partes orationis principaliter referuntur ad orationem perfectam, cuius pars est oratio imperfecta, quae etiam ipsa habet partes significantes. Unde ista definitio convenit tam orationi perfectae, quam imperfectae.  Deinde cum dicit: dico autem ut homo etc., exponit propositam definitionem. Et primo, manifestat verum esse quod dicitur; secundo, excludit falsum intellectum; ibi: sed non una hominis syllaba et cetera. Exponit ergo quod dixerat aliquid partium orationis esse significativum, sicut hoc nomen homo, quod est pars orationis, significat aliquid, sed non significat ut affirmatio aut negatio, quia non significat esse vel non esse. Et hoc dico non in actu, sed solum in potentia. Potest enim aliquid addi, per cuius additionem fit affirmatio vel negatio, scilicet si addatur ei verbum.  Deinde cum dicit: sed non una hominis etc., excludit falsum intellectum. Et posset hoc referri ad immediate dictum, ut sit sensus quod nomen erit affirmatio vel negatio, si quid ei addatur, sed non si addatur ei una nominis syllaba. Sed quia huic sensui non conveniunt verba sequentia, oportet quod referatur ad id, quod supra dictum est in definitione orationis, scilicet quod aliquid partium eius sit significativum separatim. Sed quia pars alicuius totius dicitur proprie illud, quod immediate venit ad constitutionem totius, non autem pars partis; ideo hoc intelligendum est de partibus ex quibus immediate constituitur oratio, scilicet de nomine et verbo, non autem de partibus nominis vel verbi, quae sunt syllabae vel litterae. Et ideo dicitur quod pars orationis est significativa separata, non tamen talis pars, quae est una nominis syllaba. Et hoc manifestat in syllabis, quae quandoque possunt esse dictiones per se significantes: sicut hoc quod dico rex, quandoque est una dictio per se significans; in quantum vero accipitur ut una quaedam syllaba huius nominis sorex, soricis, non significat aliquid per se, sed est vox sola. Dictio enim quaedam est composita ex pluribus vocibus, tamen in significando habet simplicitatem, in quantum scilicet significat simplicem intellectum. Et ideo in quantum est vox composita, potest habere partem quae sit vox, inquantum autem est simplex in significando, non potest habere partem significantem. Unde syllabae quidem sunt voces, sed non sunt voces per se significantes. Sciendum tamen quod in nominibus compositis, quae imponuntur ad significandum rem simplicem ex aliquo intellectu composito, partes secundum apparentiam aliquid significant, licet non secundum veritatem. Et ideo subdit quod in duplicibus, idest in nominibus compositis, syllabae quae possunt esse dictiones, in compositione nominis venientes, significant aliquid, scilicet in ipso composito et secundum quod sunt dictiones; non autem significant aliquid secundum se, prout sunt huiusmodi nominis partes, sed eo modo, sicut supra dictum est.  Deinde cum dicit: est autem oratio etc., excludit quemdam errorem. Fuerunt enim aliqui dicentes quod oratio et eius partes significant naturaliter, non ad placitum. Ad probandum autem hoc utebantur tali ratione. Virtutis naturalis oportet esse naturalia instrumenta: quia natura non deficit in necessariis; potentia autem interpretativa est naturalis homini; ergo instrumenta eius sunt naturalia. Instrumentum autem eius est oratio, quia per orationem virtus interpretativa interpretatur mentis conceptum: hoc enim dicimus instrumentum, quo agens operatur. Ergo oratio est aliquid naturale, non ex institutione humana significans, sed naturaliter.  Huic autem rationi, quae dicitur esse Platonis in Lib. qui intitulatur Cratylus, Aristoteles obviando dicit quod omnis oratio est significativa, non sicut instrumentum virtutis, scilicet naturalis: quia instrumenta naturalia virtutis interpretativae sunt guttur et pulmo, quibus formatur vox, et lingua et dentes et labia, quibus litterati ac articulati soni distinguuntur; oratio autem et partes eius sunt sicut effectus virtutis interpretativae per instrumenta praedicta. Sicut enim virtus motiva utitur naturalibus instrumentis, sicut brachiis et manibus ad faciendum opera artificialia, ita virtus interpretativa utitur gutture et aliis instrumentis naturalibus ad faciendum orationem. Unde oratio et partes eius non sunt res naturales, sed quidam artificiales effectus. Et ideo subdit quod oratio significat ad placitum, idest secundum institutionem humanae rationis et voluntatis, ut supra dictum est, sicut et omnia artificialia causantur ex humana voluntate et ratione. Sciendum tamen quod, si virtutem interpretativam non attribuamus virtuti motivae, sed rationi; sic non est virtus naturalis, sed supra omnem naturam corpoream: quia intellectus non est actus alicuius corporis, sicut probatur in III de anima. Ipsa autem ratio est, quae movet virtutem corporalem motivam ad opera artificialia, quibus etiam ut instrumentis utitur ratio: non sunt autem instrumenta alicuius virtutis corporalis. Et hoc modo ratio potest etiam uti oratione et eius partibus, quasi instrumentis: quamvis non naturaliter significent. Postquam philosophus determinavit de principiis enunciationis, hic incipit determinare de ipsa enunciatione. Et dividitur pars haec in duas: in prima, determinat de enunciatione absolute; in secunda, de diversitate enunciationum, quae provenit secundum ea quae simplici enunciationi adduntur; et hoc in secundo libro; ibi: quoniam autem est de aliquo affirmatio et cetera. Prima autem pars dividitur in partes tres. In prima, definit enunciationem; in secunda, dividit eam; ibi: est autem una prima oratio etc., in tertia, agit de oppositione partium eius ad invicem; ibi: quoniam autem est enunciare et cetera. Circa primum tria facit: primo, ponit definitionem enunciationis; secundo, ostendit quod per hanc definitionem differt enunciatio ab aliis speciebus orationis; ibi: non autem in omnibus etc.; tertio, ostendit quod de sola enunciatione est tractandum, ibi: et caeterae quidem relinquantur.  Circa primum considerandum est quod oratio, quamvis non sit instrumentum alicuius virtutis naturaliter operantis, est tamen instrumentum rationis, ut supra dictum est. Omne autem instrumentum oportet definiri ex suo fine, qui est usus instrumenti: usus autem orationis, sicut et omnis vocis significativae est significare conceptionem intellectus, ut supra dictum est: duae autem sunt operationes intellectus, in quarum una non invenitur veritas et falsitas, in alia autem invenitur verum vel falsum. Et ideo orationem enunciativam definit ex significatione veri et falsi, dicens quod non omnis oratio est enunciativa, sed in qua verum vel falsum est. Ubi considerandum est quod Aristoteles mirabili brevitate usus, et divisionem orationis innuit in hoc quod dicit: non omnis oratio est enunciativa, et definitionem enunciationis in hoc quod dicit: sed in qua verum vel falsum est: ut intelligatur quod haec sit definitio enunciationis, enunciatio est oratio, in qua verum vel falsum est.  Dicitur autem in enunciatione esse verum vel falsum, sicut in signo intellectus veri vel falsi: sed sicut in subiecto est verum vel falsum in mente, ut dicitur in VI metaphysicae, in re autem sicut in causa: quia ut dicitur in libro praedicamentorum, ab eo quod res est vel non est, oratio vera vel falsa est.  Deinde cum dicit: non autem in omnibus etc., ostendit quod per hanc definitionem enunciatio differt ab aliis orationibus. Et quidem de orationibus imperfectis manifestum est quod non significant verum vel falsum, quia cum non faciant perfectum sensum in animo audientis, manifestum est quod perfecte non exprimunt iudicium rationis, in quo consistit verum vel falsum. His igitur praetermissis, sciendum est quod perfectae orationis, quae complet sententiam, quinque sunt species, videlicet enunciativa, deprecativa, imperativa, interrogativa et vocativa. (Non tamen intelligendum est quod solum nomen vocativi casus sit vocativa oratio: quia oportet aliquid partium orationis significare aliquid separatim, sicut supra dictum est; sed per vocativum provocatur, sive excitatur animus audientis ad attendendum; non autem est vocativa oratio nisi plura coniungantur; ut cum dico, o bone Petre). Harum autem orationum sola enunciativa est, in qua invenitur verum vel falsum, quia ipsa sola absolute significat conceptum intellectus, in quo est verum vel falsum.  Sed quia intellectus vel ratio, non solum concipit in seipso veritatem rei tantum, sed etiam ad eius officium pertinet secundum suum conceptum alia dirigere et ordinare; ideo necesse fuit quod sicut per enunciativam orationem significatur ipse mentis conceptus, ita etiam essent aliquae aliae orationes significantes ordinem rationis, secundum quam alia diriguntur. Dirigitur autem ex ratione unius hominis alius homo ad tria: primo quidem, ad attendendum mente; et ad hoc pertinet vocativa oratio: secundo, ad respondendum voce; et ad hoc pertinet oratio interrogativa: tertio, ad exequendum in opere; et ad hoc pertinet quantum ad inferiores oratio imperativa; quantum autem ad superiores oratio deprecativa, ad quam reducitur oratio optativa: quia respectu superioris, homo non habet vim motivam, nisi per expressionem sui desiderii. Quia igitur istae quatuor orationis species non significant ipsum conceptum intellectus, in quo est verum vel falsum, sed quemdam ordinem ad hoc consequentem; inde est quod in nulla earum invenitur verum vel falsum, sed solum in enunciativa, quae significat id quod mens de rebus concipit. Et inde est quod omnes modi orationum, in quibus invenitur verum vel falsum, sub enunciatione continentur: quam quidam dicunt indicativam vel suppositivam. Dubitativa autem ad interrogativam reducitur, sicut et optativa ad deprecativam.  Deinde cum dicit: caeterae igitur relinquantur etc., ostendit quod de sola enunciativa est agendum; et dicit quod aliae quatuor orationis species sunt relinquendae, quantum pertinet ad praesentem intentionem: quia earum consideratio convenientior est rhetoricae vel poeticae scientiae. Sed enunciativa oratio praesentis considerationis est. Cuius ratio est, quia consideratio huius libri directe ordinatur ad scientiam demonstrativam, in qua animus hominis per rationem inducitur ad consentiendum vero ex his quae sunt propria rei; et ideo demonstrator non utitur ad suum finem nisi enunciativis orationibus, significantibus res secundum quod earum veritas est in anima. Sed rhetor et poeta inducunt ad assentiendum ei quod intendunt, non solum per ea quae sunt propria rei, sed etiam per dispositiones audientis. Unde rhetores et poetae plerumque movere auditores nituntur provocando eos ad aliquas passiones, ut philosophus dicit in sua rhetorica. Et ideo consideratio dictarum specierum orationis, quae pertinet ad ordinationem audientis in aliquid, cadit proprie sub consideratione rhetoricae vel poeticae, ratione sui significati; ad considerationem autem grammatici, prout consideratur in eis congrua vocum constructio. Postquam philosophus definivit enunciationem, hic dividit eam. Et dividitur in duas partes: in prima, ponit divisionem enunciationis; in secunda, manifestat eam; ibi: necesse est autem et cetera.  Circa primum considerandum est quod Aristoteles sub breviloquio duas divisiones enunciationis ponit. Quarum una est quod enunciationum quaedam est una simplex, quaedam est coniunctione una. Sicut etiam in rebus, quae sunt extra animam, aliquid est unum simplex sicut indivisibile vel continuum, aliquid est unum colligatione aut compositione aut ordine. Quia enim ens et unum convertuntur, necesse est sicut omnem rem, ita et omnem enunciationem aliqualiter esse unam.  Alia vero subdivisio enunciationis est quod si enunciatio sit una, aut est affirmativa aut negativa. Enunciatio autem affirmativa prior est negativa, triplici ratione, secundum tria quae supra posita sunt: ubi dictum est quod vox est signum intellectus, et intellectus est signum rei. Ex parte igitur vocis, affirmativa enunciatio est prior negativa, quia est simplicior: negativa enim enunciatio addit supra affirmativam particulam negativam. Ex parte etiam intellectus affirmativa enunciatio, quae significat compositionem intellectus, est prior negativa, quae significat divisionem eiusdem: divisio enim naturaliter posterior est compositione, nam non est divisio nisi compositorum, sicut non est corruptio nisi generatorum. Ex parte etiam rei, affirmativa enunciatio, quae significat esse, prior est negativa, quae significat non esse: sicut habitus naturaliter prior est privatione.  Dicit ergo quod oratio enunciativa una et prima est affirmatio, idest affirmativa enunciatio. Et contra hoc quod dixerat prima, subdit: deinde negatio, idest negativa oratio, quia est posterior affirmativa, ut dictum est. Contra id autem quod dixerat una, scilicet simpliciter, subdit quod quaedam aliae sunt unae, non simpliciter, sed coniunctione unae.  Ex hoc autem quod hic dicitur argumentatur Alexander quod divisio enunciationis in affirmationem et negationem non est divisio generis in species, sed divisio nominis multiplicis in sua significata. Genus enim univoce praedicatur de suis speciebus, non secundum prius et posterius: unde Aristoteles noluit quod ens esset genus commune omnium, quia per prius praedicatur de substantia, quam de novem generibus accidentium.  Sed dicendum quod unum dividentium aliquod commune potest esse prius altero dupliciter: uno modo, secundum proprias rationes, aut naturas dividentium; alio modo, secundum participationem rationis illius communis quod in ea dividitur. Primum autem non tollit univocationem generis, ut manifestum est in numeris, in quibus binarius secundum propriam rationem naturaliter est prior ternario; sed tamen aequaliter participant rationem generis sui, scilicet numeri: ita enim est ternarius multitudo mensurata per unum, sicut et binarius. Sed secundum impedit univocationem generis. Et propter hoc ens non potest esse genus substantiae et accidentis: quia in ipsa ratione entis, substantia, quae est ens per se, prioritatem habet respectu accidentis, quod est ens per aliud et in alio. Sic ergo affirmatio secundum propriam rationem prior est negatione; tamen aequaliter participant rationem enunciationis, quam supra posuit, videlicet quod enunciatio est oratio in qua verum vel falsum est.  Deinde cum dicit: necesse est autem etc., manifestat propositas divisiones. Et primo, manifestat primam, scilicet quod enunciatio vel est una simpliciter vel coniunctione una; secundo, manifestat secundam, scilicet quod enunciatio simpliciter una vel est affirmativa vel negativa; ibi: est autem simplex enunciatio et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, praemittit quaedam, quae sunt necessaria ad propositum manifestandum; secundo, manifestat propositum; ibi: est autem una oratio et cetera.  Circa primum duo facit: primo, dicit quod omnem orationem enunciativam oportet constare ex verbo quod est praesentis temporis, vel ex casu verbi quod est praeteriti vel futuri. Tacet autem de verbo infinito, quia eumdem usum habet in enunciatione sicut et verbum negativum. Manifestat autem quod dixerat per hoc, quod non solum nomen unum sine verbo non facit orationem perfectam enunciativam, sed nec etiam oratio imperfecta. Definitio enim oratio quaedam est, et tamen si ad rationem hominis, idest definitionem non addatur aut est, quod est verbum, aut erat, aut fuit, quae sunt casus verbi, aut aliquid huiusmodi, idest aliquod aliud verbum seu casus verbi, nondum est oratio enunciativa.  Potest autem esse dubitatio: cum enunciatio constet ex nomine et verbo, quare non facit mentionem de nomine, sicut de verbo? Ad quod tripliciter responderi potest. Primo quidem, quia nulla oratio enunciativa invenitur sine verbo vel casu verbi; invenitur autem aliqua enunciatio sine nomine, puta cum nos utimur infinitivis verborum loco nominum; ut cum dicitur, currere est moveri. Secundo et melius, quia, sicut supra dictum est, verbum est nota eorum quae de altero praedicantur. Praedicatum autem est principalior pars enunciationis, eo quod est pars formalis et completiva ipsius. Unde vocatur apud Graecos propositio categorica, idest praedicativa. Denominatio autem fit a forma, quae dat speciem rei. Et ideo potius fecit mentionem de verbo tanquam de parte principaliori et formaliori. Cuius signum est, quia enunciatio categorica dicitur affirmativa vel negativa solum ratione verbi, quod affirmatur vel negatur; sicut etiam conditionalis dicitur affirmativa vel negativa, eo quod affirmatur vel negatur coniunctio a qua denominatur. Tertio, potest dici, et adhuc melius, quod non erat intentio Aristotelis ostendere quod nomen vel verbum non sufficiant ad enunciationem complendam: hoc enim supra manifestavit tam de nomine quam de verbo. Sed quia dixerat quod quaedam enunciatio est una simpliciter, quaedam autem coniunctione una; posset aliquis intelligere quod illa quae est una simpliciter careret omni compositione: sed ipse hoc excludit per hoc quod in omni enunciatione oportet esse verbum, quod importat compositionem, quam non est intelligere sine compositis, sicut supra dictum est. Nomen autem non importat compositionem, et ideo non exigit praesens intentio ut de nomine faceret mentionem, sed solum de verbo. Secundo; ibi: quare autem etc., ostendit aliud quod est necessarium ad manifestationem propositi, scilicet quod hoc quod dico, animal gressibile bipes, quae est definitio hominis, est unum et non multa. Et eadem ratio est de omnibus aliis definitionibus. Sed huiusmodi rationem assignare dicit esse alterius negocii. Pertinet enim ad metaphysicum; unde in VII et in VIII metaphysicae ratio huius assignatur: quia scilicet differentia advenit generi non per accidens sed per se, tanquam determinativa ipsius, per modum quo materia determinatur per formam. Nam a materia sumitur genus, a forma autem differentia. Unde sicut ex forma et materia fit vere unum et non multa, ita ex genere et differentia. Excludit autem quamdam rationem huius unitatis, quam quis posset suspicari, ut scilicet propter hoc definitio dicatur unum, quia partes eius sunt propinquae, idest sine aliqua interpositione coniunctionis vel morae. Et quidem non interruptio locutionis necessaria est ad unitatem definitionis, quia si interponeretur coniunctio partibus definitionis, iam secunda non determinaret primam, sed significarentur ut actu multae in locutione: et idem operatur interpositio morae, qua utuntur rhetores loco coniunctionis. Unde ad unitatem definitionis requiritur quod partes eius proferantur sine coniunctione et interpolatione: quia etiam in re naturali, cuius est definitio, nihil cadit medium inter materiam et formam: sed praedicta non interruptio non sufficit ad unitatem definitionis, quia contingit etiam hanc continuitatem prolationis servari in his, quae non sunt simpliciter unum, sed per accidens; ut si dicam, homo albus musicus. Sic igitur Aristoteles valde subtiliter manifestavit quod absoluta unitas enunciationis non impeditur, neque per compositionem quam importat verbum, neque per multitudinem nominum ex quibus constat definitio. Et est eadem ratio utrobique, nam praedicatum comparatur ad subiectum ut forma ad materiam, et similiter differentia ad genus: ex forma autem et materia fit unum simpliciter.  Deinde cum dicit: est autem una oratio etc., accedit ad manifestandam praedictam divisionem. Et primo, manifestat ipsum commune quod dividitur, quod est enunciatio una; secundo, manifestat partes divisionis secundum proprias rationes; ibi: harum autem haec simplex et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, manifestat ipsam divisionem; secundo, concludit quod ab utroque membro divisionis nomen et verbum excluduntur; ibi: nomen ergo et verbum et cetera. Opponitur autem unitati pluralitas; et ideo enunciationis unitatem manifestat per modos pluralitatis.  Dicit ergo primo quod enunciatio dicitur vel una absolute, scilicet quae unum de uno significat, vel una secundum quid, scilicet quae est coniunctione una. Per oppositum autem est intelligendum quod enunciationes plures sunt, vel ex eo quod plura significant et non unum: quod opponitur primo modo unitatis; vel ex eo quod absque coniunctione proferuntur: et tales opponuntur secundo modo unitatis.  Circa quod considerandum est, secundum Boethium, quod unitas et pluralitas orationis refertur ad significatum; simplex autem et compositum attenditur secundum ipsas voces. Et ideo enunciatio quandoque est una et simplex puta cum solum ex nomine et verbo componitur in unum significatum; ut cum dico, homo est albus. Est etiam quandoque una oratio, sed composita, quae quidem unam rem significat, sed tamen composita est vel ex pluribus terminis; sicut si dicam, animal rationale mortale currit, vel ex pluribus enunciationibus, sicut in conditionalibus, quae quidem unum significant et non multa. Similiter autem quandoque in enunciatione est pluralitas cum simplicitate, puta cum in oratione ponitur aliquod nomen multa significans; ut si dicam, canis latrat, haec oratio plures est, quia plura significat, et tamen simplex est. Quandoque vero in enunciatione est pluralitas et compositio, puta cum ponuntur plura in subiecto vel in praedicato, ex quibus non fit unum, sive interveniat coniunctio sive non; puta si dicam, homo albus musicus disputat: et similiter est si coniungantur plures enunciationes, sive cum coniunctione sive sine coniunctione; ut si dicam, Socrates currit, Plato disputat. Et secundum hoc sensus litterae est quod enunciatio una est illa, quae unum de uno significat, non solum si sit simplex, sed etiam si sit coniunctione una. Et similiter enunciationes plures dicuntur quae plura et non unum significant: non solum quando interponitur aliqua coniunctio, vel inter nomina vel verba, vel etiam inter ipsas enunciationes; sed etiam si vel inconiunctione, idest absque aliqua interposita coniunctione plura significat, vel quia est unum nomen aequivocum, multa significans, vel quia ponuntur plura nomina absque coniunctione, ex quorum significatis non fit unum; ut si dicam, homo albus grammaticus logicus currit.  Sed haec expositio non videtur esse secundum intentionem Aristotelis. Primo quidem, quia per disiunctionem, quam interponit, videtur distinguere inter orationem unum significantem, et orationem quae est coniunctione una. Secundo, quia supra dixerat quod est unum quoddam et non multa, animal gressibile bipes. Quod autem est coniunctione unum, non est unum et non multa, sed est unum ex multis. Et ideo melius videtur dicendum quod Aristoteles, quia supra dixerat aliquam enunciationem esse unam et aliquam coniunctione unam, vult hic manifestare quae sit una. Et quia supra dixerat quod multa nomina simul coniuncta sunt unum, sicut animal gressibile bipes, dicit consequenter quod enunciatio est iudicanda una non ex unitate nominis, sed ex unitate significati, etiam si sint plura nomina quae unum significent. Vel si sit aliqua enunciatio una quae multa significet, non erit una simpliciter, sed coniunctione una. Et secundum hoc, haec enunciatio, animal gressibile bipes est risibile, non est una quasi coniunctione una, sicut in prima expositione dicebatur, sed quia unum significat. Et quia oppositum per oppositum manifestatur, consequenter ostendit quae sunt plures enunciationes, et ponit duos modos pluralitatis. Primus est, quod plures dicuntur enunciationes quae plura significant. Contingit autem aliqua plura significari in aliquo uno communi; sicut cum dico, animal est sensibile, sub hoc uno communi, quod est animal, multa continentur, et tamen haec enunciatio est una et non plures. Et ideo addit et non unum. Sed melius est ut dicatur hoc esse additum propter definitionem, quae multa significat quae sunt unum: et hic modus pluralitatis opponitur primo modo unitatis. Secundus modus pluralitatis est, quando non solum enunciationes plura significant, sed etiam illa plura nullatenus coniunguntur, et hic modus pluralitatis opponitur secundo modo unitatis. Et secundum hoc patet quod secundus modus unitatis non opponitur primo modo pluralitatis. Ea autem quae non sunt opposita, possunt simul esse. Unde manifestum est, enunciationem quae est una coniunctione, esse etiam plures: plures in quantum significat plura et non unum. Secundum hoc ergo possumus accipere tres modos enunciationis. Nam quaedam est simpliciter una, in quantum unum significat; quaedam est simpliciter plures, in quantum plura significat, sed est una secundum quid, in quantum est coniunctione una; quaedam sunt simpliciter plures, quae neque significant unum, neque coniunctione aliqua uniuntur. Ideo autem Aristoteles quatuor ponit et non solum tria, quia quandoque est enunciatio plures, quia plura significat, non tamen est coniunctione una, puta si ponatur ibi nomen multa significans.  Deinde cum dicit: nomen ergo et verbum etc., excludit ab unitate orationis nomen et verbum. Dixerat enim quod enunciatio una est, quae unum significat: posset autem aliquis intelligere, quod sic unum significaret sicut nomen et verbum unum significant. Et ideo ad hoc excludendum subdit: nomen ergo, et verbum dictio sit sola, idest ita sit dictio, quod non enunciatio. Et videtur, ex modo loquendi, quod ipse imposuerit hoc nomen ad significandum partes enunciationis. Quod autem nomen et verbum dictio sit sola manifestat per hoc, quod non potest dici quod ille enunciet, qui sic aliquid significat voce, sicut nomen, vel verbum significat. Et ad hoc manifestandum innuit duos modos utendi enunciatione. Quandoque enim utimur ipsa quasi ad interrogata respondentes; puta si quaeratur, quis sit in scholis? Respondemus, magister. Quandoque autem utimur ea propria sponte, nullo interrogante; sicut cum dicimus, Petrus currit. Dicit ergo, quod ille qui significat aliquid unum nomine vel verbo, non enunciat vel sicut ille qui respondet aliquo interrogante, vel sicut ille qui profert enunciationem non aliquo interrogante, sed ipso proferente sponte. Introduxit autem hoc, quia simplex nomen vel verbum, quando respondetur ad interrogationem, videtur verum vel falsum significare: quod est proprium enunciationis. Sed hoc non competit nomini vel verbo, nisi secundum quod intelligitur coniunctum cum alia parte proposita in interrogatione. Ut si quaerenti, quis legit in scholis? Respondeatur, magister, subintelligitur, ibi legit. Si ergo ille qui enunciat aliquid nomine vel verbo non enunciat, manifestum est quod enunciatio non sic unum significat, sicut nomen vel verbum. Hoc autem inducit sicut conclusionem eius quod supra praemisit: necesse est omnem orationem enunciativam ex verbo esse vel ex casu verbi.  Deinde cum dicit: harum autem haec simplex etc., manifestat praemissam divisionem secundum rationes partium. Dixerat enim quod una enunciatio est quae unum de uno significat, et alia est quae est coniunctione una. Ratio autem huius divisionis est ex eo quod unum natum est dividi per simplex et compositum. Et ideo dicit: harum autem, scilicet enunciationum, in quibus dividitur unum, haec dicitur una, vel quia significat unum simpliciter, vel quia una est coniunctione. Haec quidem simplex enunciatio est, quae scilicet unum significat. Sed ne intelligatur quod sic significet unum, sicut nomen vel verbum, ad excludendum hoc subdit: ut aliquid de aliquo, idest per modum compositionis, vel aliquid ab aliquo, idest per modum divisionis. Haec autem ex his coniuncta, quae scilicet dicitur coniunctione una, est velut oratio iam composita: quasi dicat hoc modo, enunciationis unitas dividitur in duo praemissa, sicut aliquod unum dividitur in simplex et compositum.  Deinde cum dicit: est autem simplex etc., manifestat secundam divisionem enunciationis, secundum videlicet quod enunciatio dividitur in affirmationem et negationem. Haec autem divisio primo quidem convenit enunciationi simplici; ex consequenti autem convenit compositae enunciationi; et ideo ad insinuandum rationem praedictae divisionis dicit quod simplex enunciatio est vox significativa de eo quod est aliquid: quod pertinet ad affirmationem; vel non est aliquid: quod pertinet ad negationem. Et ne hoc intelligatur solum secundum praesens tempus, subdit: quemadmodum tempora sunt divisa, idest similiter hoc habet locum in aliis temporibus sicut et in praesenti.  Alexander autem existimavit quod Aristoteles hic definiret enunciationem; et quia in definitione enunciationis videtur ponere affirmationem et negationem, volebat hic accipere quod enunciatio non esset genus affirmationis et negationis, quia species nunquam ponitur in definitione generis. Id autem quod non univoce praedicatur de multis (quia scilicet non significat aliquid unum, quod sit unum commune multis), non potest notificari nisi per illa multa quae significantur. Et inde est quod quia unum non dicitur aequivoce de simplici et composito, sed per prius et posterius, Aristoteles in praecedentibus semper ad notificandum unitatem enunciationis usus est utroque. Quia ergo videtur uti affirmatione et negatione ad notificandum enunciationem, volebat Alexander accipere quod enunciatio non dicitur de affirmatione et negatione univoce sicut genus de suis speciebus.  Sed contrarium apparet ex hoc, quod philosophus consequenter utitur nomine enunciationis ut genere, cum in definitione affirmationis et negationis subdit quod, affirmatio est enunciatio alicuius de aliquo, scilicet per modum compositionis, negatio vero est enunciatio alicuius ab aliquo, scilicet per modum divisionis. Nomine autem aequivoco non consuevimus uti ad notificandum significata eius. Et ideo Boethius dicit quod Aristoteles suo modo breviloquio utens, simul usus est et definitione et divisione eius: ita ut quod dicit de eo quod est aliquid vel non est, non referatur ad definitionem enunciationis, sed ad eius divisionem. Sed quia differentiae divisivae generis non cadunt in eius definitione, nec hoc solum quod dicitur vox significativa, sufficiens est definitio enunciationis; melius dici potest secundum Porphyrium, quod hoc totum quod dicitur vox significativa de eo quod est, vel de eo quod non est, est definitio enunciationis. Nec tamen ponitur affirmatio et negatio in definitione enunciationis sed virtus affirmationis et negationis, scilicet significatum eius, quod est esse vel non esse, quod est naturaliter prius enunciatione. Affirmationem autem et negationem postea definivit per terminos utriusque cum dixit: affirmationem esse enunciationem alicuius de aliquo, et negationem enunciationem alicuius ab aliquo. Sed sicut in definitione generis non debent poni species, ita nec ea quae sunt propria specierum. Cum igitur significare esse sit proprium affirmationis, et significare non esse sit proprium negationis, melius videtur dicendum, secundum Ammonium, quod hic non definitur enunciatio, sed solum dividitur. Supra enim posita est definitio, cum dictum est quod enunciatio est oratio in qua est verum vel falsum. In qua quidem definitione nulla mentio facta est nec de affirmatione, nec de negatione. Est autem considerandum quod artificiosissime procedit: dividit enim genus non in species, sed in differentias specificas. Non enim dicit quod enunciatio est affirmatio vel negatio, sed vox significativa de eo quod est, quae est differentia specifica affirmationis, vel de eo quod non est, in quo tangitur differentia specifica negationis. Et ideo ex differentiis adiunctis generi constituit definitionem speciei, cum subdit: quod affirmatio est enunciatio alicuius de aliquo, per quod significatur esse; et negatio est enunciatio alicuius ab aliquo quod significat non esse. Posita divisione enunciationis, hic agit de oppositione partium enunciationis, scilicet affirmationis et negationis. Et quia enunciationem esse dixerat orationem, in qua est verum vel falsum, primo, ostendit qualiter enunciationes ad invicem opponantur; secundo, movet quamdam dubitationem circa praedeterminata et solvit; ibi: in his ergo quae sunt et quae facta sunt et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, ostendit qualiter una enunciatio opponatur alteri; secundo, ostendit quod tantum una opponitur uni; ibi: manifestum est et cetera. Prima autem pars dividitur in duas partes: in prima, determinat de oppositione affirmationis et negationis absolute; in secunda, ostendit quomodo huiusmodi oppositio diversificatur ex parte subiecti; ibi: quoniam autem sunt et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, ostendit quod omni affirmationi est negatio opposita et e converso; secundo, manifestat oppositionem affirmationis et negationis absolute; ibi: et sit hoc contradictio et cetera.  Circa primum considerandum est quod ad ostendendum suum propositum philosophus assumit duplicem diversitatem enunciationis: quarum prima est ex ipsa forma vel modo enunciandi, secundum quod dictum est quod enunciatio vel est affirmativa, per quam scilicet enunciatur aliquid esse, vel est negativa per quam significatur aliquid non esse; secunda diversitas est per comparationem ad rem, ex qua dependet veritas et falsitas intellectus et enunciationis. Cum enim enunciatur aliquid esse vel non esse secundum congruentiam rei, est oratio vera; alioquin est oratio falsa.  Sic igitur quatuor modis potest variari enunciatio, secundum permixtionem harum duarum divisionum. Uno modo, quia id quod est in re enunciatur ita esse sicut in re est: quod pertinet ad affirmationem veram; puta cum Socrates currit, dicimus Socratem currere. Alio modo, cum enunciatur aliquid non esse quod in re non est: quod pertinet ad negationem veram; ut cum dicitur, Aethiops albus non est. Tertio modo, cum enunciatur aliquid esse quod in re non est: quod pertinet ad affirmationem falsam; ut cum dicitur, corvus est albus. Quarto modo, cum enunciatur aliquid non esse quod in re est: quod pertinet ad negationem falsam; ut cum dicitur, nix non est alba. Philosophus autem, ut a minoribus ad potiora procedat, falsas veris praeponit: inter quas negativam praemittit affirmativae, cum dicit quod contingit enunciare quod est, scilicet in rerum natura, non esse. Secundo autem, ponit affirmativam falsam cum dicit: et quod non est, scilicet in rerum natura, esse. Tertio autem, ponit affirmativam veram, quae opponitur negativae falsae, quam primo posuit, cum dicit: et quod est, scilicet in rerum natura, esse. Quarto autem, ponit negativam veram, quae opponitur affirmationi falsae, cum dicit: et quod non est, scilicet in rerum natura, non esse. Non est autem intelligendum quod hoc quod dixit: quod est et quod non est, sit referendum ad solam existentiam vel non existentiam subiecti, sed ad hoc quod res significata per praedicatum insit vel non insit rei significatae per subiectum. Nam cum dicitur, corvus est albus, significatur quod non est, esse, quamvis ipse corvus sit res existens. Et sicut istae quatuor differentiae enunciationum inveniuntur in propositionibus, in quibus ponitur verbum praesentis temporis, ita etiam inveniuntur in enunciationibus in quibus ponuntur verba praeteriti vel futuri temporis. Supra enim dixit quod necesse est enunciationem constare ex verbo vel ex casu verbi. Et hoc est quod subdit: quod similiter contingit, scilicet variari diversimode enunciationem circa ea, quae sunt extra praesens tempus, idest circa praeterita vel futura, quae sunt quodammodo extrinseca respectu praesentis, quia praesens est medium praeteriti et futuri. Et quia ita est, contingit omne quod quis affirmaverit negare, et omne quod quis negaverit affirmare: quod quidem manifestum est ex praemissis. Non enim potest affirmari nisi vel quod est in rerum natura secundum aliquod trium temporum, vel quod non est; et hoc totum contingit negare. Unde manifestum est quod omne quod affirmatur potest negari, et e converso. Et quia affirmatio et negatio opposita sunt secundum se, utpote ex opposito contradictoriae, consequens est quod quaelibet affirmatio habeat negationem sibi oppositam et e converso. Cuius contrarium illo solo modo posset contingere, si aliqua affirmatio affirmaret aliquid, quod negatio negare non posset. Deinde cum dicit: et sit hoc contradictio etc., manifestat quae sit absoluta oppositio affirmationis et negationis. Et primo, manifestat eam per nomen; secundo, per definitionem; ibi: dico autem et cetera. Dicit ergo primo quod cum cuilibet affirmationi opponatur negatio, et e converso, oppositioni huiusmodi imponatur nomen hoc, quod dicatur contradictio. Per hoc enim quod dicitur, et sit hoc contradictio, datur intelligi quod ipsum nomen contradictionis ipse imposuerit oppositioni affirmationis et negationis, ut Ammonius dicit. Deinde cum dicit: dico autem opponi etc., definit contradictionem. Quia vero, ut dictum est, contradictio est oppositio affirmationis et negationis, illa requiruntur ad contradictionem, quae requiruntur ad oppositionem affirmationis et negationis. Oportet autem opposita esse circa idem. Et quia enunciatio constituitur ex subiecto et praedicato, requiritur ad contradictionem primo quidem quod affirmatio et negatio sint eiusdem praedicati: si enim dicatur, Plato currit, Plato non disputat, non est contradictio; secundo, requiritur quod sint de eodem subiecto: si enim dicatur, Socrates currit, Plato non currit, non est contradictio. Tertio, requiritur quod identitas subiecti et praedicati non solum sit secundum nomen, sed sit simul secundum rem et nomen. Nam si non sit idem nomen, manifestum est quod non sit una et eadem enunciatio. Similiter autem ad hoc quod sit enunciatio una, requiritur identitas rei: dictum est enim supra quod enunciatio una est, quae unum de uno significat; et ideo subdit: non autem aequivoce, idest non sufficit identitas nominis cum diversitate rei, quae facit aequivocationem. Sunt autem et quaedam alia in contradictione observanda ad hoc quod tollatur omnis diversitas, praeter eam quae est affirmationis et negationis: non enim esset oppositio si non omnino idem negaret negatio quod affirmavit affirmatio. Haec autem diversitas potest secundum quatuor considerari. Uno quidem modo, secundum diversas partes subiecti: non enim est contradictio si dicatur, Aethiops est albus dente et non est albus pede. Secundo, si sit diversus modus ex parte praedicati: non enim est contradictio si dicatur, Socrates currit tarde et non movetur velociter; vel si dicatur, ovum est animal in potentia et non est animal in actu. Tertio, si sit diversitas ex parte mensurae, puta loci vel temporis; non enim est contradictio si dicatur, pluit in Gallia et non pluit in Italia; aut, pluit heri, hodie non pluit. Quarto, si sit diversitas ex habitudine ad aliquid extrinsecum; puta si dicatur, decem homines esse plures quoad domum, non autem quoad forum. Et haec omnia designat cum subdit: et quaecumque caetera talium determinavimus, idest determinare consuevimus in disputationibus contra sophisticas importunitates, idest contra importunas et litigiosas oppositiones sophistarum, de quibus plenius facit mentionem in I elenchorum. Quia philosophus dixerat oppositionem affirmationis et negationis esse contradictionem, quae est eiusdem de eodem, consequenter intendit distinguere diversas oppositiones affirmationis et negationis, ut cognoscatur quae sit vera contradictio. Et circa hoc duo facit: primo, praemittit quamdam divisionem enunciationum necessariam ad praedictam differentiam oppositionum assignandam; secundo, manifestat propositum; ibi: si ergo universaliter et cetera. Praemittit autem divisionem enunciationum quae sumitur secundum differentiam subiecti. Unde circa primum duo facit: primo, dividit subiectum enunciationum; secundo, concludit divisionem enunciationum, ibi: necesse est enunciare et cetera. Subiectum autem enunciationis est nomen vel aliquid loco nominis sumptum. Nomen autem est vox significativa ad placitum simplicis intellectus, quod est similitudo rei; et ideo subiectum enunciationis distinguit per divisionem rerum, et dicit quod rerum quaedam sunt universalia, quaedam sunt singularia. Manifestat autem membra divisionis dupliciter: primo quidem per definitionem, quia universale est quod est aptum natum de pluribus praedicari, singulare vero quod non est aptum natum praedicari de pluribus, sed de uno solo; secundo, manifestat per exemplum cum subdit quod homo est universale, Plato autem singulare. Accidit autem dubitatio circa hanc divisionem, quia, sicut probat philosophus in VII metaphysicae, universale non est aliquid extra res existens. Item, in praedicamentis dicitur quod secundae substantiae non sunt nisi in primis, quae sunt singulares. Non ergo videtur esse conveniens divisio rerum per universalia et singularia: quia nullae res videntur esse universales, sed omnes sunt singulares. Dicendum est autem quod hic dividuntur res secundum quod significantur per nomina, quae subiiciuntur in enunciationibus: dictum est autem supra quod nomina non significant res nisi mediante intellectu; et ideo oportet quod divisio ista rerum accipiatur secundum quod res cadunt in intellectu. Ea vero quae sunt coniuncta in rebus intellectus potest distinguere, quando unum eorum non cadit in ratione alterius. In qualibet autem re singulari est considerare aliquid quod est proprium illi rei, in quantum est haec res, sicut Socrati vel Platoni in quantum est hic homo; et aliquid est considerare in ea, in quo convenit cum aliis quibusdam rebus, sicut quod Socrates est animal, aut homo, aut rationalis, aut risibilis, aut albus. Quando igitur res denominatur ab eo quod convenit illi soli rei in quantum est haec res, huiusmodi nomen dicitur significare aliquid singulare; quando autem denominatur res ab eo quod est commune sibi et multis aliis, nomen huiusmodi dicitur significare universale, quia scilicet nomen significat naturam sive dispositionem aliquam, quae est communis multis. Quia igitur hanc divisionem dedit de rebus non absolute secundum quod sunt extra animam, sed secundum quod referuntur ad intellectum, non definivit universale et singulare secundum aliquid quod pertinet ad rem, puta si diceret quod universale extra animam, quod pertinet ad opinionem Platonis, sed per actum animae intellectivae, quod est praedicari de multis vel de uno solo. Est autem considerandum quod intellectus apprehendit rem intellectam secundum propriam essentiam, seu definitionem: unde et in III de anima dicitur quod obiectum proprium intellectus est quod quid est. Contingit autem quandoque quod propria ratio alicuius formae intellectae non repugnat ei quod est esse in pluribus, sed hoc impeditur ab aliquo alio, sive sit aliquid accidentaliter adveniens, puta si omnibus hominibus morientibus unus solus remaneret, sive sit propter conditionem materiae, sicut est unus tantum sol, non quod repugnet rationi solari esse in pluribus secundum conditionem formae ipsius, sed quia non est alia materia susceptiva talis formae; et ideo non dixit quod universale est quod praedicatur de pluribus, sed quod aptum natum est praedicari de pluribus. Cum autem omnis forma, quae nata est recipi in materia quantum est de se, communicabilis sit multis materiis; dupliciter potest contingere quod id quod significatur per nomen, non sit aptum natum praedicari de pluribus. Uno modo, quia nomen significat formam secundum quod terminata est ad hanc materiam, sicut hoc nomen Socrates vel Plato, quod significat naturam humanam prout est in hac materia. Alio modo, secundum quod nomen significat formam, quae non est nata in materia recipi, unde oportet quod per se remaneat una et singularis; sicut albedo, si esset forma non existens in materia, esset una sola, unde esset singularis: et propter hoc philosophus dicit in VII Metaphys. quod si essent species rerum separatae, sicut posuit Plato, essent individua. Potest autem obiici quod hoc nomen Socrates vel Plato est natum de pluribus praedicari, quia nihil prohibet multos esse, qui vocentur hoc nomine. Sed ad hoc patet responsio, si attendantur verba Aristotelis. Ipse enim non divisit nomina in universale et particulare, sed res. Et ideo intelligendum est quod universale dicitur quando, non solum nomen potest de pluribus praedicari, sed id, quod significatur per nomen, est natum in pluribus inveniri; hoc autem non contingit in praedictis nominibus: nam hoc nomen Socrates vel Plato significat naturam humanam secundum quod est in hac materia. Si vero hoc nomen imponatur alteri homini significabit naturam humanam in alia materia; et sic eius erit alia significatio; unde non erit universale, sed aequivocum. Deinde cum dicit: necesse est autem enunciare etc., concludit divisionem enunciationis. Quia enim semper enunciatur aliquid de aliqua re; rerum autem quaedam sunt universalia, quaedam singularia; necesse est quod quandoque enuncietur aliquid inesse vel non inesse alicui universalium, quandoque vero alicui singularium. Et est suspensiva constructio usque huc, et est sensus: quoniam autem sunt haec quidem rerum etc., necesse est enunciare et cetera. Est autem considerandum quod de universali aliquid enunciatur quatuor modis. Nam universale potest uno modo considerari quasi separatum a singularibus, sive per se subsistens, ut Plato posuit, sive, secundum sententiam Aristotelis, secundum esse quod habet in intellectu. Et sic potest ei aliquid attribui dupliciter. Quandoque enim attribuitur ei sic considerato aliquid, quod pertinet ad solam operationem intellectus, ut si dicatur quod homo est praedicabile de multis, sive universale, sive species. Huiusmodi enim intentiones format intellectus attribuens eas naturae intellectae, secundum quod comparat ipsam ad res, quae sunt extra animam. Quandoque vero attribuitur aliquid universali sic considerato, quod scilicet apprehenditur ab intellectu ut unum, tamen id quod attribuitur ei non pertinet ad actum intellectus, sed ad esse, quod habet natura apprehensa in rebus, quae sunt extra animam, puta si dicatur quod homo est dignissima creaturarum. Hoc enim convenit naturae humanae etiam secundum quod est in singularibus. Nam quilibet homo singularis dignior est omnibus creaturis irrationalibus; sed tamen omnes homines singulares non sunt unus homo extra animam, sed solum in acceptione intellectus; et per hunc modum attribuitur ei praedicatum, scilicet ut uni rei. Alio autem modo attribuitur universali, prout est in singularibus, et hoc dupliciter. Quandoque quidem ratione ipsius naturae universalis, puta cum attribuitur ei aliquid quod ad essentiam eius pertinet, vel quod consequitur principia essentialia; ut cum dicitur, homo est animal, vel homo est risibilis. Quandoque autem attribuitur ei aliquid ratione singularis in quo invenitur, puta cum attribuitur ei aliquid quod pertinet ad actionem individui; ut cum dicitur, homo ambulat. Singulari autem attribuitur aliquid tripliciter: uno modo, secundum quod cadit in apprehensione; ut cum dicitur, Socrates est singulare, vel praedicabile de uno solo. Quandoque autem, ratione naturae communis; ut cum dicitur, Socrates est animal. Quandoque autem, ratione sui ipsius; ut cum dicitur, Socrates ambulat. Et totidem etiam modis negationes variantur: quia omne quod contingit affirmare, contingit negare, ut supra dictum est. Est autem haec tertia divisio enunciationis quam ponit philosophus. Prima namque fuit quod enunciationum quaedam est una simpliciter, quaedam vero coniunctione una. Quae quidem est divisio analogi in ea de quibus praedicatur secundum prius et posterius: sic enim unum dividitur secundum prius in simplex et per posterius in compositum. Alia vero fuit divisio enunciationis in affirmationem et negationem. Quae quidem est divisio generis in species, quia sumitur secundum differentiam praedicati ad quod fertur negatio; praedicatum autem est pars formalis enunciationis; et ideo huiusmodi divisio dicitur pertinere ad qualitatem enunciationis, qualitatem, inquam, essentialem, secundum quod differentia significat quale quid. Tertia autem est huiusmodi divisio, quae sumitur secundum differentiam subiecti, quod praedicatur de pluribus vel de uno solo, et ideo dicitur pertinere ad quantitatem enunciationis, nam et quantitas consequitur materiam.  Deinde cum dicit: si ergo universaliter etc., ostendit quomodo enunciationes diversimode opponantur secundum diversitatem subiecti. Et circa hoc duo facit: primo, distinguit diversos modos oppositionum in ipsis enunciationibus; secundo, ostendit quomodo diversae oppositiones diversimode se habent ad verum et falsum; ibi: quocirca, has quidem impossibile est et cetera.  Circa primum considerandum est quod cum universale possit considerari in abstractione a singularibus vel secundum quod est in ipsis singularibus, secundum hoc diversimode aliquid ei attribuitur, ut supra dictum est. Ad designandum autem diversos modos attributionis inventae sunt quaedam dictiones, quae possunt dici determinationes vel signa, quibus designatur quod aliquid de universali, hoc aut illo modo praedicetur. Sed quia non est ab omnibus communiter apprehensum quod universalia extra singularia subsistant, ideo communis usus loquendi non habet aliquam dictionem ad designandum illum modum praedicandi, prout aliquid dicitur in abstractione a singularibus. Sed Plato, qui posuit universalia extra singularia subsistere, adinvenit aliquas determinationes, quibus designaretur quomodo aliquid attribuitur universali, prout est extra singularia, et vocabat universale separatum subsistens extra singularia quantum ad speciem hominis, per se hominem vel ipsum hominem et similiter in aliis universalibus. Sed universale secundum quod est in singularibus cadit in communi apprehensione hominum; et ideo adinventae sunt quaedam dictiones ad significandum modum attribuendi aliquid universali sic accepto.  Sicut autem supra dictum est, quandoque aliquid attribuitur universali ratione ipsius naturae universalis; et ideo hoc dicitur praedicari de eo universaliter, quia scilicet ei convenit secundum totam multitudinem in qua invenitur; et ad hoc designandum in affirmativis praedicationibus adinventa est haec dictio, omnis, quae designat quod praedicatum attribuitur subiecto universali quantum ad totum id quod sub subiecto continetur. In negativis autem praedicationibus adinventa est haec dictio, nullus, per quam significatur quod praedicatum removetur a subiecto universali secundum totum id quod continetur sub eo. Unde nullus dicitur quasi non ullus, et in Graeco dicitur, udis quasi nec unus, quia nec unum solum est accipere sub subiecto universali a quo praedicatum non removeatur. Quandoque autem attribuitur universali aliquid vel removetur ab eo ratione particularis; et ad hoc designandum, in affirmativis quidem adinventa est haec dictio, aliquis vel quidam, per quam designatur quod praedicatum attribuitur subiecto universali ratione ipsius particularis; sed quia non determinate significat formam alicuius singularis, sub quadam indeterminatione singulare designat; unde et dicitur individuum vagum. In negativis autem non est aliqua dictio posita, sed possumus accipere, non omnis; ut sicut, nullus, universaliter removet, eo quod significat quasi diceretur, non ullus, idest, non aliquis, ita etiam, non omnis, particulariter removeat, in quantum excludit universalem affirmationem.  Sic igitur tria sunt genera affirmationum in quibus aliquid de universali praedicatur. Una quidem est, in qua de universali praedicatur aliquid universaliter; ut cum dicitur, omnis homo est animal. Alia, in qua aliquid praedicatur de universali particulariter; ut cum dicitur, quidam homo est albus. Tertia vero est, in qua aliquid de universali praedicatur absque determinatione universalitatis vel particularitatis; unde huiusmodi enunciatio solet vocari indefinita. Totidem autem sunt negationes oppositae.  De singulari autem quamvis aliquid diversa ratione praedicetur, ut supra dictum est, tamen totum refertur ad singularitatem ipsius, quia etiam natura universalis in ipso singulari individuatur; et ideo nihil refert quantum ad naturam singularitatis, utrum aliquid praedicetur de eo ratione universalis naturae; ut cum dicitur, Socrates est homo, vel conveniat ei ratione singularitatis.  Si igitur tribus praedictis enunciationibus addatur singularis, erunt quatuor modi enunciationis ad quantitatem ipsius pertinentes, scilicet universalis, singularis, indefinitus et particularis.  Sic igitur secundum has differentias Aristoteles assignat diversas oppositiones enunciationum adinvicem. Et primo, secundum differentiam universalium ad indefinitas; secundo, secundum differentiam universalium ad particulares; ibi: opponi autem affirmationem et cetera. Circa primum tria facit: primo, agit de oppositione propositionum universalium adinvicem; secundo, de oppositione indefinitarum; ibi: quando autem in universalibus etc.; tertio, excludit dubitationem; ibi: in eo vero quod et cetera.  Dicit ergo primo quod si aliquis enunciet de subiecto universali universaliter, idest secundum continentiam suae universalitatis, quoniam est, idest affirmative, aut non est, idest negative, erunt contrariae enunciationes; ut si dicatur, omnis homo est albus, nullus homo est albus. Huius autem ratio est, quia contraria dicuntur quae maxime a se distant: non enim dicitur aliquid nigrum ex hoc solum quod non est album, sed super hoc quod est non esse album, quod significat communiter remotionem albi, addit nigrum extremam distantiam ab albo. Sic igitur id quod affirmatur per hanc enunciationem, omnis homo est albus, removetur per hanc negationem, non omnis homo est albus. Oportet ergo quod negatio removeat modum quo praedicatum dicitur de subiecto, quem designat haec dictio, omnis. Sed super hanc remotionem addit haec enunciatio, nullus homo est albus, totalem remotionem, quae est extrema distantia a primo; quod pertinet ad rationem contrarietatis. Et ideo convenienter hanc oppositionem dicit contrarietatem.  Deinde cum dicit: quando autem etc., ostendit qualis sit oppositio affirmationis et negationis in indefinitis. Et primo, proponit quod intendit; secundo, manifestat propositum per exempla; ibi: dico autem non universaliter etc.; tertio, assignat rationem manifestationis; ibi: cum enim universale sit homo et cetera. Dicit ergo primo quod quando de universalibus subiectis affirmatur aliquid vel negatur non tamen universaliter, non sunt contrariae enunciationes, sed illa quae significantur contingit esse contraria. Deinde cum dicit: dico autem non universaliter etc., manifestat per exempla. Ubi considerandum est quod non dixerat quando in universalibus particulariter, sed non universaliter. Non enim intendit de particularibus enunciationibus, sed de solis indefinitis. Et hoc manifestat per exempla quae ponit, dicens fieri in universalibus subiectis non universalem enunciationem; cum dicitur, est albus homo, non est albus homo. Et rationem huius expositionis ostendit, quia homo, qui subiicitur, est universale, sed tamen praedicatum non universaliter de eo praedicatur, quia non apponitur haec dictio, omnis: quae non significat ipsum universale, sed modum universalitatis, prout scilicet praedicatum dicitur universaliter de subiecto; et ideo addita subiecto universali, semper significat quod aliquid de eo dicatur universaliter. Tota autem haec expositio refertur ad hoc quod dixerat: quando in universalibus non universaliter enunciatur, non sunt contrariae.  Sed hoc quod additur: quae autem significantur contingit esse contraria, non est expositum, quamvis obscuritatem contineat; et ideo a diversis diversimode exponitur. Quidam enim hoc referre voluerunt ad contrarietatem veritatis et falsitatis, quae competit huiusmodi enunciationibus. Contingit enim quandoque has simul esse veras, homo est albus, homo non est albus; et sic non sunt contrariae, quia contraria mutuo se tollunt. Contingit tamen quandoque unam earum esse veram et alteram esse falsam; ut cum dicitur, homo est animal, homo non est animal; et sic ratione significati videntur habere quamdam contrarietatem. Sed hoc non videtur ad propositum pertinere, tum quia philosophus nondum hic loquitur de veritate et falsitate enunciationum; tum etiam quia hoc ipsum posset de particularibus enunciationibus dici.  Alii vero, sequentes Porphyrium, referunt hoc ad contrarietatem praedicati. Contingit enim quandoque quod praedicatum negatur de subiecto propter hoc quod inest ei contrarium; sicut si dicatur, homo non est albus, quia est niger; et sic id quod significatur per hoc quod dicitur, non est albus, potest esse contrarium. Non tamen semper: removetur enim aliquid a subiecto, etiam si contrarium non insit, sed aliquid medium inter contraria; ut cum dicitur, aliquis non est albus, quia est pallidus; vel quia inest ei privatio actus vel habitus seu potentiae; ut cum dicitur, aliquis non est videns, quia est carens potentia visiva, aut habet impedimentum ne videat, vel etiam quia non est aptus natus videre; puta si dicatur, lapis non videt. Sic igitur illa, quae significantur contingit esse contraria, sed ipsae enunciationes non sunt contrariae, quia ut in fine huius libri dicetur, non sunt contrariae opiniones quae sunt de contrariis, sicut opinio quod aliquid sit bonum, et illa quae est, quod aliquid non est bonum.  Sed nec hoc videtur ad propositum Aristotelis pertinere, quia non agit hic de contrarietate rerum vel opinionum, sed de contrarietate enunciationum: et ideo magis videtur hic sequenda expositio Alexandri. Secundum quam dicendum est quod in indefinitis enunciationibus non determinatur utrum praedicatum attribuatur subiecto universaliter (quod faceret contrarietatem enunciationum), aut particulariter (quod non faceret contrarietatem enunciationum); et ideo huiusmodi enunciationes indefinitae non sunt contrariae secundum modum quo proferuntur. Contingit tamen quandoque ratione significati eas habere contrarietatem, puta, cum attribuitur aliquid universali ratione naturae universalis, quamvis non apponatur signum universale; ut cum dicitur, homo est animal, homo non est animal: quia hae enunciationes eamdem habent vim ratione significati; ac si diceretur, omnis homo est animal, nullus homo est animal.  Deinde cum dicit: in eo vero quod etc., removet quoddam quod posset esse dubium. Quia enim posuerat quamdam diversitatem in oppositione enunciationum ex hoc quod universale sumitur a parte subiecti universaliter vel non universaliter, posset aliquis credere quod similis diversitas nasceretur ex parte praedicati, ex hoc scilicet quod universale praedicari posset et universaliter et non universaliter; et ideo ad hoc excludendum dicit quod in eo quod praedicatur aliquod universale, non est verum quod praedicetur universale universaliter. Cuius quidem duplex esse potest ratio. Una quidem, quia talis modus praedicandi videtur repugnare praedicato secundum propriam rationem quam habet in enunciatione. Dictum est enim supra quod praedicatum est quasi pars formalis enunciationis, subiectum autem est pars materialis ipsius: cum autem aliquod universale profertur universaliter, ipsum universale sumitur secundum habitudinem quam habet ad singularia, quae sub se continet; sicut et quando universale profertur particulariter, sumitur secundum habitudinem quam habet ad aliquod contentorum sub se; et sic utrumque pertinet ad materialem determinationem universalis: et ideo neque signum universale neque particulare convenienter additur praedicato, sed magis subiecto: convenientius enim dicitur, nullus homo est asinus, quam, omnis homo est nullus asinus; et similiter convenientius dicitur, aliquis homo est albus, quam, homo est aliquid album. Invenitur autem quandoque a philosophis signum particulare appositum praedicato, ad insinuandum quod praedicatum est in plus quam subiectum, et hoc praecipue cum, habito genere, investigant differentias completivas speciei, sicut in II de anima dicitur quod anima est actus quidam. Alia vero ratio potest accipi ex parte veritatis enunciationis; et ista specialiter habet locum in affirmationibus quae falsae essent si praedicatum universaliter praedicaretur. Et ideo manifestans id quod posuerat, subiungit quod nulla affirmatio est in qua, scilicet vere, de universali praedicato universaliter praedicetur, idest in qua universali praedicato utitur ad universaliter praedicandum; ut si diceretur, omnis homo est omne animal. Oportet enim, secundum praedicta, quod hoc praedicatum animal, secundum singula quae sub ipso continentur, praedicaretur de singulis quae continentur sub homine; et hoc non potest esse verum, neque si praedicatum sit in plus quam subiectum, neque si praedicatum sit convertibile cum eo. Oporteret enim quod quilibet unus homo esset animalia omnia, aut omnia risibilia: quae repugnant rationi singularis, quod accipitur sub universali.  Nec est instantia si dicatur quod haec est vera, omnis homo est omnis disciplinae susceptivus: disciplina enim non praedicatur de homine, sed susceptivum disciplinae; repugnaret autem veritati si diceretur, omnis homo est omne susceptivum disciplinae.  Signum autem universale negativum, vel particulare affirmativum, etsi convenientius ponantur ex parte subiecti, non tamen repugnat veritati etiam si ponantur ex parte praedicati. Contingit enim huiusmodi enunciationes in aliqua materia esse veras: haec enim est vera, omnis homo nullus lapis est; et similiter haec est vera, omnis homo aliquod animal est. Sed haec, omnis homo omne animal est, in quacumque materia proferatur, falsa est. Sunt autem quaedam aliae tales enunciationes semper falsae; sicut ista, aliquis homo omne animal est (quae habet eamdem causam falsitatis cum hac, omnis homo omne animal est); et si quae aliae similes, sunt semper falsae: in omnibus enim eadem ratio est. Et ideo per hoc quod philosophus reprobavit istam, omnis homo omne animal est, dedit intelligere omnes consimiles esse improbandas. Postquam philosophus determinavit de oppositione enunciationum, comparando universales enunciationes ad indefinitas, hic determinat de oppositione enunciationum comparando universales ad particulares. Circa quod considerandum est quod potest duplex oppositio in his notari: una quidem universalis ad particularem, et hanc primo tangit; alia vero universalis ad universalem, et hanc tangit secundo; ibi: contrariae vero et cetera.  Particularis vero affirmativa et particularis negativa, non habent proprie loquendo oppositionem, quia oppositio attenditur circa idem subiectum; subiectum autem particularis enunciationis est universale particulariter sumptum, non pro aliquo determinato singulari, sed indeterminate pro quocumque; et ideo, cum de universali particulariter sumpto aliquid affirmatur vel negatur, ipse modus enunciandi non habet quod affirmatio et negatio sint de eodem: quod requiritur ad oppositionem affirmationis et negationis, secundum praemissa.  Dicit ergo primo quod enunciatio, quae universale significat, scilicet universaliter, opponitur contradictorie ei, quae non significat universaliter sed particulariter, si una earum sit affirmativa, altera vero sit negativa (sive universalis sit affirmativa et particularis negativa, sive e converso); ut cum dicitur, omnis homo est albus, non omnis homo est albus: hoc enim quod dico, non omnis, ponitur loco signi particularis negativi; unde aequipollet ei quae est, quidam homo non est albus; sicut et nullus, quod idem significat ac si diceretur, non ullus vel non quidam, est signum universale negativum. Unde hae duae, quidam homo est albus (quae est particularis affirmativa), nullus homo est albus (quae est universalis negativa), sunt contradictoriae.  Cuius ratio est quia contradictio consistit in sola remotione affirmationis per negationem; universalis autem affirmativa removetur per solam negationem particularis, nec aliquid aliud ex necessitate ad hoc exigitur; particularis autem affirmativa removeri non potest nisi per universalem negativam, quia iam dictum est quod particularis affirmativa non proprie opponitur particulari negativae. Unde relinquitur quod universali affirmativae contradictorie opponitur particularis negativa, et particulari affirmativae universalis negativa.  Deinde cum dicit: contrariae vero etc., tangit oppositionem universalium enunciationum; et dicit quod universalis affirmativa et universalis negativa sunt contrariae; sicut, omnis homo est iustus, nullus homo est iustus, quia scilicet universalis negativa non solum removet universalem affirmativam, sed etiam designat extremam distantiam, in quantum negat totum quod affirmatio ponit; et hoc pertinet ad rationem contrarietatis; et ideo particularis affirmativa et negativa se habent sicut medium inter contraria.  Deinde cum dicit: quocirca has quidem etc., ostendit quomodo se habeant affirmatio et negatio oppositae ad verum et falsum. Et primo, quantum ad contrarias; secundo, quantum ad contradictorias; ibi: quaecumque igitur contradictiones etc.; tertio, quantum ad ea quae videntur contradictoria, et non sunt; ibi: quaecumque autem in universalibus et cetera. Dicit ergo primo quod quia universalis affirmativa et universalis negativa sunt contrariae, impossibile est quod sint simul verae. Contraria enim mutuo se expellunt. Sed particulares, quae contradictorie opponuntur universalibus contrariis, possunt simul verificari in eodem; sicut, non omnis homo est albus, quae contradictorie opponitur huic, omnis homo est albus, et, quidam homo est albus, quae contradictorie opponitur huic, nullus homo est albus. Et huiusmodi etiam simile invenitur in contrarietate rerum: nam album et nigrum numquam simul esse possunt in eodem, sed remotiones albi et nigri simul possunt esse: potest enim aliquid esse neque album neque nigrum, sicut patet in eo quod est pallidum. Et similiter contrariae enunciationes non possunt simul esse verae, sed earum contradictoriae, a quibus removentur, simul possunt esse verae. Deinde cum dicit: quaecumque igitur contradictiones etc., ostendit qualiter veritas et falsitas se habeant in contradictoriis. Circa quod considerandum est quod, sicut dictum est supra, in contradictoriis negatio non plus facit, nisi quod removet affirmationem. Quod contingit dupliciter. Uno modo, quando est altera earum universalis, altera particularis, ut supra dictum est. Alio modo, quando utraque est singularis: quia tunc negatio ex necessitate refertur ad idem (quod non contingit in particularibus et indefinitis), nec potest se in plus extendere nisi ut removeat affirmationem. Et ideo singularis affirmativa semper contradicit singulari negativae, supposita identitate praedicati et subiecti. Et ideo dicit quod, sive accipiamus contradictionem universalium universaliter, scilicet quantum ad unam earum, sive singularium enunciationum, semper necesse est quod una sit vera et altera falsa. Neque enim contingit esse simul veras aut simul falsas, quia verum nihil aliud est, nisi quando dicitur esse quod est, aut non esse quod non est; falsum autem, quando dicitur esse quod non est, aut non esse quod est, ut patet ex IV metaphysicorum.  Deinde cum dicit: quaecumque autem universalium etc., ostendit qualiter se habeant veritas et falsitas in his, quae videntur esse contradictoria, sed non sunt. Et circa hoc tria facit: primo proponit quod intendit; secundo, probat propositum; ibi: si enim turpis non probus etc.; tertio, excludit id quod facere posset dubitationem; ibi: videbitur autem subito inconveniens et cetera. Circa primum considerandum est quod affirmatio et negatio in indefinitis propositionibus videntur contradictorie opponi propter hoc, quod est unum subiectum non determinatum per signum particulare, et ideo videtur affirmatio et negatio esse de eodem. Sed ad hoc removendum philosophus dicit quod quaecumque affirmative et negative dicuntur de universalibus non universaliter sumptis, non semper oportet quod unum sit verum, et aliud sit falsum, sed possunt simul esse vera. Simul enim est verum dicere quod homo est albus, et, homo non est albus, et quod homo est probus, et, homo non est probus.  In quo quidem, ut Ammonius refert, aliqui Aristoteli contradixerunt ponentes quod indefinita negativa semper sit accipienda pro universali negativa. Et hoc astruebant primo quidem tali ratione: quia indefinita, cum sit indeterminata, se habet in ratione materiae; materia autem secundum se considerata, magis trahitur ad id quod indignius est; dignior autem est universalis affirmativa, quam particularis affirmativa; et ideo indefinitam affirmativam dicunt esse sumendam pro particulari affirmativa: sed negativam universalem, quae totum destruit, dicunt esse indigniorem particulari negativa, quae destruit partem, sicut universalis corruptio peior est quam particularis; et ideo dicunt quod indefinita negativa sumenda est pro universali negativa. Ad quod etiam inducunt quod philosophi, et etiam ipse Aristoteles utitur indefinitis negativis pro universalibus; sicut dicitur in libro Physic. quod non est motus praeter res; et in libro de anima, quod non est sensus praeter quinque. Sed istae rationes non concludunt. Quod enim primo dicitur quod materia secundum se sumpta sumitur pro peiori, verum est secundum sententiam Platonis, qui non distinguebat privationem a materia, non autem est verum secundum Aristotelem, qui dicit in Lib. I Physic. quod malum et turpe et alia huiusmodi ad defectum pertinentia non dicuntur de materia nisi per accidens. Et ideo non oportet quod indefinita semper stet pro peiori. Dato etiam quod indefinita necesse sit sumi pro peiori, non oportet quod sumatur pro universali negativa; quia sicut in genere affirmationis, universalis affirmativa est potior particulari, utpote particularem affirmativam continens; ita etiam in genere negationum universalis negativa potior est. Oportet autem in unoquoque genere considerare id quod est potius in genere illo, non autem id quod est potius simpliciter. Ulterius etiam, dato quod particularis negativa esset potior omnibus modis, non tamen adhuc ratio sequeretur: non enim ideo indefinita affirmativa sumitur pro particulari affirmativa, quia sit indignior, sed quia de universali potest aliquid affirmari ratione suiipsius, vel ratione partis contentae sub eo; unde sufficit ad veritatem eius quod praedicatum uni parti conveniat (quod designatur per signum particulare); et ideo veritas particularis affirmativae sufficit ad veritatem indefinitae affirmativae. Et simili ratione veritas particularis negativae sufficit ad veritatem indefinitae negativae, quia similiter potest aliquid negari de universali vel ratione suiipsius, vel ratione suae partis. Utuntur autem quandoque philosophi indefinitis negativis pro universalibus in his, quae per se removentur ab universalibus; sicut et utuntur indefinitis affirmativis pro universalibus in his, quae per se de universalibus praedicantur.  Deinde cum dicit: si enim turpis est etc., probat propositum per id, quod est ab omnibus concessum. Omnes enim concedunt quod indefinita affirmativa verificatur, si particularis affirmativa sit vera. Contingit autem accipi duas affirmativas indefinitas, quarum una includit negationem alterius, puta cum sunt opposita praedicata: quae quidem oppositio potest contingere dupliciter. Uno modo, secundum perfectam contrarietatem, sicut turpis, idest inhonestus, opponitur probo, idest honesto, et foedus, idest deformis secundum corpus, opponitur pulchro. Sed per quam rationem ista affirmativa est vera, homo est probus, quodam homine existente probo, per eamdem rationem ista est vera, homo est turpis, quodam homine existente turpi. Sunt ergo istae duae verae simul, homo est probus, homo est turpis; sed ad hanc, homo est turpis, sequitur ista, homo non est probus; ergo istae duae sunt simul verae, homo est probus, homo non est probus: et eadem ratione istae duae, homo est pulcher, homo non est pulcher. Alia autem oppositio attenditur secundum perfectum et imperfectum, sicut moveri opponitur ad motum esse, et fieri ad factum esse: unde ad fieri sequitur non esse eius quod fit in permanentibus, quorum esse est perfectum; secus autem est in successivis, quorum esse est imperfectum. Sic ergo haec est vera, homo est albus, quodam homine existente albo; et pari ratione, quia quidam homo fit albus, haec est vera, homo fit albus; ad quam sequitur, homo non est albus. Ergo istae duae sunt simul verae, homo est albus, homo non est albus.  Deinde cum dicit: videbitur autem etc., excludit id quod faceret dubitationem circa praedicta; et dicit quod subito, id est primo aspectu videtur hoc esse inconveniens, quod dictum est; quia hoc quod dico, homo non est albus, videtur idem significare cum hoc quod est, nullus homo est albus. Sed ipse hoc removet dicens quod neque idem significant neque ex necessitate sunt simul vera, sicut ex praedictis manifestum est. Postquam philosophus distinxit diversos modos oppositionum in enunciationibus, nunc intendit ostendere quod uni affirmationi una negatio opponitur, et circa hoc duo facit: primo, ostendit quod uni affirmationi una negatio opponitur; secundo, ostendit quae sit una affirmatio vel negatio, ibi: una autem affirmatio et cetera. Circa primum tria facit: primo, proponit quod intendit; secundo, manifestat propositum; ibi: hoc enim idem etc.; tertio, epilogat quae dicta sunt; ibi: manifestum est ergo et cetera.  Dicit ergo primo, manifestum esse quod unius affirmationis est una negatio sola. Et hoc quidem fuit necessarium hic dicere: quia cum posuerit plura oppositionum genera, videbatur quod uni affirmationi duae negationes opponerentur; sicut huic affirmativae, omnis homo est albus, videtur, secundum praedicta, haec negativa opponi, nullus homo est albus, et haec, quidam homo non est albus. Sed si quis recte consideret huius affirmativae, omnis homo est albus, negativa est sola ista, quidam homo non est albus, quae solummodo removet ipsam, ut patet ex sua aequipollenti, quae est, non omnis homo est albus. Universalis vero negativa includit quidem in suo intellectu negationem universalis affirmativae, in quantum includit particularem negativam, sed supra hoc aliquid addit, in quantum scilicet importat non solum remotionem universalitatis, sed removet quamlibet partem eius. Et sic patet quod sola una est negatio universalis affirmationis: et idem apparet in aliis.  Deinde cum dicit: hoc enim etc., manifestat propositum: et primo, per rationem; secundo, per exempla; ibi: dico autem, ut est Socrates albus. Ratio autem sumitur ex hoc, quod supra dictum est quod negatio opponitur affirmationi, quae est eiusdem de eodem: ex quo hic accipitur quod oportet negationem negare illud idem praedicatum, quod affirmatio affirmavit et de eodem subiecto, sive illud subiectum sit aliquid singulare, sive aliquid universale, vel universaliter, vel non universaliter sumptum; sed hoc non contingit fieri nisi uno modo, ita scilicet ut negatio neget id quod affirmatio posuit, et nihil aliud; ergo uni affirmationi opponitur una sola negatio.  [80425] Expositio Peryermeneias, lib. 1 l. 12 n. 4 Deinde cum dicit: dico autem, ut est etc., manifestat propositum per exempla. Et primo, in singularibus: huic enim affirmationi, Socrates est albus, haec sola opponitur, Socrates non est albus, tanquam eius propria negatio. Si vero esset aliud praedicatum vel aliud subiectum, non esset negatio opposita, sed omnino diversa; sicut ista, Socrates non est musicus, non opponitur ei quae est, Socrates est albus; neque etiam illa quae est, Plato est albus, huic quae est, Socrates non est albus. Secundo, manifestat idem quando subiectum affirmationis est universale universaliter sumptum; sicut huic affirmationi, omnis homo est albus, opponitur sicut propria eius negatio, non omnis homo est albus, quae aequipollet particulari negativae. Tertio, ponit exemplum quando affirmationis subiectum est universale particulariter sumptum: et dicit quod huic affirmationi, aliquis homo est albus, opponitur tanquam eius propria negatio, nullus homo est albus. Nam nullus dicitur, quasi non ullus, idest, non aliquis. Quarto, ponit exemplum quando affirmationis subiectum est universale indefinite sumptum et dicit quod isti affirmationi, homo est albus, opponitur tanquam propria eius negatio illa quae est, non est homo albus.  [80426] Expositio Peryermeneias, lib. 1 l. 12 n. 5 Sed videtur hoc esse contra id, quod supra dictum est quod negativa indefinita verificatur simul cum indefinita affirmativa; negatio autem non potest verificari simul cum sua opposita affirmatione, quia non contingit de eodem affirmare et negare. Sed ad hoc dicendum quod oportet quod hic dicitur intelligi quando negatio ad idem refertur quod affirmatio continebat; et hoc potest esse dupliciter: uno modo, quando affirmatur aliquid inesse homini ratione sui ipsius (quod est per se de eodem praedicari), et hoc ipsum negatio negat; alio modo, quando aliquid affirmatur de universali ratione sui singularis, et pro eodem de eo negatur. Deinde cum dicit: quod igitur una affirmatio etc., epilogat quae dicta sunt, et concludit manifestum esse ex praedictis quod uni affirmationi opponitur una negatio; et quod oppositarum affirmationum et negationum aliae sunt contrariae, aliae contradictoriae; et dictum est quae sint utraeque. Tacet autem de subcontrariis, quia non sunt recte oppositae, ut supra dictum est. Dictum est etiam quod non omnis contradictio est vera vel falsa; et sumitur hic large contradictio pro qualicumque oppositione affirmationis et negationis: nam in his quae sunt vere contradictoriae semper una est vera, et altera falsa. Quare autem in quibusdam oppositis hoc non verificetur, dictum est supra; quia scilicet quaedam non sunt contradictoriae, sed contrariae, quae possunt simul esse falsae. Contingit etiam affirmationem et negationem non proprie opponi; et ideo contingit eas esse veras simul. Dictum est autem quando altera semper est vera, altera autem falsa, quia scilicet in his quae vere sunt contradictoria.  Deinde cum dicit: una autem affirmatio etc., ostendit quae sit affirmatio vel negatio una. Quod quidem iam supra dixerat, ubi habitum est quod una est enunciatio, quae unum significat; sed quia enunciatio, in qua aliquid praedicatur de aliquo universali universaliter vel non universaliter, multa sub se continet, intendit ostendere quod per hoc non impeditur unitas enunciationis. Et circa hoc duo facit: primo, ostendit quod unitas enunciationis non impeditur per multitudinem, quae continetur sub universali, cuius ratio una est; secundo, ostendit quod impeditur unitas enunciationis per multitudinem, quae continetur sub sola nominis unitate; ibi: si vero duobus et cetera. Dicit ergo primo quod una est affirmatio vel negatio cum unum significatur de uno, sive illud unum quod subiicitur sit universale universaliter sumptum sive non sit aliquid tale, sed sit universale particulariter sumptum vel indefinite, aut etiam si subiectum sit singulare. Et exemplificat de diversis sicut universalis ista affirmativa est una, omnis homo est albus; et similiter particularis negativa quae est eius negatio, scilicet non est omnis homo albus. Et subdit alia exempla, quae sunt manifesta. In fine autem apponit quamdam conditionem, quae requiritur ad hoc quod quaelibet harum sit una, si scilicet album, quod est praedicatum, significat unum: nam sola multitudo praedicati impediret unitatem enunciationis. Ideo autem universalis propositio una est, quamvis sub se multitudinem singularium comprehendat, quia praedicatum non attribuitur multis singularibus, secundum quod sunt in se divisa, sed secundum quod uniuntur in uno communi.  Deinde cum dicit: si vero duobus etc., ostendit quod sola unitas nominis non sufficit ad unitatem enunciationis. Et circa hoc quatuor facit: primo, proponit quod intendit; secundo, exemplificat; ibi: ut si quis ponat etc.; tertio, probat; ibi: nihil enim differt etc.; quarto, infert corollarium ex dictis; ibi: quare nec in his et cetera. Dicit ergo primo quod si unum nomen imponatur duabus rebus, ex quibus non fit unum, non est affirmatio una. Quod autem dicit, ex quibus non fit unum, potest intelligi dupliciter. Uno modo, ad excludendum hoc quod multa continentur sub uno universali, sicut homo et equus sub animali: hoc enim nomen animal significat utrumque, non secundum quod sunt multa et differentia ad invicem, sed secundum quod uniuntur in natura generis. Alio modo, et melius, ad excludendum hoc quod ex multis partibus fit unum, sive sint partes rationis, sicut sunt genus et differentia, quae sunt partes definitionis: sive sint partes integrales alicuius compositi, sicut ex lapidibus et lignis fit domus. Si ergo sit tale praedicatum quod attribuatur rei, requiritur ad unitatem enunciationis quod illa multa quae significantur, concurrant in unum secundum aliquem dictorum modorum; unde non sufficeret sola unitas vocis. Si vero sit tale praedicatum quod referatur ad vocem, sufficiet unitas vocis; ut si dicam, canis est nomen.  Deinde cum dicit: ut si quis etc., exemplificat quod dictum est, ut si aliquis hoc nomen tunica imponat ad significandum hominem et equum: et sic, si dicam, tunica est alba, non est affirmatio una, neque negatio una. Deinde cum dicit: nihil enim differt etc., probat quod dixerat tali ratione. Si tunica significat hominem et equum, nihil differt si dicatur, tunica est alba, aut si dicatur, homo est albus, et, equus est albus; sed istae, homo est albus, et equus est albus, significant multa et sunt plures enunciationes; ergo etiam ista, tunica est alba, multa significat. Et hoc si significet hominem et equum ut res diversas: si vero significet hominem et equum ut componentia unam rem, nihil significat, quia non est aliqua res quae componatur ex homine et equo. Quod autem dicit quod non differt dicere, tunica est alba, et, homo est albus, et, equus est albus, non est intelligendum quantum ad veritatem et falsitatem. Nam haec copulativa, homo est albus et equus est albus, non potest esse vera nisi utraque pars sit vera: sed haec, tunica est alba, praedicta positione facta, potest esse vera etiam altera existente falsa; alioquin non oporteret distinguere multiplices propositiones ad solvendum rationes sophisticas. Sed hoc est intelligendum quantum ad unitatem et multiplicitatem. Nam sicut cum dicitur, homo est albus et equus est albus, non invenitur aliqua una res cui attribuatur praedicatum; ita etiam nec cum dicitur, tunica est alba.  Deinde cum dicit: quare nec in his etc., concludit ex praemissis quod nec in his affirmationibus et negationibus, quae utuntur subiecto aequivoco, semper oportet unam esse veram et aliam falsam, quia scilicet negatio potest aliud negare quam affirmatio affirmet. Postquam philosophus determinavit de oppositione enunciationum et ostendit quomodo dividunt verum et falsum oppositae enunciationes; hic inquirit de quodam quod poterat esse dubium, utrum scilicet id quod dictum es t similiter inveniatur in omnibus enunciationibus vel non. Et circa hoc duo facit: primo, proponit dissimilitudinem; secundo, probat eam; ibi: nam si omnis affirmatio et cetera.  Circa primum considerandum est quod philosophus in praemissis triplicem divisionem enunciationum assignavit, quarum prima fuit secundum unitatem enunciationis, prout scilicet enunciatio est una simpliciter vel coniunctione una; secunda fuit secundum qualitatem, prout scilicet enunciatio est affirmativa vel negativa; tertia fuit secundum quantitatem, utpote quod enunciatio quaedam est universalis, quaedam particularis, quaedam indefinita et quaedam singularis. Tangitur autem hic quarta divisio enunciationum secundum tempus. Nam quaedam est de praesenti, quaedam de praeterito, quaedam de futuro; et haec etiam divisio potest accipi ex his quae supra dicta sunt: dictum est enim supra quod necesse est omnem enunciationem esse ex verbo vel ex casu verbi; verbum autem est quod consignificat praesens tempus; casus autem verbi sunt, qui consignificant tempus praeteritum vel futurum. Potest autem accipi quinta divisio enunciationum secundum materiam, quae quidem divisio attenditur secundum habitudinem praedicati ad subiectum: nam si praedicatum per se insit subiecto, dicetur esse enunciatio in materia necessaria vel naturali; ut cum dicitur, homo est animal, vel, homo est risibile. Si vero praedicatum per se repugnet subiecto quasi excludens rationem ipsius, dicetur enunciatio esse in materia impossibili sive remota; ut cum dicitur, homo est asinus. Si vero medio modo se habeat praedicatum ad subiectum, ut scilicet nec per se repugnet subiecto, nec per se insit, dicetur enunciatio esse in materia possibili sive contingenti. His igitur enunciationum differentiis consideratis, non similiter se habet iudicium de veritate et falsitate in omnibus. Unde philosophus dicit, ex praemissis concludens, quod in his quae sunt, idest in propositionibus de praesenti, et in his quae facta sunt, idest in enunciationibus de praeterito, necesse est quod affirmatio vel negatio determinate sit vera vel falsa. Diversificatur tamen hoc, secundum diversam quantitatem enunciationis; nam in enunciationibus, in quibus de universalibus subiectis aliquid universaliter praedicatur, necesse est quod semper una sit vera, scilicet affirmativa vel negativa, et altera falsa, quae scilicet ei opponitur. Dictum est enim supra quod negatio enunciationis universalis in qua aliquid universaliter praedicatur, est negativa non universalis, sed particularis, et e converso universalis negativa non est directe negatio universalis affirmativae, sed particularis; et sic oportet, secundum praedicta, quod semper una earum sit vera et altera falsa in quacumque materia. Et eadem ratio est in enunciationibus singularibus, quae etiam contradictorie opponuntur, ut supra habitum est. Sed in enunciationibus, in quibus aliquid praedicatur de universali non universaliter, non est necesse quod semper una sit vera et altera sit falsa, qui possunt ambae esse simul verae, ut supra ostensum est.  Et hoc quidem ita se habet quantum ad propositiones, quae sunt de praeterito vel de praesenti: sed si accipiamus enunciationes, quae sunt de futuro, etiam similiter se habent quantum ad oppositiones, quae sunt de universalibus vel universaliter vel non universaliter sumptis. Nam in materia necessaria omnes affirmativae determinate sunt verae, ita in futuris sicut in praeteritis et praesentibus; negativae vero falsae. In materia autem impossibili, e contrario. In contingenti vero universales sunt falsae et particulares sunt verae, ita in futuris sicut in praeteritis et praesentibus. In indefinitis autem, utraque simul est vera in futuris sicut in praesentibus vel praeteritis.  Sed in singularibus et futuris est quaedam dissimilitudo. Nam in praeteritis et praesentibus necesse est quod altera oppositarum determinate sit vera et altera falsa in quacumque materia; sed in singularibus quae sunt de futuro hoc non est necesse, quod una determinate sit vera et altera falsa. Et hoc quidem dicitur quantum ad materiam contingentem: nam quantum ad materiam necessariam et impossibilem similis ratio est in futuris singularibus, sicut in praesentibus et praeteritis. Nec tamen Aristoteles mentionem fecit de materia contingenti, quia illa proprie ad singularia pertinent quae contingenter eveniunt, quae autem per se insunt vel repugnant, attribuuntur singularibus secundum universalium rationes. Circa hoc igitur versatur tota praesens intentio: utrum in enunciationibus singularibus de futuro in materia contingenti necesse sit quod determinate una oppositarum sit vera et altera falsa.  Deinde cum dicit: nam si omnis affirmatio etc., probat praemissam differentiam. Et circa hoc duo facit: primo, probat propositum ducendo ad inconveniens; secundo, ostendit illa esse impossibilia quae sequuntur; ibi: quare ergo contingunt inconvenientia et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, ostendit quod in singularibus et futuris non semper potest determinate attribui veritas alteri oppositorum; secundo, ostendit quod non potest esse quod utraque veritate careat; ibi: at vero neque quoniam et cetera. Circa primum ponit duas rationes, in quarum prima ponit quamdam consequentiam, scilicet quod si omnis affirmatio vel negatio determinate est vera vel falsa ita in singularibus et futuris sicut in aliis, consequens est quod omnia necesse sit vel determinate esse vel non esse. Deinde cum dicit: quare si hic quidem etc. vel, si itaque hic quidem, ut habetur in Graeco, probat consequentiam praedictam. Ponamus enim quod sint duo homines, quorum unus dicat aliquid esse futurum, puta quod Socrates curret, alius vero dicat hoc idem ipsum non esse futurum; supposita praemissa positione, scilicet quod in singularibus et futuris contingit alteram esse veram, scilicet vel affirmativam vel negativam, sequetur quod necesse sit quod alter eorum verum dicat, non autem uterque: quia non potest esse quod in singularibus propositionibus futuris utraque sit simul vera, scilicet affirmativa et negativa: sed hoc habet locum solum in indefinitis. Ex hoc autem quod necesse est alterum eorum verum dicere, sequitur quod necesse sit determinate vel esse vel non esse. Et hoc probat consequenter: quia ista duo se convertibiliter consequuntur, scilicet quod verum sit id quod dicitur, et quod ita sit in re. Et hoc est quod manifestat consequenter dicens quod si verum est dicere quod album sit, de necessitate sequitur quod ita sit in re; et si verum est negare, ex necessitate sequitur quod ita non sit. Et e converso: quia si ita est in re vel non est, ex necessitate sequitur quod sit verum affirmare vel negare. Et eadem etiam convertibilitas apparet in falso: quia, si aliquis mentitur falsum dicens, ex necessitate sequitur quod non ita sit in re, sicut ipse affirmat vel negat; et e converso, si non est ita in re sicut ipse affirmat vel negat, sequitur quod affirmans vel negans mentiatur.  Est ergo processus huius rationis talis. Si necesse est quod omnis affirmatio vel negatio in singularibus et futuris sit vera vel falsa, necesse est quod omnis affirmans vel negans determinate dicat verum vel falsum. Ex hoc autem sequitur quod omne necesse sit esse vel non esse. Ergo, si omnis affirmatio vel negatio determinate sit vera, necesse est omnia determinate esse vel non esse. Ex hoc concludit ulterius quod omnia sint ex necessitate. Per quod triplex genus contingentium excluditur.  Quaedam enim contingunt ut in paucioribus, quae accidunt a casu vel fortuna. Quaedam vero se habent ad utrumlibet, quia scilicet non magis se habent ad unam partem, quam ad aliam, et ista procedunt ex electione. Quaedam vero eveniunt ut in pluribus; sicut hominem canescere in senectute, quod causatur ex natura. Si autem omnia ex necessitate evenirent, nihil horum contingentium esset. Et ideo dicit nihil est quantum ad ipsam permanentiam eorum quae permanent contingenter; neque fit quantum ad productionem eorum quae contingenter causantur; nec casu quantum ad ea quae sunt in minori parte, sive in paucioribus; nec utrumlibet quantum ad ea quae se habent aequaliter ad utrumque, scilicet esse vel non esse, et ad neutrum horum sunt determinata: quod significat cum subdit, nec erit, nec non erit. De eo enim quod est magis determinatum ad unam partem possumus determinate verum dicere quod hoc erit vel non erit, sicut medicus de convalescente vere dicit, iste sanabitur, licet forte ex aliquo accidente eius sanitas impediatur. Unde et philosophus dicit in II de generatione quod futurus quis incedere, non incedet. De eo enim qui habet propositum determinatum ad incedendum, vere potest dici quod ipse incedet, licet per aliquod accidens impediatur eius incessus. Sed eius quod est ad utrumlibet proprium est quod, quia non determinatur magis ad unum quam ad alterum, non possit de eo determinate dici, neque quod erit, neque quod non erit. Quomodo autem sequatur quod nihil sit ad utrumlibet ex praemissa hypothesi, manifestat subdens quod, si omnis affirmatio vel negatio determinate sit vera, oportet quod vel ille qui affirmat vel ille qui negat dicat verum; et sic tollitur id quod est ad utrumlibet: quia, si esse aliquid ad utrumlibet, similiter se haberet ad hoc quod fieret vel non fieret, et non magis ad unum quam ad alterum. Est autem considerandum quod philosophus non excludit hic expresse contingens quod est ut in pluribus, duplici ratione. Primo quidem, quia tale contingens non excludit quin altera oppositarum enunciationum determinate sit vera et altera falsa, ut dictum est. Secundo, quia remoto contingenti quod est in paucioribus, quod a casu accidit, removetur per consequens contingens quod est ut in pluribus: nihil enim differt id quod est in pluribus ab eo quod est in paucioribus, nisi quod deficit in minori parte.  Deinde cum dicit: amplius si est album etc., ponit secundam rationem ad ostendendum praedictam dissimilitudinem, ducendo ad impossibile. Si enim similiter se habet veritas et falsitas in praesentibus et futuris, sequitur ut quidquid verum est de praesenti, etiam fuerit verum de futuro, eo modo quo est verum de praesenti. Sed determinate nunc est verum dicere de aliquo singulari quod est album; ergo primo, idest antequam illud fieret album, erat verum dicere quoniam hoc erit album. Sed eadem ratio videtur esse in propinquo et in remoto; ergo si ante unum diem verum fuit dicere quod hoc erit album, sequitur quod semper fuit verum dicere de quolibet eorum, quae facta sunt, quod erit. Si autem semper est verum dicere de praesenti quoniam est, vel de futuro quoniam erit, non potest hoc non esse vel non futurum esse. Cuius consequentiae ratio patet, quia ista duo sunt incompossibilia, quod aliquid vere dicatur esse, et quod non sit. Nam hoc includitur in significatione veri, ut sit id quod dicitur. Si ergo ponitur verum esse id quod dicitur de praesenti vel de futuro, non potest esse quin illud sit praesens vel futurum. Sed quod non potest non fieri idem significat cum eo quod est impossibile non fieri. Et quod impossibile est non fieri idem significat cum eo quod est necesse fieri, ut in secundo plenius dicetur. Sequitur ergo ex praemissis quod omnia, quae futura sunt, necesse est fieri. Ex quo sequitur ulterius, quod nihil sit neque ad utrumlibet neque a casu, quia illud quod accidit a casu non est ex necessitate, sed ut in paucioribus; hoc autem relinquit pro inconvenienti; ergo et primum est falsum, scilicet quod omne quod est verum esse, verum fuerit determinate dicere esse futurum.  Ad cuius evidentiam considerandum est quod cum verum hoc significet ut dicatur aliquid esse quod est, hoc modo est aliquid verum, quo habet esse. Cum autem aliquid est in praesenti habet esse in seipso, et ideo vere potest dici de eo quod est: sed quamdiu aliquid est futurum, nondum est in seipso, est tamen aliqualiter in sua causa: quod quidem contingit tripliciter. Uno modo, ut sic sit in sua causa ut ex necessitate ex ea proveniat; et tunc determinate habet esse in sua causa; unde determinate potest dici de eo quod erit. Alio modo, aliquid est in sua causa, ut quae habet inclinationem ad suum effectum, quae tamen impediri potest; unde et hoc determinatum est in sua causa, sed mutabiliter; et sic de hoc vere dici potest, hoc erit, sed non per omnimodam certitudinem. Tertio, aliquid est in sua causa pure in potentia, quae etiam non magis est determinata ad unum quam ad aliud; unde relinquitur quod nullo modo potest de aliquo eorum determinate dici quod sit futurum, sed quod sit vel non sit.  Deinde cum dicit: at vero neque quoniam etc., ostendit quod veritas non omnino deest in singularibus futuris utrique oppositorum; et primo, proponit quod intendit dicens quod sicut non est verum dicere quod in talibus alterum oppositorum sit verum determinate, sic non est verum dicere quod non utrumque sit verum; ut si quod dicamus, neque erit, neque non erit. Secundo, ibi: primum enim cum sit etc., probat propositum duabus rationibus. Quarum prima talis est: affirmatio et negatio dividunt verum et falsum, quod patet ex definitione veri et falsi: nam nihil aliud est verum quam esse quod est, vel non esse quod non est; et nihil aliud est falsum quam esse quod non est, vel non esse quod est; et sic oportet quod si affirmatio sit falsa, quod negatio sit vera; et e converso. Sed secundum praedictam positionem affirmatio est falsa, qua dicitur, hoc erit; nec tamen negatio est vera: et similiter negatio erit falsa, affirmatione non existente vera; ergo praedicta positio est impossibilis, scilicet quod veritas desit utrique oppositorum. Secundam rationem ponit; ibi: ad haec si verum est et cetera. Quae talis est: si verum est dicere aliquid, sequitur quod illud sit; puta si verum est dicere quod aliquid sit magnum et album, sequitur utraque esse. Et ita de futuro sicut de praesenti: sequitur enim esse cras, si verum est dicere quod erit cras. Si ergo vera est praedicta positio dicens quod neque cras erit, neque non erit, oportebit neque fieri, neque non fieri: quod est contra rationem eius quod est ad utrumlibet, quia quod est ad utrumlibet se habet ad alterutrum; ut navale bellum cras erit, vel non erit. Et ita ex hoc sequitur idem inconveniens quod in praemissis. Ostenderat superius philosophus ducendo ad inconveniens quod non est similiter verum vel falsum determinate in altero oppositorum in singularibus et futuris, sicut supra de aliis enunciationibus dixerat; nunc autem ostendit inconvenientia ad quae adduxerat esse impossibilia. Et circa hoc duo facit: primo, ostendit impossibilia ea quae sequebantur; secundo, concludit quomodo circa haec se veritas habeat; ibi: igitur esse quod est et cetera.  Circa primum tria facit: primo, ponit inconvenientia quae sequuntur; secundo, ostendit haec inconvenientia ex praedicta positione sequi; ibi: nihil enim prohibet etc.; tertio, ostendit esse impossibilia inconvenientia memorata; ibi: quod si haec possibilia non sunt et cetera. Dicit ergo primo, ex praedictis rationibus concludens, quod haec inconvenientia sequuntur, si ponatur quod necesse sit oppositarum enunciationum alteram determinate esse veram et alteram esse falsam similiter in singularibus sicut in universalibus, quod scilicet nihil in his quae fiunt sit ad utrumlibet, sed omnia sint et fiant ex necessitate. Et ex hoc ulterius inducit alia duo inconvenientia. Quorum primum est quod non oportebit de aliquo consiliari: probatum est enim in III Ethicorum quod consilium non est de his, quae sunt ex necessitate, sed solum de contingentibus, quae possunt esse et non esse. Secundum inconveniens est quod omnes actiones humanae, quae sunt propter aliquem finem (puta negotiatio, quae est propter divitias acquirendas), erunt superfluae: quia si omnia ex necessitate eveniunt, sive operemur sive non operemur erit quod intendimus. Sed hoc est contra intentionem hominum, quia ea intentione videntur consiliari et negotiari ut, si haec faciant, erit talis finis, si autem faciunt aliquid aliud, erit alius finis.  Deinde cum dicit: nihil enim prohibet etc., probat quod dicta inconvenientia consequantur ex dicta positione. Et circa hoc duo facit: primo, ostendit praedicta inconvenientia sequi, quodam possibili posito; secundo, ostendit quod eadem inconvenientia sequantur etiam si illud non ponatur; ibi: at nec hoc differt et cetera. Dicit ergo primo, non esse impossibile quod ante mille annos, quando nihil apud homines erat praecogitatum, vel praeordinatum de his quae nunc aguntur, unus dixerit quod hoc erit, puta quod civitas talis subverteretur, alius autem dixerit quod hoc non erit. Sed si omnis affirmatio vel negatio determinate est vera, necesse est quod alter eorum determinate verum dixerit; ergo necesse fuit alterum eorum ex necessitate evenire; et eadem ratio est in omnibus aliis; ergo omnia ex necessitate eveniunt.  Deinde cum dicit: at vero neque hoc differt etc., ostendit quod idem sequitur si illud possibile non ponatur. Nihil enim differt, quantum ad rerum existentiam vel eventum, si uno affirmante hoc esse futurum, alius negaverit vel non negaverit; ita enim se habebit res si hoc factum fuerit, sicut si hoc non factum fuerit. Non enim propter nostrum affirmare vel negare mutatur cursus rerum, ut sit aliquid vel non sit: quia veritas nostrae enunciationis non est causa existentiae rerum, sed potius e converso. Similiter etiam non differt quantum ad eventum eius quod nunc agitur, utrum fuerit affirmatum vel negatum ante millesimum annum vel ante quodcumque tempus. Sic ergo, si in quocumque tempore praeterito, ita se habebat veritas enunciationum, ut necesse esset quod alterum oppositorum vere diceretur; et ad hoc quod necesse est aliquid vere dici sequitur quod necesse sit illud esse vel fieri; consequens est quod unumquodque eorum quae fiunt, sic se habeat ut ex necessitate fiat. Et huiusmodi consequentiae rationem assignat per hoc, quod si ponatur aliquem vere dicere quod hoc erit, non potest non futurum esse. Sicut supposito quod sit homo, non potest non esse animal rationale mortale. Hoc enim significatur, cum dicitur aliquid vere dici, scilicet quod ita sit ut dicitur. Eadem autem habitudo est eorum, quae nunc dicuntur, ad ea quae futura sunt, quae erat eorum, quae prius dicebantur, ad ea quae sunt praesentia vel praeterita; et ita omnia ex necessitate acciderunt, et accidunt, et accident, quia quod nunc factum est, utpote in praesenti vel in praeterito existens, semper verum erat dicere, quoniam erit futurum.  Deinde cum dicit: quod si haec possibilia non sunt etc., ostendit praedicta esse impossibilia: et primo, per rationem; secundo, per exempla sensibilia; ibi: et multa nobis manifesta et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, ostendit propositum in rebus humanis; secundo, etiam in aliis rebus; ibi: et quoniam est omnino et cetera. Quantum autem ad res humanas ostendit esse impossibilia quae dicta sunt, per hoc quod homo manifeste videtur esse principium eorum futurorum, quae agit quasi dominus existens suorum actuum, et in sua potestate habens agere vel non agere; quod quidem principium si removeatur, tollitur totus ordo conversationis humanae, et omnia principia philosophiae moralis. Hoc enim sublato non erit aliqua utilitas persuasionis, nec comminationis, nec punitionis aut remunerationis, quibus homines alliciuntur ad bona et retrahuntur a malis, et sic evacuatur tota civilis scientia. Hoc ergo philosophus accipit pro principio manifesto quod homo sit principium futurorum; non est autem futurorum principium nisi per hoc quod consiliatur et facit aliquid: ea enim quae agunt absque consilio non habent dominium sui actus, quasi libere iudicantes de his quae sunt agenda, sed quodam naturali instinctu moventur ad agendum, ut patet in animalibus brutis. Unde impossibile est quod supra conclusum est quod non oporteat nos negotiari vel consiliari. Et sic etiam impossibile est illud ex quo sequebatur, scilicet quod omnia ex necessitate eveniant.  Deinde cum dicit: et quoniam est omnino etc., ostendit idem etiam in aliis rebus. Manifestum est enim etiam in rebus naturalibus esse quaedam, quae non semper actu sunt; ergo in eis contingit esse et non esse: alioquin vel semper essent, vel semper non essent. Id autem quod non est, incipit esse aliquid per hoc quod fit illud; sicut id quod non est album, incipit esse album per hoc quod fit album. Si autem non fiat album permanet non ens album. Ergo in quibus contingit esse et non esse, contingit etiam fieri et non fieri. Non ergo talia ex necessitate sunt vel fiunt, sed est in eis natura possibilitatis, per quam se habent ad fieri et non fieri, esse et non esse.  Deinde cum dicit: ac multa nobis manifesta etc., ostendit propositum per sensibilia exempla. Sit enim, puta, vestis nova; manifestum est quod eam possibile est incidi, quia nihil obviat incisioni, nec ex parte agentis nec ex parte patientis. Probat autem quod simul cum hoc quod possibile est eam incidi, possibile est etiam eam non incidi, eodem modo quo supra probavit duas indefinitas oppositas esse simul veras, scilicet per assumptionem contrarii. Sicut enim possibile est istam vestem incidi, ita possibile est eam exteri, idest vetustate corrumpi; sed si exteritur non inciditur; ergo utrumque possibile est, scilicet eam incidi et non incidi. Et ex hoc universaliter concludit quod in aliis futuris, quae non sunt in actu semper, sed sunt in potentia, hoc manifestum est quod non omnia ex necessitate sunt vel fiunt, sed eorum quaedam sunt ad utrumlibet, quae non se habent magis ad affirmationem quam ad negationem; alia vero sunt in quibus alterum eorum contingit ut in pluribus, sed tamen contingit etiam ut in paucioribus quod altera pars sit vera, et non alia, quae scilicet contingit ut in pluribus.  Est autem considerandum quod, sicut Boethius dicit hic in commento, circa possibile et necessarium diversimode aliqui sunt opinati. Quidam enim distinxerunt ea secundum eventum, sicut Diodorus, qui dixit illud esse impossibile quod nunquam erit; necessarium vero quod semper erit; possibile vero quod quandoque erit, quandoque non erit. Stoici vero distinxerunt haec secundum exteriora prohibentia. Dixerunt enim necessarium esse illud quod non potest prohiberi quin sit verum; impossibile vero quod semper prohibetur a veritate; possibile vero quod potest prohiberi vel non prohiberi. Utraque autem distinctio videtur esse incompetens. Nam prima distinctio est a posteriori: non enim ideo aliquid est necessarium, quia semper erit; sed potius ideo semper erit, quia est necessarium: et idem patet in aliis. Secunda autem assignatio est ab exteriori et quasi per accidens: non enim ideo aliquid est necessarium, quia non habet impedimentum, sed quia est necessarium, ideo impedimentum habere non potest. Et ideo alii melius ista distinxerunt secundum naturam rerum, ut scilicet dicatur illud necessarium, quod in sua natura determinatum est solum ad esse; impossibile autem quod est determinatum solum ad non esse; possibile autem quod ad neutrum est omnino determinatum, sive se habeat magis ad unum quam ad alterum, sive se habeat aequaliter ad utrumque, quod dicitur contingens ad utrumlibet. Et hoc est quod Boethius attribuit Philoni. Sed manifeste haec est sententia Aristotelis in hoc loco. Assignat enim rationem possibilitatis et contingentiae, in his quidem quae sunt a nobis ex eo quod sumus consiliativi, in aliis autem ex eo quod materia est in potentia ad utrumque oppositorum.  Sed videtur haec ratio non esse sufficiens. Sicut enim in corporibus corruptibilibus materia invenitur in potentia se habens ad esse et non esse, ita etiam in corporibus caelestibus invenitur potentia ad diversa ubi, et tamen nihil in eis evenit contingenter, sed solum ex necessitate. Unde dicendum est quod possibilitas materiae ad utrumque, si communiter loquamur, non est sufficiens ratio contingentiae, nisi etiam addatur ex parte potentiae activae quod non sit omnino determinata ad unum; alioquin si ita sit determinata ad unum quod impediri non potest, consequens est quod ex necessitate reducat in actum potentiam passivam eodem modo.  Hoc igitur quidam attendentes posuerunt quod potentia, quae est in ipsis rebus naturalibus, sortitur necessitatem ex aliqua causa determinata ad unum quam dixerunt fatum. Quorum Stoici posuerunt fatum in quadam serie, seu connexione causarum, supponentes quod omne quod in hoc mundo accidit habet causam; causa autem posita, necesse est effectum poni. Et si una causa per se non sufficit, multae causae ad hoc concurrentes accipiunt rationem unius causae sufficientis; et ita concludebant quod omnia ex necessitate eveniunt.  Sed hanc rationem solvit Aristoteles in VI metaphysicae interimens utramque propositionum assumptarum. Dicit enim quod non omne quod fit habet causam, sed solum illud quod est per se. Sed illud quod est per accidens non habet causam; quia proprie non est ens, sed magis ordinatur cum non ente, ut etiam Plato dixit. Unde esse musicum habet causam, et similiter esse album; sed hoc quod est, album esse musicum, non habet causam: et idem est in omnibus aliis huiusmodi. Similiter etiam haec est falsa, quod posita causa etiam sufficienti, necesse est effectum poni: non enim omnis causa est talis (etiamsi sufficiens sit) quod eius effectus impediri non possit; sicut ignis est sufficiens causa combustionis lignorum, sed tamen per effusionem aquae impeditur combustio.  Si autem utraque propositionum praedictarum esset vera, infallibiliter sequeretur omnia ex necessitate contingere. Quia si quilibet effectus habet causam, esset effectum (qui est futurus post quinque dies, aut post quantumcumque tempus) reducere in aliquam causam priorem: et sic quousque esset devenire ad causam, quae nunc est in praesenti, vel iam fuit in praeterito; si autem causa posita, necesse est effectum poni, per ordinem causarum deveniret necessitas usque ad ultimum effectum. Puta, si comedit salsa, sitiet: si sitiet, exibit domum ad bibendum: si exibit domum, occidetur a latronibus. Quia ergo iam comedit salsa, necesse est eum occidi. Et ideo Aristoteles ad hoc excludendum ostendit utramque praedictarum propositionum esse falsam, ut dictum est.  Obiiciunt autem quidam contra hoc, dicentes quod omne per accidens reducitur ad aliquid per se, et ita oportet effectum qui est per accidens reduci in causam per se. Sed non attendunt quod id quod est per accidens reducitur ad per se, in quantum accidit ei quod est per se, sicut musicum accidit Socrati, et omne accidens alicui subiecto per se existenti. Et similiter omne quod in aliquo effectu est per accidens consideratur circa aliquem effectum per se: qui quantum ad id quod per se est habet causam per se, quantum autem ad id quod inest ei per accidens non habet causam per se, sed causam per accidens. Oportet enim effectum proportionaliter referre ad causam suam, ut in II physicorum et in V methaphysicae dicitur.  Quidam vero non attendentes differentiam effectuum per accidens et per se, tentaverunt reducere omnes effectus hic inferius provenientes in aliquam causam per se, quam ponebant esse virtutem caelestium corporum in qua ponebant fatum, dicentes nihil aliud esse fatum quam vim positionis syderum. Sed ex hac causa non potest provenire necessitas in omnibus quae hic aguntur. Multa enim hic fiunt ex intellectu et voluntate, quae per se et directe non subduntur virtuti caelestium corporum: cum enim intellectus sive ratio et voluntas quae est in ratione, non sint actus organi corporalis, ut probatur in libro de anima, impossibile est quod directe subdantur intellectus seu ratio et voluntas virtuti caelestium corporum: nulla enim vis corporalis potest agere per se, nisi in rem corpoream. Vires autem sensitivae in quantum sunt actus organorum corporalium per accidens subduntur actioni caelestium corporum. Unde philosophus in libro de anima opinionem ponentium voluntatem hominis subiici motui caeli adscribit his, qui non ponebant intellectum differre a sensu. Indirecte tamen vis caelestium corporum redundat ad intellectum et voluntatem, in quantum scilicet intellectus et voluntas utuntur viribus sensitivis. Manifestum autem est quod passiones virium sensitivarum non inferunt necessitatem rationi et voluntati. Nam continens habet pravas concupiscentias, sed non deducitur, ut patet per philosophum in VII Ethicorum. Sic igitur ex virtute caelestium corporum non provenit necessitas in his quae per rationem et voluntatem fiunt. Similiter nec in aliis corporalibus effectibus rerum corruptibilium, in quibus multa per accidens eveniunt. Id autem quod est per accidens non potest reduci ut in causam per se in aliquam virtutem naturalem, quia virtus naturae se habet ad unum; quod autem est per accidens non est unum; unde et supra dictum est quod haec enunciatio non est una, Socrates est albus musicus, quia non significat unum. Et ideo philosophus dicit in libro de somno et vigilia quod multa, quorum signa praeexistunt in corporibus caelestibus, puta in imbribus et tempestatibus, non eveniunt, quia scilicet impediuntur per accidens. Et quamvis illud etiam impedimentum secundum se consideratum reducatur in aliquam causam caelestem; tamen concursus horum, cum sit per accidens, non potest reduci in aliquam causam naturaliter agentem.  Sed considerandum est quod id quod est per accidens potest ab intellectu accipi ut unum, sicut album esse musicum, quod quamvis secundum se non sit unum, tamen intellectus ut unum accipit, in quantum scilicet componendo format enunciationem unam. Et secundum hoc contingit id, quod secundum se per accidens evenit et casualiter, reduci in aliquem intellectum praeordinantem; sicut concursus duorum servorum ad certum locum est per accidens et casualis quantum ad eos, cum unus eorum ignoret de alio; potest tamen esse per se intentus a domino, qui utrumque mittit ad hoc quod in certo loco sibi occurrant.  Et secundum hoc aliqui posuerunt omnia quaecumque in hoc mundo aguntur, etiam quae videntur fortuita vel casualia, reduci in ordinem providentiae divinae, ex qua dicebant dependere fatum. Et hoc quidem aliqui stulti negaverunt, iudicantes de intellectu divino ad modum intellectus nostri, qui singularia non cognoscit. Hoc autem est falsum: nam intelligere divinum et velle eius est ipsum esse ipsius. Unde sicut esse eius sua virtute comprehendit omne illud quod quocumque modo est, in quantum scilicet est per participationem ipsius; ita etiam suum intelligere et suum intelligibile comprehendit omnem cognitionem et omne cognoscibile; et suum velle et suum volitum comprehendit omnem appetitum et omne appetibile quod est bonum; ut, scilicet ex hoc ipso quod aliquid est cognoscibile cadat sub eius cognitione, et ex hoc ipso quod est bonum cadat sub eius voluntate: sicut ex hoc ipso quod est ens, aliquid cadit sub eius virtute activa, quam ipse perfecte comprehendit, cum sit per intellectum agens.   Sed si providentia divina sit per se causa omnium quae in hoc mundo accidunt, saltem bonorum, videtur quod omnia ex necessitate accidant. Primo quidem ex parte scientiae eius: non enim potest eius scientia falli; et ita ea quae ipse scit, videtur quod necesse sit evenire. Secundo ex parte voluntatis: voluntas enim Dei inefficax esse non potest; videtur ergo quod omnia quae vult, ex necessitate eveniant.  Procedunt autem hae obiectiones ex eo quod cognitio divini intellectus et operatio divinae voluntatis pensantur ad modum eorum, quae in nobis sunt, cum tamen multo dissimiliter se habeant.  Nam primo quidem ex parte cognitionis vel scientiae considerandum est quod ad cognoscendum ea quae secundum ordinem temporis eveniunt, aliter se habet vis cognoscitiva, quae sub ordine temporis aliqualiter continetur, aliter illa quae totaliter est extra ordinem temporis. Cuius exemplum conveniens accipi potest ex ordine loci: nam secundum philosophum in IV physicorum, secundum prius et posterius in magnitudine est prius et posterius in motu et per consequens in tempore. Si ergo sint multi homines per viam aliquam transeuntes, quilibet eorum qui sub ordine transeuntium continetur habet cognitionem de praecedentibus et subsequentibus, in quantum sunt praecedentes et subsequentes; quod pertinet ad ordinem loci. Et ideo quilibet eorum videt eos, qui iuxta se sunt et aliquos eorum qui eos praecedunt; eos autem qui post se sunt videre non potest. Si autem esset aliquis extra totum ordinem transeuntium, utpote in aliqua excelsa turri constitutus, unde posset totam viam videre, videret quidem simul omnes in via existentes, non sub ratione praecedentis et subsequentis (in comparatione scilicet ad eius intuitum), sed simul omnes videret, et quomodo unus eorum alium praecedit. Quia igitur cognitio nostra cadit sub ordine temporis, vel per se vel per accidens (unde et anima in componendo et dividendo necesse habet adiungere tempus, ut dicitur in III de anima), consequens est quod sub eius cognitione cadant res sub ratione praesentis, praeteriti et futuri. Et ideo praesentia cognoscit tanquam actu existentia et sensu aliqualiter perceptibilia; praeterita autem cognoscit ut memorata; futura autem non cognoscit in seipsis, quia nondum sunt, sed cognoscere ea potest in causis suis: per certitudinem quidem, si totaliter in causis suis sint determinata, ut ex quibus de necessitate evenient; per coniecturam autem, si non sint sic determinata quin impediri possint, sicut quae sunt ut in pluribus; nullo autem modo, si in suis causis sunt omnino in potentia non magis determinata ad unum quam ad aliud, sicut quae sunt ad utrumlibet. Non enim est aliquid cognoscibile secundum quod est in potentia, sed solum secundum quod est in actu, ut patet per philosophum in IX metaphysicae.  Sed Deus est omnino extra ordinem temporis, quasi in arce aeternitatis constitutus, quae est tota simul, cui subiacet totus temporis decursus secundum unum et simplicem eius intuitum; et ideo uno intuitu videt omnia quae aguntur secundum temporis decursum, et unumquodque secundum quod est in seipso existens, non quasi sibi futurum quantum ad eius intuitum prout est in solo ordine suarum causarum (quamvis et ipsum ordinem causarum videat), sed omnino aeternaliter sic videt unumquodque eorum quae sunt in quocumque tempore, sicut oculus humanus videt Socratem sedere in seipso, non in causa sua. Ex hoc autem quod homo videt Socratem sedere, non tollitur eius contingentia quae respicit ordinem causae ad effectum; tamen certissime et infallibiliter videt oculus hominis Socratem sedere dum sedet, quia unumquodque prout est in seipso iam determinatum est. Sic igitur relinquitur, quod Deus certissime et infallibiliter cognoscat omnia quae fiunt in tempore; et tamen ea quae in tempore eveniunt non sunt vel fiunt ex necessitate, sed contingenter.  Similiter ex parte voluntatis divinae differentia est attendenda. Nam voluntas divina est intelligenda ut extra ordinem entium existens, velut causa quaedam profundens totum ens et omnes eius differentias. Sunt autem differentiae entis possibile et necessarium; et ideo ex ipsa voluntate divina originantur necessitas et contingentia in rebus et distinctio utriusque secundum rationem proximarum causarum: ad effectus enim, quos voluit necessarios esse, disposuit causas necessarias; ad effectus autem, quos voluit esse contingentes, ordinavit causas contingenter agentes, idest potentes deficere. Et secundum harum conditionem causarum, effectus dicuntur vel necessarii vel contingentes, quamvis omnes dependeant a voluntate divina, sicut a prima causa, quae transcendit ordinem necessitatis et contingentiae. Hoc autem non potest dici de voluntate humana, nec de aliqua alia causa: quia omnis alia causa cadit iam sub ordine necessitatis vel contingentiae; et ideo oportet quod vel ipsa causa possit deficere, vel effectus eius non sit contingens, sed necessarius. Voluntas autem divina indeficiens est; tamen non omnes effectus eius sunt necessarii, sed quidam contingentes. Similiter autem aliam radicem contingentiae, quam hic philosophus ponit ex hoc quod sumus consiliativi, aliqui subvertere nituntur, volentes ostendere quod voluntas in eligendo ex necessitate movetur ab appetibili. Cum enim bonum sit obiectum voluntatis, non potest (ut videtur) ab hoc divertere quin appetat illud quod sibi videtur bonum; sicut nec ratio ab hoc potest divertere quin assentiat ei quod sibi videtur verum. Et ita videtur quod electio consilium consequens semper ex necessitate proveniat; et sic omnia, quorum nos principium sumus per consilium et electionem, ex necessitate provenient. Sed dicendum est quod similis differentia attendenda est circa bonum, sicut circa verum. Est autem quoddam verum, quod est per se notum, sicut prima principia indemonstrabilia, quibus ex necessitate intellectus assentit; sunt autem quaedam vera non per se nota, sed per alia. Horum autem duplex est conditio: quaedam enim ex necessitate consequuntur ex principiis, ita scilicet quod non possunt esse falsa, principiis existentibus veris, sicut sunt omnes conclusiones demonstrationum. Et huiusmodi veris ex necessitate assentit intellectus, postquam perceperit ordinem eorum ad principia, non autem prius. Quaedam autem sunt, quae non ex necessitate consequuntur ex principiis, ita scilicet quod possent esse falsa principiis existentibus veris; sicut sunt opinabilia, quibus non ex necessitate assentit intellectus, quamvis ex aliquo motivo magis inclinetur in unam partem quam in aliam. Ita etiam est quoddam bonum quod est propter se appetibile, sicut felicitas, quae habet rationem ultimi finis; et huiusmodi bono ex necessitate inhaeret voluntas: naturali enim quadam necessitate omnes appetunt esse felices. Quaedam vero sunt bona, quae sunt appetibilia propter finem, quae comparantur ad finem sicut conclusiones ad principium, ut patet per philosophum in II physicorum. Si igitur essent aliqua bona, quibus non existentibus, non posset aliquis esse felix, haec etiam essent ex necessitate appetibilia et maxime apud eum, qui talem ordinem perciperet; et forte talia sunt esse, vivere et intelligere et si qua alia sunt similia. Sed particularia bona, in quibus humani actus consistunt, non sunt talia, nec sub ea ratione apprehenduntur ut sine quibus felicitas esse non possit, puta, comedere hunc cibum vel illum, aut abstinere ab eo: habent tamen in se unde moveant appetitum, secundum aliquod bonum consideratum in eis. Et ideo voluntas non ex necessitate inducitur ad haec eligenda. Et propter hoc philosophus signanter radicem contingentiae in his quae fiunt a nobis assignavit ex parte consilii, quod est eorum quae sunt ad finem et tamen non sunt determinata. In his enim in quibus media sunt determinata, non est opus consilio, ut dicitur in III Ethicorum. Et haec quidem dicta sunt ad salvandum radices contingentiae, quas hic Aristoteles ponit, quamvis videantur logici negotii modum excedere. Postquam philosophus ostendit esse impossibilia ea, quae ex praedictis rationibus sequebantur; hic, remotis impossibilibus, concludit veritatem. Et circa hoc duo facit: quia enim argumentando ad impossibile, processerat ab enunciationibus ad res, et iam removerat inconvenientia quae circa res sequebantur; nunc, ordine converso, primo ostendit qualiter se habeat veritas circa res; secundo, qualiter se habeat veritas circa enunciationes; ibi: quare quoniam orationes verae sunt et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, ostendit qualiter se habeant veritas et necessitas circa res absolute consideratas; secundo, qualiter se habeant circa eas per comparationem ad sua opposita; ibi: et in contradictione eadem ratio est et cetera.  Dicit ergo primo, quasi ex praemissis concludens, quod si praedicta sunt inconvenientia, ut scilicet omnia ex necessitate eveniant, oportet dicere ita se habere circa res, scilicet quod omne quod est necesse est esse quando est, et omne quod non est necesse est non esse quando non est. Et haec necessitas fundatur super hoc principium: impossibile est simul esse et non esse: si enim aliquid est, impossibile est illud simul non esse; ergo necesse est tunc illud esse. Nam impossibile non esse idem significat ei quod est necesse esse, ut in secundo dicetur. Et similiter, si aliquid non est, impossibile est illud simul esse; ergo necesse est non esse, quia etiam idem significant. Et ideo manifeste verum est quod omne quod est necesse est esse quando est; et omne quod non est necesse est non esse pro illo tempore quando non est: et haec est necessitas non absoluta, sed ex suppositione. Unde non potest simpliciter et absolute dici quod omne quod est, necesse est esse, et omne quod non est, necesse est non esse: quia non idem significant quod omne ens, quando est, sit ex necessitate, et quod omne ens simpliciter sit ex necessitate; nam primum significat necessitatem ex suppositione, secundum autem necessitatem absolutam. Et quod dictum est de esse, intelligendum est similiter de non esse; quia aliud est simpliciter ex necessitate non esse et aliud est ex necessitate non esse quando non est. Et per hoc videtur Aristoteles excludere id quod supra dictum est, quod si in his, quae sunt, alterum determinate est verum, quod etiam antequam fieret alterum determinate esset futurum.  Deinde cum dicit: et in contradictione etc., ostendit quomodo se habeant veritas et necessitas circa res per comparationem ad sua opposita: et dicit quod eadem ratio est in contradictione, quae est in suppositione. Sicut enim illud quod non est absolute necessarium, fit necessarium ex suppositione eiusdem, quia necesse est esse quando est; ita etiam quod non est in se necessarium absolute fit necessarium per disiunctionem oppositi, quia necesse est de unoquoque quod sit vel non sit, et quod futurum sit aut non sit, et hoc sub disiunctione: et haec necessitas fundatur super hoc principium quod, impossibile est contradictoria simul esse vera vel falsa. Unde impossibile est neque esse neque non esse; ergo necesse est vel esse vel non esse. Non tamen si divisim alterum accipiatur, necesse est illud esse absolute. Et hoc manifestat per exemplum: quia necessarium est navale bellum esse futurum cras vel non esse; sed non est necesse navale bellum futurum esse cras; similiter etiam non est necessarium non esse futurum, quia hoc pertinet ad necessitatem absolutam; sed necesse est quod vel sit futurum cras vel non sit futurum: hoc enim pertinet ad necessitatem quae est sub disiunctione.  Deinde cum dicit: quare quoniam etc. ex eo quod se habet circa res, ostendit qualiter se habeat circa orationes. Et primo, ostendit quomodo uniformiter se habet in veritate orationum, sicut circa esse rerum et non esse; secundo, finaliter concludit veritatem totius dubitationis; ibi: quare manifestum et cetera. Dicit ergo primo quod, quia hoc modo se habent orationes enunciativae ad veritatem sicut et res ad esse vel non esse (quia ex eo quod res est vel non est, oratio est vera vel falsa), consequens est quod in omnibus rebus quae ita se habent ut sint ad utrumlibet, et quaecumque ita se habent quod contradictoria eorum qualitercumque contingere possunt, sive aequaliter sive alterum ut in pluribus, ex necessitate sequitur quod etiam similiter se habeat contradictio enunciationum. Et exponit consequenter quae sint illae res, quarum contradictoria contingere queant; et dicit huiusmodi esse quae neque semper sunt, sicut necessaria, neque semper non sunt, sicut impossibilia, sed quandoque sunt et quandoque non sunt. Et ulterius manifestat quomodo similiter se habeat in contradictoriis enunciationibus; et dicit quod harum enunciationum, quae sunt de contingentibus, necesse est quod sub disiunctione altera pars contradictionis sit vera vel falsa; non tamen haec vel illa determinate, sed se habet ad utrumlibet. Et si contingat quod altera pars contradictionis magis sit vera, sicut accidit in contingentibus quae sunt ut in pluribus, non tamen ex hoc necesse est quod ex necessitate altera earum determinate sit vera vel falsa.  Deinde cum dicit: quare manifestum est etc., concludit principale intentum et dicit manifestum esse ex praedictis quod non est necesse in omni genere affirmationum et negationum oppositarum, alteram determinate esse veram et alteram esse falsam: quia non eodem modo se habet veritas et falsitas in his quae sunt iam de praesenti et in his quae non sunt, sed possunt esse vel non esse. Sed hoc modo se habet in utriusque, sicut dictum est, quia scilicet in his quae sunt necesse est determinate alterum esse verum et alterum falsum: quod non contingit in futuris quae possunt esse et non esse. Et sic terminatur primus liber. Postquam philosophus in primo libro determinavit de enunciatione simpliciter considerata; hic determinat de enunciatione, secundum quod diversificatur per aliquid sibi additum. Possunt autem tria in enunciatione considerari: primo, ipsae dictiones, quae praedicantur vel subiiciuntur in enunciatione, quas supra distinxit per nomina et verba; secundo, ipsa compositio, secundum quam est verum vel falsum in enunciatione affirmativa vel negativa; tertio, ipsa oppositio unius enunciationis ad aliam. Dividitur ergo haec pars in tres partes: in prima, ostendit quid accidat enunciationi ex hoc quod aliquid additur ad dictiones in subiecto vel praedicato positas; secundo, quid accidat enunciationi ex hoc quod aliquid additur ad determinandum veritatem vel falsitatem compositionis; ibi: his vero determinatis etc.; tertio, solvit quamdam dubitationem circa oppositiones enunciationum provenientem ex eo, quod additur aliquid simplici enunciationi; ibi: utrum autem contraria est affirmatio et cetera. Est autem considerandum quod additio facta ad praedicatum vel subiectum quandoque tollit unitatem enunciationis, quandoque vero non tollit, sicut additio negationis infinitantis dictionem. Circa primum ergo duo facit: primo, ostendit quid accidat enunciationibus ex additione negationis infinitantis dictionem; secundo, ostendit quid accidat circa enunciationem ex additione tollente unitatem; ibi: at vero unum de pluribus et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, determinat de enunciationibus simplicissimis, in quibus nomen finitum vel infinitum ponitur tantum ex parte subiecti; secundo, determinat de enunciationibus, in quibus nomen finitum vel infinitum ponitur non solum ex parte subiecti, sed etiam ex parte praedicati; ibi: quando autem est tertium adiacens et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, proponit rationes quasdam distinguendi tales enunciationes; secundo, ponit earum distinctionem et ordinem; ibi: quare prima est affirmatio et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, ponit rationes distinguendi enunciationes ex parte nominum; secundo, ostendit quod non potest esse eadem ratio distinguendi ex parte verborum; ibi: praeter verbum autem et cetera. Circa primum tria facit: primo, proponit rationes distinguendi enunciationes; secundo, exponit quod dixerat; ibi: nomen autem dictum est etc.; tertio, concludit intentum; ibi: erit omnis affirmatio et cetera.  Resumit ergo illud, quod supra dictum est de definitione affirmationis, quod scilicet affirmatio est enunciatio significans aliquid de aliquo; et, quia verbum est proprie nota eorum quae de altero praedicantur, consequens est ut illud, de quo aliquid dicitur, pertineat ad nomen; nomen autem est vel finitum vel infinitum; et ideo, quasi concludens subdit quod quia affirmatio significat aliquid de aliquo, consequens est ut hoc, de quo significatur, scilicet subiectum affirmationis, sit vel nomen, scilicet finitum (quod proprie dicitur nomen, ut in primo dictum est), vel innominatum, idest infinitum nomen: quod dicitur innominatum, quia ipsum non nominat aliquid cum aliqua forma determinata, sed solum removet determinationem formae. Et ne aliquis diceret quod id quod in affirmatione subiicitur est simul nomen et innominatum, ad hoc excludendum subdit quod id quod est, scilicet praedicatum, in affirmatione, scilicet una, de qua nunc loquimur, oportet esse unum et de uno subiecto; et sic oportet quod subiectum talis affirmationis sit vel nomen, vel nomen infinitum.  Deinde cum dicit: nomen autem etc., exponit quod dixerat, et dicit quod supra dictum est quid sit nomen, et quid sit innominatum, idest infinitum nomen: quia, non homo, non est nomen, sed est infinitum nomen, sicut, non currit, non est verbum, sed infinitum verbum. Interponit autem quoddam, quod valet ad dubitationis remotionem, videlicet quod nomen infinitum quodam modo significat unum. Non enim significat simpliciter unum, sicut nomen finitum, quod significat unam formam generis vel speciei aut etiam individui, sed in quantum significat negationem formae alicuius, in qua negatione multa conveniunt, sicut in quodam uno secundum rationem. Unum enim eodem modo dicitur aliquid, sicut et ens; unde sicut ipsum non ens dicitur ens, non quidem simpliciter, sed secundum quid, idest secundum rationem, ut patet in IV metaphysicae, ita etiam negatio est unum secundum quid, scilicet secundum rationem. Introducit autem hoc, ne aliquis dicat quod affirmatio, in qua subiicitur nomen infinitum, non significet unum de uno, quasi nomen infinitum non significet unum.  Deinde cum dicit: erit omnis affirmatio etc., concludit propositum scilicet quod duplex est modus affirmationis. Quaedam enim est affirmatio, quae constat ex nomine et verbo; quaedam autem est quae constat ex infinito nomine et verbo. Et hoc sequitur ex hoc quod supra dictum est quod hoc, de quo affirmatio aliquid significat, vel est nomen vel innominatum. Et eadem differentia potest accipi ex parte negationis, quia de quocunque contingit affirmare, contingit et negare, ut in primo habitum est.  Deinde cum dicit: praeter verbum etc., ostendit quod differentia enunciationum non potest sumi ex parte verbi. Dictum est enim supra quod, praeter verbum nulla est affirmatio vel negatio. Potest enim praeter nomen esse aliqua affirmatio vel negatio, videlicet si ponatur loco nominis infinitum nomen: loco autem verbi in enunciatione non potest poni infinitum verbum, duplici ratione. Primo quidem, quia infinitum verbum constituitur per additionem infinitae particulae, quae quidem addita verbo per se dicto, idest extra enunciationem posito, removet ipsum absolute, sicut addita nomini, removet formam nominis absolute: et ideo extra enunciationem potest accipi verbum infinitum per modum unius dictionis, sicut et nomen infinitum. Sed quando negatio additur verbo in enunciatione posito, negatio illa removet verbum ab aliquo, et sic facit enunciationem negativam: quod non accidit ex parte nominis. Non enim enunciatio efficitur negativa nisi per hoc quod negatur compositio, quae importatur in verbo: et ideo verbum infinitum in enunciatione positum fit verbum negativum. Secundo, quia in nullo variatur veritas enunciationis, sive utamur negativa particula ut infinitante verbum vel ut faciente negativam enunciationem; et ideo accipitur semper in simpliciori intellectu, prout est magis in promptu. Et inde est quod non diversificavit affirmationem per hoc, quod sit ex verbo vel infinito verbo, sicut diversificavit per hoc, quod est ex nomine vel infinito nomine. Est autem considerandum quod in nominibus et in verbis praeter differentiam finiti et infiniti est differentia recti et obliqui. Casus enim nominum, etiam verbo addito, non constituunt enunciationem significantem verum vel falsum, ut in primo habitum est: quia in obliquo nomine non concluditur ipse rectus, sed in casibus verbi includitur ipsum verbum praesentis temporis. Praeteritum enim et futurum, quae significant casus verbi, dicuntur per respectum ad praesens. Unde si dicatur, hoc erit, idem est ac si diceretur, hoc est futurum; hoc fuit, hoc est praeteritum. Et propter hoc, ex casu verbi et nomine fit enunciatio. Et ideo subiungit quod sive dicatur est, sive erit, sive fuit, vel quaecumque alia huiusmodi verba, sunt de numero praedictorum verborum, sine quibus non potest fieri enunciatio: quia omnia consignificant tempus, et alia tempora dicuntur per respectum ad praesens.  Deinde cum dicit: quare prima erit affirmatio etc., concludit ex praemissis distinctionem enunciationum in quibus nomen finitum vel infinitum ponitur solum ex parte subiecti, in quibus triplex differentia intelligi potest: una quidem, secundum affirmationem et negationem; alia, secundum subiectum finitum et infinitum; tertia, secundum subiectum universaliter, vel non universaliter positum. Nomen autem finitum est ratione prius infinito sicut affirmatio prior est negatione; unde primam affirmationem ponit, homo est, et primam negationem, homo non est. Deinde ponit secundam affirmationem, non homo est, secundam autem negationem, non homo non est. Ulterius autem ponit illas enunciationes in quibus subiectum universaliter ponitur, quae sunt quatuor, sicut et illae in quibus est subiectum non universaliter positum. Praetermisit autem ponere exemplum de enunciationibus, in quibus subiicitur singulare, ut, Socrates est, Socrates non est, quia singularibus nominibus non additur aliquod signum. Unde in huiusmodi enunciationibus non potest omnis differentia inveniri. Similiter etiam praetermittit exemplificare de enunciationibus, quarum subiecta particulariter ponuntur, quia tale subiectum quodammodo eamdem vim habet cum subiecto universali, non universaliter sumpto. Non ponit autem aliquam differentiam ex parte verbi, quae posset sumi secundum casus verbi, quia sicut ipse dicit, in extrinsecis temporibus, idest in praeterito et in futuro, quae circumstant praesens, est eadem ratio sicut et in praesenti, ut iam dictum est. Postquam philosophus distinxit enunciationes, in quibus nomen finitum vel infinitum ponitur solum ex parte subiecti, hic accedit ad distinguendum illas enunciationes, in quibus nomen finitum vel infinitum ponitur ex parte subiecti et ex parte praedicati. Et circa hoc duo facit; primo, distinguit huiusmodi enunciationes; secundo, manifestat quaedam quae circa eas dubia esse possent; ibi: quoniam vero contraria est et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, agit de enunciationibus in quibus nomen praedicatur cum hoc verbo, est; secundo de enunciationibus in quibus alia verba ponuntur; ibi: in his vero in quibus et cetera. Distinguit autem huiusmodi enunciationes sicut et primas, secundum triplicem differentiam ex parte subiecti consideratam: primo namque, agit de enunciationibus in quibus subiicitur nomen finitum non universaliter sumptum; secundo de illis in quibus subiicitur nomen finitum universaliter sumptum; ibi: similiter autem se habent etc.; tertio, de illis in quibus subiicitur nomen infinitum; ibi: aliae autem habent ad id quod est non homo et cetera. Circa primum tria facit: primo, proponit diversitatem oppositionis talium enunciationum; secundo, concludit earum numerum et ponit earum habitudinem; ibi: quare quatuor etc.; tertio, exemplificat; ibi: intelligimus vero et cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, proponit quod intendit; secundo, exponit quoddam quod dixerat; ibi: dico autem et cetera. Circa primum duo oportet intelligere: primo quidem, quid est hoc quod dicit, est tertium adiacens praedicatur. Ad cuius evidentiam considerandum est quod hoc verbum est quandoque in enunciatione praedicatur secundum se; ut cum dicitur, Socrates est: per quod nihil aliud intendimus significare, quam quod Socrates sit in rerum natura. Quandoque vero non praedicatur per se, quasi principale praedicatum, sed quasi coniunctum principali praedicato ad connectendum ipsum subiecto; sicut cum dicitur, Socrates est albus, non est intentio loquentis ut asserat Socratem esse in rerum natura, sed ut attribuat ei albedinem mediante hoc verbo, est; et ideo in talibus, est, praedicatur ut adiacens principali praedicato. Et dicitur esse tertium, non quia sit tertium praedicatum, sed quia est tertia dictio posita in enunciatione, quae simul cum nomine praedicato facit unum praedicatum, ut sic enunciatio dividatur in duas partes et non in tres.  Secundo, considerandum est quid est hoc, quod dicit quod quando est, eo modo quo dictum est, tertium adiacens praedicatur, dupliciter dicuntur oppositiones. Circa quod considerandum est quod in praemissis enunciationibus, in quibus nomen ponebatur solum ex parte subiecti, secundum quodlibet subiectum erat una oppositio; puta si subiectum erat nomen finitum non universaliter sumptum, erat sola una oppositio, scilicet est homo, non est homo. Sed quando est tertium adiacens praedicatur, oportet esse duas oppositiones eodem subiecto existente secundum differentiam nominis praedicati, quod potest esse finitum vel infinitum; sicut haec est una oppositio, homo est iustus, homo non est iustus: alia vero oppositio est, homo est non iustus, homo non est non iustus. Non enim negatio fit nisi per appositionem negativae particulae ad hoc verbum est, quod est nota praedicationis.  Deinde cum dicit: dico autem, ut est iustus etc., exponit quod dixerat, est tertium adiacens, et dicit quod cum dicitur, homo est iustus, hoc verbum est, adiacet, scilicet praedicato, tamquam tertium nomen vel verbum in affirmatione. Potest enim ipsum est, dici nomen, prout quaelibet dictio nomen dicitur, et sic est tertium nomen, idest tertia dictio. Sed quia secundum communem usum loquendi, dictio significans tempus magis dicitur verbum quam nomen, propter hoc addit, vel verbum, quasi dicat, ad hoc quod sit tertium, non refert utrum dicatur nomen vel verbum.  Deinde cum dicit: quare quatuor erunt etc., concludit numerum enunciationum. Et primo, ponit conclusionem numeri; secundo, ponit earum habitudinem; ibi: quarum duae quidem etc.; tertio, rationem numeri explicat; ibi: dico autem quoniam est et cetera. Dicit ergo primo quod quia duae sunt oppositiones, quando est tertium adiacens praedicatur, cum omnis oppositio sit inter duas enunciationes, consequens est quod sint quatuor enunciationes illae in quibus est, tertium adiacens, praedicatur, subiecto finito non universaliter sumpto. Deinde cum dicit: quarum duae quidem etc., ostendit habitudinem praedictarum enunciationum ad invicem; et dicit quod duae dictarum enunciationum se habent ad affirmationem et negationem secundum consequentiam, sive secundum correlationem, aut analogiam, ut in Graeco habetur, sicut privationes; aliae vero duae minime. Quod quia breviter et obscure dictum est, diversimode a diversis expositum est.  Ad cuius evidentiam considerandum est quod tripliciter nomen potest praedicari in huiusmodi enunciationibus. Quandoque enim praedicatur nomen finitum, secundum quod assumuntur duae enunciationes, una affirmativa et altera negativa, scilicet homo est iustus, et homo non est iustus; quae dicuntur simplices. Quandoque vero praedicatur nomen infinitum, secundum quod etiam assumuntur duae aliae, scilicet homo est non iustus, homo non est non iustus; quae dicuntur infinitae. Quandoque vero praedicatur nomen privativum, secundum quod etiam sumuntur duae aliae, scilicet homo est iniustus, homo non est iniustus; quae dicuntur privativae. Quidam ergo sic exposuerunt, quod duae enunciationes earum, quas praemiserat scilicet illae, quae sunt de infinito praedicato, se habent ad affirmationem et negationem, quae sunt de praedicato finito secundum consequentiam vel analogiam, sicut privationes, idest sicut illae, quae sunt de praedicato privativo. Illae enim duae, quae sunt de praedicato infinito, se habent secundum consequentiam ad illas, quae sunt de finito praedicato secundum transpositionem quandam, scilicet affirmatio ad negationem et negatio ad affirmationem. Nam homo est non iustus, quae est affirmatio de infinito praedicato, respondet secundum consequentiam negativae de praedicato finito, huic scilicet homo non est iustus. Negativa vero de infinito praedicato, scilicet homo non est non iustus, affirmativae de finito praedicato, huic scilicet homo est iustus. Propter quod Theophrastus vocabat eas, quae sunt de infinito praedicato, transpositas. Et similiter etiam affirmativa de privativo praedicato respondet secundum consequentiam negativae de finito praedicato, scilicet haec, homo est iniustus, ei quae est, homo non est iustus. Negativa vero affirmativae, scilicet haec, homo non est iniustus, ei quae est, homo est iustus. Disponatur ergo in figura. Et in prima quidem linea ponantur illae, quae sunt de finito praedicato, scilicet homo est iustus, homo non est iustus. In secunda autem linea, negativa de infinito praedicato sub affirmativa de finito et affirmativa sub negativa. In tertia vero, negativa de privativo praedicato similiter sub affirmativa de finito et affirmativa sub negativa: ut patet in subscripta figura.Sic ergo duae, scilicet quae sunt de infinito praedicato, se habent ad affirmationem et negationem de finito praedicato, sicut privationes, idest sicut illae quae sunt de privativo praedicato. Sed duae aliae quae sunt de infinito subiecto, scilicet non homo est iustus, non homo non est iustus, manifestum est quod non habent similem consequentiam. Et hoc modo exposuit herminus hoc quod dicitur, duae vero, minime, referens hoc ad illas quae sunt de infinito subiecto. Sed hoc manifeste est contra litteram. Nam cum praemisisset quatuor enunciationes, duas scilicet de finito praedicato et duas de infinito, subiungit quasi illas subdividens, quarum duae quidem et cetera. Duae vero, minime; ubi datur intelligi quod utraeque duae intelligantur in praemissis. Illae autem quae sunt de infinito subiecto non includuntur in praemissis, sed de his postea dicetur. Unde manifestum est quod de eis nunc non loquitur.  Et ideo, ut Ammonius dicit, alii aliter exposuerunt, dicentes quod praedictarum quatuor propositionum duae, scilicet quae sunt de infinito praedicato, sic se habent ad affirmationem et negationem, idest ad ipsam speciem affirmationis et negationis, ut privationes, idest ut privativae affirmationes seu negationes. Haec enim affirmatio, homo est non iustus, non est simpliciter affirmatio, sed secundum quid, quasi secundum privationem affirmatio; sicut homo mortuus non est homo simpliciter, sed secundum privationem; et idem dicendum est de negativa, quae est de infinito praedicato. Duae vero, quae sunt de finito praedicato, non se habent ad speciem affirmationis et negationis secundum privationem, sed simpliciter. Haec enim, homo est iustus, est simpliciter affirmativa, et haec, homo non est iustus, est simpliciter negativa. Sed nec hic sensus convenit verbis Aristotelis. Dicit enim infra: haec igitur quemadmodum in resolutoriis dictum est, sic sunt disposita; ubi nihil invenitur ad hunc sensum pertinens. Et ideo Ammonius ex his, quae in fine I priorum dicuntur de propositionibus, quae sunt de finito vel infinito vel privativo praedicato, alium sensum accipit.  [Ad cuius evidentiam considerandum est quod, sicut ipse dicit, enunciatio aliqua virtute se habet ad illud, de quo totum id quod in enunciatione significatur vere praedicari potest: sicut haec enunciatio, homo est iustus, se habet ad omnia illa, de quorum quolibet vere potest dici quod est homo iustus; et similiter haec enunciatio, homo non est iustus, se habet ad omnia illa, de quorum quolibet vere dici potest quod non est homo iustus. Secundum ergo hunc modum loquendi, manifestum est quod simplex negativa in plus est quam affirmativa infinita, quae ei correspondet. Nam, quod sit homo non iustus, vere potest dici de quolibet homine, qui non habet habitum iustitiae; sed quod non sit homo iustus, potest dici non solum de homine non habente habitum iustitiae, sed etiam de eo qui penitus non est homo: haec enim est vera, lignum non est homo iustus; tamen haec est falsa, lignum est homo non iustus. Et ita negativa simplex est in plus quam affirmativa infinita; sicut etiam animal est in plus quam homo, quia de pluribus verificatur. Simili etiam ratione, negativa simplex est in plus quam affirmativa privativa: quia de eo quod non est homo non potest dici quod sit homo iniustus. Sed affirmativa infinita est in plus quam affirmativa privativa: potest enim dici de puero et de quocumque homine nondum habente habitum virtutis aut vitii quod sit homo non iustus, non tamen de aliquo eorum vere dici potest quod sit homo iniustus. Affirmativa vero simplex in minus est quam negativa infinita: quia quod non sit homo non iustus potest dici non solum de homine iusto, sed etiam de eo quod penitus non est homo. Similiter etiam negativa privativa in plus est quam negativa infinita. Nam, quod non sit homo iniustus, potest dici non solum de homine habente habitum iustitiae, sed de eo quod penitus non est homo, de quorum quolibet potest dici quod non sit homo non iustus: sed ulterius potest dici de omnibus hominibus, qui nec habent habitum iustitiae neque habent habitum iniustitiae.  His igitur visis, facile est exponere praesentem litteram hoc modo. Quarum, scilicet quatuor enunciationum praedictarum, duae quidem, scilicet infinitae, se habebunt ad affirmationem et negationem, idest ad duas simplices, quarum una est affirmativa et altera negativa, secundum consequentiam, idest in modo consequendi ad eas, ut privationes, idest sicut duae privativae: quia scilicet, sicut ad simplicem affirmativam sequitur negativa infinita, et non convertitur (eo quod negativa infinita est in plus), ita etiam ad simplicem affirmativam sequitur negativa privativa, quae est in plus, et non convertitur. Sed sicut simplex negativa sequitur ad infinitam affirmativam; quae est in minus, et non convertitur; ita etiam negativa simplex sequitur ad privativam affirmativam, quae est in minus, et non convertitur. Ex quo patet quod eadem est habitudo in consequendo infinitarum ad simplices quae est etiam privativarum.  Sequitur, duae autem, scilicet simplices, quae relinquuntur, remotis duabus, scilicet infinitis, a quatuor praemissis, minime, idest non ita se habent ad infinitas in consequendo, sicut privativae se habent ad eas; quia videlicet, ex una parte simplex affirmativa est in minus quam negativa infinita, sed negativa privativa est in plus quam negativa infinita: ex alia vero parte, negativa simplex est in plus quam affirmativa infinita, sed affirmativa privativa est in minus quam infinita affirmativa. Sic ergo patet quod simplices non ita se habent ad infinitas in consequendo, sicut privativae se habent ad infinitas.  Quamvis autem secundum hoc littera philosophi subtiliter exponatur, tamen videtur esse aliquantulum expositio extorta. Nam littera philosophi videtur sonare diversas habitudines non esse attendendas respectu diversorum; sicut in praedicta expositione primo accipitur similitudo habitudinis ad simplices, et postea dissimilitudo habitudinis respectu infinitarum. Et ideo simplicior et magis conveniens litterae Aristotelis est expositio Porphyrii quam Boethius ponit; secundum quam expositionem attenditur similitudo et dissimilitudo secundum consequentiam affirmativarum ad negativas. Unde dicit: quarum, scilicet quatuor praemissarum, duae quidem, scilicet affirmativae, quarum una est simplex et alia infinita, se habebunt secundum consequentiam ad affirmationem et negationem; ut scilicet ad unam affirmativam sequatur alterius negativa. Nam ad affirmativam simplicem sequitur negativa infinita; et ad affirmativam infinitam sequitur negativa simplex. Duae vero, scilicet negativae, minime, idest non ita se habent ad affirmativas, ut scilicet ex negativis sequantur affirmativae, sicut ex affirmativis sequebantur negativae. Et quantum ad utrumque similiter se habent privativae sicut infinitae.  Deinde cum dicit: dico autem quoniam etc., manifestat quoddam quod supra dixerat, scilicet quod sint quatuor praedictae enunciationes: loquimur enim nunc de enunciationibus, in quibus hoc verbum est solum praedicatur secundum quod est adiacens alicui nomini finito vel infinito: puta secundum quod adiacet iusto; ut cum dicitur, homo est iustus, vel secundum quod adiacet non iusto; ut cum dicitur, homo est non iustus. Et quia in neutra harum negatio apponitur ad verbum, consequens est quod utraque sit affirmativa. Omni autem affirmationi opponitur negatio, ut supra in primo ostensum est. Relinquitur ergo quod praedictis duabus enunciationibus affirmativis respondet duae aliae negativae. Et sic consequens est quod sint quatuor simplices enunciationes. Deinde cum dicit: intelligimus vero etc., manifestat quod supra dictum est per quandam figuralem descriptionem. Dicit enim quod id, quod in supradictis dictum est, intelligi potest ex sequenti subscriptione. Sit enim quaedam quadrata figura, in cuius uno angulo describatur haec enunciatio, homo est iustus, et ex opposito describatur eius negatio quae est, homo non est iustus; sub quibus scribantur duae aliae infinitae, scilicet homo est non iustus, homo non est non iustus. In qua descriptione apparet quod hoc verbum est, affirmativum vel negativum, adiacet iusto et non iusto. Et secundum hoc diversificantur quatuor enunciationes.  Ultimo autem concludit quod praedictae enunciationes disponuntur secundum ordinem consequentiae, prout dictum est in resolutoriis, idest in I priorum. Alia littera habet: dico autem, quoniam est aut homini aut non homini adiacebit, et in figura, est, hoc loco homini et non homini adiacebit. Quod quidem non est intelligendum, ut homo, et non homo accipiatur ex parte subiecti, non enim nunc agitur de enunciationibus quae sunt de infinito subiecto. Unde oportet quod homo et non homo accipiantur ex parte praedicati. Sed quia philosophus exemplificat de enunciationibus in quibus ex parte praedicati ponitur iustum et non iustum, visum est Alexandro, quod praedicta littera sit corrupta. Quibusdam aliis videtur quod possit sustineri et quod signanter Aristoteles nomina in exemplis variaverit, ut ostenderet quod non differt in quibuscunque nominibus ponantur exempla. BOEZIO. COMMENTARII in LIBRUM ARISTOTELIS IIEPI EPMHNEIAS RECENSUIT CAROLUS MEISER. PARS POSTERIOR SECUNDAM EDITIONEM ET INDICES CONTINENS. CHE T HILLr L,v-LIPSIAE IN AEDIBUS B. G. TEUBNERI. LIPSIAE: B. G. TETJBNERI. In secundae editionis textu recensendo lii libri manu scripti mihi praesto fuerunt: S codex (Salisb. 10) bibliothecae Palatinae Vindobonensis (Endlicheri) qui continet f. 1— 8V versionem continue scriptam libri Aristotelici itEQi EQiirjvecag, quam littera 2J signavi, deinde f. 9— 176v sex libros Boetii commentariorum. F codex (Frisingensis 166) Monacensis 6366  s. XI  et  X:  vetustior  manus  s.  X  incipit  a  f. 33  (p.  352  editionis  Basileensis  = p. 171 nostrae editionis). T codex (Tegernseensis 479) Monacensis 18479 s. XI, qui f. 1 56v priorem editionem expositionis BOEZIO, f. 57v—65v versionem continuam, quam 1. % signavi, f. 66v191 secundam editionem complectitur. E  codex  (Ratisb.  S.  Emm.  582)  Monacensis  14582  s. XI. Praeter hos quattuor codices, quorum plenam  scripturae discrepantiam studio legentium proposui, hi quattuor alii libri a  mehic aut illic inspecti et difficilioribus locis excussi sunt: X codex Einsidlensis  301 s. X, in quo non pauca desiderantur: nam desunt  p. 371, 17  huius  editionis  conposita  378, 6 sit, 395, 21 possibile 410, 17 non necessarium, postremo  desinit  in  verba  p.  417,  19  de  contingenti  et  de  possi  (sic),  ut  finis  quinti  et  sextus  liber  totus  perierit. J  codex  Einsidlensis  295  s.  XI. IV PRAEFATIO. G  codex  Sangallensis  830  s.  XI.   B  codex  Bernensis  332  s. XII,  in  quo desunt p. 383, 1  ut  in  eo  —  434,  3  et  dicit. Hos omnes  codices  ex  uno  eodemque  fonte  fluxisse  inde  apparet,  quod  eaedem  in  omnibus  lacunae,  eaedem  interpolationes,  eadem  vitiorum  genera  deprehenduntur,  et  de  lacunis  quidem  conferas: p. 70, 15. 161, 18. 208, 22. 288, 7. 382, 8. 432, 9, praeterea p. 126, 8. 267, 12. 290, 18. 312, 14. 341, 3. 447, 9. 482, 14. 489, 7, de interpolationibus autem — 13. iisdem vero cunctos vitiis foedatos esse ut demonstrem, satis erit  unum  aut  alterum  ex  plurimis  passim  obviis  proferre  exemplum,  nam  et  p.  361,  ubi  Peripatetica  interrogationis  divisio  proditur,  cum  in  codicibus  nostris  v.  8  sqq.  legatur:  'non dialecticae autem interrogationis duae sunt species, sicut audivimus docet 5, manifestum est pro vocabulo corrupto audivimus 5 Eu de mus restituendum fuisse et p. 324,  23 quin recte scripserim: ad tenacioris memoriae subsidium 5, cum codices inperversa scriptione  t  elatior is consentiant, quis est qui dubitet? confer praeterea p.237, 25 28  locum illum in omnibus aequaliter libris turbatum. Pro fundamento autem textus constituendi codicem S habui,  omnium longe praestantissimum, qui non raro ceteris fidelius verae scripturae vestigia servaverit, confer e. c. p.  500, 9, ubi huius codicis lectio a bonum 5 propius ad verum ad unum 5 accedit quam reliquorum ad bonum 5, hoc unum dolendum est, quod a correctore quodam, quamquam multa emendata sunt, tamen ipsis locis difficillimis ita rasuris depravatus est, ut quid primitus in eo scriptum fuerit saepe dinosci non possit, nec tamen multum  interest, cum propter similitudinem ceterorum codicum fere semper quid S habuerit ex aliis suspicari liceat. V Codici S plerumque consentit F, nisi quod in hoc librarius interdum pravo varietatis studio et verba transposuisse et pro solitis rariora vocabula inculcasse videtur, nam cum hic codex  p. 395, 20 pro voce  Socratem mire elimannum posueri, quod aperte falsum est, iure in dubium vocari potest, num recte aliis locis hunc codicem solum contra ceterorum consensum secutus sim. quare hos locos notare velim et quid F habeat, quid ceteri adscribam:  F ceterip.  195,  21 autumant putant 208,  25 itidem similiter 212, 17  infit  dicit   223, 1 potiores meliores   246,  20  itidem similiter. Ad S et  F libros optimos proxime accedit  E, et ipse optimae notae idemque  pulcherrime  et  diligentissime  scriptus,  a  secunda  manu  et  in  S  (=  S2)  et  in  E  (=  E2),  rarius  in  F  (=  F2)  multa egregie sunt emendata. N J G et ipsi in optimis numerandi sunt et intima cognation cum  S  F  E  coniuncti,  sed vix quidquam novi ex iis elicitur, quod non in ceteris reperiatur.  Minus fidei codici  T tribuendum  est, quippe qui fere semper cum secunda manu codicis G  (=  G2)  consentiat,  ut quae  in  G  supra  lineam  vel  in  margine  leguntur  in  T  in  textum  irrepserint,  quare  nec  interpolationibus  vacat  et  variae  lectiones  promiscue  iuxta  positae  inveniuntur,  sunt  tamen  quae  in  hoc  codice  melius  quam  in  ceteris  servata  videantur. Minimae  auctoritatis  et  omnium  deterrimus  est  codex  B  (plerumque  =  E2),  qui  pauca  emendavit,  plurima  demendo  addendo  mutando  turbavit  ac  miscuit.   Ut  in  prima,  sic  in  secunda  editione  lemmata  non  plenum  Aristotelis  textum  exhibent,  sed  pauciora  in  secunda  editione  desiderantur,  quorum  quaedam  in  E   Boetii  comment.  II.  a**VI PRAEFATIO. a  secunda  manu  in  margine  et  in  B  sunt  addita,  ceteram  B  saepius  prima  tantum  et  postrema  Aristotelis  verba  expositioni  BOEZIO praemittit,  quae  vocula  'usque5  (vel  'reliqua  usque5)  iunguntur  (cf.  p.  227,  13  —  26). De versione BOZIO ana libri Aristoteliei  Ttegi  eQ[ir}-  vaiccg eiusque a nostro Aristotelis textu discrepantia in Fleckeiseni annal. vol. CXVII . 247 — 253 (a.  1878)  disputavi.   Monachii  mense  Martio  a.  MDCCCLXXX.    Car.  Meiser. Boezio. IH LIBRVM ARISTOTELIS nEPI EPMHNEIAS  COMMENTARII. SECVNDA EDITIO. Boetii comment.  II.   .    S = codex (Salisb. n. 10) Vindobonensis n. 80.  ( E — praemissa  translatio).  F  =  codex  (Frisingensis  n.  166)  Monacensis  n.  6366.   T  =  codex  (Tegernseensis  n.  479)  Monacensis  n. 18479. (X  =  praemissa  translatio).   E  =  codex  (Ratisb.  S.  Emm.  n.  582)  Monacensis  n.  14582.  N  = codex  Einsidlensis  n. 301.  J  =  codex  Einsidlensis  n.  295.   G  =  codex  Sangallensis  n.  830.  B  =  codex  Bernensis  n.  332.  b  =  editio  Basileensis  a.  1570. BOEZIO COMMENTARIORVM  IN  LIBRVM  ARISTOTELIS  IIEPI  EPMHNEIA2   SECVNDAE  EDITIONIS   LIBER  PRIMYS.  Alexander in commentariis suis hac se inpulsum causa pronuntiat sumpsisse longissimum expositionis laborem, quod in multis ille a priorum scriptorum sententiis dissideret: mihi maior persequendi operis  causa est, quod non facile quisquam vel transferendi vel etiam commentandi continuam sumpserit seriem, nisi  quod Vetius Praetextatus priores  BOEZIO VIRI ILLVSTRIS EX CONSVLV ORDINE  (CONS  ORD F) IN PERIERMENIAS ARISTOTOLIS (ARESTOTELIS F) EDITIONIS SECVNDAE  LIBER I INCIPIT. SF  A-M-S-B-  SECVNDA AEDITIO  IN LIBRVM PERI HERMENIAS INCIPIT. GT  BOEZIO VIRI  ILL AEDITIONIS  SCDAE  IN PERIERMENIAS  ARIST-  LIB  I INCIPIT.  J  BOEZIO VIRI CLARISSIMI ET ILLVSTRIS EX CONSVLARI ORDINE  PATRICII SCDAE EDITIONIS  EXPO SITIONV IN ARISTOTELIS PERIHERMENIAS INCIPIT  LIBER I  E titulum om. NB  1 Alexander  —  longissimum  om. N 2 longissimg  T 4  dissidet  F 6  etiam  om.  F  1*  ed.Bas 5\ 4  SECVNDA  EDITIO postremosque  analyticos non vertendo Aristotelem LATINO SERMONE tradidit, sed transferendo Themistium, quod qui utrosque legit facile intellegit. ALBINO quoque de isdem rebus  scripsisse perhibetur, cuius ego geometricos quidem libros editos scio, de  DIALECTICA uero diu multumque  quaesitos reperire non valui, sive igitur ille omnino tacuit, nos praetermissa dicemus, sive aliquid scripsit, nos  quoque docti viri imitati studium in eadem laude versabimur. sed quamquam multa sint Aristotelis, quae SUBTILISSIMA PHILOSOPHIAE arte celata sint, hic tamen ante omnia liber nimis et acumine sententiarum et verborum brevitate constrictus est.  quocirca plus hic quam in X praedicamentis expositione sudabitur. Prius igitur quid  VOX sit definiendum est. hoc enim perspicuo et manifesto omnis libri patefiet intentio. VOX est aeris per linguam percussio, quae per quasdam gutturis partes, quae arteriae vocantur, ab animali profertur,  sunt enim quidam alii  SONI,  qui eodem perficiuntur flatu, quos lingua non percutit, ut est tussis, haec enim flatu fit quodam per arterias egrediente, sed nulla linguae inpressione formatur atque ideo nec ullis subiacet elementis, scribi enim nullo modo potest, quocirca vox haec non dicitur, sed tantum sonus, illa quoque potest esse definitio vocis, ut eam dicamus SONUM esse cum quadam imaginatione SIGNIFICAND, vox namque cum emittitur, SIGNIFICATIONIS alicuius causa profertur,  tussis  vero cum sonus sit, nullius SIGNIFICATIONIS causa  subrepit  3 Qu§ qui  T 4  eisdem E 5  ergo  T  6  repp.   sic  semper  codices  7  omnino  ille  T  12  nimis  tacumine  T  16  omnis  om.  F  17  intentio  de  voce  SG-J  et  in  marg.  T  definitio  vocis  E  diff  vocis  F2  19  guturis  F  29  alicuius  —  SIGNIFICATIONIS  G2  in  marg.  tusis  F  30  subripit  S  surripit  GT    I. 5 potius quam profertur, quare quoniam noster flatus ita sese habet, ut si ita percutitur atque formatur, ut eum lingua percutiat, vox sit: si ita percutiat, ut terminato quodam et circumscripto sono vox exeat, LOCUTIO fit quae Graece dicitur  Xs%ig. locutio enim est ARTICULATA VOX  (neque enim hunc sermonem id est  Xe%iv  dictionem  dicemus, idcirco quod  cpccGiv  dictionem  interpretamur,  Xi%iv  vero locutionem),  cuius  locutionis  partes  sunt litterae,  quae cum iunctae fuerint, unam efficiunt vocem coniunctam conpositamque, quae locutio praedicatur. sive autem aliquid quaecumque vox SIGNIFICET,  ut  est  hic  sermo  “homo”,  sive omnino nihil, sive positum alicui nomen SIGNIFICARE possit,  ut  est  “HLITYRI” (haec enim vox per se cum  nihil SIGNIFICET, posita tamen ut alicui nomen  sit  SIGNIFICABIT),  sive per se quidem nihil SIGNIFICET, cum aliis vero iuncta designet, ut sunt coniunctiones:  haec omnia locutiones vocantur, ut sit propria locutionis forma vox conposita quae litteris describatur, ut igitur sit  locutio, voce opus est id est eo sono quem percutit lingua, ut et vox ipsa sit per linguam determinata in eum sonum qui inscribi litteris possit, sed ut haec locutio SIGNIFICATIVA  sit,  illud quoque addi oportet, ut sit aliqua  significandi imaginatio, per quam id quod in voce vel in locutione est proferatur: ut certe ita dicendum sit: si  in  hoc flatu, quem per arterias emittimus, sit linguae sola percussio, vox est; sin vero talis percussio sit, ut in litteras  redigat sonum, locutio; quod si vis quoque quaedam imaginationis  adda-   1 quoniam  dei. S2  om.  F  2  percutitur  atque  formatur  g2p2g2g.  percuti  atq.  formari  SFEN,  percuti  atq.  formari  possit  T  (possit  supra  lin.  GJ)  ut  cu  eu  B  3  sit]  est  STGNJ  ( corr.  S2)  5  fit]  sit  S2FE2  lexis  codices,  item  6   et  8  lexin,  7  phasin  9  literae  in  marg.  S  quae  coniunctae  S,  corr.  S2  13  alicuius  SF  14  blythyri  SG  blithyri  NT  blytbiri  EF?  {in  fine  suprascr.  s  F)  21  et  ut  b  22  scribi?  28  fit  T    5   10   15   20    6   tur,  illa  SIGNIFICATIVA vox redditur. concurrentibus igitur  his  tribus: linguae percussione, articulato vocis sonitu, imaginatione aliqua  proferendi fit interpretatio,  interpretatio namque est vox articulata per se ipsam 5  SIGNIFICANS, quocirca non omnis vox interpretatio est. sunt  enim ceterorum animalium voces, quae interpretationis vocabulo non tenentur, nec omnis locutio interpretatio est,  idcirco quod  (ut dictum est) sunt locutiones quaedam,  quae significatione careant et cum per se quaedam non  significent, iunctae tamen cum aliis significant, ut coniunctiones. interpretatio autem in solis per  se significativis et articulatis vocibus permanet. quare convertitur, ut quidquid sit interpretatio, illud  significet,  quidquid significat, interpretationis vocabulo nuncupetur, unde etiam ipse quoque Aristoteles in libris quos  de poetica scripsit locutionis partes esse syllabas vel etiam coniunctiones tradidit, quarum syllabae in eo quod sunt syllabae nihil omnino significant, coniunctiones vero consignificare quidem possunt, PER SE VERO NIHIL DESIGNANT,  interpretationis vero partes hoc libro constituit nomen et verbum, quae scilicet per se ipsa SIGNIFICANT,  nihilo ¬ minus quoque orationem, quae et ipsa cum vox sit ex significativis partibus iuncta significatione non caret quare quoniam non de oratione sola, sed etiam de verbo et nomine, nec vero de sola locutione, sed etiam de SIGNIFICATIVA  locutione, quae est interpretatio, hoc libro ab Aristotele tractatur,  id circo quoniam in  16 Ar. Poet. c.  20.    1 significatiua  b:  significatio  SG-TE,  significatione  FS1 2E2?  redditur  uox  T  4  interpretatio  om.  SNF,  in  marg.  addunt  GE  quae  namq;  S2F  10  iunctae  F:  iuncta  ceteri  14  illud  quoq;  E  16  arte  poetica  S2FE  23  post  orationem  addit  partem  esse  tradidit  S2F  cum  om.  T  28  in  hoc  S2F   ab  om.  T    I.    7    verbis atque nominibus et  in significativis locutionibus nomen interpretationis aptatur, a communi nomine eorum, de quibus hoc  libro  tractabitur,  id  est  ab  interpretatione,  ipse  quoque  de  interpretatione  liber  inscriptus  est.  cuius  expositionem  nos  scilicet  quam  5  maxime  a  Porphyrio  quamquam  etiam  a  ceteris  transferentes  Latina  oratione  digessimus,  hic  enim  nobis  expositor  et  intellectus  acumine  et  sententiarum  dispositione  videtur  excellere,  erunt  ergo  interpretationis  duae  primae  partes  nomen  et  verbum,  his  enim  10  quidquid  est  in  animi  intellectibus  designatur;  his  namque  totus  ordo  orationis  efficitur,  et  in  quantum  vox  ipsa  quidem  intellectus  significat,  in  duas  (ut  dictum  est)  secatur  partes,  nomen  et  verbum,  in  quantum  vero  vox  per  intellectuum  medietatem  subiectas  intellectui  res  demonstrat,  significantium  vocum  Aristoteles  numerum  in  X  praedicamenta  partitus  est.  atque  hoc  distat  libri  huius  intentio  a  praedicamentorum  in denariam  multitudinem  numerositate  p.  291  collecta, ut hic quidem tantum de numero SIGNIFICANTIUM vocum quaeratur,  quantum  ad  ipsas  attinet  voces,  quibus  significativis  vocibus  intellectus  animi  designentur,  quae  sunt  scilicet  simplicia  quidem  nomina  et  verba,  ex  his  vero  conpositae  orationes:  praedicamentorum  vero  haec  intentio  est:  de  significativis  rerum  vocibus  in  tantum,  quantum  eas  medius  animi  SIGNIFICET  intellectus,  vocis  enim  quaedam  qualitas  est  nomen  et  verbum,  quae  nimirum  ipsa  illa  decem  praedicamenta  significant,  decem  namque  praedicamenta  numquam  sine  aliqua  verbi  qualitate  vel  30  nominis  proferentur,  quare  erit  libri  huius  intentio  de  significativis  vocibus  in  tantum,  quantum  con-   1  in  om.  E  3  in  hoc  S2F  9 dispositio  S  corr.  S2  10 partes  primae  T  11  intellectus  F  corr.  F1  12  totius  F  18  in  hoc  T  20  in  tantum?  26  uocibus  tractare  F,  uoc.  dicere  TE, tractare inmarg. S  31proferuntur  S2F  32  signatiuis S  corr. S2 8 SECVNDA  EDITIO ceptiones  animi  intellectus  que  significent,  de  decem  praedicamentis  autem  libri  intentio  in  eius  commentario  dicta  est,  quoniam  sit  de  significativis  rerum  vocibus,  quot  partibus  distribui  possit  earum  signifi-  5  catio  in  tantum,  quantum  per  sensuum  atque  intellectuum  medietatem  res  subiectas  intellectibus  voces  ipsae  valeant  designare,  in  opere  vero  de  poetica  non  eodem  modo  dividit  locutionem,  sed  omnes  omnino  locutionis  partes  adposuit  confirmans  esse  locu-  10  tionis  partes  elementa,  syllabas,  coniunctiones,  articulos,  nomina,  casus,  verba,  orationes,  locutio  namque  non  in  solis  significativis  vocibus  constat,  sed  supergrediens  significationes  vocum  ad  articulatos  sonos  usque  consistit,  quaelibet  enim  syllaba  vel quodlibet  nomen  vel  quaelibet  alia  vox,  quae  scribi  litteris  potest,  locutionis  nomine  continetur,  quae  Graece  dicitur  sed  non  eodem  modo  interpretatio.  huic  namque  non  est  satis,  ut  sit  huiusmodi  vox  quae  litteris  valeat  adnotari,  sed  ad  hoc  ut  aliquid  quoque  significet,  praedicamentorum  vero  in  hoc  ratio  constituta  est,  in  quo  hae  duae  partes  interpretationis  res  intellectibus  subiectas  designent,  nam  quoniam  decem  res  omnino  in  omni  natura  reperiuntur,  decem  quoque  intellectus  erunt,  quos  intellectus quoniam  verba  nominaque  significant,  decem  omnino  erunt  praedicamenta,  quae  verbis  atque  nominibus  DESIGNENTUR,  duo vero quaedam id est nomen et verbum,  quae  ipsos  significent  intellectus,  sunt  igitur  elementa  interpretationis  verba  et  nomina,  propriae  vero  partes  30  quibus  ipsa  constat  interpretatio  sunt  orationes,  orationum  vero  aliae  sunt  perfectae,  aliae  inperfectae.   7  Ar.  Poet.  c.  20.    3  pro  quoniam:  cum  F  4  quod  F  7  arte  poetica  FE2,  arte  in  marg.  S  17  lexis  FTE  31  aliae  uero  inp.  TE,  aliae  inperf.  om.  S  in  marg.  addit  S2    I.    9    perfectae  sunt  ex  quibus  plene  id  quod  dicitur  valet  intellegi,  inperfectae  in  quibus  aliquid  adhuc  plenius  animus  exspectat  audire,  ut  est  Socrates  cum  Platone.  nullo  enim  addito  orationis  intellectus  pendet  ac  titubat  et  auditor  aliquid  ultra  exspectat  audire,  perfectarum  vero  orationum  partes  quinque  sunt:  deprecativa  ut  Iuppiter  omnipotens,  precibus  si  flecteris  ullis,  Da  deinde  auxilium,  pater,  atque  haec  omina  firma,  imperativa  ut  Yade  age,  nate,  voca  Zephyros  et  labere  pennis,  interrogativa  ut  Dic  mihi,  Damoeta,  cuium  pecus?  an  Meliboei?  vocativa  <(ufi>  0  pater,  o  hominum  rerumque  aeterna  potestas,  enuntiativa,  in  qua  veritas  vel  falsitas  invenitur,  ut  Principio  arboribus  varia  est  natura  serendis,  huius  autem  duae  partes  sunt,  est  namque  et  simplex  oratio  enuntiativa  et  conposita.  simplex  ut  dies  est,  lucet,  conposita  ut  si  dies  est,  lux  est.  in  hoc  igitur  libro  Aristoteles  de  enuntiativa  simplici  oratione  disputat  et  de  eius  elementis,  nomine  scilicet  atque  verbo,  quae  quoniam  et  significativa  sunt  et  significativa  vox  articulata  interpretationis  nomine  continetur,  de  communi  (ut  dictum  est)  vocabulo  librum  de  interpretatione  appellavit,  et  Theophrastus  quidem  in  eo  libro,  quem  de  adfirmatione  et  negatione  conposuit,  de  enuntiativa  oratione  tractavit,  et  Stoici  quoque  in  his  libris,  quos  ttsqI  a^tco^uzcov  appellant,  de  isdem   7  Yerg.  Aen.  II  689.  691  9  Yerg.  Aen.  IY  223   11  Yerg.  Ecl.  III  1  12  Yerg.  Aen.  X  18  14  Yerg.   Georg.  II  9    9  omnia  TE  10  pinnis  S^1  11  damgta  T  12   melibei  T  ut  b  :'om.  codices,  alterum  o  om.  SFE1  15   creandis  Vergilii  codices  16  et  om.  E  17  est  et  conp.  S2FE2  lux  est  F2E2  21  uox  et  art.  S2FE2  27  peri  axiomaton  codices  5 10 15 20 25  nihilominus  disputant,  sed  illi  quidem  et  de  simplici  et  de  non  simplici  oratione  enuntiativa  speculantur,  Aristoteles  vero  hoc  libro  nihil  nisi  de  sola  simplici  enuntiativa  oratione  considerat.  Aspasius  quoque  et  5  Alexander  sicut  in  aliis  Aristotelis  libris  in  hoc  quoque  commentarios  ediderunt,  sed  uterque  Aristotelem  de  oratione  tractasse  pronuntiat,  nam  si  oratione  aliquid  proferre  ut  aiunt  ipsi  interpretari  est,  de  interpretatione  liber  nimirum  veluti  de  oratione  per  scriptus  est,  quasi  vero  sola  oratio  ac  non  verba  quoque  et  nomina  interpretationis  vocabulo  concludantur.  aeque  namque  et  oratio  et  verba  ac  nomina,  quae  sunt  interpretationis  elementa,  nomine  interpretationis  vocantur,  sed  Alexander  addidit  inperfecte  sese  habere  libri  titulum:  neque  enim  designare,  de  qua  oratione  perscripserit,  multae  namque  ut  dictum  est  sunt  orationes;  sed  adiciendum  vel  subintellegendum  putat  de  oratione  illum  scribere  philosophica  vel  dialectica  id  est,  qua  verum  falsumque  valeat  expediri sed  qui  semel  solam  orationem  interpretationis  no¬  mine  vocari  recipit,  in  intellectu quoque ipsius  inscriptionis  erravit,  cur  enim  putaret  inperfectum  esse  titulum,  quoniam  nihil  de  qua  oratione  disputaret  adiecerit?  ut  si  quis  interrogans  quid  est  homo?  alio respondente  animal  culpet  ac  dicat  inperfecte  illum  dixisse,  quid  sit,  quoniam  non  sit  omnes  differentias  persecutus,  quod  si  huic,  id  est  homini,  sunt  quaedam  alia  communia  ad  nomen  animalis,  nihil  tamen  inpedit  perfecte  demonstrasse,  quid  homo  esset,  eum  qui  animal  dixit:  sive  enim  differentias  addat  quis  sive  non,  hominem  animal  esse  necesse  est.  eodem  quoque  modo  et  de  oratione,  si  quis  hoc  concedat  primum,  nihil  aliud  interpretationem  dici  nisi  orationem,   5  alios  —  libros  in  hunc?  21  recepit?  21.22  scriptionis  S^1  23.  24  adiecit  T  26  non  o.  diff.  sit  E  30  addit   T  33  interpretatione  F I. 11 cur  qui  de  interpretatione  inscripserit  et  de  qua  interpretatione  dicat  non  addiderit  culpetur,  non  est.  satis  est  enim  libri  titulum  etiam  de  aliqua  continenti  communione  fecisse,  ut  nos  eum  et  de  nominibus  et  verbis  et  de  orationibus,  cum  baec  omnia  uno  interpretationis  nomine  continerentur,  supra  fecisse  docuimus,  cum  bic  liber  ab  eo  de  interpretatione  notatus  est.  sed  quod  addidit  illam  interpretationem  solam  dici,  qua  in  oratione  possit  veritas  et  falsitas  inveniri,  ut  est  enuntiativa  oratio,  fingentis  est  ut  ait  Porphyrius  significationem  nominis  potius  quam  docentis,  atque  ille  quidem  et  in  intentione  libri  et  in  titulo  falsus  est,  sed  non  eodem  modo  de  iudicio  quoque  libri  buius  erravit.  Andronicus  enim  librum  bunc  Aristotelis  esse  non  puta,quem  Alexander  vere  fortiterque  redarguit,  quem  cum  exactum  diligentemque  Aristotelis  librorum  et  iudicem  et  repertorem  iudicarit  antiquitas,  cur  in  huius  libri  iudicio  sit  falsus,  prorsus  est  magna  admiratione  dignissimum,  non  esse  namque  proprium  Aristotelis  bine  conatur  ostendere,  quoniam  quaedam  Aristoteles  in  principio  libri  huius  de  intellectibus  animi  tractat,  quos  intellectus  animae  passiones  vocavit,  et  de  bis  se  plenius  in  libris  de  anima  disputasse  commemorat,  et  quoniam  passiones  animae  vocabant  vel  tristitiam  vel  gaudium  vel  cupiditatem  vel  alias  huiusmodi  adfectiones,  dicit  Andronicus  ex  boc  probari  hunc  librum  Aristotelis  non  esse,  quod  de  huiusmodi  adfectionibus  nihil  in  libris  de  anima  tractavisset,  non  intellegens  in  hoc  libro  Aristotelem  passiones  animae  non  pro  adfectibus,  sed  pro  intellectibus  posuisse,  his  Alexander  multa  alia  addit  argumenta,  cur  hoc  opus  Aristotelis  maxime  esse  videatur,  ea  namque  dicuntur  hic,  quae  sententiis  Aristotelis  quae  sunt  de  enuntia-   [5.  6  continentur F 6 cum om. F1 haec S, corr. S2 10. 11 potius sign. nom. S2F 22 et animae T 23 in supra lin. T 24 vocabat b 30 prius pro om. S1 Hic E1 5 10 15 20 25 30 12 SECVNDA  EDITIO] tione  consentiant;  illud  quoque,  quod  stilus  ipse  pro¬  pter  brevitatem  pressior  ab  Aristotelis  obscuritate  non  discrepat;  et  quod  Theophrastus,  ut  in  aliis  solet,  cum  de  similibus  rebus  tractat,  quae  scilicet  ab  Aristotele  ante  tractata  sunt,  in  libro  quoque  de  adfirmatione  et  negatione,  isdem  aliquibus  verbis  utitur,  quibus  hoc  libro  Aristoteles  usus  est.  idem  quoque  Theophrastus  dat  signum  hunc  esse  Aristotelis  librum:  in  omnibus  enim,  de  quibus  ipse  disputat  post magistrum,  leviter  ea  tangit  quae  ab  Aristotele  dicta  ante  cognovit,  alias  vero  diligentius  res  non  ab  Aristotele  tractatas  exsequitur,  hic  quoque  idem  fecit,  nam  quae  Aristoteles  hoc  libro  de  enuntiatione  tractavit,  leviter  ab  illo  transcursa  sunt,  quae  vero  magister  eius  tacuit,  ipse  subtiliore  modo  considerationis  adiecit.  addit  quoque  hanc  causam,  quoniam  Aristoteles  quidem  de  syllogismis  scribere  animatus  num-  quam  id  recte  facere  potuisset,  nisi  quaedam  de  propositionibus  adnotaret.  mihi  quoque  videtur  hoc subtiliter  perpendentibus  liquere  hunc  librum  ad  analyticos  esse  praeparatum,  nam  sicut  hic  de  simplici  propositione  disputat,  ita  quoque  in  analyticis  de  simplicibus  tantum  considerat  syllogismis,  ut  ipsa  syllogismorum  propositionumque  simplicitas  non  ad  aliud  nisi  ad  continens  opus  Aristotelis  pertinere  videatur,  quare  non  est  audiendus  Andronicus,  qui  propter  passionum  nomen  hunc  librum  ab  Aristotelis  operibus  separat.  Aristoteles  autem  idcirco  passiones  animae intellectus  vocabat,  quod  intellectus,  quos  sermone  dicere  et  oratione  proferre  consuevimus,  ex  aliqua  causa  atque  utilitate  profecti  sunt:  ut  enim  dispersi  homines  colligerentur  et  legibus  vellent  esse  subiecti  civitatesque  condere,  utilitas  quaedam  fuit  et  causa,  quocirca   3  et  b:  uel  codices  15  subtilior  S1  16  addidit  E  17  pro  scribere:  est  T  19  hoc  uidetur  F  22  in  om.  F1  29  uocauit  E    I  c,  1. 13    quae  ex  aliqua  utilitate  veniunt,  ex  passione  quoque  provenire  necesse  est.  nam  ut  divina  sine  ulla  sunt  passione,  ita  nulla  illis  extrinsecus  utilitas  valet  adiungi:  quae  vero  sunt  passibilia  semper  aliquam  causam  atque  utilitatem  quibus  sustententur  inveniunt quocirca  huiusmodi  intellectus,  qui  ad  alterum  oratione  proferendi  sunt,  quoniam  ex  aliqua  causa  atque  utilitate  videntur  esse  collecti,  recte  passiones  animi  nominati  sunt,  et  de  intentione  quidem  et  de  libri  inscriptione  et  de  eo,  quod  hic  maxime  Aristotelis   liber  esse  putandus  est,  haec  dicta  sufficiunt,  quid  vero  utilitatis  habeat,  non  ignorabit  qui  sciet  qua  in  oratione  veritas  constet  et  falsitas.  in  sola  enim  haec  enuntiativa  oratione  consistunt,  iam  vero  quae  dividant  verum  falsumque  quaeve  definite  vel  quae  varie  et  mutabiliter  veritatem  falsitatemque  partiantur,  quae  iuncta  dici  possint,  cum  separata  valeant  praedicari,  quae  separata  dicantur,  cum  iuncta  sint  praedicata,  quae  sint  negationes  cum  modo  propositionum,  quae  earum  consequentiae  aliaque  plura  in  ipso  opere  considerator  poterit  diligenter  agnoscere,  quorum  magnam  experietur  utilitatem  qui  animum  curae  alicuius  investigationis  adverterit,  sed  nunc  ad  ipsius  Aristotelis  verba  veniamus. Primum  oportet  constituere,  quid  nomen  et  quid  verbum,  postea  quid  est  negatio  et  adfirmatio  et  enuntiatio  et  oratio.   Librum  incohans  de  quibus  in  omni  serie  tractaturus  sit  ante  proposuit,  ait  enim  prius  oportere  de    2  sunt  om.  F1  5  inuenient  E  8  animae?  11  suf¬  ficiant  b  16  patiantur  T  16.  17  quae  iuncta  om.  F,  in  marg.  quae  iunctim  F2?  17.18  iuncta  —  cum  om.  S1  20.21   consideratior  SF*T  21  quorum  ego:  quarum  codices  22  curae  ego:  cura  codices  23  ipsius  om.  F  25  quid  Ar.  xL:  quid  sit  codices  26  sit  uerbum  codices  praeter  2/E2  est  om.  2%  {eras,  in  S)    quibus  disputaturus  est  definire,  hic  enim  constituere  definire  intellegendum  est.  determinandum  namque  est  quid  haec  omnia  sint  id  est  quid  nomen  sit,  quid  verbum  et  cetera,  quae  elementa  interpretationis  esse praediximus,  sed  adfirmatio  atque  negatio  sub  interpretatione  sunt,  quare  nomen  et  verbum  adfirmatio-  nis  et  negationis  elementa  esse  manifestum  est.  his  enim  conpositis  adfirmatio  et  negatio  coniunguntur.  exsistit  hic  quaedam  quaestio,  cur  duo  tantum  nomen et  verbum  se  determinare  promittat,  cum  plures  partes  orationis  esse  videantur,  quibus  hoc  dicendum  est  tantum  Aristotelem  hoc  libro  definisse,  quantum  illi  ad  id  quod  instituerat  tractare  suffecit,  tractat  namque  de  simplici  enuntiativa  oratione,  quae  scilicet huiusmodi  est,  ut  iunctis  tantum  verbis  et  nominibus  conponatur.  si  quis  enim  nomen  iungat  et  verbum,  ut  dicat  Socrates  ambulat,  simplicem  fecit  enun¬  tiativam  orationem,  enuntiativa  namque  oratio  est  ut  supra  memoravi  quae  habet  in  se  falsi  verique designationem,  sed  in  hoc  quod  dicimus  Socrates  ambulat  aut  veritas  necesse  est  contineatur  aut  fal-  sitas.  hoc  enim  si  ambulante  Socrate  dicitur,  verum  est,  si  non  ambulante,  falsum,  perficitur  ergo  enuntiativa  oratio  simplex  ex  solis  verbis  atque  nominibus quare  superfluum  est  quaerere,  cur  alias  quoque  quae  videntur  orationis  partes  non  proposuerit,  qui  non  totius  simpliciter  orationis,  sed  tantum  simplicis  enuntiationis  instituit  elementa  partiri,  quamquam  duae  propriae  partes  orationis  esse  dicendae  sint,  nomen  30  scilicet  atque  verbum,  haec  enim  per  sese  utraque  significant,  coniunctiones  autem  vel  praepositiones  nihil  omnino  nisi  cum  aliis  iunctae  designant;  participia  verbo  cognata  sunt,  vel  quod  a  gerundivo  modo   2  definire  om.  S1  17  et  T  22.  23  est  verum  F  25  quae  om.  S1  26  proposuit  T  33  uerbis  E2?  vero  verbo  editio  princeps  conata  T  gerundi  FXE  (gerunti?  F)    I  c.  1.    15    veniant  vel  quod  tempus  propria  significatione  contineant;  interiectiones  vero  atque  pronomina  nec  non  adverbia  in  nominis  loco  ponenda  sunt,  idcirco  quod  aliquid  significant  definitum,  ubi  nulla  est  vel  passio¬  nis  significatio  vel  actionis,  quod  si  casibus  horum quaedam  flecti  non  «possunt,  nihil  inpedit.  sunt  enim  quaedam  nomina  quae  monoptota  nominantur,  quod  si  quis  ista  longius  et  non  proxime  petita  esse  arbitretur,  illud  tamen  concedit,  quod  supra  iam  diximus,  non  esse  aequum  calumniari  ei,  qui  non  de  omni  oratione,  sed  de  tantum  simplici  enuntiatione  proponat,  quod  tantum  sibi  ad  definitionem  sumpserit,  quantum  arbitratus  sit  operi  instituto  sufficere,  quare  dicendum  est Aristotelem  non  omnis  orationis  partes  hoc opere  velle  definire,  sed  tantum  solius  simplicis  enuntiativae  orationis,  quae  sunt  scilicet  nomen  et  verbum,  argumentum  autem  huius  rei  hoc  est.  postquam  enim  proposuit  dicens:  primum  oportet  constituere,  quid  sit  nomen  et  quid  verbum,  non  statim  inquit,  quid  sit  oratio,  sed  mox  addidit  et  quid  sit negatio,  quid  adfirmatio,  quid  enuntiatio,  postremo  vero  quid  oratio,  quod  si  de  omni  oratione  loqueretur,  post  nomen  et  verbum  non  de  adfirmatione  et  negatione  et  post  hanc  de  enuntiatione,  sed  mox  de  oratione  dixisset,  nunc  vero  quoniam  post  nominis et  verbi  propositionem  adfirmationem,  negationem  et  enuntiationem  et  post  orationem  proposuit,  confitendum  est,  id  quod  ante  diximus,  non  orationis  universalis,  sed  simplicis  enuntiativae  orationis,  quae  dividitur  in  adfirmationem  atque  negationem,  divisionem  partium  facere  voluisse,  quae  sunt  nomina  et  verba,  haec  enim  per  se  ipsa  intellectum  simplicem  servant,   1.  2  continent  F  7  monopta  S  9  concedat  b  10  calumpniari  E  eum?  11  tantum  de  E2  enuntiatione  om.  S1  12  sumpserat  F  14  omnes  SFT  20  et  om.  F  26  et  negationem  et  F  31  uerba  et  nomina  F  „    quae  eadem  dictiones  vocantur,  sed  non  sola  dicuntur,  sunt  namque  dictiones  et  aliae  quoque:  orationes  vel  inperfectae  vel  perfectae,  cuius  plures  esse  partes  supra  iam  docui,  inter  quas  perfectae  orationis  species  est  enuntiatio,  et  haec  quoque  alia  simplex,  alia  con-  posita  est.  de  simplicis  vero  enuntiationis  speciebus  inter  philosophos  commentatoresque  certatur,  aiunt  enim  quidam  adfirmationem  atque  negationem  enuntiationi  ut  species  supponi  oportere,  in  quibus  et Porphyrius  est:  quidam  vero  nulla  ratione  consentiunt,  sed  contendunt  adfirmationem  et  negationem  aequivoca  esse  et  uno  quidem  enuntiationis  vocabulo  nuncupari,  praedicari  autem  enuntiationem  ad  utrasque  ut  nomen  aequivocum,  non  ut  genus  univocum;  quorum  princeps  Alexander  est.  quorum  contentiones  adponere  non  videtur  inutile,  ac  prius  quibus  modis  adfirmationem  atque  negationem  non  esse  species  enuntiationis  Alexander  putet  dicendum  est,  post  vero  addam  qua  Porphyrius  haec  argumentatione dissolverit.  Alexander  namque  idcirco  dicit  non  esse  species  enuntiationis  adfirmationem  et  negationem,  quoniam  adfirmatio  prior  sit.  priorem  vero  adfirmationem  idcirco  conatur  ostendere,  quod  omnis  negatio  adfirmationem  tollat  ac  destruat,  quod  si  ita  25  est,  prior  est  adfirmatio  quae  subruatur  quam  negatio  quae  subruat,  in  quibus  autem  prius  aliquid  et  posterius  est,  illa  sub  eodem  genere  poni  non  possunt,  ut  in  eo  titulo  praedicamentorum  dictum  est  qui  de  his  quae  sunt  simul  inscribitur.  amplius:  negatio omnis,  inquit,  divisio  est,  adfirmatio  conpositio  atque  coniunctio.  cum  enim  dico  Socrates  vivit,  vitam  cum  Socrate  coniunxi;  cum  dico  Socrates  non  vivit,  vitam  a  Socrate  disiunxi.  divisio  igitur  quaedam  negatio  est,  coniunctio  adfirmatio.  conpositi  autem  est  con-   1  eaedem  SF  sola  ego:  solae  codices  2  quoq;  ut  b   4.  5  est  species  F  5  alias  —  alias  E2  12  unum  S1T  22  fit  T    I  c.  1.    17    iunctique  divisio,  prior  est  igitur  coniunctio,  quod  est  adfirmatio;  posterior  vero  divisio,  quod  est  negatio,  illud  quoque  adicit,  quod  omnis  per  adfirmationem  facta  enuntiatio  simplicior  sit  per  negationem  facta  enuntiatione,  ex  negatione  enim  particula  negativa  5  si  sublata  sit,  adfirmatio  sola  relinquitur,  de  eo  enim  quod  est  Socrates  non  vivit  si  non  particula  quae  est  adverbium  auferatur,  remanet  Socrates  vivit.  simplicior  igitur  adfirmatio  est  quam  negatio,  prius  vero  sit  necesse  est  quod  simplicius  est.  in  quantitate  etiam  quod  ad  quantitatem  minus  est  prius  est  eo  quod  ad  quantitatem  plus  est.  omnis  vero  oratio  quantitas  est.  sed  cum  dico  Socrates  ambulat,  minor  oratio  est  quam  cum  dico  Socrates  non  ambulat,  quare  si  secundum  quantitatem  adfirmatio minor  est,  eam  priorem  quoque  esse  necesse  est.  illud  quoque  adiunxit  adfirmationem  quendam  esse  habitum,  negationem  vero  privationem,  sed  prior  habitus  privatione:  adfirmatio  igitur  negatione  prior  est.  et  ne  singula  persequi  laborem,  cum  aliis  quoque  modis demonstraret  adfirmationem  negatione  esse  priorem,  a  communi  eas  genere  separavit,  nullas  enim  species  arbitratur  sub  eodem  genere  esse  posse,  in  quibus  prius  vel  posterius  consideretur,  sed  Porphyrius  ait  sese  docuisse  species  enuntiationis  esse  adfirmationem  et  negationem  in  his  commentariis  quos  in  Theophrastum  edidit;  hic  vero  Alexandri  argumentationem  tali  ratione  dissolvit,  ait  enim  non  oportere  arbitrari,  quaecumque  quolibet  modo  priora  essent  aliis,  ea  sub  eodem  genere poni  non  posse,  sed  quae-  cumque  secundum  esse  suum  atque  substantiam  priora vel  posteriora  sunt,  ea  sola  sub  eodem  genere  non  ponuntur,  et  recte  dicitur,  si  enim  omne  quidquid  si  om.  S^E1  16  quoq.  priorem  F  esse  om.  SF  22  separaret  SF,  separabat  S2F2,  separat  T  nullus  SF1  24  aliquid  prius  GrTE  consideratur  F  26  iis  F2  Boetii  comxnent.  prius  est  cum  eo  quod  posterius  est  sub  uno  genere  esse  non  potest,  nec  primis  substantiis  et  secundis  commune  genus  poterit  esse  substantia;  quod  qui  dicit  a  recto  ordine  rationis  exorbitat,  sed  quemadmodum  quamquam  sint  primae  et  secundae  substantiae,  tamen  utraque  aequaliter  in  subiecto  non  sunt  et  idcirco  esse  ipsorum  ex  eo  pendet,  quod  in  subiecto  non  sunt,  atque  ideo  sub  uno  substantiae  genere  conlocantur:  ita  quoque  quamquam  adfirmationes  negationibus  in  orationis  prolatione  priores  sint,  tamen  ad  esse  atque  ad  naturam  propriam  aequaliter  enuntiatione  participant,  enuntiatio  vero est  in  qua  veritas  et  falsitas  inveniri  potest,  qua  in  re  et  adfirmatio  et  negatio  aequales  sunt,  aequaliter  enim  et  adfirmatio  et  negatio  veritate  et  falsitate  participant,  quocirca  quoniam  ad id  quod  sunt  adfirmatio  et  negatio  aequaliter  ab  enuntiatione  participant,  a  communi  eas  enuntiationis  genere  dividi  non  oportet,  mihi  quoque  videtur  quod  Porphyrii  sit  sequenda  sententia,  ut  adfirmatio  et  negatio  communi  enuntiationis  generi  supponantur,  longa  namque  illa  et  multiplicia  Alexandri  argumenta  soluta  sunt,  cum  demonstravit  non  modis  omnibus  ea  quae  priora  sunt  sub  communi  genere  poni  non  posse,  sed  quae  ad  esse  proprium  atque  substantiam  priora  sunt  illa  sola  sub  communi  genere  constitui  atque  poni  non  posse.  Syrianus  vero,  cui  Philoxenus  cognomen  est,  hoc  loco  quaerit,  cur  proponens  prius  de  negatione,  post  de  adfirmatione  pronuntiaverit  dicens:  primum  oportet constituere,  quid  nomen  et  quid  verbum,  postea  quid  est  negatio  et  adfirmatio.  et  primum  quidem  nihil  proprium  dixit,  quoniam  in  quibus  et  ad-   1  posterius]  prius  S^E1  6  utraeque  b  8  sint  E  13  et  post  re  om.  F  16  ad  ego  addidi:  om.  codices  17  pro  a:  et  SF  21  supponatur  SF  multiplica  F  ^  30  quid   sit  n.  codices  31  est  om.  F  primum  S:  primo  S2  et  ceteri    I  c.  1.    19    firmatio  potest  et  negatio  provenire,  prius  esse  negatio,  postea  vero  adfirmatio  potest,  ut  de  Socrate  sanus  est.  potest  ei  aptari  talis  adfirmatio,  ut  de  eo  dicatur  Socrates  sanus  est;  etiam  huiusmodi  potest  aptari  negatio,  ut  de  eo  dicatur  Socrates  sanus  non  est.  quoniam  ergo  in  eum  adfirmatio  et  negatio  poterit  evenire,  prius  evenit  ut  sit  negatio  quam  ut  adfirmatio.  ante  enim  quam  natus  esset:  qui  enim  natus  non  erat,  nec  esse  poterat  sanus,  liuic  illud  adiecit:  servare  Aristotelem  conversam  propositionis  et  exsecutionis  distributionem.  hic  enim  prius  post  nomen  et  verbum  de  negatione  proposuit,  post  de  adfirmatione,  dehinc  de  enuntiatione,  postremo  vero  de  oratione,  sed  proposita  definiens  prius  orationem,  post  enuntiationem,  tertio  adfirmationem,  ultimo  vero  loco  negationem  determinavit,  quam  hic  post  propositionem  verbi  et  nominis  primam  locaverat,  ut  igitur  ordo  servaretur  conversus,  idcirco  negationem  prius  ait  esse  propositam,  qua  in  expositione  Alexandri  quoque  sententia  non  discedit,  illud  quoque  est  additum,  quod  non  esset  inutile,  enuntiationem  genus  adfirmationis  et  negationis  accipi  oportere,  quod  quamquam  (ut  dictum  est)  ad  prolationem  prior  esset  adfirmatio,  tamen  ad  ipsam  enuntiationem  id  est  veri  falsique  vim  utrasque  aequaliter  sub  enuntiatione  ab  Aristotele  constitui,  id  etiam  Aristotelem  probare,  praemisit  enim  primam  nega¬  tionem,  secundam  posuit  adfirmationem,  quae  res  nihil  habet  vitii,  si  ad  ipsam  enuntiationem  adfirmatio  et  negatio  ponantur  aequales,  quae  enim  natura  aequa¬  les  sunt,  nihil  retinent  contrarii  indifferenter  acceptae,  est  igitur  ordo  quo  proposuit:  primum  totius  orationis   1  est.  potest  T  2  non  est  F;  non  supra  lin.  SE;  sanus  est  delet  S2  3  de  eo  om.  T1  6  eo?  8  post  esset  addit  potuit  dici  sanus  non  est  T,  in  marg.  G2  enim  om.  F,  eras,  in  E  12  et  hinc  E  17  primum  F  ergo  T  23  est  F  (in  rasura)  26  probare  dicit  FTE2S2(m»Mf^.)  probare  dr  Misit  G  (suprascr.  dicit  Premisit  G2)  enim  om.  E1  31  quod  F,  quoq.  T   2  *    5   10   elementum,  nomen  scilicet  et  verbum,  post  haec  ne¬  gationem  et  adfirmationem,  quae  species  enuntiationis  sunt,  quorum  genus  id  est  enuntiationem  tertiam  nominavit,  quartam  vero  orationem  posuit,  quae  ipsius  enuntiationis  genus  est.  et  horum  se  omnium  definitiones  daturum  esse  promisit,  quas  interim  relinquens  atque  praeteriens  et  in  posteriorem  tractatum  differens  illud  nunc  addit  quae  sint  verba  et  nomina  aut  quid  ipsa  significent,  quare  antequam  ad  verba  Aristotelis  ipsa  veniamus,  pauca  communiter  de  nominibus  atque  verbis  et  de  his  quae  significantur  a  verbis  ac  nominibus  disputemus,  sive  enim  quaelibet  interrogatio  sit  atque  responsio,  sive  perpetua  cuiuslibet orationis  continuatio  atque  alterius  auditus  et  intellegentia,  sive  hic  quidem  doceat  ille  vero  discat,  tribus  his  totus  orandi  ordo  perficitur:  rebus,  intellectibus,  vocibus,  res  enim  ab  intellectu  concipitur,  vox  vero  conceptiones  animi  intellectusque  significat,  ipsi  vero  intellectus  et  concipiunt  subiectas  res  et  significantur  a  vocibus,  cum  igitur  tria  sint  haec  per  quae  omnis  oratio  conlocutioque  perficitur,  res  quae  sub-  iectae  sunt,  intellectus  qui  res  concipiant  et  rursus  a  vocibus  significentur,  voces  vero  quae  intellectus  designent,  quartum  quoque  quiddam  est,  quo  voces  ipsae valeant  designari,  id  autem  sunt  litterae,  scriptae  namque  litterae  ipsas  significant  voces,  quare  quattuor  ista  sunt,  ut  litterae  quidem  significent  voces,  voces  vero  intellectus,  intellectus  autem  concipiant  res,  quae  scilicet  habent  quandam  non  confusam  neque fortuitam  consequentiam,  sed  terminata  naturae  suae  ordinatione  constant,  res  enim  semper  comitantur  eum  qui  ab  ipsis  concipitur intellectum,  ipsum  vero  intellectum  vox  sequitur,  sed  voces  elementa  id  est   3  quarum?  17  —  20  res  —  vocibus  om.  F,  in  marg.  add.  F1?  26  significent  SF  30  suae  naturae  E  31  constat  SE  comitatur  F2  32  eum  dei.  F2  intellectus  F    I  c.  1.    21    litterae,  rebus  enim  ante  propositis  et  in  propria  substantia  constitutis  intellectus  oriuntur,  rerum  enim  semper  intellectus  sunt,  quibus  iterum  constitutis  mox  significatio  vocis  exoritur,  praeter  intellectum  nam¬  que  vox  penitus  nihil  designat,  sed  quoniam  voces  sunt,  idcirco  litterae,  quas  vocamus  elementa,  repertae  sunt,  quibus  vocum  qualitas  designetur,  ad  cognitionem  vero  conversim  sese  res  habet,  namque  apud  quos  eaedem  sunt  litterae  et  qui  eisdem  elementis  utuntur,  eisdem  quoque  nominibus  eos  ac  verbis  id  est  vocibus  uti  necesse  est  et  qui  vocibus  eisdem  utuntur,  idem  quoque  apud  eos  intellectus  in  animi  conceptione  versantur,  sed  apud  quos  idem  intellectus  sunt,  easdem  res  eorum  intellectibus  subiectas  esse  manifestum  est.  sed  hoc  nulla  ratione  convertitur,  namque  apud  quos  eaedem  res  sunt  idemque  intellectus,  non  statim  eaedem  voces  eaedemque  sunt  litterae.  nam  cum ROMANUS,  Graecus  ac  barbarus  simul  videant  equum,  habent  quoque  de  eo  eundem  intellectum  quod  equus  sit  et  apud  eos  eadem  res  subiecta  est,  idem  a  re  ipsa  concipitur  intellectus,  sed  Graecus  aliter  equum  vocat,  alia  quoque  vox  in  equi  significatione  ROMANA  est  et  barbarus  ab  utroque  in  equi  designatione  dissentit,  quocirca  diversis  quoque  voces  proprias  elementis  inscribunt,  recte  igitur  dictum  est  apud  quos  eaedem  res  idemque  intellectus  sunt,  non  statim  apud  eos  vel  easdem  voces  vel  eadem  elementa  consistere,  praecedit  autem  res  intellectum,  intellectus  vero  vocem,  vox  litteras,  sed  hoc  converti  non  potest,  neque  enim  si  litterae  sint,  mox  aliqua  ex  his  significatio  vocis  exsistit,  hominibus  namque  qui  litteras  ignorant  nullum  nomen  quaelibet  elementa  significant,  quippe  quae  nesciunt,  nec  si  voces   1  positis  F  8  habent  T  20  sit  om.  F1  24  designi-  ficatione  S1  28  intellectum  res  F  31  consistit  E    sint,  mox  intellectus  esse  necesse  est.  plures  enim  voces  invenies  quae  nihil  omnino  significent,  nec  intellectui  quoque  subiecta  res  semper  est.  sunt  enim  intellectus  sine  re  ulla  subiecta,  ut  quos  centauros vel  chimaeras  poetae  finxerunt,  horum  enim  sunt  intellectus  quibus  subiecta  nulla  substantia  est.  sed  si  quis  ad  naturam  redeat  eamque  consideret  diligenter,  agnoscet  cum  res  est,  eius  quoque  esse  intellectum:  quod  si  non  apud  homines,  certe  apud  eum,  qui  propriae  divinitate  substantiae  in  propria  natura  ipsius  rei  nihil  ignorat,  et  si  est  intellectus,  et  vox  est;  quod  si  vox  fuerit,  eius  quoque  sunt  litterae,  quae  si  Ignorantur,  nihil  ad  ipsam  vocis  naturam,  neque  enim,  quasi  causa  quaedam  vocum  est  intellectus  aut  vox  causa  litterarum,  ut  cum  eaedem  sint  apud  aliquos  litterae,  necesse  sit  eadem  quoque  esse  nomina:  ita  quoque  cum  eaedem  sint  vel  res  vel  intellectus  apud  aliquos,  mox  necesse  est  intellectuum  ipsorum  vel  rerum  eadem  esse  vocabula,  nam  cum  eadem  sit et  res  et  intellectus  hominis,  apud  diversos  tamen  homines  huiusmodi  substantia  aliter  et  diverso  nomine  nuncupatur,  quare  voces  quoque  cum  eaedem  sint,  possunt  litterae  esse  diversae,  ut  in  hoc  nomine  quod  est  homo:  cum  unum  sit  nomen,  diversis  litteris  scribi  potest,  namque  Latinis  litteris  scribi  potest,   potest  etiam  Graecis,  potest  aliis  nunc  primum  inventis  litterarum  figuris,  quare  quoniam  apud  quos  eaedem  res  sunt,  eosdem  intellectus  esse  necesse  est,  apud  quos  idem  intellectus  sunt,  voces  eaedem  non   30  sunt  et  apud  quos  eaedem  voces  sunt,  non  necesse   2  significant  F  3  est  semper  E  9  omnes  T2  Denm  b  10  snbst.  div.  E  13  nataram  pertinet  F2  14  quaedam  causa  F  15  ut  enim  cum  S2F  16  pro  litterae:  uoces  E2  easdem  E2  pro  nomina:  literas  E2  18  mox  non  S2FE2  25  namque  —  potest  in  marg.  F  28  res  om.  F1  29  non  eaedem  (non  supra  lin .)  F  30  prius  sunt  om.  F    I  c.  1.    23    est  eadem  elementa  constitui;  dicendum  est  res  et  intellectus,  quoniam apud omnes idem sunt, esse NATURALITER constitutos, voces vero atque litteras, quoniam diversis  hominum positionibus permutantur, NON ESSE NATURALITER, SED POSITIONE, concludendum  est igitur, quoniam apud quos eadem sunt elementa, apud eos eaedem quoque voces sunt et apud quos eaedem voces sunt, idem sunt intellectus; apud quos autem idem sunt intellectus, apud eosdem res quoque eaedem subiectae sunt:  rursus  apud  quos  eaedem  res sunt,  idem  quoque  sunt  intellectus;  apud  quos  idem  intellectus,  non  eaedem  voces;  nec  apud  quos  eaedem  voces  sunt,  eisdem  semper  litteris  verba  ipsa  vel  nomina  designantur,  sed  nos  in  supra  dictis  sententiis  elemento  atque  littera  promiscue  usi  sumus,  quae  15  autem  sit  horum  distantia  paucis  absolvam,  littera  est  inscriptio  atque  figura  partis  minimae  vocis  articulatae,  elementum  vero  sonus  ipsius  inscriptionis:  ut  cum  scribo  litteram  quae  est  a,  formula  ipsa  quae  atramento  vel  graphio  scribitur  littera  nominatur,  ipse  vero  sonus  quo  ipsam  litteram  voce  proferimus  dicitur  elementum,  quocirca  hoc  cognito  illud  dicendum  est,  quod  is  qui  docet  vel  qui  continua  oratione  loquitur  vel  qui  interrogat,  contrarie  se  habet  his  qui  vel  discunt  vel  audiunt  vel  respondent  in  his  tribus, voce  scilicet,  intellectu  et  re  (praetermittantur  enim  litterae  propter  eos  qui  earum  sunt  expertes),  nam  qui  docet  et  qui  dicit  et  qui  interrogat  a  rebus  ad  intellectum  profecti  per  nomina  et  verba  vim  propriae  actionis  exercent  atque  officium  (rebus  enim  subiectis ab  his  capiunt  intellectus  et  per  nomina  verbaque   0   14  designentur  T  doctis  S1  17.  18  min.  p.  art.  voc.   E  19  littera  T  pro  a:  id T 20 grafio STE 24. 25 vel qui F1 29 profecti  ego :  profecto  SFE,  profectu  T,  profectus  S2F2E2  30  exercent  ego:  exercet  codices  atque  in  marg.  S    pronuntiant),  qui  vero  discit  vel  qui  audit  vel  etiam  qui  respondet  a  nominibus  ad  intellectus  progressi  ad  res  usque  perveniunt,  accipiens  enim  is  qui  discit  vel  qui  audit  vel  qui  respondet  docentis  vel  dicentis  vel  interrogantis  sermonem,  quid  unusquisque  illorum  dicat  intellegit  et  intellegens  rerum  quoque  scientiam  capit  et  in  ea  consistit,  recte  igitur  dictum  est  in  voce,  intellectu  atque  re  contrarie  sese  habere  eos  qui  docent,  dicunt,  interrogant  atque  eos  qui  discunt,  audiunt  et  respondent,  cum  igitur  haec  sint  quattuor,  litterae,  voces,  intellectus,  res,  proxime  quidem  et  principaliter  litterae  verba  nominaque  significant,  haec  vero  principaliter  quidem  intellectus,  secundo  vero  loco  res  quoque  designant,  intellectus  vero  ipsi  nihil  aliud  nisi  rerum  significativi  sunt,  antiquiores  vero  quorum  est  Plato,  Aristoteles,  Speusippus,  Xenocrates  hi  inter  res  et  significationes  intellectuum  medios  sensus  ponunt  in  sensibilibus  rebus  vel  imaginationes  quasdam,  in  quibus  intellectus  ipsius  origo  consistat,  et  nunc  quidem  quid  de  hac  re  Stoici  dicant  praetermittendum  est.  hoc  autem  ex  his  omnibus  solum  cognosci  oportet,  quod  ea  quae  sunt  in  litteris  eam  significent  orationem  quae  in  voce  consistit  et  ea  quae  est  vocis  oratio  quod  animi  atque  intellectus  orationem  designet,  quae  tacita  cogitatione  conficitur,  et  quod  haec  intellectus  oratio  subiectas  principaliter  res  sibi  concipiat  ac  designet,  ex  quibus  quattuor  duas  quidem  Aristoteles  esse  NATURALITER dicit,  res  et  animi  conceptiones,  id  est  eam  quae  fit  in  intellectibus  orationem,  idcirco  30  quod  apud  omnes  eaedem  atque  inmutabiles  sint;   6  et  om.  S1  12  uerba  et  nomina  S2F,  nomina  et  uerba  (in  ras .)  E  12  — 13  haec  —  designant  in  marg.  E  14  significationes  F  16  //usippus  S,  siue  usippus  S2FT  19   nunc  om.  SFT  20  dicunt  SF  23  et  quod  S2FE2  est  om.  S1  uocis  est  F  24  quod  dei.  S2,  om.  FE  29  intellectus  S1    I  c.  1.    25    duas  vero  NON NATURALITER, SED POSITIONE constitui, quae sunt scilicet verba nomina et litterae, quas idcirco NATURALITER fixas esse non dicit, quod  ut supra demonstratum est non  eisdem  vocibus  omnes  aut  isdem  utantur  elementis,  atque  hoc  est  quod  ait: Sunt  ergo  ea  quae sunt in voce earum quae sunt in anima passionum notae et ea  quae  scribuntur  eorum  quae  sunt  in  voce,  et  quemadmodum  nec  litterae  omnibus  eaedem,  sic  nec  voces  eaedem,  quorum  autem  haec  primorum  notae,  eaedem  omnibus  passiones  animae  et  quorum  hae  similitudines,  res  etiam  eaedem,  de  his  quidem  dictum  est  in  his  quae  sunt  dicta  de  anima,  alterius  est  enim  negotii. Cum igitur prius posuisset  nomen  et  verbum  et  quaecumque  secutus  est  postea  se  definire  promisisset,  haec  interim  praetermittens  de  passionibus  animae  deque  earum  notis,  quae  sunt  scilicet  voces,  pauca  praemittit,  sed  cur  hoc  ita  interposuerit,  plurimi  commentatores  causas  reddere  neglexerunt,  sed  a  tribus  quantum  adhuc  sciam  ratio  huius  interpositionis  explicita  est.  quorum  Hermini  quidem  a  rerum  veritate  longe  disiuncta  est.  ait  enim  idcirco  Aristotelen  de  notis  animae  passionum  interposuisse  sermonem,  ut  utilitatem  propositi  operis  inculcaret,  disputaturus enim  de  vocibus,  quae  sunt  notae  animae  passionum,  recte  de  his  quaedam  ante  praemisit,  nam  cum  suae  nullus  animae  passiones  ignoret,  notas  quoque  cum  animae  passionibus  non  nescire  utilissimum  est.  neque  enim  illae  cognosci  possunt  nisi  per  voces  quae  sunt  30   1  non  om.  S1  4.5  eisdem  FE  10  noces  eaedem  F  Ar.:  eaedem  uoces  ceteri  hae  codices  cf. p. 43, 6 12  animae   sunt  codices :  sunt  om.  Ar.  cf.  ed.  I  hae  27,  he§  X:  eaedem  ceteri  14  dicta  post  anima  X  enim  om.  X1  (enim  est  X2)   16  definire  se  F  20  neglexerunt  h:  neglexerant  codices  21.  22  explicata  E  ( corr .  E2)  23  Aristotelem  F    26  SECVNDA  EDITIO    earum  scilicet  notae.  Alexander  vero  aliam  huius-  modi  interpositionis  reddidit  causam,  quoniam,  iquit,  verba  et  nomina  interpretatione  simplici  conti¬  nentur,  oratio  vero  ex  verbis  nominibusque  coniuncta est  et  in  ea  iam  veritas  aut  falsitas  invenitur;  sive  autem  quilibet  sermo  sit  simplex,  sive  iam  oratio  coniuncta  atque  conposita,  ex  his  quae  significant  mo¬  mentum  sumunt  (in  illis  enim  prius  est  eorum  ordo  et  continentia,  post  redundat  in  voces):  quocirca  quo-  10  niam  significantium  momentum  ex  his  quae  signifcantur  oritur,  idcirco  prius  nos  de  his  quae  voces  ipsae  significant  docere  proponit,  sed  Herminus  hoc  loco  repudiandus  est.  nihil  enim  tale  quod  ad  causam  propositae  sententiae  pertineret  explicuit.  Ale-  15  x  and  er  vero  strictim  proxima  intellegentia  praeter¬  vectus  tetigit  quidem  causam,  non  tamen  principalem  rationem  Aristotelicae  propositionis  exsolvit.  sedPor-  phyrius  ipsam  plenius  causam  originemque  sermonis  huius  ante  oculos  conlocavit,  qui  omnem  apud  priscos  philosophos  de  significationis  vi  contentionem  litemque  retexuit,  ait  namque  dubie  apud  antiquorum  philosophorum  sententias  constitisse  quid  esset  proprie  quod  vocibus  significaretur,  putabant  namque  alii  res  vocibus  designari  earumque  vocabula  esse  ea  quae sonarent  in  vocibus  arbitrabantur,  alii  vero  incorporeas  quasdam  naturas  meditabantur,  quarum  essent  significationes  quaecumque  vocibus  designarentur:  Platonis  aliquo  modo  species  incorporeas  aemulati  dicentis  hoc  ipsum  homo  et  hoc  ipsum  equus  non  hanc  cuiuslibet  subiectam  substantiam,  sed  illum  ipsum  hominem  specialem  et  illum  ipsum  equum,  universaliter  et  incorporaliter  co-   2  interpraetationis  T  6  pro  iam:  autem  S,  om.  F  7  significantur  b  13  ad  in  marg.  E  20  de  om.  F1  21   apud  om.  E1  22  sententiae  S1  24  eorum/////q;  SE,  eorumq;  T  uocubula  T  25  sonarent  ego:  sonauerunt  S,  sonauerint  S2FE,  sonuerint  T  31  equum  significare  T    I  c.  1.    27    gitantes  incorporales  quasdam  naturas  constituebant,  quas  ad  significandum  primas  venire  putabant  et  cum  aliis  item  rebus  in  significationibus  posse  coniungi,  ut  ex  his  aliqua  enuntiatio  vel  oratio  conficeretur,  alii  vero  sensus,  alii  imaginationes  significari  vocibus  arbitrabantur.  cum  igitur  ista  esset  contentio  apud  superiores  et  haec  usque  ad  Aristotelis  pervenisset  aetatem,  necesse  fuit  qui  nomen  et  verbum  significativa  esset  definiturus  praediceret  quorum  ista  designativa  sint.  Aristoteles  enim  nominibus  et  verbis  res  subiectas  significari  non  putat,  nec  vero  sensus  vel  etiam  imaginationes,  sensuum  quidem  non  esse  significativas  voces  nomina  et  verba  in  opere  de  iustitia  sic  declarat  dicens  cpvdeL  yaQ  ev&vg  diriQ^rai  tcc  rs  votf-  { Lata  nal  ta  aiGfrri [luta,  quod  interpretari  Latine  potest  hoc  modo:  NATURA  enim<(statim)>divisa  sunt  intellectus  et  sensus,  differre  igitur  aliquid  arbitratur  sensum  atque  intellectum,  sed  qui  passiones  animae  a  vocibus  significari  dicit,  is  non  de  sensibus  loquitur,  sensus  enim  corporis  passiones  sunt,  si  igitur  ita  dixisset  passionescorporis  a  vocibus  significari,  tunc  merito  sensus  intellegeremus,  sed  quoniam  passiones  animae  nomina  'et  verba  significare  proposuit,  non  sensus  sed  intellectus  eum  dicere  putandum  est.  sed  quoniam  imaginatio  quoque  res  animae  est,  dubitaverit  aliquis  ne  forte  passiones  animae  imagi-   14  Ar.  fragm.  coli.  VRose  76    2  per  quas  se  F2  9  designativa  b:  designificatiua  codices  14  dirjQ7]Tcu  ego  (cf.  Ar.  1162,22  eth.  Nic.  VIII,  14:  sv&vs  yocQ  di7iQi]Tcu  tu  %Qya  v.ul  S6TLV  sxsQu  uvSqos  Y.ui  yv-  vaixog):  anhphtai  SGNJTE;  verba  Graeca  om.  F  (<4>rsEl  FAP  EY&  et  alia  in  marg.  F2),  dicens  hic  deest  grecum  quod  interpretari  B  15  AIZTHMATA  EN  Latine  om.  F  16  potes  VRose  statim  ego  add.:  om.  codices  diuersa  E2  est  N  19  a  om.  S*F  23  designificare  F  26  animae  om.  F    5   10   15   20   25    nationes,  qnas  Graeci  (pavraCiag  nominant,  dicat,  sed  haec  in  libris  de  anima  verissime  diligentissimeque  separavit  dicens  etircv  de  cpavraoCa  eteqov  epaOeog  nal  unoepaGeag'  Gvintloxr}  yaQ  vorj[icctav  etirlv  ro  ccArjfreg  5  xcd  ro  tyevdog.  rd  de  tcqcotcc  vocata  t C  dioCcei  rov  [. irj  cpavrcc<D[iuTa  eivcu;  rj  ovde  ravra  <pavrcc6[iarcc,  «AA’  ovk  ccvev  cpuvratitiarav.  quod  sic  interpretamur:  est  autem  imaginatio  diversa  adfirmatione  et  negatione;  conplexio  namque  intellectuum  est  10  veritas  et  falsitas.  primi  vero  intellectus  quid  discrepabunt,  ut  non  sint  imaginationes?  an  certe  neque  haec  sunt  imaginationes,  sed  sine  imaginationibus  non  sunt,  quae  sententia  demonstrat  aliud  quidem  esse  imaginationes,  aliud  intelleetus;  ex  intellectuum  quidem  conplexione  adfirmationes  fieri  et  negationes: quocirca  illud  quoque  dubitavit,  utrum  primi  intellectus  imaginationes  quaedam  essent,  primos  autem  intellectus  dicimus,  qui  simplicem  rem  concipiunt,  ut  si  qui  dicat  Socrates  solum  20  dubitatque  utrum  huiusmodi  intellectus,  qui  in  se  nihil  neque  veri  continet  neque  falsi,  intellectus  sit  an  ipsius  Socratis  imaginatio,  sed  de  hoc  quoque  aperte  quid  videretur  ostendit,  ait  enim  an  certe  neque  haec  sunt  imaginatione,  sed  non  sine  imaginationibus  sunt,  id  est  quod  hic  sermo  significat  qui  est  Socrates  vel  alius  simplex  non  est  quidem  imaginatio,  sed  intellectus,  qui  intellectus  praeter  ima¬  ginationem  fieri  non  potest,  sensus  enim  atque  ima-   3  Ar.  de  an.  III,  8:  432,  10 — 14.   1  fantasias  F,  phantasias  ceteri  2  haec  b:  hoc  codices  diligentissimeque  neq;  N  ( corr .  aeque  N1?)  3 — 7  dicens.   EZTIN  je  ( cet.  om.)  F,  dicens  hic  item  deest  grecum  B  6  cpcivtuGiiuxci  —  imaginationes:  <E>ANTAZMsl  codices  pro  rj:  N  codices  7  interpretatur  EN  10  aliquid  S2F  13.  14  demonstret  T,  corr.  T2  19  quis  F  25  idem  ( pro  id  est)  T2  26  pro  qui:  quid  S,  quod  S2F    I  c.  1.    29    ginatio  quaedam  primae  figurae  sunt,  supra  quas  velut  fundamento  quodam  superveniens  intellegentia  nitatur,  nam  sicut  pictores  solent  designare  lineatim  corpus  atque  substernere  ubi  coloribus  cuiuslibet  exprimant  vultum,  sic  sensus  atque  imaginatio  naturaliter  in  animae  perceptione  substernitur,  nam  cum  res  aliqua  sub  sensum  vel  sub  cogitationem  cadit,  prius  eius  quaedam  necesse  est  imaginatio  nascatur,  post  vero  plenior  superveniat  intellectus  cunctas  eius  explicans  partes  quae  confuse  fuerant  imaginatione  praesumptae. quocirca  inperfectum  quiddam  est  imaginatio,  nomina  vero  et  verba  non  curta  quaedam,  sed  perfecta  significant.  quare  recta  Aristotelis  sententia  est:  quaecumque  in  verbis  nominibusque  versantur,  ea  neque  sensus  neque  imaginationes,  sed  solam  significare  intellectuum  qualitatem,  unde  illud  quoque  ab  Aristotele  fluentes  Peripatetici  rectissime  posuerunt  tres  esse  orationes,  unam  quae  scribi  possit  elementis,  alteram  quae  voce  proferri,  tertiam  quae  cogitatione  conecti  unamque  intellectibus,  alteram  voce,  tertiam  litteris  contineri,  quocirca  quoniam  id  quod  significaretur  a  vocibus  intellectus  esse  Aristoteles  putabat,  nomina  vero  et  verba  significativa  esse  in  eorum  erat  definitionibus  positurus,  recte  quorum  essent  significativa  praedixit  erroremque  lectoris  ex  multiplici  veterum  lite  venientem  sententiae  suae  manifestatione  conpescuit.  atque  hoc  modo  nihil  in  eo  deprehenditur  esse  superfluum,  nihil  ab  ordinis  continuatione  se-  iunctum.  quaerit  vero  Porphyrius,  cur  ita  dixerit:  sunt  ergo  ea  quae  sunt  in  voce,  et  non  sic:  sunt  30   3  si  quod  S^1  7  ait.  sub  om.  F  enim  (pro  eius)  E   10  confuse  b:  confusae  SF,  confusa  TE  in  im.  S2,  in  yma-  ginationem  F  praesumpta  T  15  imaginationis  SFE1?   18  sit  ( pro  possit)  S1  19  cogitationem  SFE  20  conecti  ego :  conectit  codices,  connectitur  b  21  teneri  F,  corr.  F2  22  esse  om.  T1  28  ad  T    igitur  voces;  et  rursus  cur  ita  et  ea  quae  scribun¬  tur  et  non  dixerit:  et  litterae,  quod  resolvit  hoc  modo,  dictum  est  tres  esse  apud  Peripateticos  orationes,  unam  quae  litteris  scriberetur,  aliam  quae  proferretur  in  voce,  tertiam  quae  coniungeretur  in  animo,  quod  si  tres  orationes  sunt,  partes  quoque  orationis  esse  triplices  nulla  dubitatio  est.  quare  quoniam  verbum  et  nomen  principaliter  orationis  partes  sunt,  erunt  alia  verba  et  nomina  quae  scribantur,  alia  quae  10  dicantur,  alia  quae  tacita  mente  tractentur,  ergo  quoniam  proposuit  dicens:  primum  oportet  constituere,  quid  nomen  et  quid  verbum,  triplex  autem  nominum  natura  est  atque  verborum,  de  quibus  potissimum  proposuerit  et  quae  definire  velit  ostendit,  et  quoniam  de  his  nominibus  loquitur  ac  verbis,  quae  voce  proferuntur,  idem  ipsum  planius  explicans  ait:  sunt  ergo  ea  quae  sunt  in  voce  earum  quae  sunt  in  anima  passionum  notae  et  ea  quae  scribuntur  eorum  quae  sunt  in  voce,  velut  si  diceret:  ea  verba  et  nomina  quae  in  vocali  oratione  proferuntur  animae  passiones  denuntiant,  illa  autem  rursus  verba  et  nomina  quae  scribuntur  eorum  verborum  nominum¬  que  significantiae  praesunt  quae  voce  proferuntur,  nam  sicut  vocalis  orationis  verba  et  nomina  conceptiones  animi  intellectusque  significant,  ita  quoque  verba  et  nomina  illa  quae  in  solis  litterarum  formulis  iacent  ijjorum  verborum  et  nominum  significativa  sunt  quae  loquimur,  id  est  quae  per  vocem  sonamus,  nam  quod  ait:  sunt  ergo  ea  quae  sunt  in  voce,  30  subaudiendum  est  verba  et  nomina,  et  rursus  cum  dicit:  et  ea  quae  scribuntur,  idem  subnectendum  rursus  est  verba  scilicet  vel  nomina,  et  quod  rursus   1  cur  om.  F1  4.  5  proferetur  F2T  8  post  nomen  ras.  sex  vel  octo  litt.  in  S  12  quid  sit  n.  codices  17  ergo  om.  SF  21  uerba  rursus  F  24  uerba  orationis  F  30.  31  cum  dicit  rursus  F  32  vel]  et  b    I  c.  1.    31    adiecit:  eorum  quae  sunt  in  voce,  addendum  eorum  nomimum  atque  verborum  quae  profert  atque  explicat  vocalis  oratio,  quod  si  nihil  deesset  omnino,  ita  foret  totius  plenitudo  sententiae:  sunt  ergo  ea  verba  et  nomina  quae  sunt  in  voce  earum  quae  sunt  in  anima  passionum  notae  et  ea  verba  et  nomina  quae  scribuntur  eorum  verborum  et  nominum  quae  sunt  in  voce,  quod  communiter  intellegendum  est,  licet  ea  quae  subiunximus  deesse  videantur,  quare  non   est  disiuncta  sententia,  sed  primae  propositioni  continua.  nam  cum  quid  sit  verbum,  quid  nomen  definire  constituit,  cum nominis et verbi NATURA  sit  multiplex,  de quo verbo et nomine tractare vellet clara significatione distinxit, incipiens igitur ab his nominibus ac verbis quae in voce sunt, quorum essent significativa disseruit, ait enim haec passiones animae designare. illud quoque adiecit quibus ipsa verba et nomina quae in voce sunt designentur, his scilicet quae litterarum formulis exprimuntur, 

SED QUONIAM NON OMNIS VOX SIGNIFICATIVA EST, VERBA VERO VEL NOMINA NUMQUAM SIGNIFICATIONIBUS VACANT QUONIAMQUE NON OMNIS VOX QUAE SIGNIFICAT QUAEDAM *POSITIONE* DESIGNAT, SED *QUAEDAM NATURALITER*, UT LACRIMAE, GEMITUS ATQUE MAEROR – ANIMALIUM QUOQUE CETERORUM QUAEDAM VOCES *NATURALITER ALIQUID OSTENTANT* UT EX CANUM LATRATIBUS IRACUNDIA EORUMQUE ALIA QUADAM VOCEM BLANDIMENDA *MONSTRANTUR --verba autem et nomina positione significant neque solum sunt verba et nomina voces, sed voces significativae nec solum significativae, sed etiam QUAE POSITIONE DESIGNENT ALIQUID, NON NATURA: non  dixit: sunt igitur voces earum quae sunt in anima passionum notae, namque neque omnis vox significativa   5.  6  quae  sunt  in  v.—  nomina  in  marg.  F  15  sunt]  sunt  designantes  TGr  17  et  uerba  et  T  20  vel]  et  b 21  vacant  ego:  uacarent  codices ,  carent  b  que  om.  S1  22  quadam  S2E  24  moerorem  S,  merore  FE  32  nam  FT  est et

SUNT QUAEDAM *SIGNIFICATIVAE* QUAE *NATURALITER* NON POSITIONE SIGNIFICENT, quod si ita dixisset, nihil ad proprietatem verborum et nominum pertineret, quocirca noluit communiter dicere  voces, sed dixit tantum ea quae sunt in voce, vox enim universale quiddam est, nomina vero et verba partes, pars  autem omnis in toto est. verba ergo et nomina quoniam sunt intra vocem, recte dictum est ea quae sunt in voce,  velut si diceret: quae intra vocem continentur intellectuum designativa sunt, sed hoc simile est ac si ita dixisset:  vox certo modo sese habens significat intellectus. non enim ut dictum est nomen et verbum voces tantum sunt,  sicut nummus quoque  non  solum  aes  inpressum  quadam  figura  est,  ut  nummus  vocetur,  15  sed  etiam  ut  alicuius  rei  sit  pretium:  eodem  quoque  modo  verba  et  nomina  non  solum  voces  sunt,  sed  POSITAE AD QUANDAM INTELLECTUUM SIGNIFICATIONEM,  vox  enim  quae  nihil  designat,  ut  est  GARALUS,  licet  eam  grammatici  figuram  vocis  intuentes  nomen  esse  contendant,  tamen  eam  nomen  philosophia  non  putabit,  nisi  sit  posita  ut  designare  animi  aliquam  conceptionem  eoque  modo  rerum  aliquid  possit,  etenim  nomen  alicuius  nomen  esse  necesse  erit;  sed  si  vox  aliqua  nihil  designat,  nullius  nomen  est;  quare  si  nullius  est, ne  nomen  quidem  esse  dicetur,  atque  ideo  huiusmodi  vox  id  est  significativa  non  vox  tantum,  sed  verbum  vocatur  aut  nomen,  quemadmodum  nummus  non  aes,  sed  proprio  nomine  nummus,  quo  ab  alio  aere  discre¬  pet,  nuncupatur,  ergo  haec  Aristotelis  sententia  30  qua  ait  ea  quae  sunt  in  voce  nihil  aliud  designat  nisi  eam  vocem,  quae  non  solum  vox  sit,  sed  quae  cum  vox  sit  habeat  tamen  aliquam  proprietatem  et   4  dicere  ( pro  dixit)  T  9.  10  des.  s.  intell.  T,  corr.  T2   13  nummos  S1  18  garulus  F  20  putabit  ego:  putavit   codices  22  aliq.  rer.  F  25  dicitur  T  ideo  om.  F1  27  —  28  non  —  nummus  in  marg.  S  30  qua  ait  om.  F1    I  c.  1.    33    aliquam  quodammodo  figuram  positae  significationis  inpressam.  horum  vero  id  est  verborum  et  nominum  quae  sunt  in  voce  aliquo  modo  se  habente  ea  sunt  scilicet  significativa  quae  scribuntur,  ut  hoc  quod  dictum  est  quae  scribuntur  de  verbis  ac  nominibus dictum  quae  sunt  in  litteris  intellegatur,  potest  vero  haec  quoque  esse  ratio  cur  dixerit  et  quae  scribuntur:  quoniam  litteras  et  inscriptas  figuras  et  voces,  quae  isdem  significantur  formulis,  nuncupamus  (ut  a  et  ipse  sonus  litterae  nomen  capit  et  illa  quae  10  in  subiecto  cerae  vocem  significans  forma  describitur),  designare  volens,  quibus  verbis  atque  nominibus  ea  quae  in  voce  sunt  adparerent,  non  dixit  litteras,  quod  ad  sonos  etiam  referri  potuit  litterarum,  sed  ait  quae  scribuntur,  ut  ostenderet  de  his  litteris  dicere  quae  15  in  scriptione  consisterent  id  est  quarum  figura  vel  in  cera  stilo  vel  in  membrana  calamo  posset  effingi,  alioquin  illa  iam  quae  in  sonis  sunt  ad  ea  nomina  referuntur  quae  in  voce  sunt,  quoniam  sonis  illis  no¬  mina  et  verba  iunguntur.  sed  Porphyrius  de  utraque  expositione  iudicavit  dicens:  id  quod  ait  et  quae  scribuntur  non  potius  ad  litteras,  sed  ad  verba  et  nomina  quae  posita  sunt  in  litterarum  inscriptione  referendum,  restat  igitur  ut  illud  quoque  addamus,  cur  non  ita  dixerit:  sunt  ergo  ea  quae  sunt  in  voce  25  intellectuum  notae,  sed  ita  earum  quae  sunt  in  anima  passionum  notae,  nam  cum  ea  quae  sunt  p.30l  in  voce  res  intellectusque  significent,  principaliter  quidem  intellectus,  res  vero  quas  ipsa  intellegentia  con-  prehendit  secundaria  significatione  per  intellectuum medietatem,  intellectus  ipsi  non  sine  quibusdam  passionibus  sunt,  quae  in  animam  ex  subiectis  veniunt  rebus,  passus  enim  quilibet  eius  rei  proprietatem,   3  sese  E  5  et  F  8  scriptas  b  15  se  de?  15.  16   quae  inscriptione  T  17  menbrana  F  23  proposita  F   24  illas  Tl  26  si  T  31.  32  medietatibus  {pro  pass.)  T  Boetii  comment.  II.  3    34    quam  intellectu  conplectitur,  ad  eius  enuntiationem  designationemque  contendit,  cum  enim  quis  aliquam  rem  intellegit,  prius  imaginatione  formam  necesse  est  intellectae  rei  proprietatemque  suscipiat  et  fiat  vel  5  passio  vel  cum  passione  quadam  intellectus  perceptio,  hac  vero  posita  atque  in  mentis  sedibus  conlocata  fit  indicandae  ad  alterum  passionis  voluntas,  cui  actus  quidam  continuandae  intellegentiae  protinus  ex  intimae  rationis  potestate  supervenit,  quem  scilicet  explicat  et  10  effundit  oratio  nitens  ea  quae  primitus  in  mente  fundata  est  passione,  sive,  quod  est  verius,  significatione  progressa  oratione  progrediente  simul  et  significantis  seorationis  motibus  adaequante,  fit  vero  baec  passio  velut  figurae  alicuius  inpressio,  sed  ita  ut  in  animo  15  fieri  consuevit,  aliter  namque  naturaliter  inest  in  re  qualibet  propria  figura,  aliter  vero  eius  ad  animum  forma  transfertur,  velut  non  eodem  modo  cerae  vel  marmori  vel  chartis  litterae  id  est  vocum  signa  mandantur.  et  imaginationem  Stoici  a  rebus  in  animam  20  translatam  loquuntur,  sed  cum  adiectione  semper  dicentes  ut  in  anima,  quocirca  cum  omnis  animae  passio  rei  quaedam  videatur  esse  proprietas,  porro  autem  designativae  voces  intellectuum  principaliter,  rerum  dehinc  a  quibus  intellectus  profecti  sunt  significatione nitantur, quidquid  est  in  vocibus  significativum,  id  animae  passiones  designat,  sed  hae passiones animarum ex rerum similitudine procreantur, videns  4 intellegi T  ( corr.  T1)  5  intellectio  T  6  Haec  T   8  quidem  F  9  quem  actum  F,  actum  supra  lin.  J,  s.  actum  supra  lin.  S2  12  oratione  ego:  oratio  codices;  oratio  suprascr.  s.  explicat  S2,  oratio explicat  F  significatione  dei  et  post  simul  transponit  F2  (E  in  marg.:  aliter  siue  quod  est  verius  significatione  progrediente  oratio  progressa  simul  et  se  signif.  or.  mot.  adaeq.)  13  metibus  S1,  mentibus  F1  17  transferetur  T,  corr.  T2  17  vel  om.  F  19  a  om.  S1  25  nitatur  S^1  27  animorum  SFE  et  T^1    I  c.  1.    35    namque  aliquis  sphaeram  vel  quadratum  vel  quamlibet  aliam  rerum  figuram  eam  in  animi  intellegentia  quadam  vi  ac  similitudine  capit,  nam  qui  sphaeram  viderit,  eius  similitudinem  in  animo  perpendit  et  cogitat  atque  eius  in  animo  quandam  passus  imaginem  id  cuius  imaginem  patitur  agnoscit,  omnis  vero  imago  rei  cuius  imago  est  similitudinem  tenet:  mens  igitur  cum  intellegit,  rerum  similitudinem  conprehendit.  unde  fit  ut,  cum  duorum  corporum  maius  unum,  minus  alterum  contuemur,  a  sensu  postea  remotis  corporibus  illa  ipsa  corpora  cogitantes  illud  quoque  memoria  servante  noverimus  sciamusque  quod  minus,  quod  vero  maius  corpus  fuisse  conspeximus,  quod  nullatenus  eveniret,  nisi  quas  semel  mens  passa  est  rerum  similitudines  optineret.  quare  quoniam  passiones  animae  quas  intellectus  vocavit  rerum  quaedam  similitudines  sunt,  idcirco  Aristoteles,  cum  paulo  post  de  passionibus  animae  loqueretur,  continenti  ordine  ad  simili¬  tudines  transitum  fecit,  quoniam  nihil  differt  utrum  passiones  diceret  an  similitudines,  eadem  namque  res  in  anima  quidem  passio  est,  rei  vero  similitudo,  et  Alexander  hunc  locum:  sunt  ergo  ea  quae  sunt  in  voce  earum  quae  sunt  in  anima  passionum  notae  et  ea  quae  scribuntur  eorum  quae  sunt  in  voce,  et  quemadmodum  nec  litterae  omni¬  bus  eaedem,  sic  nec  voces  eaedem  hoc  modo  conatur  exponere:  proposuit,  inquit,  ea  quae  sunt  in  voce  intellectus  animi  designare  et  hoc  alio  probat  exemplo,  eodem  modo  enim  ea  quae  sunt  in  voce  passiones  animae  significant,  quemadmodum  ea  quae  scribuntur  voces  designant,  ut  id  quod  ait  et  ea  quae   1  aliquis  om.  T,  aliqui  E  feram  S,  speram  S2FT  3  ui§  (pro  vi  ac)  SF  speram  FT  9  duum  S2F2  12  sciamusque  ego:  sciemusq.  codices  14  mens  om.  T  20  pass.  animae  editio  princeps  24  inscribuntur  SFE  26  eaedem  uoces  codices  (item  p.  36,  6.  7)  29  enim  modo  F    scribuntur  ita  intellegamus,  tamquam  si  diceret:  quemadmodum  etiam  ea  quae  scribuntur  eorum  quae  sunt  in  voce,  ea  vero  quae  scribuntur,  inquit  Alexander,  notas  esse  vocum  id  est  nominum  ac  verbo-  5  rum  ex  hoc  monstravit  quod  diceret  et  quemadmo¬  dum  nec  litterae  omnibus  eaedem,  sic  nec  voces  eaedem,  signum  namque  est  vocum  ipsarum  significationem  litteris  contineri,  quod  ubi  variae  sunt  litterae  et  non  eadem  quae  scribuntur  varias  quoque voces  esse  necesse  est.  haec  Alexander.  Porphy-  rius  vero  quoniam  tres  proposuit  orationes,  unam  quae  litteris  contineretur,  secundam  quae  verbis  ac  nominibus  personaret,  tertiam  quam  mentis  evolveret  intellectus,  id  Aristotelem  significare  pronuntiat,  15  cum  dicit:  sunt  ergo  ea  quae  sunt  in  voce  earum  quae  sunt  in  anima  passionum  notae,  quod  ostenderet  si  ita  dixisset:  sunt  ergo  ea  quae  sunt  in  p.  302  voce  et  verba  et  nomina  animae  passionum  |  notae,  et  quoniam  monstravit  quorum  essent  voces  significa-  20  tivae,  illud  quoque  docuisse  quibus  signis  verba  vel  nomina  panderentur  ideoque  addidisse  et  ea  quae  scribuntur  eorum  quae  sunt  in  voce,  tamquam  si  diceret:  ea  quae  scribuntur  verba  et  nomina  eorum  quae  sunt  in  voce  verborum  et  nominum  notae  sunt.  25  nec  disiunctam  esse  sententiam  nec  (ut  Alexander  putat)  id  quod  ait:  et  ea  quae  scribuntur  ita  in¬  tellegendum,  tamquam  si  diceret:  sicut  ea  quae  scribuntur  id  est  litterae  illa  quae  sunt  in  voce  significant,  ita  ea  quae  sunt  in  voce  notas  esse  animae  30  passionum,  primo  quod  ad  simplicem  sensum  nihil  addi  oportet,  deinde  tam  brevis  ordo  tamque  necessaria  orationis  non  est  intercidenda  partitio,  tertium  vero  quoniam,  si  similis  significatio  est  litterarum  vo-   5  quo  TE1  9  eaedem  F,  eedem  T  13  quae  F  14  ari-  stotelen  T  18  prius  et  om.  TE  20  et  b  29  sunt  om.  SF  30  primum?  quidem  quod  b  31  deinde  quod  b  tamque]  tamquam  T  33  esset  E2    I  c.  1.    37    cumque,  quae  est  vocum  et  animae  passionum,  opor¬ tet  sicut  voces  diversis  litteris  permutantur,  ita  quoque  passiones  animae  diversis  vocibus  permutari,  quod  non  fit.  idem  namque  intellectus  variatis  potest  voci¬  bus  significari,  sed  Alexander  id  quod  eum  superius  sensisse  memoravi  boc  probare  nititur  argumento,  ait  enim  etiam  in  hoc  quoque  similem  esse  significa¬  tionem  litterarum  ac  vocum,  quoniam  sicut  litterae  non  naturaliter  voces,  sed  positione  significant,  ita  quoque  voces  non  naturaliter  intellectus  animi,  sed  aliqua  positione  designant,  sed  qui  prius  recepit,  ut  id  quod  Aristoteles  ait:  et  ea  quae  scribuntur  ita  dictum  esset,  tamquam  si  diceret:  sicut  ea  quae  scribuntur,  quidquid  ad  hanc  sententiam  videtur  ad-  iungere,  aequaliter  non  dubitatur  errare,  quocirca  nostro  iudicio  qui  rectius  tenere  volent  Porphyrii  se  sententiis  adplicabunt.  Aspasius  quoque  secundae  sententiae  Alexandri,  quam  supra  posuimus,  valde  consentit,  qui  a  nobis  in  eodem  quo  Alexander  errore  culpabitur.  Aristoteles  vero  duobus  modis  esse  has  notas  putat  litterarum,  vocum  passionumque  ani¬  mae  constitutas:  uno  quidem  positione,  alio  vero  na¬  turaliter.  atque  hoc  est  quod  ait:  et  quemadmodum  nec  litterae  omnibus  eaedem,  sic  nec  voces  eaedem,  nam  si  litterae  voces,  ipsae  vero  voces  intellectus  animi  naturaliter  designarent,  omnes  homines  isdem  litteris,  isdem  etiam  vocibus  uterentur,  quod  quoniam  apud  omnes  neque  eaedem  litterae  neque  eaedem  voces  sunt,  constat  eas  non  esse  naturales,  sed  hic  duplex  lectio  est.  Alexander  enim  hoc  modo  legi  putat  oportere:  quorum  autem  haec  primo-   1.  2  oporteret E 11 recipit S, corr. S2 18—19  quam  —  Alexander  in  marg.  S  21  vocum  om.  S1  24.  25  eaedem  v.  codices  {item  p.  38,  10  et  29)  27  hisdem  S2F2TE   hisdem  SF2TE  31  hae  codices  {item  p.  38,  18)    5   10   15   20   25   30    38    rum  notae,  eaedem  omnibus  passiones  animae  et  quorum  eaedem  similitudines,  res  etiam  eaedem,  volens  enim  Aristoteles  ea  quae  positione  significant  ab  bis  quae  aliquid  designant  naturaliter  5  segregare  hoc  interposuit:  ea  quae  positione  significant  varia  esse,  ea  vero  quae  naturaliter  apud  omnes  eadem,  et  incobans  quidem  a  vocibus  ad  litteras  venit  easque  primo  non  esse  naturaliter  significativas  demonstrat  dicens:  et  quemadmodum  nec  litterae  omnibus  eaedem,  sic  nec  voces  eaedem,  nam  si  idcirco  probantur  litterae  non  esse  naturaliter  significantes,  quod  apud  alios  aliae  sint  ac  diversae,  eodem  quoque  modo  probabile  erit  voces  quoque  NON NATURALITER SIGNIFICARE,  quoniam  singulae  hominum  gentes  15  non  eisdem  inter  se  vocibus  conio quantur.  volens  vero  similitudinem  intellectuum  rerumque  subiectarum  docere  naturaliter  constitutam  ait:  quorum  autem  haec  primorum  notae,  eaedem  omnibus  passio¬  nes  animae,  quorum,  inquit,  voces  quae  apud  diver-  20  sas  gentes  ipsae  quoque  diversae  sunt  significationem  retinent,  quae  scilicet  sunt  animae  passiones,  illae  apud  omnes  eaedem  sunt,  neque  enim  fieri  potest,  ut  quod  apud  Romanos  homo  intellegitur  lapis  apud  barbaros  intellegatur,  eodem  quoque  modo  de  ceteris  25  rebus,  ergo  huiusmodi  sententia  est,  qua  dicit  ea  quae  voces  significent  apud  omnes  hominum  gentes  non  mutari,  ut  ipsae  quidem  voces,  sicut  supra  monstravit  cum  dixit  quemadmodum  nec  litterae  omnibus  eaedem,  sic  nec  voces  eaedem,  apud  30  plures  diversae  sint,  illud  vero  quod  voces  ipsae  si¬  gnificant  apud  omnes  homines  idem  sit  nec  ulla  ra-   1  animae  sunt  codices  ( item  19)  7  inchoatis  T  8  significas  S1,  signifitiuas  T  15  colloquuntur  b  17  //////ait  S,  quod  ait  TE  (quod  dei.  E1?)  22  apud  om.  F,  add.  F1   23  qui  T  24  modo  quoq.  F  29  apud  ego:  cum  apud  codices  31  fit  F    I  c.  1.    39    tione  valeat  permutari,  qui  sunt  scilicet  intellectus  rerum,  qui  quoniam  naturaliter  sunt  permutari  non  possunt,  atque  hoc  est  quod  ait:  quorum  autem  haec  primorum  notae,  id  est  voces,  eaedem  om¬  nibus  passiones  animae,  ut  demonstraret  voces quidem  esse  diversas,  quorum  autem  ipsae  voces  significativae  essent,  quae  sunt  scilicet  animae  passiones,  easdem  apud  omnes  esse  nec  |  ullratione,  quoniam   sunt  constitutae  naturaliter,  permutari,  nec  vero  in  hoc  constitit,  ut  de  solis  vocibus  atque  intellectibus  loqueretur,  sed  quoniam  voces  atque  litteras  non  esse  naturaliter  constitutas  per  id  significavit,  quod  eas  non  apud  omnes  easdem  esse  proposuit,  RURSUS INTELLECTUS QUOS ANIMAE PASSIONES VOCAT PER HOC ESSE NATURALES OSTENDIT, QUOD *APUD OMNES IDEM SINT,  a  quibus id  est  intellectibus  ad  res  transitum  fecit,  ait  enim  quorum  hae  similitudines,  res  etiam  eaedem  hoc  scilicet  sentiens,  quod  res  quoque  naturaliter  apud  omnes  homines  essent  eaedem:  sicut  ipsae  animae  passiones  quae  ex  rebus  sumuntur  apud  omnes  homines  eaedem  sunt,  ita  quoque  etiam  ipsae  res  quarum  similitudines  sunt  animae  passiones  eaedem  apud  omnes  sunt,  quocirca  quoque  naturales  sunt,  sicut  sunt  etiam  rerum  similitudines,  quae  sunt  animae  passiones.  H  er  minus  vero  huic  est  expositioni  contrarius.  dicit  enim  non  esse  verum  eosdem  apud  omnes  homines  esse  intellectus,  quorum  voces  significativae  sint,  quid  enim,  inquit,  in  aequivocatione  dicetur,  ubi  unus  idemque  vocis  modus  plura  significat?  sed  magis  hanc  lectionem  veram  putat,  ut  ita  30  sit:  quorum  autem  haec  primorum  notae,  hae  omnibus  passiones  animae et quorumhae similitudines, res etiam hae: ut demonstratio vi-  4 hae codices (item 31) animae sunt codices (item 32)  21 quarum b: quorum codices  23 homines  F,  corr.  F2  res  quoq.  b  28  sunt  F  31  autem  ovi.deatur quorum voces significativae sint vel quorum passiones animae similitudines, et lioc simpliciter accipiendum  est  secundum  Her minum,  ut  ita  dicamus:  quorum  voces  significativae  sunt,  illae  sunt  animae passiones,  tamquam  diceret:  animae  passiones  sunt,  quas  significant  voces,  et  rursus  quorum  sunt  similitudines  ea  quae  intellectibus  continentur,  illae  sunt  res,  tamquam  si  dixisset:  res  sunt  quas  significant  intellectus.  sed  Porphyrius  de  utrisque  acute  subtiliterque  iudicat  et  Alexandri  magis  sententiam  probat,  hoc  quod  dicat  non  debere  dissimulari  de  multiplici  aequivocationis  significatione,  nam  et  qui  dicit  ad  unam  quamlibet  rem  commodat  animum,  scilicet  quam  intellegens  voce  declarat,  et  unum  rursus  intellectum  quemlibet  is  qui  audit  exspectat,  quod  si,  cum  uterque  ex  uno  nomine  res  diversas  intellegunt,  ille  qui  nomen  aequivocum  dixit  designet  clarius,  quid  illo  nomine  significare  voluerit,  accipit  mox  qui  audit  et  ad  unum  intellectum  utrique  conveniunt,  qui  rursus  fit  unus  apud  eosdem  illos  apud  quos  primo  diversae  fuerant  animae  passiones  propter  aequivocationem  nominis.  neque  enim  fieri  potest,  ut  qui  voces  positione  significantes  a  natura  eo  distinxerit  quod  easdem  apud  omnes  esse  non  diceret,  eas  res  quas  esse  naturaliter  25  proponebat  non  eo  tales  esse  monstraret,  quod  apud  omnes  easdem  esse  contenderet,  quocirca  Alexander  vel  propria  sententia  vel  Porphyrii  auctoritate  probandus  est.  sed  quoniam  ita  dixit  Aristoteles:  quorum  autem  haec  primorum  notae,  eaedem omnibus  passiones  animae  sunt,  quaerit  Ale-   9.  10  suptiliterq.  SE  11  hoc  dei.  S2,  om.  F  quod  F:   quo  STEGN,  quoque  E2  dicit  E2  14  voce  eras,  in  F   16  utrique? 17 designat T quod T 18 nomen S1 23 distinxerint T quos (suprascr.  d)  S,  qui  (in  marg.  quod)  T  24  eas]  is?  25  demonstraret  T  27  pro  porphirii  E  29  hae  codices  I  c.  1. 41    x  and  er:  si  rerum  nomina  sunt,  quid  causae  est  ut  primorum  intellectuum  notas  esse  voces  diceret  Aristoteles?  rei  enim  ponitur  nome,  ut  cum  dicimus  “homo” SIGNIFICAMUS (ROMANI) quidem intellectum, rei tamen nomen est id est animalis rationalis mortalis, cur ergo non primarum magis rerum notae sint voces quibus ponuntur potius quam intellectuum? sed fortasse quidem ob  hoc dictum est, inquit, quod licet voces rerum nomina sint, tamen non idcirco utimur vocibus, ut res significemus, sed ut eas quae ex rebus nobis io innatae sunt animae passiones, quocirca propter quorum significantiam voces ipsae proferuntur, recte eorum primorum esse dixit notas, in hoc vero Aspasius permolestus est. ait enim: qui  fieri  potest,  ut  eaedem  apud  omnes  passiones  animae  sint,  cum  tam  diversa  sententia  de  iusto  ac  bono  sit?  arbitratur  Aristotelem  passiones  animae  non  de  rebus  incorporalibus,  sed  de  his  tantum  quae  sensibus  capi  possunt  passiones  animae  dixisse,  quod  perfalsum  est.  neque  enim  umquam  intellexisse  dicetur,  qui  fallitur,  et  fortasse  quidem  passionem  animi  habuisse  dicetur,  quicumque  id  quod  est  bonum  non  eodem  modo  quo  est,  sed  aliter  arbitratur,  intellexisse  vero  non  dicitur.  Aristoteles  autem  cum  de  similitudine  loquitur,  de  intellectu  pronuntiat,  neque  enim  fieri  potest,  ut  qui  25  quod  bonum  est  malum  esse  arbitratur  boni  similitudinem  mente  conceperit,  neque  enim  intellexit  rem  subiectam.  sed  quae  sunt  iusta  ac  bona  ad  positionem  omnia  naturamve  referuntur,  et  si  de  iusto  ac  bono  p.  304  ita  loquitur,  ut  de  eo  quod  civile  ius  aut  civilis  in-  30   1  quod  T  causa  S  F  2  dixerit  b  4  pro  tamen:  quidem  T  6  sunt  E,  corr.  E2  8  quidem  post  dictum  F  10  nris  STE  (corr.  S2E2)  11  sint  S  praeter  T 13esse prim.  F 22  ///////id  S, cum  id  TE  (cum  dei.  E2)  quidem  (pro  quod  est)  T  quo  S2F2:  quod  SFTE  23  dicetur?   29  si  om.  S1  30  ita  om.  F1 iuria  dicitur,  recte  non  eaedem  sunt  passiones  animae,  quoniam  civile  ius  et  civile  bonum  positione  est,  non  natura,  naturale  vero  bonum  atque  iustum  apud  omnes  gentes  idem  est.  et  de  deo  quoque  idem:  cuius  5  quamvis  diversa  cultura  sit,  idem  tamen  cuiusdam  eminentissimae  naturae  est  intellectus,  quare  repetendum  breviter  a  principio  est.  <(a^>partibus  enim  ad  orationem  usque  pervenit:  nam  quod  se  prius  quid  esset  verbum,  quid  nomen  constituere  dixit,  hae  mi-  10  nimae  orationis  partes  sunt;  quod  vero  adfirmationem  et  negationem,  iam  de  conposita  ex verbis  et  nominibus  oratione  loquitur,  quae  eaedem  rursus  partes  sunt  enuntiationis,  et  post  enuntiationis  propositionem  de  oratione  loqui  proposuit,  cuius  ipsa  quoque  enuntiatio,  pars  est.  et  quoniam  (ut  dictum  est)  triplex  est  oratio,  quae  in  litteris,  quae  in  voce,  quae  in  intellectibus  est,  qui  verbum  et  nomen  definiturus  esset  eaque  significativa  positurus,  dicit  prius  quorum  significativa  sint  ipsa  verba  et  nomina  et  incohat  quidem  ab  his  nominibus  et  verbis  quae  sunt  in  voce  dicens:  sunt  ergo  ea  quae  sunt  in  voce  et  demonstrat  quorum  sint  significativa  adiciens  earum  quae  sunt  in  anima  passionum  notae.  rursus  nominum  ipsorum  verborumque  quae  in  voce  sunt  ea  verba  et  nomina  quae  essent  in  litteris  constituta  significativa  esse  declarat  dicens  et  ea  quae  scribuntur  eorum  quae  sunt  in  voce,  et  quoniam  quattuor  ista  quaedam  sunt:  litterae,  voces,  intellectus,  res,  quorum  litterae  et  voces  positione  sunt,  natura  vero  res  atque intellectus,  demonstravit  voces  non  esse  naturaliter,  sed  positione  per  hoc  quod  ait  non  easdem  esse  apud  omnes,  sed  varias,  ut  est  et  quemadmodum  nec   1  non  recte  F  7  a  ego  add.:  om.  codices  8  quod  om.  T 15.  16  or.  est  F  16  postrem.  in  om.  FE  18  ea  quae  FE  positurus  b:  positurus  est  codices  22  sign.  sint  F  eorum  SFE  30  litteras  et  voces?  31  per  om.  SFT  quod  b:  quo///F,  quo  STE I  c.  1. 43 litterae  omnibus  eaedem,  sic  nec  voces  eaedem.  ut  vero  demonstraret  intellectus  et  res  esse  naturaliter,  ait  apud  omnes  eosdem  esse  intellectus,  quorum  essent  voces  significativae,  et  rursus  apud  omnes  easdem  esse  res,  quarum  similitudines  essent  animae  passiones,  ut  est  quorum  autem  haec  primorum  notae,  scilicet  quae  sunt  in  voce,  eaedem  omnibus  passiones  animae  et  quorum  hae  similitudines,  res  etiam  eaedem,  passiones  autem  animae  dixit,  quoniam  alias  diligenter  ostensum  est  omnem  vocem  animalis  aut  ex  passione  animae  aut  propter  passionem  proferri,  similitudinem  vero  passionem  animae  vocavit,  quod  secundum  Aristotelem  nihil  aliud  intellegere  nisi  cuiuslibet  subiectae  rei  proprietatem  atque  imaginationem  in animae ipsius  reputatione suscipere, de quibus animae passionibus in libris se de anima commemorat diligentius disputasse, sed quoniam  demonstratum  est,  quoniam  et verba et nomina et oratio intellectuum  principaliter  significativa  sunt,  quidquid  est  in  voce  significationis  ab  intellectibus  venit,  quare  prius  paululum  de  intellectibus  perspiciendum  ei  qui  recte  aliquid  de  vocibus  disputabit,  ergo  quod  supra  passiones  animae  et  similitudines  vocavit,  idem  nunc  apertius  intellectum  vocat  dicens:   Est  autem,  quemadmodum  in  anima  aliquotiens  quidem  intellectus  sine  vero  vel  falso,  aliquotiens  autem  cui  iam  necesse  est  horum  alterum  inesse,  sic  etiam  in  voce;  circa  conpositionem  enim  et  divisionem  est  falsitas  veri-   1.  2  eaedem  v.  codices  2  et]  ut  intellectus esse quarum b: quorum codices 6 haec E Ar. : hae Eet  ceteri  8  animae  sunt  codices  aliud  S:  aliud  est  est  aliud  TE ait. quon.]  quomodo  E  22  perspiciendum  S:  persp.  est S2FTE  de  om.  SF  23  disputauit  S^F1TE  28  cui  Ar.  <p  cf.  ed.  I:  cum  codices  30  autem falsitas  ueritasq;   ueritas  fals. ceteri SECVNDA EDITIO tasque. nomina igitur ipsa et verba consimilia  sunt  sine  conpositione  vel  divisione  intellectui, ut homo vel album, quando  non  additur  aliquid;  neque  enim  adhuc  verum  aut  falsum  est.  huius  autem  signum  hoc  est:  hircocervus  enim  significat  aliquid, sed nondum verum vel falsum, si non vel esse vel non esse addatur, vel  simpliciter  vel  secundum  tempus. Pietro Caramello. Keywords: interpretare, peryermeneias, Aquino, blityri – blythyri SG blithyri NT blythiri EF? (in fine suprascr. S F)”. “signatiuis” “significativis” garalus  garulus F. --  Refs.: Luigi Speranza, “Grice e Caramello” – The Swimming-Pool Library.

 

Grice e Carando – l’implicatura conversazionale di Socrate – filosofia italiana – Luigi  Speranza (Pettinengo). Filosofo italiano. Grice: “I like Carando; a typical Italian philosopher, got his ‘laurea,’ and attends literary salons! – There is a street named after him – whereas at Oxford the most we have is a “Logic lane!” --  Ennio Carando (Pettinengo), filosofo. Studia a Torino. Si avvicina all'anti-fascismo attraverso l'influenza di Juvalta (con cui discusse la tesi di laurea) e di Martinetti. Collaborò alla Rivista di filosofia di Martinetti, dove pubblicò un saggio su Spir. Insegna a Cuneo, Modena, Savona, La Spezia. Sebbene fosse quasi completamente cieco dopo l'armistizio si diede ad organizzare formazioni partigiane in Liguria e in Piemonte (fu anche presidente del secondo CLN spezzino). Era ispettore del Raggruppamento Divisioni Garibaldi nel Cuneese, quando fu catturato in seguito ad una delazione.  Sottoposto a torture atroci, non tradì i compagni di lotta e fu trucidato con il fratello Ettore, capitano di artiglieria a cavallo in servizio permanente effetivo e capo di stato maggiore della I Divisione Garibaldi. Un filosofo socratico. La metafisica civile di un filosofo socratico. Partigiano. Dopo l'armistizio Ennio Carando, che insegnava a La Spezia presso il Liceo Classico Costa, entrò attivamente nella lotta di liberazione organizzando formazioni partigiane in Liguria e in Piemonte. A chi gli chiedeva di non avventurarsi in quella decisione così pericolosa rispondeva fermamente: "Molti dei miei allievi sono caduti: un giorno i loro genitori potrebbero rimproverarmi di non aver avuto il loro stesso coraggio". For centuries the First Alkibiades was respected as a major  dialogue in the Platonic corpus. It was considered by the Academy to be  the proper introduction to the study of Plato's dialogues, and actually  formed the core of the serious beginner's study of philosophy. Various  ancient critics have written major commentaries upon the dialogue (most  of which have subsequently been lost). In short, it was looked upon as  a most important work by those arguably in the best position to know.   In comparatively recent times the First Alkibiades has lost its  status. Some leading Platonic scholars judge it to be spurious, and as  a result it is seldom read as seriously as several other Platonic  dialogues. This thesis attempts a critical examination of the dialogue  with an eye towards deciding which judgement of it, the ancient or the  modern, ought to be accepted. I wish to take advantage of this opportunity at last to thank my  mother and father and my sister. Lea, who have always given freely of  themselves to assist me. I am also grateful to my friends, in particular  Pat Malcolmson and Stuart Bodard, who, through frequent and serious  conversations proved themselves to be true dialogic partners. Thanks  are also due to Monika Porritt for her assistance with the manuscript.   My deepest gratitude and affection extend to Leon  Craig, to whom I owe more than I am either able, or willing, to express  here. Overpowering curiosity may be aroused in a reader upon his noticing  how two apparently opposite men, Socrates and Alkibiades, are drawn to  each other's conversation and company. Such seems to be the effect  achieved by the First Alkibiades , a dialogic representation of the beginning of their association. Of all the people named in the titles of  Platonic dialogues, Alkibiades was probably the most famous. It seems  reasonable to assume that one's appreciation of the dialogue would be en¬  hanced by knowing as much about the historical Alkibiades as would the  typical educated Athenian reader. Accordingly, this examination of the  dialogue will commence by recounting the major events of Alkibiades' scareer, on the premise that such a reminder may enrich a philosophic  understanding of the First Alkibiades.  The historical Alkibiades was born to Kleinias and Deinomakhe.   Although the precise date of his birth remains unknown (cf. 121d), it was   most surely before 450 B.C. His father, Kleinias, was one of the wealthy   men in Athens, financially capable of furnishing and outfitting a trireme in wartime. Of Deinomakhe we know nothing save that she was well born.   As young children Alkibiades and his brother, Kleinias, lost their father   4   in battle and were made wards of their uncle, the renowned Penkles.   He is recognized by posterity as one of the greatest statesmen of Greece.  Athens prospered during his lengthy rule in office and flourished to such  an extent that the "Golden Age of Greece" is also called the "Age of Perikles." When Alkibiades came under his care, Perikles held the  highest office in Athens and governed almost continuously until his  death which occurred shortly after the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War. At an early age Alkibiades was distinguished for his striking  beauty and his multi-faceted excellence. He desired to be triumphant in  all he undertook and generally was so. In games and sport with other  boys he is said to have taken a lion's share of victories. There are no  portraits of Alkibiades in existence from which one might judge his looks,  but it is believed that he served his contemporaries as the standard  artistic model for representations of the gods. No doubt partly because  of his appearance and demeanor, he strongly influenced his boyhood  companions. For example, it was rumored that Alkibiades was averse to  the flute because it prevented the player from singing, as well as dis¬  figuring his face. Refusing to take lessons, he referred to Athenian  deities as exemplars, calling upon Athena and Apollon who had shown disdain for the flute and for flautists. Within a short time flute-playing   had ceased to be regarded as a standard part of the curriculum for a gentleman's education. Alkibiades was most surely the talk of the town   among the young men and it is scarcely a wonder that tales of his youthful escapades abound.   Pursued by many lovers, he for the most part scorned such attentions. On one occasion Anytos, who was infatuated with Alkibiades, invited him to a dinner party. Instead, Alkibiades went drinking with some  of his friends. During the evening he collected his servants and bade  them interrupt Anytos' supper and remove half of the golden cups and  silver ornaments from the table. Alkibiades did not even bother to  enter. The other guests grumbled about this hybristic treatment of Anytos, who responded that on the contrary Alkibiades had been moderate  and kind in leaving half when he might have absconded with all. Alkibiades  certainly seems to have enjoyed an extraordinary sway over some of his  admirers. Alkibiades sought to enter Athenian politics as soon as he became   eligible and at about that time he first met Socrates. The First  Alkibiades is a dramatic representation of what might have happened at that fateful meeting. Fateful it was indeed, for the incalculable richness of the material it has provided for later thought as well as for the lives of the two men. By his own admission, Alkibiades felt that his   feeling shame could be occasioned only by Socrates. Though it caused him   discomfort, Alkibiades nevertheless chronically returned to occasion to save Alkibiades'   life. The generals were about to confer on him a prize for his valor but he insisted it be awarded to AlkiThis occurred near the  beginning of their friendship, at the start of the Peloponnesian War.   Later, during the Athenian defeat at the battle of Delion, Alkibiades   repaid him in kind. In the role of cavalryman, he defended Socrates who was on foot. Shortly thereafter, Alkibiades charged forward into  politicsbiades., campaigns he mounted invariably meeting with success. Elected  strategos (general) in 420 B.C. on the basis of his exploits, he was one  of the youngest ever to wield such high authority. Generally opposing Nikias and the plan for peace, Alkibiades as the leader of the democrats  allied Athens with various enemies of Sparta. His grandiose plans for  the navy rekindled Athenian ambitions for empire which had been at best  smouldering since the death of Perikles. Alkibiades' policy proposals  favored the escalation of the war, and he vocally supported Athens' con¬  tinuation of her position as the imperial power in the Mediterranean.   His first famous plan, the Athenian alliance with Argos, is recounted in  detail by Thucydides. Thucydides provides an especially vivid portrait   of Alkibiades and indicates that he was unexcelled, both in terms of diplomatic maneuvering and rhetorical ability. By arranging for the   Spartan envoys to modify their story from day to day, he managed to make Nikias look foolish in his trust of them. Although Alkibiades suffered  a temporary loss of command, his continuing rivalry with Nikias secured  him powerful influence in Athens, which was heightened by an apparent  failure of major proportions by Nikias in Thrace. Alkibiades' sustained opposition to Nikias prompted some of the  radical democrats under Hyperbolos to petition for an ostrakismos . This  kind of legal ostracism was a device intended primarily for the over¬  turning of stalemates. With a majority of the vote an ostrakismos could  be held. Citizens would then write on a potsherd the name of the one man  in all of Attika they would like to see exiled. There has been famous  ostracisms before this time, some ofwhich were almost immediately  regretted (e.g., Aristeides the Just, in 482 B.C.). At any rate,  Hyperbolos campaigned to have Alkibiades ostracized. Meanwhile, in one  of their rare moments of agreement, Alkibiades persuaded Nikias to join  with him in a counter-campaign to ensure that the percentage of votes  required to effect Alkibiades' exile would not be attained. They were so successful that the result of the ostrakismos was the exile of Hyperbolos. That was Athen's last ostrakismos. Thucydides devotes two books (arguably the most beautiful of his  History of the Peloponnesian War) to the Sicilian Expedition. This  campaign Alkibiades instigated is considered by many to be his most note¬  worthy adventure, and was certainly one of the major events of the war. Alkibiades debated with Nikias and convinced the Ekklesia (assembly) to launch the expedition. Clearly no match for Alkibiades'   rhetoric, Nikias, according to the speeches of Thucydudes, worked an   effect opposite his intentions when he warned the Athenians of the ex-  19    Rather than being daunted by the magnitude of the cost of the pense   expedition, the Athenians were eager to supply all that was necessary. This enthusiasm was undoubtedly enhanced by the recent reports of the   vast wealth of Sicily. Nikias, Alkibiades and Lamakhos were appointed   co-commanders with full power (giving them more political authority than anyone in Athen's recent history).   Immediately prior to the start of the expedition, the Hermai   throughout Athens were disfigured. The deed was a sacrilege as well as   22   a bad omen for the expedition. Enemies of Alkibiades took this oppor¬  tunity to link him with the act since he was already suspected of pro¬faning the Eleusian Mysteries and of generally having a hybristic dis¬  regard for the conventional religion. He was formally charged with  impiety. Alkibiades wanted to have his trial immediately, arguing it   would not be good to command a battle with the charge remaining undecided. His enemies, who suspected the entire military force would  take Alkibiades' side, urged that the trial be postponed so as not to  delay the awaiting fleet's scheduled departure. As a result they sailed with Alkibiades' charge untried.   When the generals arrived at Rhegion, they discovered that the   24   stories of the wealth of the place had been greatly exaggerated.   Nonetheless, Alkibiades and Lamakhos voted together against Nikias to remain and accomplish what they had set out to do. Alkibiades thought   it prudent that they first establish which of their allies actually had   been secured, and to try to persuade the rest. Most imperative, he   26   believed, was the persuasion of the Messenians. The Messenians would   not admit Alkibiades at first, so he sailed to Naxos and then to Katana.   Naxos allied with Athens readily, but it is suspected that the Katanaians had some force used upon them. Before the Athenians could address the   Messenians or the Rhegians, both of whom held important geographic   positions and were influential, a ship arrived to take Alkibiades back   to Athens. During his absence from Athens, his enemies had worked hard   to increase suspicion that he had been responsible for the sacrilege,   and now, with the populace aroused against Alkibiades, they urged he be   28   immediately recalled.   Alkibiades set sail to return in his own ship, filled with his   friends. At Thouri they escaped and went to the Peloponnese. Meanwhile the Athenians sentenced him to death. He revealed to the Spartans his   idea that Messenian support in the west was crucial to Athens. The   Spartans weren't willing to trust Alkibiades given his generally anti-   Spartan policies, and they particularly did not appreciate his past   treatment of the Spartan envoys. In a spectacular speech, as recounted   by Thucydides, Alkibiades defended himself and his conduct in leaving  30   Athens. Along with a delegation of Korinthians and Syrakusans,  Alkibiades argued for Sparta's participation in the war in Sicily. He also suggested to them that their best move against Athens was to fortify   a post at Dekelia in Attika. In short, once again Alkibiades proved   himself to be a master of diplomacy, knowing the right thing to say at   any given time, even among sworn enemies. The Spartans welcomed Alkibiades. Because of his knowledge of Athenian affairs, they acted   32   upon his advice about Dekelia (413 B.C.). Alkibiades did further  service for Sparta by inciting some Athenian allies in Asia Minor, par¬  ticularly at Khios, to revolt. He also suggested to Tissaphernes, the   Persian satrap of Asia Minor, that he ought to consider an alliance with  33   Sparta.   However, in 412 B.C. Alkibiades lost favor with the Spartans. His    loyalty was in doubt and he was suspected of having seduced the Spartan queen; she became pregnant during a long absence of the king.   Alkibiades prudently moved on, this time fleeing to the Persian court of   Tissaphernes where he served as an advisor to the   satrap. He counselled   Tissaphernes to ally neither with Sparta nor with Athens; it would be in   his best interests to let them wear each other down. Tissaphernes was   pleased with this advice and soon listened to Alkibiades on most matters,   having, it seems, complete confidence in him. Alkibiades told him to   lower the rate of pay to the Spartan navy in order to moderate their   activities and ensure proper conduct. He should also economize and   reduce expenditures. Alkibiades cautioned him against being too hurried  in his wish for a victory. Tissaphernes was so delighted with   Alkibiades' counsel that he had the most beautiful park in his domain named after him and developed into a luxury resort.   The Athenian fleet, in the meantime, was at Samos, and with it  lay the real power of Athens. The city had been brought quite low by the war, especially the Sicilian expedition, which left in the hands of  the irresolute and superstitious Nikias turned out to be disastrous for  the Athenians. Alkibiades engaged in a conspiracy to promote an oligarchic  revolution in Athens, ostensibly to ensure his own acceptance there. How¬  ever, when the revolution occurred, in 411 B.C., and the Council of Four   37   Hundred was established, Alkibiades did not associate himself with it.   He attached himself to the fleet at Samos and relayed to them the promise  of support he had exacted from Tissaphernes. The support was not forth¬  coming, however, but despite the sentiment among some of the Athenians  at Samos that Alkibiades intended to trick them, the commanders and   38   soldiers were confident that Athens could never rise without Alkibiades.  They appointed him general and re-instated him as the chief-in-command  of the Athenian Navy. He sent a message to the oligarchic Council of  Four Hundred in Athens telling them he would support a democratic boule  of 5,000 but that the Four Hundred would have to disband. There was no  immediate response.   In the meantime, with comparatively few men and ships, Alkibiades   managed to deflect the Spartans from their plan to form an alliance with   the Persian fleet. Alkibiades became an increasingly popular general   among the men at Samos, and with his rhetorical abilities he dissuaded   them from adopting policies that would likely have proven disastrous.   He insisted they be more moderate, for example, in their treatment of   unfriendly ambassadors, such as those from Athens. The Council of Four   Hundred sent an emissary to Samos, but Alkibiades was firm in his refusal to support them. This pleased the democrats, and since most of the   oligarchs were by this time split into several factions, the rule of the   40   Four Hundred fragmented of its own accord. Alkibiades sent advice from Samos as to the form of government the 5,000 should adopt, but he still   42   did not consider it the proper time for his own return.   During this time Alkibiades and the Athenian fleet gained major   victories, defeating the Spartans at Kynossema, at Abydos (411 B.C.), and   43    at Kyzikos (410 B.C.)    Seeking to regain some control, Tissaphernes    had Alkibiades arrested on one occasion when he approached in a single   ship. It was a diplomatic visit, not a battle, yet Tissaphernes had him   imprisoned. Within a month, however, Alkibiades and his men escaped. In   order to ensure that Tissaphernes would live to regret the arrest,   Alkibiades caused a story to be widely circulated to the effect that   Tissaphernes had arranged the escape. Suffice it to say the Great King of Persia was not pleased. Alkibiades also recovered Kalkhedonia and Byzantion for the Athenians. After gathering money from various sources and assuring himself   of the security of Athenian control of the Hellespont, he at last   decided to return to Athens. It had been an absence of seven years.   46   He was met with an enthusiastic reception in the Peiraeus. All charges   against him were dropped and the prevailing sentiment among the Athenians   was that had they only trusted in his leadership, they would still be the great empire they had been. With the hope that he would be able to  restore to them some of their former glory, they appointed Alkibiades  general with full powers, a most extraordinary command. He gained  further support from the Athenians when he led the procession to Eleusis  (the very mysteries of which he had earlier been suspected of blaspheming)  on the overland route. Several years earlier, through fear of the  Spartans at Dekelia, the procession had broken tradition and gone by sea. This restoration of tradition ensured Alkibiades political support from the more pious sector of the public who had been hesitant about  48   him. He had so consolidated his political support by this time that   such ever persons as opposed him wouldn't have dared to publicly declare   49   their opinions.   Alkibiades led a number of successful expeditions over the next   year and the Athenians were elated with his command. He had never failed   in a military undertaking and the men in his fleet came to regard themselves a higher class of soldier. However, an occasion arose during  naval actions near Notion when Alkibiades had to leave the major part of  his fleet under the command of another captain while he sailed to a near¬  by island to levy funds. He left instructions not to engage the enemy  under any circumstances, but during his absence a battle was fought none¬  theless. Alkibiades hurriedly returned but arrived too late to salvage  victory. Many men and ships were lost to the Spartans. Such was his   habit of victory that the people of Athens suspected that he must have wanted to lose. They once again revoked his citizenship.   Alkibiades left Athens for the last time in 406 B.C. and retired   to a castle he had built long before. Despite his complete loss of   civic status with the Athenians, his concern for them did not cease. In   his last attempt to assist Athens against the Spartan fleet under Lysander,   Alkibiades made a special journey at his own expense to advise the new   strategoi . He cautioned them that what remained of the Athenian fleet   was moored at a very inconvenient place, and that the men should be held   in tighter rein given the proximity of Lysander's ships. They disregarded   his advice with utter contempt (only to regret it upon their almost   52   immediate defeat) and Alkibiades returned to his private retreat.  There he stayed in quiet luxury until assassinated one night in 404 B.C. The participants in the First Alkibiades , Socrates and Alkibiades,  seem at first blush to be thoroughly contrasting. To start with appear¬  ances, the physical difference between the two men who meet this day  could hardly be more extreme. Alkibiades, famous throughout Greece for  his beauty, is face to face with Socrates who is notoriously ugly. They  are each represented in a dramatic work of the period. Aristophanes   refers to Alkibiades as a young lion; he is said to have described   54   Socrates as a "stalking pelican." Alkibiades is so handsome that his   figure and face served as a model for sculptures of Olympian gods on high   temple friezes. Socrates is referred to as being very like the popular   representation of siloni and satyrs; the closest he attains to Olympian   heights is Aristophanes' depiction of him hanging in a basket from the   55   rafters of an old house.   Pre-eminent among citizens for his wealth and his family, Alkibiades is speaking with a man of non-descript lineage and widely  advertised poverty. Alkibiades, related to a family of great men, is  the son of Kleinias and Deinomakhe, both of royal lineage. Socrates, who  is the son of Sophroniskos the stone-mason and Phainarete the midwife,  does not seem to have such a spectacular ancestry. Even as a boy Alkibiades was famous for his desire to win and his  ambition for power. Despite being fearful of it, people are familiar with  political ambition and so believe they understand it. To them, Alkibiades  seemed the paragon of the political man. But Socrates was more of a  mystery to the typical Athenian. He seemed to have no concern with im¬  proving his political or economic status. Rather, he seemed preoccupied  to the point of perversity with something he called 'philosophy, 1  literally 'love of wisdom.' Alkibiades sought political office as soon as he became of age. He felt certain that in politics he could rise above  all Athenians past and present. His combined political and military  success made it possible for him to be the youngest general ever elected.  Socrates, by contrast, said that he was never moved to seek office; he  served only when he was required (by legal appointment). In his lifetime  Socrates was considered to have been insufficiently concerned with his  fellows' opinions about him, whereas from his childhood people found  Alkibiades' attention to the demos remarkable - in terms either of his  quickness at following their cue, or of his setting the trend.   Both men were famous for their speaking ability, but even in this  they contrast dramatically. The effects of their speech were different.  Alkibiades could persuade peop  le, and so nations, to adopt his political  proposals, even when he had been regarded as an enemy. Socrates' effect  was far less widespread. Indeed, for most people acquainted with it,  Socratic speech was suspect. People were moved by Alkibiades' rhetoric  despite their knowing that that was his precise intention. It was  Socrates, however, who was accused of making the weaker argument defeat  the stronger, though he explicitly renounced such intentions. Alkibiades'  long moving speeches persuaded many large assemblies. Socrates' style of  question and answer was not nearly so popular, and convinced fewer men.   Socrates is reputed to have never been drunk, regardless of how  much he had imbibed. This contrasts with the (for the most part)  notoriously indulgent life of Alkibiades. He remains famous to this day  for several of his drunken escapades, one of which is depicted by Plato  in a famous dialogue. Though both men were courageous and competent in war, Socrates    never went to battle unless called upon, and distinguished himself only during general retreats. Alkibiades was so eager for war and all its  attendant glories that he even argued in the ekklesia for an Athenian  escalation of the war. He was principally responsible for the initiation  of the Sicilian expedition and was famous for his bravery in wanting to  go ever further forward in battle. It was, instead, battles in speech  for which Socrates seemed eager; perhaps it is a less easily observed  brand of courage which is demanded for advance and retreat in such clashes.   Both men could accommodate their lifestyles to fit with the circum¬  stances in which they found themselves, but as these were decidedly dif¬  ferent, so too were their manners of adaptation. Socrates remained ex¬  clusively in Athens except when accompanying his fellow Athenians on one  or two foreign wars. Alkibiades travelled from city to city, and seems  to have adjusted well. He got on so remarkably well at the Persian court  that the Persians thought he was one of them; and at Sparta they could not  believe the stories of his love of luxury. But, despite his outward con¬  formity with all major Athenian conventions, Socrates was st  ill con¬  sidered odd even in his home city.   In a more speculative vein, one might observe that neither  Alkibiades nor Socrates are restricted because of their common Athenian  citizenship, but again in quite different senses. Socrates, willing (and  eager) to converse with, educate and improve citizen and non-citizen  alike, rose above the polis to dispense with his need for it. Alkibiades,  it seems, could not do without political or public support (as Socrates  seems to have), but he too did not need Athens in particular. He could  move to any polis and would be recognized as an asset to any community.  Socrates didn't receive such recognition, but he did not need it. Still,    Alkibiades, like Socrates, retained an allegiance to Athens until his death and continued to perform great deeds in her service.   Despite their outwardly conventional piety (e.g., regular  observance of religious festivals), Alkibiades and Socrates were both  formally charged with impiety, but the manner of their alleged violations  was different. Alkibiades was suspected of careless blasphemy and con¬  temptuous disrespect, of profaning the highest of the city's religious  Mysteries; Socrates was charged with worshipping other deities than those  allowed, but was suspected of atheism. Though both men were convicted  and sentenced to death, Alkibiades refused to present himself for trial  and so was sentenced in absentia . Socrates, as we know, conducted his  own defense, and, however justly or unjustly, was legally convicted and  condemned. Alkibiades escaped when he had the chance and sought refuge  in Sparta; Socrates refused to take advantage of a fully arranged escape  from his cell in Athens. Alkibiades, a comparatively young man, lived to  see his sentence subsequently withdrawn. Socrates seems to have done his best not to have his sentence reduced. His rela¬  tionship with Athens had been quite constant. Old charges were easily  brought to bear on new ones, for the Athenians had come to entertain a  relatively stable view of him. Alkibiades suffered many reverses of  status with the Athenians.   Surprised from his sleep, Alkibiades met his death fighting with  assassins, surrounded by his enemies. After preparing to drink the hem¬  lock, Socrates died peacefully, surrounded by his friends.   It seems likely that Plato expects these contrasts to be tacitly  in the mind of the reader of the First Alkibiades . They heighten in  various ways the excitement of this dialogue between two men whom every  Athenian of their day would have seen, and known at least by reputation. Within a generation of the supposed time of the dialogue, moreover, each  of the participants would be regarded with utmost partiality. It is un¬  likely that even the most politically apathetic citizen would be neutral  or utterly indifferent concerning either man. Not only would every  Athenian (and many foreigners) know each of them, most Athenians would  have strong feelings of either hatred or love for each man. The extra¬  ordinary fascination of these men makes Plato's First Alkibiades all the  more inviting as a natural point at which to begin a study of political  philosophy.   In the First Alkibiades , Socrates and Alkibiades, regarded by  posterity as respective paragons of the philosophic life and the political  life, are engaged in conversation together. As the dialogue commences,  Alkibiades in particular is uncertain as to their relationship with each  other. Especially interesting, however, is their implicit agreement that  these matters can be clarified through their speaking with one another.   The reader might first wonder why they even bother with each other; and  further wonder why, if they are properly to be depicted together at all,  it should be in conversation. They could be shown in a variety of  situations. People often settle their differences by fighting, a  challenge to a contest, or a public debate of some kind. Alkibiades and  Socrates converse in private. The man identified with power and the man  identified with knowledge have their showdown on the plain of speech.   The Platonic dialogue form, as will hopefully be shown in the  commentary, is well suited for expressing political philosophy in that  it allows precisely this confrontation. A Platonic dialogue is different  from a treatise in its inclusion of drama. It is not a straightforward  explication for it has particular characters who are interacting in specific ways. It is words plus action, or speech plus deed. In a  larger sense, then, dialogue implicitly depicts the relation between  speech and deed or theory and practice, philosophy and politics, and re¬  flecting on its form allows the reader to explore these matters.   In addition, wondering about the particulars of Socratic speech  may shed light upon how theory relates to practice. As one attempts to  discover why Socrates said what he did in the circumstances in which he  did, one becomes aware of the connections between speech and action, and  philosophy and politics. One is also awakened to the important position  of speech as intermediary between thought and action. Speech is unlike  action as has just been indicated. But speech is not like thought either.  It may, for instance, have immediate consequences in action and thus  demand more rigorous control. Philosophy might stand in relation to  thought as politics does to action; understanding 'political philosophy'  then would involve the complex connection between thought and speech, and  speech and action; in other words, the subject matter appropriate to  political philosophy embraces the human condition. The Platonic dialogue  seems to be in the middle ground by way of its form, and it is up to the  curious reader to determine what lies behind the speech, on both the side  of thought and action. Hopefully, in examining the First Alkibiades these  general observations will be made more concrete. A good reader will take  special care to observe the actions as well as the arguments of this  dialogue between the seeker of knowledge and the pursuer of power.   Traditionally, man's ability to reason has been considered the  essential ground for his elevated status in the animal kingdom. Through  reason, both knowledge and power are so combined as to virtually place  man on an altogether higher plane of existence. Man's reason allows him to control beasts physically much stronger than he; moreover, herds outnumber man, yet he rules them. Both knowledge and power have long attracted men recognizably   superior in natural gifts. Traditionally, the highest choice a man could   57   confront was that between the contemplative and the active life. In  order to understand this as the decision par excellence , one must compre¬  hend the interconnectivity between knowledge and power as ends men seek.  One must also try to ascertain the essential features of the choice. For  example, power (conventionally understood) without knowledge accomplishes  little even for the mighty. As Thrasymakhos was reminded, without  knowledge the efforts of the strong would chance to work harm upon them¬  selves as easily as not ( Republic). The very structure of the dialogue suggests that the reader  attentive to dramatic detail may learn more about the relation between  power and knowledge and their respective claims to rule. Alkibiades  and Socrates both present arguments, and the very dynamics of the  conversation (e.g., who rules in the dialogue, what means he uses whereby  to secure rule, the development of the relationship between the ruler  and the ruled) promise to provide material of interest to this issue.   B. Knowledge, Power and their Connection through Language   As this commentary hopes to show, the problem of the human use of  language pervades the Platonic dialogue known as the First Alkibiades.  Its ubiquity may indicate that one's ability to appreciate the signifi¬  cance of speech provides an important measure of one's understanding of  the dialogue. Perhaps the point can be most effectively conveyed by  simply indicating a few of the many kinds of references to speech with  which it is replete. Socrates speaks directly to Alkibiades in complete privacy, but he employs numerous conversational devices to construct  circumstances other than that in which they find themselves. For example,  Alkibiades is to pretend to answer to a god; Socrates feigns a dialogue  with a Persian queen; and at one point the two imagine themselves in a  discussion with each other in full view of the Athenian ekklesia .   Socrates stresses that he never spoke to Alkibiades before, but that he  will now speak at length. And Socrates emphasizes that he wants to be  certain Alkibiades will listen until he finishes saying what he must say.  In the course of speaking, Socrates employs both short dialogue and long  monologue. Various influences on one's speaking are mentioned, including  mysterious powers that prevent speech and certain matters that inherently  demand to be spoken about. The two men discuss the difference between  asking and answering, talking and listening. They refer to speech about  music (among other arts), speech about number, and speech about letters.  They are importantly concerned with public speaking, implicitly with  rhetoric in all its forms. They reflect upon what an advisor to a city  can speak persuasively about. They discuss the difference between per¬  suading one and many. The two men refer to many differences germane to  speaking, such as private and public speech, and conspiratorial and  dangerous speech. Fables, poems and various other pictures in language  are both directly employed by Socrates and the subject of more general  discussion. Much of the argument centers on Alkibiades' understanding  of what the words mean and on the implicit presence of values embedded  in the language. They also spend much time discussing, in terms of  rhetorical effect, the tailoring of comments to situations; at one point  Socrates indicates he would not even name Alkibiades' condition if it  weren't for the fact that they are completely alone. They refer to levels of knowledge among the audience and the importance of this factor  in effectively persuading one or many. And in a larger sense already  alluded to, reflection on Plato's use of the dialogue form itself may also  reveal features of language and aspects of its relation to action.   Socrates seems intent upon increasing Alkibiades' awareness of the many  dimensions to the problem of understanding the role of language in the  life of man. Thus the reader of the First Alkibiades is invited to share  as well in this education about the primary means of education: speech,  that essential human power. Perhaps it may be granted, on the basis of the above, that the  general issue of language is at least a persistent theme in the dialogue.  Once that is recognized it becomes much more obvious that speech is  connected both to power, or the realm of action, and knowledge, the realm  of thought. Speech and power, in the politically relevant sense, are  thoroughly interwoven. The topics of freedom of speech and censorship  are of paramount concern to all regimes, at times forming part of the  very foundation of the polity. This is the most obvious connection: who  is to have the right to speak about what, and who in turn is to have the  power to decide this matter. Another aspect of speech which is crucial  politically seems to be often overlooked and that is the expression of  power in commands, instruction and explanation. The more subtle side of  this political use of speech is that of education. Maybe not all political  men do understand education to be of primary importance, but that clearly  surfaces as one of the things which Alkibiades learns in this dialogue.   At the very least, the politically ambitious man seeks control  over the education of others in order to secure his rule and make his  political achievements lasting. With respect to education, the skilled user of language has more power than someone who must depend solely on  actions in this regard. Circumstances which are actually unique may be  endlessly reproduced and reconsidered. By using speech to teach, the  speaker gains a power over the listener that might not be available had  he need to rely upon actions. Not only can he tell of things that cannot  be seen (feelings, thoughts and the like), but he can invent stories  about what does not even exist.   Myths and fables are generally recognized to have pedagogic  value, and in most societies form an essential part of the core set of  beliefs that hold the people together. Homer, Shakespeare and the Bible  are probably the most universally recognized examples influencing western  society. To mold and shape the opinions of men through fables, lies and  carefully chosen truths is, in effect, to control them. Such use of  language can be considered a weapon also, propaganda providing a most  obvious example. Hobbes, for instance, recognizes these qualities of  speech and labels them 'abuses.' Most of the abuse appears to be consti¬  tuted by the deception or injury caused another; Hobbes all the while   58   demonstrates himself to be master of the insult. Summing up these  observations, one notices that speech plays a crucial part in the realm  of power, especially in terms of education, a paramount political activity.   The connection of speech to knowledge, the realm of thought is much  less in need of comment. The above discussion of education points to the  underlying concern about knowledge. Various subtleties in language (two  of which - metaphor and irony - will be presently introduced), however,  make it more than the instrument through which knowledge is gained, but  actually may serve to increase a person's interest in attaining knowledge;  that is, they make the end, knowledge, more attractive. A most interesting understanding of speech emerges when one  abstracts somewhat from actual power and actual knowledge to look at the  relationship between the realms of action and thought. Action and  thought, epitomized by politics and philosophy, both require speech if  they are to interact. Politics in a sense affects thought, and thought  should guide action. Both of these exchanges are normally effected  through speech and may be said to describe the bounds of the subject area  of political philosophy. Political philosophy deals with what men do and  think (thus concerning itself with metaphysics, say, to the extent to  which metaphysical considerations affect man). Political philosophy may  be understood as philosophy about politics, or philosophy that is politic.  In this latter sense, speech via the expression of philosophy in a politic  manner, suggests itself to be an essential aspect to the connection be¬  tween these two human realms - thought and action. The reader of the  First Alkibiades should be alert to the ways in which language pertains  to the relationship between Socrates and Alkibiades. For example, their  concern for each other and promise to continue conversing might shed some  light on the general requirements and considerations power and knowledge  share. As has already been indicated, considerable attention is paid to  various characteristics of speech in the discussion between the two men.   Rhetoricians, politicians, philosophers and poets, to mention but  a few of those whose activity proceeds primarily through speech, are  aware of the powers of language and make more or less subtle use of  various modes of speech. The First Alkibiades teaches about language and  effectively employs many linguistic devices. Called for at the outset  is some introductory mention of a few aspects of language, in order that  their use in the dialogue may be more readily reflected upon. Metaphor, a most important example, is a complex and exciting  feature of language. A fresh and vivid metaphor is a most effective  influence on the future perceptions of those listening. It will often  form a lasting impression. Surely a majority of readers are familiar  with the experience of being unable to disregard an interpretation of  something illuminated by an especially bright metaphor. Many people  have probably learned to appreciate the surging power of language by  having themselves become helplessly swamped in a sea of metaphor. There are two aspects to the power of attracting attention through  language that a master of metaphor, especially, can summon. Both indicate  a rational component to language, but both include many more features of  reason than mere logical deduction. The first is the power that arises  when someone can spark connections between apparently unrelated parts of  the world. This is an interesting and exciting feature of man's rational  capability, deriving its charm partly from the natural delight people  apparently take in having connections drawn between seemingly distinct  objects.   The other way in which he can enthrall an audience is through  harvesting some of the vast potential for metaphors that exist in the  natural fertility of any language. There are metaphors in everyday  speech that remain unrecognized (are forgotten) for so long that dis¬  belief is experienced when their metaphoric nature is revealed. Men's  opinions about much of the world is influenced by metaphor. A most important set of examples involve the manner in which the invisible is  spoken of almost exclusively through metaphoric language based on the  visible. This curious feature of man's rationality is frequently ex¬  plored by Plato. The most famous example is probably Socrates's description of education as an ascent out of a cave ( Republic),  but another perhaps no less important example occurs in the First  Alkibiades . Not only is the invisible metaphorically explained via some¬  thing visible, but the metaphor is that of the organ of sight itself  (cf. 132c-133c, where the soul and the eye are discussed as analogues)!   The general attractiveness of metaphor also demonstrates that man  is essentially a creature with speech. That both man and language must  be understood in order for a philosophic explanation to be given of  either, is indicated whenever one tries to account for the natural  delight almost all people take in being shown new secrets of meaning, in  discovering the richness of their own tongue, and in the reworking of  images - from puns and complex word games to simple metaphors and  idiomatic expressions. Man's rationality is bound up with language, and  rationality may not be exclusively or even primarily logic; it is importantly metaphor. Subtle use is often made of the captivating power of various forms  of expression. One of the most alluring yet bedevilling of these is  irony. Irony never unambiguously reveals itself but suggests mystery  and disguise. This enhances its own attractiveness and simultaneously  increases the charm of the subject on which irony is played; there seems  little doubt that Socrates and Plato were able to make effective use of  this feature for they are traditionally regarded as the past masters of  it. Eluding definition, irony seems not amenable to a simple classifi-  catory scheme. It can happen in actions as well as speeches, in drama as  well as actual life. It can occur in an infinite variety of situations. One cannot be told how exactly to look for irony; it cannot be reduced to rules. But to discover its presence on one's own is thoroughly-  exciting (though perhaps biting). The possibility of double ironies increases the anxiety attending ironic speech as well as its attractive¬  ness. The merest suggestion of irony can upset an otherwise tranquil  moment of understanding. Probably all listeners of ironic speech or  witnesses of dramatic irony have experienced the apprehensiveness that  follows such an overturned expectation of simplicity.   It appears to be in the nature of irony that knowledge of its  presence in no way diminishes its seductiveness but rather enhances its  effectiveness. Once it is discovered, it has taken hold. This charming  feature of Socrates' powerful speech, his irony, is acknowledged by Alkibiades even as he recognizes himself to be its principal target (Symposium 215a-216e). The abundance of irony in the First Alkibiades makes it difficult  for any passage to be interpreted with certitude. It is likely that the  following commentary would be significantly altered upon the recognition  of a yet subtler, more ironic, teaching in the dialogue. It is thus up  to each individual, in the long run, to make a judgement upon the dialogue,  or the interpretation of the dialogue; he must be wary of and come to  recognize the irony on his own.  The Superior Man is a Problem for Political Philosophy   One mark of a great man is the power of making  lasting impressions upon people he meets. Another  is so to have handled matters during his life that  the course of after events is continuously affected  by what he did.   Winston Churchill  Great Contemporaries   It may be provisionally suggested that both Socrates and Alkibiades  are superior men, attracted respectively to knowledge and power. Certainly a surface reading of the First Alkibiades would support such a  judgement. One could probably learn much about the character of the  political man and the philosophic man by simply observing Socrates and  Alkibiades. It stands to reason that a wisely crafted dialogue repre¬  senting a discussion between them would reveal to the careful, reflective  reader deeper insight into knowledge, power and the lives of those  dedicated to each.   Socrates confesses that he is drawn to Alkibiades because of the   youth's unquenchable ambition for power. Socrates tells Alkibiades that   59   the way to realizing his great aspirations is through the philosopher.  Accordingly Socrates proceeds to teach Alkibiades that the acquisition of  knowledge is necessary in order that his will to power be fulfilled. By  the end of the dialogue, Socrates' words have managed to secure the  desired response from the man to whom he is attracted: Alkibiades in a  sense redirects his eros toward Socrates. This sketch, though superficial, bespeaks the dialogue's promise to unravel some of the mysterious  connections between knowledge and power as these phenomena are made  incarnate in its two exceptional participants.   The significance of the superior man to political philosophy has,  for the most part, been overlooked in the last century or so, the exceptions being rather notorious given their supposed relation to the  largest political event of the Twentieth Century.^ in contemporary  analysis, the importance of great men, even in the military, has tended  to be explained away rather than understood. This trend may be partly  explained by the egalitarian views of the dominant academic observers of  political things.   As the problem was traditionally understood, the superior man tends to find himself in an uneasy relationship with the city. The drive,  the erotic ambition distinguishes the superior man from most others, and  in that ambition is constituted their real threat to the polity as well  as their real value. No man who observed a war could persist in the  belief that all citizens have a more or less equal effect on the outcome,  on history. A certain kind of superiority becomes readily apparent in  battle and the bestowal of public honors acknowledges its political  value. Men of such manly virtue are of utmost necessity to all polities,  at least in times of extremes. Moreover, political philosophers have  heretofore recognized that there are other kinds of battlefields upon  which superior men exercise their evident excellence.   It is, however, during times of peace that the community ex¬  periences fear about containing the lions,^ recognizing that they  constitute an internal threat to the regime. Thus, during times of peace  a crucial test of the polity is made. A polity's ability to find a  fitting place for its noble men speaks for the nobility of the polity.   In many communities, the best youths turn to narrow specialization in  particularized scientific disciplines, or to legal and academic sophistry,  to achieve distinction. It is not clear whether this is due to the  regime's practicing a form of politics that attracts but then debases or  corrupts the better sort of youth, or because the best men find its  politics repugnant and so redirect their ambitions toward these other  pursuits. In any event, the situation in such communities is a far cry  from that of the city which knows how to rear the lion cubs. Not surprisingly, democracy has always had difficulty with the  superior men. Ironically, today the recognition of the best men in  society arises most frequently among those far from power or the desire to enter politics. Those who hold office in modern democracies are not  able to uphold the radically egalitarian premises of the regime and still  consistently acknowledge the superiority of some men. This has reper¬  cussions at the base of the polity: the democratic election. Those bent  on holding public office are involved in a dilemma, a man's claim to  office is that he possesses some sort of expertise, yet he cannot main¬  tain a platform of simple superiority in an egalitarian regime. Many  aspirants are required to seek election on the basis of some feature of  their character (such as their expenditure of effort) instead of their  skills, and such criteria are often in an ambiguous relation to the  duties of office.   The problem is yet more far-reaching. Those regimes committed to  the enforced equalization of the unequal incongruously point with pride  to the exceptional individuals in the history of their polities. A  standard justification for communist regimes, for example, is to refer  to the distinguished figures in the arts and sports of their nation.  Implicitly the traditional view has been retained: great men are one of  the measures of a great polity.   A less immediate but more profound problem for political philosophy  is posed by the very concept of the best man. Three aspects of this  problem shall be raised, the last two being more fully discussed as they  arise in commenting upon the First Alkibiades .   All who have given the matter some thought will presumably agree  that education is, in part at least, a political concern, and that the  proper nurture of youth is a problem for political philosophy. According¬  ly, an appropriate beginning is the consideration of the ends of nurture.  The question of toward what goal the nurture of youth is to aim is a question bound up with the views of what the best men are like. This is  inevitably the perspective from which concerned parents adopt their own  education policies. Since the young are nurtured in one manner or  another regardless, all care given to the choice of nurtures is justified   It must be remembered that children will adopt models of behavior  regardless of whether their parents have guided their choice. As the  tradition reminds is, the hero is a prominent, universal feature in the  nurture of children. Precisely for that reason great care ought to be  taken in the formation and presentation (or representation) of heroic  men and deeds. The heroes of history, of literature and of theater  presumably have no slight impact on the character of youth. For instance  canons of honesty are suggested by the historical account of young  Lincoln, codes of valor have been established by Akhilleus, and young  men's opinions about both partnerships and self-reliance are being in¬  fluenced by the Western Cowboy.   The religious reverence with which many young observe the every  word and deed of their idols establishes "the hero" as a problem of  considerable significance. One could argue that the hero should be long  dead. His less than noble human characteristics can be excised from the  public memory and his deeds suitably embellished (cf. Republic 391d.6).  Being dead, the possibility of his becoming decadent or otherwise evil  is eliminated. Although attractive, this suggestion presents a rather  large problem, especially in a society in which there is any timocratic  element. The honors bestowed on living men may be precisely what trans¬  forms them into the "flesh and blood" heroes of the young. Should honors  not be delivered until after a man's death, however (when he cannot turn  to drink, women or gambling), it may dampen many timocrats' aspirations. If the superior man is not recognized during his lifetime, he must at  least obtain some assurance of a lasting honor after his death. This  might be difficult to do, if he is aware of how quickly and completely  the opinions of those bestowing honor, the demos , shift. Since this  turned out to assume great importance historically for Alkibiades, the  reader of the First Alkibiades might be advised to pay attention to what  Socrates teaches the young man about power and glory. The role of heroes extends beyond their pedagogic function of  supplying models to guide the ambitions of youth. Heroes contribute to  the pride of a family, help secure the glory of a nation and provide a  tie to the ancestral. Recognition of this should suffice to indicate  that the problem of superior men is a significant one for political  philosophy.   Presumably any political theory requires some account of the  nature of man. It may already be clear at this point that a compre¬  hensive philosophic account of man's nature must include a consideration  of the superior man. Traditionally, in fact, the concept of the best  man has been deemed central to an adequate understanding. Many people  who would readily grant the importance of the problem of understanding  human nature consider it to be a sort of statistical norm. That position  does not concede the necessity of looking toward the best man. For the  immediate purpose of analyzing this dialogue, it seems sufficient that  the question be reopened, which may be accomplished simply by indicating  that there are problems with seeing nature as "the normal."   Without any understanding of the best man (even one who is not  actualized), comparison between men would be largely meaningless and  virtually any observation of, or statement about persons would be ambiguous since they involve terms which imply comparing men on some  standard. There would be no consistent way to evaluate any deviation  whatsoever from the normal. For example, sometimes it is better to be  fierce, sometimes it is not. If one describes a man as being more  capable of fierceness than most men one would not know how to evaluate  him relative to those men, without more information. It is necessary  to have an understanding of the importance of those matters in which it  is better to be fierce, to the best man. If it is important for the  best man to be capable of being very fierce, then, and only then, it  seems, could one judge a man who is able to be fierce at times to be a  better man with respect to that characteristic. Any meaningful  description of him, then depends on the view of the best man. This is  implicit in the common sense understanding anyway. The statement "X is  more capable of fierceness than most men,' prompts an implicit qualitative  judgement in most men's minds on the basis of their views of the best man.  The statement "X has darker hair than most men," does not, precisely  because most understandings of the best man do not specify hair color. A concept of the best is necessary if a man is to be able to  evaluate his position vis a vis others and discern with what he must take  pains with himself. The superior man understands this. Aiming to  actualize his potential to the fullest in the direction of his ideal,  he obviously does not compete with the norm. He strives with the best  of men or even with the gods. Whenever he sees two alternatives, he  immediately wonders which is best. The superior youth comes to learn  that a central question of his life is the question of with whom is his  contest.   Having raised this second aspect of the philosophic concern about the best man, one is led quite naturally to a related problem he poses for  political philosophy with respect to what has been a perennial concern of  the tradition, indeed perhaps its guiding question, namely: "What is the  best regime?" The consideration of the best regime may be in light of a concern  for the "whole" in some sense, or for the citizen or for the "whole" in  some sense, or from some other standpoint. Apart from the problem of how  to understand "the whole," a large philosophic question remains regarding  whether the best for a city is compatible with the best for a man. The  notion of the superior man provides a guide of some sort (as the 'norm'  does not) to the answer regarding what is best for a man; the view of the  best regime suggests (as the 'norm' does not) what is good for a city.   But what must one do if the two conflict? As has become apparent, the  complex question of the priority of the individual or the social order is  raised by the very presence of the superior man in a city. The dialogue  at various points tacitly prompts the reader to consider some of the  intricacies of this issue.   Upon considering what is best for man generally, for a man in  particular, and for a city, one notices that most people have opinions  about these things, and not all of them act upon these opinions. One  eventually confronts a prior distinction, the difference between doing  what one thinks is good, knowing what is good, and doing what one knows  is good. While it is not entirely accurate to designate them respectively  as power, knowledge, and knowledge with power, these terms suggest how  the problems mentioned above are carried through the dialogue in terms of  the concern for the superior man.   Provisionally, one may suggest that Alkibiades provides a classic example of the superior man. In a sense not obvious to the average   Athenian, so too is Socrates. They both pose distinct political problems,   and they present interesting philosophic puzzles as well. But there is   another reason, no less compelling for being less apparent, that recommends   the study of the First Alkibiades . Since antiquity the First Alkibiades   has been subtitled, "On the Nature of Man." At first blush this subtitle   63   is not as fitting as the subtitles of some other aporetic dialogues.   The question "What is the nature of Man?" is neither explicitly asked nor   directly addressed by either Socrates or Alkibiades, yet the reader is   driven to consider it. One might immediately wonder why " Alkibiades " is   the title of a dialogue on the nature of man, and why Socrates chooses to   64   talk about man as such with Alkibiades. Perhaps Alkibiades is par¬  ticularly representative, or especially revealing about man. Perhaps he  is unique or perhaps he is inordinately in need of such a discourse. One  must also try to understand Socrates' purpose, comprehend the significance  of any of Alkibiades' limitations, and come to an understanding of what the  character of his eros is (e.g., is it directed toward power, glory, or  is it just a great eros that is yet to be directed). In the course of  grappling with such matters, one also confronts one's own advantages and  liabilities for the crucial and demanding role of dialogic partner.   Perhaps the very things a reader fastens his attentions upon are  indicative of something essential about his own particular nature. If  the reader is to come to a decision as to whether the subtitle affixed  in antiquity to the dialogue is indeed appropriate, these matters must  be judged in the course of considering the general question of whether  the dialogue is indeed about "the nature of man." The mystery and challenge of a dialogue may serve to enhance its attractiveness. One of the most intriguing philosophic problems of the  First Alkibiades may well be the question of whether it is in fact about  man's nature. With a slight twist, the reader is faced with another  example of Socrates' revision of Meno's paradox ( Meno 80e). Sometimes  when a reader finds what he is looking for, discovering something he was  hoping to discover, it is only because his narrowness of attention or  interest prevented him from seeing conflicting material, and because he  expended his efforts on making what he saw conform to his wishes. The  good reader of a dialogue will, as a rule, take great care to avoid such  myopia. In order to find out whether the dialogue is primarily about the  nature of man (and if so, what is teaches about the nature of man), the  prudent reader will caution himself against begging the question, so to  speak. If one sets out ignorant of what the nature of man is, one may  have trouble recognizing it when one finds it. Conversely, to complete  the paradox, to ask how and where to find it (in other words, inquiring  as to how one will recognize it), implies that one ought already know  what to expect from knowledge of it. This could be problematic, for  the inquiry may be severely affected by a preconceived opinion about  which question will be answered by it. "Philosophical prejudices"  should have no part in the search for the nature of man.   This is a difficulty not faced to the same extent by other aporetic   dialogues which contain a question of the form "What is _?" Once   this first question is articulated, the normal way of pursuing the answer  is open to the reader. He may proceed naturally from conventional opinion,  say, and constantly refine his views according to what he notices. It ap¬  pears, however, that the reader of the First Alkibiades cannot be certain    that it will address the nature of man, and the dialogue doesn't seem to directly commence with a consideration of conventional opinions. Most  readers of the dialogue know what a man is insofar as they could point to  one (111b,ff.), but very few know what man is. Perhaps as the dialogue  unfolds the careful reader will be educated to a point beyond being  ignorant of how to look for something that he mightn't recognize even  when he found it. By this puzzle the reader is drawn more deeply into  the adventure of touching on the mysteries of his own nature. To borrow  a metaphor from a man who likely knew more about Socrates and Alkibiades  than has anyone else before or since, the same spirit of adventure  permeates the quest for knowledge of man as characterizes sailing  through perilous unknown waters on a tiny, frail craft, attempting to  avoid perishing on the rocks. One can only begin with what one knows,  such as some rudimentary views about navigation technique and more or  less correct opinions about one's home port. Upon coming to appreciate  the difficulties of knowing, fully and honestly, one's own nature, one  realizes how treacherous is the journey. In all likelihood one will  either be swamped, or continue to sail forever, or cling to a rock  under the illusion of having reached the far shore.   This thesis is an introduction to the First Alkibiades . Through  their discussion, and more importantly through his own participation in  their discussion, Socrates and Alkibiades reveal to the reader something  about the nature of man. Both the question of man's nature and the  problem of the superior man have been neglected in recent political  theory; especially the connection between them has been overlooked. To  state the thesis of this essay with only slight exaggeration: an under¬  standing of politics - great and small - is impossible without knowledge  of man, and knowledge of man is impossible without knowledge of the best of men. This thesis, investigating the dialogue entitled the First  Alkibiades , focusses on certain things the dialogue seems to be about,  without pretending to be comprehensive. It is like the dialogue in one  respect at least: it is written in the interest of opening the door to  further inquiry, and not with subsequently closing that door. Through  a hopefully careful, critical reading of the First Alkibiades , I attempt  to show that the nature of man and the superior man are centrally tied  both to each other and to any true understanding of (great) political  things. The spirit of the critique is inspired by the definition of a  "good critic" ascribed to Anatole France: "A good critic is one who  tells the story of his mind's adventures among the masterpieces." The First Alkibiades begins abruptly with the words "Son of  Kleinias, I suppose you are wondering..." The reader does not know where  the dialogue is taking place; nor is he informed as to how Socrates and  Alkibiades happened to meet on this occasion. Interlocutors in other  direct dramatic dialogues may sooner or later reveal this information in  their speeches. In narrated dialogues, Socrates or another participant  may disclose the circumstances of the discussion. In the case of this  dialogue, however, no one does. The reader remains uncertain that it is  even taking place in Athens proper and not in the countryside about the  city. It may be reasonable to suggest that in this case the setting of  the dialogue does not matter, or more precisely, the fact that there is  no particular setting is rather what matters. The discussion is not  dependent on a specific set of circumstances and the dialogue becomes  universally applicable. The analysis will hopefully show the permanence  of the problems thematically dealt with in the dialogue. Philosophically  it is a discussion in no way bound by time or place. Further support is  lent to this suggestion by the fact that there is no third person telling  the story and Socrates is not reporting it to anyone. Nobody else is  present.   Plato presents to the reader a dramatic exchange which is  emphatically private. Neither Socrates nor Alkibiades have divulged the  events of this first dialogic encounter between the man and the youth.   The thorough privacy of the discussion as well as the silence concerning the setting help to impute to the reader an appreciation of the autonomous  nature of the discourse. There is a sense in which this dialogue could  happen whenever two such people meet. Consequently, the proposition  implicitly put forth to the reader is that he be alive to the larger  significance of the issues treated; the very circumstances of the dialogue,  as mentioned here, sufficiently support such a suggestion so as to place  the onus for the argument in the camp of those who want to restrict the  relevance of the dialogue to Socrates and Alkibiades in 5th century  Athens.   That the two are alone is a feature that might be important to  much of the reader's interpretation, for attention is drawn to the fact  by the speakers themselves. Such privacy may have considerable  philosophic significance, as it has a clear effect on the suitability of  some of the material being discussed (e.g., 118b.5). There is no need  for concern about the effect of the discussion upon the community as  there might be were it spoken at the ekklesia ; the well-being of other  individuals need not dissuade them from examining radical challenges to  conventional views, as might be the case were they conversing in front of  children or at the marketplace; and there is no threat to either partici¬  pant, as there might be were they to insult or publicly challenge some¬  one's authority. Conventional piety and civic-mindedness need place no  limitations on the depth of the inquiry; the only limits are those im¬  plicit in the willingness and capability of the participants. For  example, an expectation of pious respect for his guardian, Perikles,  could well interfere with Alkibiades' serious consideration of good  statesmanship. The fact that they are unaccompanied, that Perikles is  spoken of as still living, and that Socrates first mentions Perikles in a respectful manner (as per 118c, 104b-c), permits a serious (if finally  not very flattering) examination of his qualifications. Socrates and  Alkibiades are alone and are not bound by any of the restrictions  normally faced in discussions with an audience. The reader's participa¬  tion, then, should be influenced by this spirit of privacy, at least in  so far as he is able to grasp the political significance of the special  "silence" of private conversation.   Somewhere in or about their usual haunts, Socrates and Alkibiades  chanced to meet. If their own pronouncements can be taken literally,  they were in the process of seeking each other. Alkibiades had been  about to address Socrates but Socrates began first (104c-d). Since his  daimon or god had only just ceased preventing him from talking to  Alkibiades (105d), Socrates was probably waiting at Alkibiades' door  (106e.10).   Although the location is unknown, the reader may glean from  various of their comments a vague idea of the time of the dialogue. In  this case, it appears, the actual dramatic date of the dialogue is of  less importance than some awareness of the substance of the evidence  enabling one to deduce it. Alkibiades is not yet twenty (123d) but he  must be close to that age for he intends shortly to make his first  appearance before the Athenian ekklesia (106c). Until today Socrates  had been observing and following the youth in silence; they had not  spoken to each other. This corroborates the suggestion that the action  of the dialogue takes place before the engagement at Potidaia (thus  before the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War, i.e. before 432 B.C.) for  they knew each other by that time ( Symposium, 219e). Perikles and his  sons are referred to as though they were living, offering further confirmation that the dramatic date is sometime before or about the onset  of the war with Sparta. The action of the dialogue must take place be¬  fore that of the Protagoras ,^ since Socrates has by then a reputation  of sorts among the young men, whereas Alkibiades seems not to have heard  very much of Socrates at the beginning of the First Alkibiades .   Socrates addresses Alkibiades as the son of Kleinias. This per¬  haps serves as a reminder to the young man who believes himself so self-  sufficient as to be in need of no one (104a). In the first place, his  uniqueness is challenged by this address. His brother (mention of whom  occurs later in the dialogue - 118e.4) would also properly turn around in  response to Socrates' words. More importantly, however, it indicates  that he too descended from a family. His ancestry is traced to Zeus  (121a), his connections via his kin are alleged to be central to his  self-esteem (104b), and even his mother, Deinomakhe, assumes a role in  the discussion (123c) . He is attached to a long tradition.   Through observation of Alkibiades' case in particular, the fact  that a man's nature is tied to descent is made manifest. Alkibiades lost  his father, Kleinias, when he was but a child (112c) . He was made a ward  of Perikles and from him received his nurture. For most readers, drawing  attention to parentage would not distinguish nature from nurture. One  is a child of one's parents both in terms of that with which one is born,  one's biological/genetic inheritance, and of that which one learns. In  the case of Alkibiades, however, to draw attention to his father is to  draw attention to his heredity, whereas it was Perikles who raised him.  The philosophic distinction between nature and nurture is emphasized by  the apparent choice of addresses open to Socrates. Alkibiades is both  the son of Kleinias and the ward of Perikles. It seems fitting that a dialogue on human nature begin by drawing attention to two dominating  features of all men's characters, their nature and their nurture.   Socrates believes that Alkibiades is wondering. He is curious  about the heretofore hidden motives for Socrates' behavior. As a facet  of a rational nature, wonder or curiosity separates men from the beasts.  Wondering about the world is characteristic of children long before they  fully attain reason, though it seems to be an indication of reason; most  adults retain at least some spark of curiosity about something. The  reader is reminded that the potential for wonder/reason is what is  common to men but not possessed by beasts, and it serves to distinguish  those whom we call human.   Reason in general, and wonder in particular, pose a rather complex  problem for giving an account of the nature of man. Though enabling one  to distinguish men from beasts, it also allows for distinctions between  men. Some are more curious than others and some are far more rational  than others. The philosopher, for example, appears to be dominated by  his rational curiosity about the true nature of things. Some people  wonder only to the extent of having a vague curiosity about their future.  It appears that the criteria that allow one to hierarchically differ¬  entiate man from beast also provide for the rank-ordering of men. Some  people would be "more human" than others, following this line of  analysis. This eatablishes itself as an issue in understanding what,  essentially, man is, and it may somehow be related to the general  problem of the superior man, since his very existence invites comparison  by a qualitative hierarchy. He might be the man who portrays the human  characteristics in the ideal/proper quantities and proportions. He may  thus aid our understanding of the standard for humans. Another opportunity to examine this issue will arise upon reaching the part of  the dialogue wherein Socrates points out that Alkibiades can come to know  himself after he understands the standard for superior men, after he  understands with whom he is to compete (119c,ff.).   There are at least two other problems with respect to the analysis  of human curiosity. The first is that it seems to matter what people  are curious about. Naturally children have a general wonder about things,  but at a certain stage of development, reason reveals some questions are  more important than and prior to others. It seems clear that wondering  about the nature of the world (i.e., what it really is), its arche (basic  principles), and man's proper place in it, or the kind of wondering  traditionally associated with the philosophic enterprise, is of a higher  order than curiosity about beetles, ancient architecture, details of  history, or nuances of linguistic meaning. This further complicates the  problems of rank-ordering men.   The second problem met with in giving an account of wonder and  its appropriate place in life is that next to philosophers and children,  few lives are more dominated by a curiosity of sorts than that of the  "gossiping housewife." She is curious about the affairs of her neighbors  and her neighbor's children. The passion for satisfying that curiosity  is often so strong as to literally dominate her days. It seems im¬  possible to understand such strong curiosity as "merely idle," but one  would clearly like to account for it as essentially different from the  curiosity of the philosopher. That the reader may not simply disregard  consideration of gossiping women, or consider it at best tangential, is  borne out by the treatment of curiosity in the First Alkibiades.    It is indicated in the dialogue that daughters, wives and mothers must figure into an account of wonder. There are seven uses of 'wonder'   6 V   ( thaumadzein ). The first three involve Socrates and Alkibiades attest¬  ing to Alkibiades' wonder, including a rare pronouncement by Socrates  of his having certain knowledge: he knows well that Alkibiades is  wondering (104c.4; 103a.1, 104d.4). The last three are all about women  wondering. Keeping in mind the centrality of  wondering to the nature of the philosopher (it seems to be a chief thing  in his nature), one sees that careful attention must be given to  curiosity. We have other reasons to suspect that femininity is in some  way connected to philosophy, and perhaps a careful consideration of the  treatment of women in the dialogue would shed light on the problem.   There is a sense in which wonder is a most necessary prerequisite  to seeking wisdom (cf. also Theaitetos 155d). To borrow the conclusion  of Socrates' argument with Alkibiades concerning his coming to know  justice (106d-e; 109e), one has to be aware of a lack of something in  order to seek it. A strong sense of wonder, or an insatiable curiosity  drives one to seek knowledge. This type of intense wondering may con¬  ceivably be a major link in the connection between the reason and the  spirit of the psyche (cf. Republic 439e-440a). In the Republic these  two elements are said to be naturally allied, but the reader is never  explicitly told how they are linked, or what generally drives or draws  the spirit toward reason. An overpowering sense of wonder seems the  most immediate link. Perhaps another link is supplied when the import¬  ance of the connection of knowledge to power is recognized; a connection  between the two parts of the psyche might be supplied by a great will to  power, for power presumably requires knowledge to be useful. However,  final judgement as to how the sense of wonder and the desire for power differ in this regard, and which, if any, properly characterizes the  connections between the parts of Alkibiades' psyche must await the  reader's reflection on the dialogue as a whole. Likewise, his evaluation  as to which class of men contains Alkibiades will be properly made after  he has finished the dialogue.   Socrates believes that Alkibiades is wondering. Precisely that  feature of Alkibiades' nature is the one with which Socrates chooses to  begin the discussion and therewith their relationship. One may thus  explore the possibility that wondering is what distinguishes Alkibiades,  or essentially characterizes him. The discussion to this point would  admit of a number of possibilities. Curiosity could set Alkibiades apart  from other political figures, or it may place him above men generally,  indicating that he is one of the best or at least potentially one of the  best men - should reason/curiosity prove to be characteristic of the best.  Alkibiades' ostensible wondering could bespeak the high spirit which  characterized his entire life; perhaps one of the reasons he would choose  to die rather than remain at his present state (105a-b) is that he is  curious to see how far he can go, how much he can rule.   Socrates remarks that he is Alkibiades' lover; he is the first of  Alkibiades' lovers. Socrates suggests two features of his manner which,  taken together, would be likely to have roused the wonder of Alkibiades.  Socrates, the first lover, is the only one who remains; all the other  lovers have forsaken Alkibiades. Secondly, Socrates never said a word  to Alkibiades during his entire youth, even though other lovers pushed  through hoardes of people to speak with Alkibiades. A youth continuously  surrounded by a crowd of admirers would probably wish to know the motives  of a most constant, silent observer - if he noticed him. Socrates has at last, after many years, spoken up.   Assuring Alkibiades that no human cause kept him from speaking,  Socrates intimates that a daimonic power had somehow opposed his uttering  a single word. The precise nature of the power is not divulged.   Obviously not a physical restraint such as a gag, it can nevertheless  affect Socrates' actions. Socrates, one is led to believe, is a most  rational man. If it was not a human cause that kept him from speaking,  then Socrates' reason did not cause him to keep silent. It was not  reason that opposed his speech. Whatever the daimonic power was, it was  of such a force that it could match the philosopher's reason. An under¬  standing of how Socrates' psyche would be under the power of this  daimonic sign would be of great interest to a student of man. In at  least Socrates' case, this power is comparable in force to the power of  reason. Socrates tells Alkibiades that the power of the daimon in  opposing his speaking was the cause of his silence for so many years.   The reader does not forget, however, that the lengthy silence was not  only Socrates'. Something else, perhaps less divine, kept Alkibiades  silent.   It is noteworthy that the first power Socrates chooses to speak  of with Alkibiades is a non-human one, and one which takes its effect by  restraining speech. Alkibiades is interested in having control over the  human world; the kind of power he covets involves military action and  political management. Young men seem not altogether appreciative of  speech. Even when they acknowledge the power made available by a  positive kind of rhetorical skill, they do not appear especially con¬  cerned with any negative or restraining power that limits speech such as  the power of this daimon. Not only is talk cheap, but it is for women and old men, in other words, for those who aren't capable of actually  doing anything. The first mention of power ( dynamis) in the dialogue  cannot appear to Alkibiades to pertain to his interest in ruling the  human world, but it does offer the reader both an opportunity for re¬  flection on power in general, and a promise to deal with the connection  between power and speech in some fashion. What the dialogue teaches  about language and power will be more deeply plumbed when Alkibiades  learns the extent of the force of his words with Socrates (112e, ff.).   According to Socrates, Alkibiades will be informed of the power  of this daimonic sign at some later time. Since apparently the time is  not right now, either Socrates is confident that he and Alkibiades will  continue to associate, or he intends to tell Alkibiades later during the  course of this very dialogue. Socrates, having complied with his daimon,  comes to Alkibiades at the time when the opposition ceases. He appears  to be well enough acquainted with the daimon to entertain good hopes that  it will not oppose him again.   By simple observation over the years, Socrates has received a  general notion of Alkibiades' behavior toward his lovers. There were  many and they were high-minded, but they fled from Alkibiades' surpassing  self-confidence. Socrates remarks that he wishes to have the reasons for  this self-confidence come to the fore. By bringing Alkibiades' reasons  to speech, Socrates implies, among other things, that this sense of  superiority does not have a self-evident basis of support. He also sug¬  gests that there is a special need to have reasons presented. Perhaps  Alkibiades' understanding of his own feelings either is wrong or in¬  sufficient; at any rate, they have previously been left unstated. If  they are finally revealed, Alkibiades will be compelled to assess them. Socrates proceeds to list the things upon which Alkibiades prides himself.   Interestingly, given his prior claim that he learned Alkibiades'  manner through observation, most of the things Socrates presently mentions  are not things one could easily learn simply through observation of  actions. One cannot see the mobility of Alkibiades' family or the power  of his connections. More important to Socrates' point, one cannot see  his pride in his family. He might "look proud," but others must determine  the reason. It is difficult to act proud of one's looks, family and wealth  while completely abstaining from the use of language. It has thus become  significant to their relationship that Socrates was also able to observe  Alkibiades' speech, for it is through speech that pride in one's family  can be made manifest. By listing these features, Socrates simultaneously  shows Alkibiades that he has given considerable thought to the character  of the youth. He is able to explain the source of a condition of  Alkibiades' psyche without having ever spoken to Alkibiades. Only a  special sort of observer, it seems, could accomplish that.   Alkibiades presumes he needs no human assistance in any of his  68   affairs; beginning with the body and ending with the soul, he believes  his assets make him self-sufficient. As all can see, Alkibiades is not   69   in error believing his beauty and stature to be of the highest quality.  Secondly, his family is one of the mightiest in the city and his city  the greatest in Greece. He has numerous friends and relatives through  his father and equally through his mother, who are among the best of men.  Stronger than the advantages of all those kinsmen, however, is the power  he envisions coming to him from Perikles, the guardian of Alkibiades and  his brother. Perikles can do what he likes in Greece and even in  barbarian countries. That kind of power - the power to do as one likes - Alkibiades is seeking (cf. 134e-135b). The last item Socrates includes  in the list is the one Alkibiades least relies on for his self-esteem,  namely his wealth.   Socrates places the greatest emphasis on Alkibiades' descent and  the advantages that accrue therefrom. This is curious for he was pur¬  portedly supplying Alkibiades' reasons for feeling self-sufficient; if  this is a true list, he has done the contrary, indicating Alkibiades to  be quite dependent upon his family. Even so, the amount of stress on the  family appears to exceed that necessary for showing Alkibiades not to be  self-sufficient. As has already been observed, this is accomplished by  paying close attention to the words at the start of the dialogue. At  this point, Alkibiades' father's relations and friends, his mother's  relations and friends, his political connections through his kinsmen and  his uncle's great power are mentioned as well as the position of his  family in the city and of his city in the Hellenic world. Relative to  the other resources mentioned, Socrates goes into considerable depth with  regards to Alkibiades' descent. It is literally the central element in  the set of features that Socrates wanted to be permitted to name as the  cause of Alkibiades' self-esteem. Quite likely then, the notion of  descent and its connections to human nature (as Alkibiades' descent is  connected, by Socrates' implication, to qualities of his nature) are  more important to the understanding of the dialogue than appears at the  surface. This discussion will be renewed later at the opening of the  longest speech in the First Alkibiades . At that point both participants  claim divine ancestry immediately after agreeing that better natures come  from well-born families (120d-121a). That will afford the reader an  opportunity to examine why they might both think their descent significant. Socrates has offered this account of Alkibiades' high-mindedness  suggesting they are Alkibiades' resources "beginning with the body and  ending with the soul." In fact, after mentioning the excellence of his  physical person, Socrates talks of Alkibiades' parents, polis , kinsmen,  guardian, and wealth. Unless the reader is to understand a man's soul  to be made by his family (and that is not said explicitly), these things  do not even appear to lead toward a consideration of the qualities of his  soul, but lead in a different direction. One might expect a treatment of  such things as Alkibiades' great desires, passions, virtues and thoughts,  not of his kinsfolk and wealth. Perhaps the reader is not yet close  enough to an understanding of the human soul. At this point he may not  be prepared to discern the qualities of soul in Alkibiades which would  properly be styled "great." Socrates and Alkibiades may provide  instruction for the reader in the dialogue, so that by the end of his  study he will be better able to make such a judgement were he to venture  one now, it might be based on conventional opinions of greatness. By not  explicitly stating Alkibiades' qualities of soul at this point, the  reader is granted the opportunity to return again, later, and supply  them himself. The psyche is more difficult to perceive than the body,  and as is discussed in the First Alkibiades (129a-135e), this significant¬  ly compounds the problems of attaining knowledge of either. If this is  what Socrates is indicating by apparently neglecting the qualities of  Alkibiades' soul, he debunks Alkibiades' assets as he lists them. The  features more difficult to discern, if discerned, would be of a higher  rank. Fewer men would understand them. Socrates, however, lists  features of Alkibiades that are plain for all to see. The qualities that even the vulgar can appreciate, when said to be such are not what the superior youth would most pride himself upon. The many  are no very serious judges of a man's qualities.   In view of these advantages, Alkibiades has elevated himself and  overpowered his lovers, and according to Socrates, Alkibiades is well  aware of how it happened that they fled, feeling inferior to his might.  Precisely on account of this Socrates can claim to be certain that  Alkibiades is wondering about him. Socrates says that he "knows well"  that Alkibiades must be wondering why he has not gotten rid of his eros .  What he could possibly be hoping for, now that the rest have fled is a  mystery. Socrates, by remaining despite the experience of the rest, has  made himself intriguing. This is especially the case given his analysis  of Alkibiades. How could Socrates possible hope to compete with  Alkibiades in terms of the sort of criteria important to Alkibiades?   He is ugly, has no famous family, and is poor. Yet Socrates had not  been overpowered; he does not feel inferior. Here is indeed a strange  case, or so it must seem to the arrogant young man. Socrates has  managed to flatter Alkibiades by making him out to be obviously superior  to any of his (other) lovers - but he also places himself above  Alkibiades, despite the flattery.   In his first speech to Alkibiades, Socrates has praised him and  yet undercut some of his superiority. He has aroused Alkibiades'  interest both in Socrates and in Socrates' understanding of him. It is  conceivable that no other admirer of Alkibiades has been so frank, and  it is likely that none have been so strange - to the point of alluding  to daimons. Yet something about Socrates and Socrates' peculiar erotic  attraction to Alkibiades makes Alkibiades interested in hearing more    from the man. It is clear that he cannot want to listen merely because he enjoys being flattered and gratified, for Socrates' speech is ironic  in its praise. He takes even as he gives.   Philosophically, this op ening speech contains a reference to most  of the themes a careful reader will recognize as being treated in the  dialogue. Some of these should be listed to   give an indication of the  depths of the speech that remain to be plumbed. The reader is invited  to examine the nature of power - what it is essentially and through what  it affects human action. As conventionally understood, and as it is  attractive to Alkibiades, power is the ability to do what one wants.  According to such an account, it seems Perikies has power. This notion  of power is complicated by the non-human power referred to by Socrates  which stops one from doing what one wants. Power is also shown to be  connected to speech. Another closely related theme is knowledge. All  of these are connected explicitly in that the daimonic power knew when  to allow speech . In the opening speech by Socrates, he claims to know  something, and the reader is introduced to a consideration of observation  and speech as sources of knowledge. He is also promised a look at what  distinguishes one's perception of oneself from other's opinions of one,  through Socrates' innuendo that his perception of Alkibiades may not be  what Alkibiades perceives himself to be. There is also reference to a  difference in ability to perceive people's natures - namely the many's  ability is contrasted with Socrates', as is the ability of the high-  minded suitors. The dialogue will deal with this theme in great depth.  Should it turn out that this ability is of essential importance to a  man's fulfillment, the reader is hereby being invited to examine what are  the essentially different natures of men. Needless to say, the reader of  the dialogue should return again and again to this speech, to the initial treatment of these fundamental questions.   The relationship of body to soul, as well as the role of 'family'  and ' polis ' in the account of man's nature, are introduced here in the  opening words. They indicate the vastness of the problem of understanding  the nature of man. Socrates and Alkibiades seem superior to everyone else,  but they too are separate. Socrates is shown to be unique in some sense  and he cites especially strange causes of his actions. There is no  mention of philosophy or philosopher in this dialogue, but the reader is  introduced to a strange man whose eros is different from other men, in¬  cluding some regarded as quite excellent, and who is motivated by an as  yet unexplained daimonic power.   On another level, the form of the speech and the delivery itself  attest to some of the thought behind the appropriateness or inappropriate¬  ness of saying certain things in certain situations. Even the mechanics  or logistics of the discussion prove illuminating to the problem. In  addition, the very fact that they are conversing tog  ether and not  depicted as fighting together in battle, or even debating with each other  in the public assembly, renders it possible that speech - and perhaps  even a certain kind of speech (e.g., private, dialectical) - is essential  to the relation between the two superior men said to begin in the First  Alkibiades .   Finally (though not to suggest that the catalogue of themes is  complete), one must be awakened to the significance of the silence being  finally broken. With Socrates' first words, the dialogue has begun to  take place. Socrates and Alkibiades have commenced their verbal  relationship. There is plenty of concern in the dialogue about language:  what is to be said and not said, and when and how it is to be said. The first speech by Socrates in the First Alkibiades has alerted the reader  to this.   Alkibiades addresses Socrates for the first time. Though already  cognizant of his name, Alkibiades does not appear to know anything else  about him. To Socrates' rather strange introduction he responds that  he was ready to speak with reference to the same issue; Socrates has just  slightly beat him. Alkibiades seems to have been irritated by Socrates'  constant presence and was on the brink of asking him why he kept bother¬  ing him. Socrates' opening remarks have probably mitigated his annoyance  somewhat and allowed him to express himself in terms of curiosity instead.  He admits, indeed he emphatically affirms (104d), that he is wondering  about Socrates' motives and suggests he would be glad to be informed.  Alkibiades thus expresses the reader's own curiosity; one wonders in a  variety of respects about what Socrates' objective might be. Alkibiades  might perceive different possibilities than the reader since he seems  thoroughly unfamiliar with Socrates. A reader might wonder if Socrates  wanted to influence Alkibiades, and to what end. Did Socrates want to  make Alkibiades a philosopher; what kind of attraction did he feel for  Alkibiades; why did he continue to associate with him? These questions  and more inevitably confront the reader of the First Alkibiades even  though they might at first appear to be outside the immediate bonds of  the dialogue. For these sorts of questions are carried to a reading of  the dialogue, as it were; and given the notoriety of Alkibiades and of  Socrates, it is quite possible that they were intended to be in the  background of the reader's thoughts. Perhaps the dialogue will provide  at least partial answers.    If Alkibiades is as eager to hear as he claims, Socrates can assume that he will pay attention to the whole story. Socrates will not  then have to expend effort in keeping Alkibiades' attention, for  Alkibiades has assured him he is interested. Alkibiades answers that he  certainly shall listen.   Socrates, not quite ready to begin, insists that Alkibiades be   prepared for perhaps quite a lengthy talk. He says it would be no wonder   if the stopping would be as difficult as the starting was. One does not   expect twenty years of non-stop talk from Socrates, naturally, and so   one is left to wonder - despite (or perhaps because of) his claim that   70   there is no cause for wonder - why he is making such a point about this  beginning and the indeterminacy of the ending. The implication is that  there remains some acceptable and evident relation between beginnings  and endings for the reader to discern. In an effort to uncover what he  is, paradoxically, not to wonder about, the careful reader will keep  track of the various things that are begun and ended and how they are  begun and ended in the First Alkibiades .  Although innocuous here, Alkibiades' response "speak good man, I  will listen," gives the reader a foreshadowing of his turning around at  the end of the dialogue. There it is suggested that Alkibiades will  silently listen to Socrates. Until the time of the dialogue the good  man has been silent, listening and observing while any talking has been  done by Alkibiades or his suitors.   Assured of a listener, Socrates begins. He is convinced that he  must speak. However difficult it is for a lover to talk to a man who  disdains lovers, Socrates must be daring enough to speak his mind. This  is the first explicit indication the reader is given concerning certain  qualities of soul requisite for speaking, not only for acting. It also suggests some more or less urgent, but undisclosed, necessity for  Socrates to speak at this time. Should Alkibiades seem content with the  above mentioned possessions, Socrates is confident that he would be re¬  leased from his love for Alkibiades - or so he has persuaded himself.  Socrates is attracted to the unlimited ambition Alkibiades possesses. The caveat introduced by Socrates (about his having so persuaded  himself) draws attention to the difference between passions and reason  as guides to action, and perhaps also a difference between Socrates and  other men. For the most part one cannot simply put an end to passions  on the basis of reason. One may be able to substitute another passion  or appetite, but it is not as easy to rid oneself of it. However,  instead of having to put away his love, Socrates is going to lay  Alkibiades' thought open to him.   Socrates intends to reveal to Alkibiades the youth's ambition. This can only be useful in the event that he has never considered his  goals under precisely the same light that Socrates will shed on them.   By doing this Socrates will also accomplish his intention of proving to  Alkibiades that he has paid careful attention to the youth (105a).  Alkibiades should be in a position to recognize Socrates' concern by  the end of this speech; this suggests a capability on the part of both.  Many cannot admit the motives of their own actions, much less reveal to  someone else that person's own thoughts. Part of the significance of  the following discussion, therefore, is to indicate both Socrates'  attentiveness to Alkibiades and Alkibiades' perception of it.   Should some (unnamed) god ask Alkibiades if he would choose to  die rather than be satisfied with the possessions he has, he would  choose to die. That is Socrates' belief. If Socrates is right, it bespeaks a high ambition for Alkibiades, and it does so whether or not  Alkibiades thought of it before. His possessions, mentioned so far,  include beauty and stature, great kinsmen and noble family, and great  wealth (though the last is least important to him). In an obvious sense,  Alkibiades must remain content with some of what he has. He cannot, for  example, acquire a greater family. His ambition, then, as Socrates  indicates, is for something other than he possesses. The hopes of  Alkibiades' life are to stand before the Athenian ekklesia and prove to  them that he is more honorable than anyone, ever, including Perikles.   As one worthy of honor he should be given the greatest power, and having  the greatest power here, he would be the greatest among Greeks and even  among the barbarians of the continent. If the god should further propose that Alkibiades could be the  ruler of Europe on the condition that he not pass into Asia, Socrates  believes Alkibiades would not choose to live. He desires to fill the  world with his name and power. Indeed Socrates believes that Alkibiades  thinks no man who ever lived worthy of discussion besides Kyros and  Xerxes ( the Great Kings of Persia). Of this Socrates claims to be sure,  not merely supposing - those are Alkibiades' hopes.   There are a number of interesting features about the pretense of  Alkibiades responding to a god. Alkibiades might not admit the extent  of his ambition to the Athenian people who would fear him, or even to  his mother, who would fear for him; it therefore would matter who is  allegedly asking the question. It is a god, an unidentified god whose  likes and dislikes thus remain unknown. Alkibiades cannot take into  account the god's special province and adjust his answer accordingly.   The significance of the god is most importantly that he is more powerful than Alkibiades can be. But why could not Socrates have simply asked him,  or, failing that, pretend to ask him as he does in a moment? It is pos¬  sible that speaking with an omniscient god would allow Alkibiades to  reveal his full desire; he would not be obliged to hid his ambition from  such a god as he would from most men in democratic Athens. But it is  also plausible that Socrates includes the god in the discussion for the  purpose of limiting Alkibiades' ambition (or perhaps as a standard for  power/knowledge). Not to suggest that Socrates means to moderate what  Alkibiades can do, he nevertheless must have realistic bounds put upon  his political ambition. Assume, for the moment, that more questions  naturally follow the proposal of limiting his rule to Europe. If  Alkibiades were talking to Socrates (instead of to a deity with greater  power), he might not stop at Asia. If he thought of it, he might wish to  control the entire world and its destiny. He would dream that fate or  chance would even be within the scope of his ambition. The god in this example is presented as being in a position to  determine Alkibiades' fate; he can limit the alternatives open to  Alkibiades and can have him die. With Socrates' illustration, Alkibiades  is confronting a being which has a power over him that he cannot control.  The young man is at least forced to pretend to be in a situation in  which he cannot even decide which options are available. It is import¬  ant for a political ruler to realize the limits placed on him by fate.   The notion that the god is asking Alkibiades these questions makes it  unlikely that Alkibiades would answer that he should like to rule heaven  and earth, or even that he would like supreme control of earth (for that  is likely to be the god's own domain). Alkibiades probably won't  suggest to a god that he wants to rule Fate or the gods of the Iliad who hold the fate of humans so much in hand. Chance cannot be controlled   by humans, either through persuasion or coersion. It can only have its   effect reduced by knowledge. Alkibiades' political ambitions have to   be moderated to fit what is within the domain of fate and chance and to   be educated about the limits of the politically possible. Socrates, by   pretending that a god asks the questions, can allow Alkibiades to admit   the full extent of his ambitions over humans, but it also serves to keep   him within the arena of human politics. If he would have answered   Socrates or a trusted friend in discussion, he might not have easily   accepted that limit. It is necessary for any politically ambitious man,   and doubly so if he is young, to cultivate a respect for the limits of   what can politically be accomplished under one's full control. This may have helped Alkibiades establish a political limit m his own mind.   Another feature of the response to the god which should be noted  is that it marks the second of three of Socrates' exaggerated claims to  know aspects of Alkibiades' soul. In the event that the reader should  have missed the first one wherein he claims to "know well" that  Alkibiades wonders (104c), Socrates here emphasizes it. He is not  simply inferring or guessing, he asserts; he knows this is Alkibiades'  hope (105c). Shortly he will claim to have observed Alkibiades during  every moment the boy was out of doors, and thus to know all that  Alkibiades has learned (106e).   Just as it is impossible for Socrates to have watched Alkibiades  at every moment, so he cannot be certain of what thought is actually  going through Alkibiades' mind. Socrates' claim to knowledge has to be  based on something other than physical experience or being taught.  Alkibiades has not told anyone that these are his high hopes. Perhaps Socrates' knowledge is grounded in some kind of experience   He knows what state Alkibiades' soul is in because he knows what   Alkibiades must hope, wonder and know. It may be that Socrates has an   access to this knowledge of Alkibiades' soul through his own soul. His   soul may be or may have been very like Alkibiades'. Since Socrates will   later argue that one cannot know another without knowing oneself  perhaps one of the reasons he knows Alkibiades' soul so well is that it matches his in some way. It is not out of the question that their  souls share essential features and that those features perhaps are not  shared by all other men. Clearly not all other men have found knowledge  of Alkibiades' soul as accessible as has Socrates. And Socrates will be  taking Alkibiades' soul on a discussion beyond the bounds of Athenian  politics and politicians. He instructs Alkibiades that his soul cannot  be patterned upon a conventional model, just as Socrates is obviously not  modelling himself upon a standard model. These two men are somehow in  a special position for understanding each other, and their common sight  beyond the normally accepted standards may be what allows Socrates to  make such apparently outrageous claims. At this point, instead of waiting to see how Alkibiades will  respond, Socrates manufactures his own dialogue, saying that Alkibiades  would naturally ask what the point is. He is supposing that Alkibiades  recognizes the truth of what has gone before. Since it is likely that  Alkibiades would have enjoyed the speech to this point and thought it  good, Socrates must bring him back to the topic. By using this device  of a dialogue within a speech, Socrates is able to remind Alkibiades  (and the reader) - by pretending to have Alkibiades remind Socrates -  that they were supposed to learn not Alkibiades' ambitions, but those of Socrates (supposing that they are indeed different).   Socrates responds (to his own question) that he conceives himself  to have so great a power ove    r Alkibiades that the dear son of Kleinias  and Deinomakhe will not be able to achieve his hopes without the  philosopher's assistance (105d). Because of this power the god prevented  him from speaking with Alkibiades. Socrates hopes to win as complete a  power over Alkibiades as Alkibiades does over the polis . They both wish  to prove themselves invaluable, Socrates by showing himself more worthy  than Alkibiades' guardian or relatives in being able to transmit to him  the power for which he longs. The god prevented Socrates from talking  when Alkibiades was younger, that is, before he held such great hopes.  Now, since Alkibiades is prepared to listen, the god has set him on.  Alkibiades wants power but he does not know what it is, essentially.   Yet he must come to know in order not to err and harm himself. Part of  the relationship between philosophy and politics is suggested here, and  perhaps also some indication of why Socrates and Alkibiades need each  other. An understanding of the causes of their coming together would be  essential to an account of their relation, it seems, and such under¬  standing is rendered more problematic by the role of the god.   Socrates wants as complete power over Alkibiades as Alkibiades  does over the polis . If one supposes that the power is essentially  similar, this might imply that Socrates would actually have the power  over the polis . A complete power to make someone else do as one wants  (as power is conventionally understood) seems to be the same over an  individual as over a state. Socrates and Alkibiades hope to prove  themselves invaluable (105a). That is not the same as being worthy of  honor (105b); past performance is crucial to the question of one's  honor, whereas a possibility of special expertise in the future is  sufficient to indicate one is invaluable. If a teacher is able to  promise that his influence will make manifest to one the problems with  one's opinions, and will help to clarify them, the teacher has indicated  himself to be invaluable. Should one then, on the basis of the teacher's  influence change one's opinions, and thus one's advice and actions, the  teacher will, in effect, be the man with power over all that is affected  by one's advice and actions, over all over which one has power.   Socrates, in affecting politically-minded youths, has an effect  on the polity. To have power over the politically powerful is to have  power in politics. Socrates' daimon had not let Socrates approach while  Alkibiades' hopes for rule were too narrowly contained. His ambitions  had to become much greater. If for no other reason than to see that  over which Socrates expects or intends to have indirect power, one should  be eager to discover Alkibiades' ambition - to discover that end which he  has set for himself, or which Socrates will help to set for him. The  reader also has in mind the historical Alkibiades: to the extent to  which Alkibiades' designs in Europe and Asia did come to pass, was  Socrates responsible as Plato, here, has him claim to be? The reader  might also be curious about the reverse: what actions of the historical  Alkibiades make this dialogue (and Socrates' regard) credible?   Alkibiades is astounded, Socrates sounds even stranger than he  looks. But Alkibiades' interest is aroused, even if he is skeptical.   He doesn't admit to the ambitions that have been listed; however he  will concede them for the sake of finding out just how Socrates thinks  of himself as the sole means through whom Alkibiades can hope to realize  them. Perhaps he never had the opportunity to characterize his ambitions that way - he may never have talked to a god. Socrates may only have   clarified those hopes for Alkibiades; but on the other hand, the   philosopher (partly, at least) may be responsible for imparting them to   the young man. At any rate, even if Socrates merely made these goals   obvious to the youth, one must wonder as to his purpose. Alkibiades   feels confident in claiming that no denial on his part will persuade   Socrates. He asks Socrates to speak (106a).   Socrates replies with a question which he answers himself. He   asks if Alkibiades expects him to speak in the way Alkibiades normally   hears people speak - in long speeches. Alkibiades' background is thus   73   indicated to some extent. He has heard orators proclaim. Socrates   points out that he will proceed in a way that is unusual to Alkibiades -   at least in so far as proving claims. By suggesting there is more than   one way to speak, Socrates indicates that differences of style are   significant in speech, and he invites the reader to judge/consider   which is appropriate to which purposes.   Socrates protests that his ability is not of that sort (the   orator's), but that he could prove his case to Alkibiades if Alkibiades   consents to do one bit of service. By soliciting Alkibiades' efforts,   Socrates may be intending to gain a deeper commitment from the youth.   If he is responsible somewhat for the outcome he may be more sincere in  74   his answers. Alkibiades will consent to do a service that is not   difficult;    he is interested but not willing to go to a great deal of   trouble. At this stage of the discussion he has no reason to believe   75   that fine things are hard. Upon Socrates' query as to whether  answering questions is considered difficult, Alkibiades replies that it    is not. Socrates tells him to a nswer and Alkibiades tells Socrates to  ask. His response suggests that Alkibiades has never witnessed a true  dialectical discuss    ion. He has just played question and answer games.  Not many who have experienced a dialogue, and even fewer who have  spoken with Socrates, would say it   is not hard. Alkibiades, too, soon  experiences difficulty.   Socrates asks him if he'll admit he has these intentions but   Alkibiades won't affirm or deny except toget on with the conversation.   Should Socrates want to believe it he may; Alkibiades desires to know   what is coming before he acknowledges more.   Accepting this, Socrates proceeds. Alkibiades, he notes, intends   shortly to present himself as an advisor to the Athenians. If Socrates   76   were to take hold of him as he was about to ascend the rostrum in  front of the ekklesia and were to ask him upon what subject they wanted  advice such as he could give, and if it was a subject about which  Alkibiades knew better than they, what would he answer?   This is an example of a common Socratic device, one of imagining  that the circumstances are other than they are. Socrates hereby employs   I   it for the third time in the dialogue, and each provides a different  effe   ct. On the first occasion, Socrates pretended a god was present to  provide Alkibiades with an important choice. Socrates did not speak in  his own name. The second example was when Socrates ventured that  Alkibiades would ask a certain question, and so answered it without  waiting to see if he would indeed have asked that question. In both of  those, the physical setting of the First Alkibi   ades was appropriate to  his intentions. This time, however, Socrates supplies another setting -  a very different setting - for a part of the discussion.   Speech is plastic in that it enables Socrates to manufacture an almost limitless variety of situations. By the sole use of human reason  and imagination, people are able to consider their actions in different  lights. This is highly desirable as it is often difficult to judge a  decision from within the context in which it was made. The malleability  of circumstances that is possible in speech allows one to examine  thoughts and policies from other perspectives. One may thus, for  example, evaluate whether it is principle or prejudice that influences  one's decisions, or whether circumstance and situation play a large or a  small role in the rational outcome of the deliberation. This rather  natural feature of reason also permits some consideration of consequences   without having to effect those consequences, and this may result in the aversion of disastrous results.   The plastic character of speech is crucial to philosophic dis¬  course as well, providing the essential material upon which dialectics  is worked. In discussion, the truly important features of a problem may  be more clearly separated from the merely incidental, through the care¬  ful construction of examples, situations and counterexamples. If not  for the ability to consider circumstances different from the one in  which one finds oneself, thinking and conversing about many things would  be impossible. And this is only one aspect of the plasticity of speech  which proves important to philosophic discussion. Good dialogic  partners exhibit this ability, since they require speech for much more  than proficiency in logical deduction. Speech and human imagination must  work upon each other. Participants in philosophical argument must  recognize connections between various subjects and different circum¬  stances. To a large extent, the level of thought is determined by the  thinker's ability to 'notice' factors of importance to the inquiry at hand. The importance of 'noticing' to philosophic argument will be con¬  sidered with reference to two levels of participation in the First  Alkibiades , both of which clearly focus on the prominence of the above  mentioned unique properties of speech as opposed to action.   'Noticing' is important to dialectics in that it describes how,  typically, Socrates' arguments work. An  interlocutor will suggest, say,  a solution to a problem, and upon reflection, Socrates - or another inter¬  locutor (e.g., as per llOe) - will notice, for example, that the solution  apparently doesn't work in all situations (i.e., a counter-example occurs  to him), or that not all aspects of the solution are satisfactory, and  so on. The ability of the participants to recognize what is truly im¬  portant to the discussion, and to notice those features in a variety of  other situations and concerns, is wha      t lends depth to the analysis. As  this has no doubt been experienced by anyone who has engaged in serious  arguments, it presumably need not be further elaborated.   The other aspect in which 'noticing' is important to philosophy  and how it influences, and is in turn influenced by, rational discourse  is in terms of how one ought to read a philosophic work. As hopefully  will be shown in this commentary on the First Alkibiades , a reader's  ability to notice dramatic details of the dialogue, a  nd his persistence  in carefully examining what he notices, importantly affects the benefit  he derives from the study of the dialogue. Frequently, evidence to this  effect can be gathered through reflective consideration of Socrates'  apparently off-hand examples, which turn out upon examination to be  neither offhand in terms of their relation to significant aspects of the  immediate topic, nor isolated in terms of bringing the various topics in  the dialogue into focus. As shall become more apparent as the analysis proceeds, the examples of ships and doctors, say, are of exceedingly  more philosophic importance than their surface suggests. Not only do  they metaphorically provide a depth to the argument (perhaps unwitnessed  by any participant in the dialogue besides the reader) but through  their  repeated use, they also help the reader to discern essential philosophic  connections between various parts of the subject under discussion.   The importance of 'recognition' and 'noticing' to dialectics (and   the importance of the malleability of subject matter afforded by speech)  may be partly explained by the understanding of the role of metaphor in  human reason. Dialectics involves the meticulous division of what has  been properly collected (c.f., for example Phaidros 266b). Time and  time again, evidence is surveyed by capable partners and connections    are  drawn between relevantly similar matters before careful distinctions are  outlined. The ability to recognize similarities, to notice connections,  seems similar to the mind's ability to grasp metaphor. Metaphor relies  to an important extent on the language user's readiness to 'collect'  similar features from various subjects familiar to him, a procedure the  reader of the First Alkibiades has observed to be crucial to the  philosophic enterprise.   Socrates often refrains from directly asking a question, pre¬  facing it by "supposing someone were to ask" or even "supposing I were  to ask." The circumstances of the encounters need to be examined in  order to understand his strategy. What might be the relevance of  Socrates asking Alkibiades to imagine he was about to ascend the plat¬  form, instead of, for example, in the market place, in another city,  near a group of young men, or in the privacy of his own home? And why  could not the setting be left precisely the same as the setting of the  dialogue? The situation at the base of the platform in front of the ekklesia is, needless to say, quite a bit different from the situation  they are in now. Alkibiades is not likely to give the same answer if  his honor and his entire political career are at stake, as they might be  in such a profoundly public setting. Socrates' device, on this occasion  helps serve to indicate that what counts as politic, or polite, speech  varies in different circumstances.   As Socrates has constructed the example, the Athenians proposed  to take advice on a subject and Alkibiades presumed to give them advice.  This might severely limit the subjects on which Alkibiades or another  politician could address them. Were the ekklesia about to take counsel  on something, it would be a m  atter they felt was settled by special  knowledge, and a subject on which there were some people with recognizable  expertise. The kinds of questions they believe are settled by uncommon  knowledge or expertise may be rather limited. It is not likely that  they would ask for advice on matters of justice. Most people feel they  are competent to decide that (i.e., that the knowledge relevant to  deciding is generally available, or common). Expertise is acknowledged  in strategy and tactics, but knowledgeability about politics in general  is less likely to be conceded than ability in matters of efficacy. All  of these sentiments limit the kinds of advice which can be given to the  ekklesia , and the councillor's problems are compounded by such considera¬  tions as what things can be    persuasively addressed in public speeches to  a mixed audience, and what will be effective in pleasing and attracting  the sympathy of the audience to the speaker. To be rhetorically effect¬  ive one must work with the beliefs/opinions/prejudices people confidently  and selfishly hold. Alkibiades agrees with Socrates that he would answer that it was a subject about which he had better knowledge. He would have to. If  Alkibiades wishes to be taken seriously by them, he should so answer in  front of the people. Even if he would be fully aware of his ignorance,  he might have motives which demand an insistence on expertise. He  couldn't admit to several purposes for which he might want to influence  the votes of the citizenry. Not all of those reasons can be made known  to them; not all of those reasons can be voiced from the platform at the  ekklesia . Sometimes politicians have to make decisions without certain  knowledge, but must nevertheless pretend confidence. These considerations  indicate again the importance of the role of speech to the themes of  this dialogue. There is a difference between public and private speech.  Some things simply cannot be said in front of a crowd of people, and  other things which would not be claimed in private conversation with  trusted friends would have to be affirmed in front of the ekklesia .   Just as a speaker may take advantage of the fact that crowds can be  aroused and swept along by rhetoric that would not so successfully move  an individual (e.g., patriotic speeches inciting citizens to war, and on  the darker side, lynch mobs and riots), so he understands that he could  never admit to a crowd things he might disclose to a trusted friend  (e.g., criticizing re ligious or political authorities).   Socrates suggests that Alkibiades believes he is a good advisor  on that which he knows, and those would be things which he learned from  others or through his own discovery. Alkibiades agrees that there don't  seem to be any other alternatives. Socrates further asks if he would  have learned or discovered anything if he hadn't been willing to learn  or inquire into it and whether one would ask about or learn what one  thought one knew. Alkibiades readily agrees that there must have been a period in his life when he might have admitted to ignorance to which  he doesn't admit now. Socrates suggests that one learns only what one  is willing to learn and discovers only what one is willing to inquire  into . The asymmetry of this may indicate the general problems of the  argument as the difference in phrasing (underlined) alerts the reader to  examine it more closely.   Discoveries, of course, usually involve a large measure of  accident or chance. And if they are the result of an inquiry, the in¬  quiry often has a different or more general object. Columbus didn't  set out to discover the New World; he wanted to establish a shorter  trading route to the Far East. Darwin did not set out to discover  evolution; he sought to explain why species were different. Earlier he  did not set out to discover that species were different; he observed the  animal kingdom. Not only may one stumble upon something by accident,  but by looking for one thing one may come to know something else. For  example, someone might not be motivated by a recognition of ignorance  but may be trying to prove a claim to knowledge. In the search for  proof he may find the truth. Or, alternatively, in the pursuit of some¬  thing altogether different, such as entertainment through reading a  story, one may discover that another way of life is better. The argu¬  ment thus appears to be flawed in that it is not true that one discovers  only what one is willing to inquire into. Thus Alkibiades may have  discovered what he now claims to know without ever having sought it as  a result of recognizing his ignorance. Socrates has been able to pass  this argument by Alkibiades because of the asymmetry of the statement.  Had he said "one discovers only what one is willing to discover,"    Alkibiades might have objected. Another difficulty with the argument is that one is simply not  always willing to learn what others teach and one nevertheless may  learn. One might actually be unwilling, but more often one is simply  neutral, or oblivious to the fact that one is learning. In the case of  the former (learning despite being unwilling), one need only remember  that denying what one hears does not keep one from hearing it. Propa¬  ganda can be successful even when it is known to be propaganda.   However, by far the most common counter-example to Socrates'  argument is the learning that occurs in everyday life. Many things are  not learned as the result of setting out to learn. Such knowledge is  acquired in other ways. Men come to have a common sense understanding  of cause and effect by simply doing and watching. One learns one's  name and who one's mother is long before choosing to learn, being willing  to study, or coming to recognize one's ignorance. Language is learned  with almost no conscious effort, and one is nurtured into conventions  without setting out to learn them. Notions of virtues are gleaned from  stories and from shades of meaning in the language, or even as a result  of learning a language. And, in an obvious sense, whenever anything is  heard, something is learned - even if only that such a person said it.   One cannot help observing; one does not selectively see when one one's eyes  are open, and one cannot even close one's ears to avoid hearing.   The above are, briefly, two problems with the part of Socrates'  argument that suggests people learn or discover only what they are  willing to learn or inquire into. The other parts of the argument may  be flawed as well. Socrates has pointed to the reader's discovery of  some flaws by a subtle asymmetry in his question. It is up to the  reader to examine the rest (in this case - to be willing to inquire into it). For example, there may be difficulties with the first suggestion  that one knows only what one has learned or discovered. It is possible  that there are innate objects of knowledge and that they are important  to later development. Infants, for example, have an ability to sense  comfort and discomfort which is later transferred into feeling a wide  variety of pleasures and pains. They neither learn this, nor discover it  (in any ordinary sense of "discovery"). The sense of pleasure and pain  quite naturally is tied to and helps to shape a child's sense of justice  (110b), and may thus be significant to the argument about Alkibiades'  knowledge or opinions about justice. In any event, closer examination  of Socrates' argument has shown the reader that the problem of knowing  is sufficiently complex to warrant his further attention. The rest of  the dialogue furnishes the careful reader with many examples and  problems to consider in his attempt to understand how he comes to know  and what it means to know.   Socrates knows quite well what things Alkibiades has learned, and  if he should omit anything in the relating, Alkibiades must correct him.  Socrates recollects that he learned writing, harping and wrestling - and  refused to learn fluting. Those are the things Alkibiades knows then,  unless he was learning something when he was unobserved - but that,  Socrates declares, is unlikely since he was watching whenever Alkibiades  stepped out of doors, by day or by night.   The reader will grant that the last claim is an exaggeration.  Socrates could not have observed every outdoor activity of the boy for  so many years. Yet Socrates persists in declaring that he knows what  Alkibiades learned out of doors. As suggested earlier, Socrates may be  indicating that he knows Alkibiades through his own soul. In that event one must try to understand why Socrates couldn't likewise claim to know  what went on indoors, or why Socrates doesn't announce to Alkibiades an  assumption that what goes on indoors is pretty much the same everywhere.  The reader may find what Alkibiades may have learned "indoors" much more  mysterious, and he may consider it odd that Socrates does not have access  to that- What occurs indoors (and perhaps to fully understand one would  need to acknowledge a metaphoric dimension to "indoor") that would  account for Socrates drawing attention to his knowledge of the outdoor  activities of Alkibiades?   Even if one confines one's attention to the literal meaning, there  is much of importance in one's nurture that happens inside the home.  Suffice it to notice two things. The first is that the domestic scene  in general, and household management in particular, are of crucial im¬  portance to politics. The second is that the teachers inside the home  are typically the womenfolk.   These are of significance both to this dialogue and (not un¬  related) to an understanding of politics. Attention is directed, for   example, toward the maternal side of the two participants in this dialogue. In addition, as has already been mentioned, the womenfolk  in this dialogue are the only ones who wonder, besides Alkibiades. The  women are within (cf. Symposium 176e); they have quite an effect on the  early nurture of children (cf. Republic 377b-c and context). Perhaps  the women teach something indoors that Socrates could not see, or would  not know regardless of how closely akin he was to Alkibiades by nature.   If that is so, the political significance of early education, of that  education which is left largely to women, assumes a great importance. Women> it is implied, are able to do something to sons that men cannot and perhaps even something which men cannot fully appreciate. An  absolutely crucial question arises: How is it proper for women to in¬  fluence sons?   Socrates proceeds to find out which of the areas of Alkibiades'  expertise is the one he will use in the assembly when giving advice. In  response to Socrates' query whether it is when the Athenians take advice  on writing or on lyre playing that Alkibiades will rise to address them,  the young man swears by Zeus that he will not counsel them on these  matters. (The possibility is left open that someone else would advise  the Athenians on these matters at the assembly). And, Socrates adds,  they aren't accustomed to deliberating about wrestling in the ekklesia. For some reason, Socrates has distinguished wrestling from the other two  subjects. Alkibiades will not advise the Athenians on any of the three;  he will not talk about writing or lyre-playing even if the subject would  come up; he will not speak about wrestling because the subject won't come  up. Regardless of the reader's suspicion that the first two subjects are  also rarely deliberated in the assembly, he should note the distinction  Socrates draws between the musical and the gymnastic arts. The attentive  reader will also have observed that the e    ducation a boy receives in school  does not prepare him for advising men in important political matters; it  does not provide him with the kinds of knowledge requisite to a citizen's  participation in the ekklesia .   But then on what will Alkibiades advise the Athenians? It won't  be about buildings or divination, for a builder will serve better (107a-  b). Regardless of whether he is short, tall, handsome, ugly, well-born  or base-born, the advice comes from the one who knows, not the wealthy;  the reader might notice that this undercuts all previously mentioned bases of Alkibiades' self-esteem. According to Socrates, the Athenians  want a physician to advise them when they deliberate on the health of  the city; they aren't concerned if he's rich or poor, Socrates suggests,  as if being a successful physician was in no way indicated by financial  status.   There are a number of problems with this portion of the argument.  Firstly, the advisor's rhetorical power (and not necessarily his knowledge)  is of enhanced significance when that of which he speaks is something most  people do not see to be clearly a matter of technical expertise, or even  of truth or falsity instead of taste. This refers especially to those  things that are the subject of political debate. Unlike in the case of  medicine, people do not acknowledge any clear set of criteria for  political expertise, besides perhaps 'success' for one's polity, a thing  not universally agreed upon. Most people have confidence in their  knowledge of the good and just alternatives available (cf. llOc-d).   Policy decisions about what are commonly termed ’value judgements'  are rarely decided solely on the basis of reason. Especially in  democracies, where mere whims may become commands, an appeal to  irrational elements in men's souls is often more effective. Men's fears  too, especially their fear of enslavement, can be manipulated for various  ends. Emotional appeals to national pride, love of family and fraternity,  and the possibility of accumulating wealth are what move men, for it is  these to which men are attracted. Rational speech is only all-powerful  if men are all-rational.   Secondly, it is not clear that a man's nobility or ignobility  should be of no account in the ekklesia. At least two reasons might be    adduced for this consideration. There is no necessary connection between knowing and giving good advice. Malevolence as well as ignorance may-  cause it. A bad man who knows might give worse advice than an ignorant  man of good will who happens to have right opinions. Unless the knower  is a noble person there is no guarantee that he will tender his best  advice. An ignoble man may provide advice that serves a perverse  interest, and he might even do it on the basis of his expert knowledge.  Another reason for considering nobility important in advisors is that it  might be the best the citizens can do. Most Athenians would not believe  that there are experts in knowledge about justice as there are in the  crafts. If they won't grant that expertise (and there are several  reasons why it would be dangerous to give them the power to judge men on  that score), then it is probably best that they take their advice from  a gentleman, a nobleman, or even a man whose concern for his family's  honor will help to prevent his corruption.   Thirdly, since cities obviously do not succumb to fevers and  79   bodily diseases, one must in this case treat the "physician of the  diseased city" metaphorically. It is not certain that the Athenians  would recognize the diseased condition of a city. To the extent to  which they do, they tend to regard political health in economic terms  (as one speaks of a "healthy economy"). In that case, whether a man  was rich or poor would make a great deal of difference to them. They  wouldn't be likely to take advice on how to increase the wealth (the  health) of a city from someone who could not prove his competence in  that matter in his private life. In addition, since most people are im¬  portantly motivated by wealth, they will respect the opinions of one who  is recognizably better at what they are themselves doing - getting  wealthy. It seems to be generally the case that people will attend to the speech of a wealthy man more than to a poorer but perhaps more  virtuous man.   In other words, then, it is not clear that what Socrates has said  about the Athenian choice of advisors is true (107b-c). Moreover, it is  not clear that it should be true. Factors such as conventional nobility  probably should play a part in the choice of councillors, even if it is  basically understood in terms of being well-born. People's inability to  evaluate the physicians of the city, and people's emphasis on wealth also  are evidence against Socrates' claims.   Socrates wants to know what they'll be considering when Alkibiades   stands forth to the Athenians. It has been established that he won't   advise on writing, harping, wrestling, building or divination. Alkibiades   figures he will advise them when they are considering their own affairs.   Socrates, in seeming perversity, continues by asking if he means their affairs concerning ship-building and what sorts of ships they should  80   have. Since that is of course not what Alkibiades means, Socrates  proposes that the reason and the only reason is that the young man doesn't  understand the art of ship-building. Alkibiades agrees, but the reader  need not. Socrates, by emphasizing the exclusivity of expertise through  the use of so many examples, has alerted the reader, should he otherwise  have missed the point, that there are many reasons for not advising about  something besides ignorance.   In some matters, for example, it is hard to prove knowledge and  it may not always be best to go to the effort of establishing one's claim  to expertise. If the knowledgeable can perceive, say, that no harm will  come the way things are proceeding, there might not be any point to  claiming knowledge. Another reason for perhaps keeping silent is that the correct view has been presented. There are thus other things with  which to occupy one's time. Perhaps a major reason for keeping silent  about advising on some matters is simply indifference; petty politics  can be left to others. In fact there are, it would seem, quite a number  of reasons for keeping silent besides ignorance. And, on the other hand,  it is unlikely that someone with a keen interest would acknowledge  ignorance as a sufficient condition for their silence. Many who voice  their opinions on public matters do not thereby mean to implicitly claim  their expertise, but only to express their interestedness.   Socrates' ship-building example has a few other interesting  features. Firstly, in a strict sense what Socrates and Alkibiades agree  to is wrong: knowledge of shipbuilding is not the exclusive basis for  determining which ships to build. Depending on whether it is a private  or public ship-building program, the passenger, pilot or politician  decides. Triremes or pleasure-craft, or some other specific vessels are  demanded. The ship-builder then builds it as best he can. But his  building is dictated by his customers, if he is free, or his owners, if  he is a slave.   The prominence of Plato's famous "ship-of-state" analogy ( Republic  488a-489c) allows the reader to look metaphorically at the example of  'ship-building,' and the question of what sort of 'ships' ought to get  built. In terms of the analogy, then, Socrates is asking Alkibiades if  he will be giving advice on statebuilding and what kind of polis ought  to be constructed. This is, it seems, the very thing upon which  Alkibiades wants to advise the Athenians. He wants very much to build  Athens into a super Empire. The recognition of the ship-of-state  analogy brings to the surface a most fundamental political question which lurks behind much of the discussion of the dialogue: which sort  of regime ought to be constructed? The importance of the question of  the best regime to political philosophy is indicated and reinforced by  the very test of the importance of the question in the analogy. The con¬  sideration of what sort of ship ought to be built stands behind the whole  activity of ship-building, and yet is one that is not answered by the  technical expert. The user (passenger/citizen) and the ruler (pilot/  statesman) are the ones that make the decision. On the basis of an  example that has already been shown to be suspect, namely Socrates'  mention of ship-building, the reader of the First Alkibiades is provided  with the opportunity to consider the intricasies of the analogy and a  question of central importance to the political man. Alkibiades must  gain t he ability to advise the Athenians as to what ships they ought to  build.   For the moment, however, Socrates asks on what affairs Alkibiades   means to give advice, and the young man answers those of war or peace or   other affairs of the polis . Socrates asks for clarification on whether   Alkibiades means they'll be deliberating about the manner of peace and   war; will they be considering questions of on whom, how, when and how   long it is better to make war (107c). But if the Athenians were to ask   these sorts of questions about wrestling, Socrates remarks, they'd call   not on Alkibiades but on the wrestling master, and he would answer in light of what was better. Similarly, when singing and accompanying  lyre-playing and dancing, some ways and times are better. Alkibiades  agrees.The word 'better' was used both in the case of harping to accom-  82   pany singing and in the case of wrestling (108a-b). For wrestling the standard of the better is provided by gymnastics; what supplies it in   the case of harping? Alkibiades doesn't understand and Socrates suggests   that he imitate him, for Socrates' pattern could be generalized to yield a correct answer in all cases. Correctness comes into being by the  art, and the art in the case of wrestling is fairly ( kalos) said to be  gymnastics (108c). If Alkibiades is to copy Socrates, he should copy  him in fair conversation, as well, and answer in his turn what the art  of harping, singing and dancing is. But Alkibiades still cannot tell him  the name of the art (108c). Socrates attempts another tact and deviates  slightly from the pattern he had suggested Alkibiades imitate. Presumably  Alkibiades will be able to answer the questions once Socrates asks the  right one. He doesn't assume that Alkibiades is ignorant of the answer,  so he takes care in choosing the appropriate questions. Perhaps his  next attempt will solicit the desired response. The goddesses of the  art are the Muses. Alkibiades can now acknowledge that if the art is  named after them, it is called 'Music.' The musical mode, as with the  earlier pattern of gymnastics, will be correct when it follows the  musical art. Now Socrates wants Alkibiades to say what the 'better' is  in the case of making war and peace, but Alkibiades is unable.   There are a number of reasons why he would be unable on the basis  of the pattern Socrates has supplied. One of these has to do with the  pattern itself. It is not clear there is an art ( techne) , per se , of  making war and peace. The closest one could come to recognizing such an  art would be to suggest it is the art of politics, but even if that is  properly an art (i.e., strictly a matter of technical expertise) knowing  only its name would not provide a clear standard of 'better.' The term  'political' does not of its own designate a better way to wage war and peace. Despite the possibility that the art in this case is of a higher  order than music or gymnastics, it remains unclear that Alkibiades can  use the same solution as Socrates suggested in the case of music. Who  are the gods or goddesses who give their name to the art of war and peace?  Perhaps one way to understand this curious feature of the discussion is  to consider that Socrates might be suggesting that there is a divine  standard for politics as well as for music.   According to Socrates, Alkibiades' inability to answer about the  standard or politics is disgraceful (108e). Were Alkibiades an advisor  on food, even without expert knowledge (i.e., even if he wasn't a  physician), he could still say that the 'better' was the more wholesome.   In this case, where he claims to have knowledge and intends to advise as  though he had knowledge (notice the two are not the same), he should be  ashamed to be unable to answer questions on it.   At this point the reader must pause. If Socrates simply wanted  to make this point and proceed with the argument, he has chosen an un¬  fortunate example in discussing the advisor on food. There are a number  of features of his use of this example that, if transferred, have quite  important repercussions for the discussion of the political advisor.  Firstly, it may be remarked that Socrates has admitted that the ability  to say what the 'better' is, is not always necessarily contingent upon  technical knowledge. Secondly, someone who answers "more wholesome" as  the better in food has already implicitly or explicitly accepted a  hierarchy of values. He has architectonically structured the arts that  have anything to do with food in such a manner as to place health at the  apex. Someone who had not conceded such a rank-ordering might have said  "cheapest," "most flavorful," or even "sweetest." Thus this example clearly indicates the centrality of understanding the architectonic  nature of politics. Thirdly, and perhaps least importantly, Socrates  has more clearly indicated a distinction that was suggested in the  previous example. It is a different matter to know that 'wholesome'  food is better for one than it is to know which foods are wholesome.  Socrates had, prior to this, been attempting to get Alkibiades to name  the art which provides the standard of the good in peace and war. Even  if Alkibiades had been able to name that art, there would have been no  indication of his substantive knowledge of the art. Conversely it might  be possible that he would have substantive knowledge of something without  being able to refer to it as a named art.   One might account for Alkibiades' inability to n  ame the art of  political advice by reference to something other than his knowledge and  ignorance. Perhaps the very subject matter would render such a statement  difficult. For instance, if politics is the 'art' which structures all  others, it would be with a view to politics that the respective 'betters'  in the other arts would be named. The referent of politics would be of  an entirely different order however. Perhaps its 'better,' the compre¬  hensive 'better,' would be simply 'the good.' At any rate, it is a  question of a different order, a different kind of question, insofar as  the instrumentally good is different from the good simply. This  suggestion is at least partly sustained by the observation that Socrates  uses a different method to discover the answer in this case than in the  previous 'patterns' supplied by wrestling and harping.   Alkibiades agrees that it does indeed seem disgraceful, but even  after further consideration he cannot say what the 'better' (the aim or  good providing a standard of better) is with respect to peace and war. As Socrates' question about the goddesses of harping deviated from the  example of wrestling, so Socrates' attempt here is a deviation. He asks  Alkibiades what people say they suffer in war and what they call it.   The reader might note peace has been omitted from consideration.  Alkibiades says that what is suffered is deceit, force and robbery  (109b), and that such are suffered in either a just or an unjust way.   Now it is clearer why 'peace' was not mentioned. It might be more difficult to argue in parallel fashion that the most important distinction  in peace was between just peace and unjust peace.   Socrates asks if it is upon the just or the unjust that Alkibiades  will advise the Athenians to  make war. Alkibiades immediately recognizes  at least one difficulty. If for some reason it would be necessary to go  to war with those who are just, the advisor would not say so. That is  the case not only because it is considered unlawful, but, as Alkibiades   adds, it is not considered noble either. Socrates assumes Alkibiades will appeal to these things when addressing the ekklesia . Alkibiades   here proves he understands the need for speaking differently to the   public, or at least for remaining prudently silent about certain matters.   Within the bounds of the argument to this point, wealth and   prestige (not to mention dire necessity) may be 'betters' in wars as readily as justice. One may only confidently infer two things from  Alkibiades' admissions. The people listening to the advice cannot be  told that those warred upon are just; and to tell them so would be un¬  lawful and ignoble. One might be curious as to the proper relation  between lawfulness, nobility and justice, and the reader of the dialogue,  in sorting out these considerations, might examine the argument surrounding this statement of their relation. The next few discussions in the First Alkibiades seem to focus on  establishing Alkibiades' claim to knowledge about justice. Either  Alkibiades has not noticed his own ignorance in this matter or Socrates  has not observed his learning and taking lessons on justice. Socrates  would like to know, and he swears by the god of friendship that he is  not joking, who the man.was who taught Alkibiades about justice.   Alkibiades wants to know whether he couldn't have learned it  another way. Socrates answers that Alkibiades could have learned it  through his own discovery. Alkibiades, in a dazzling display of quick  answers, responds that he might have discovered it if he'd inquired, and  he might have inquired if there was a time when he thought he did not  know. Socrates says that Aliibiades has spoken well (110a), but he  wants to know when that time was. Socrates seems to acknowledge  Alkibiades' skill in speaking. These formally sharp answers would  probably be the kind praised in question and answer games. Socrates  says Alkibiades has spoken well, but immediately instructs Alkibiades  about how to speak in response to the next question. Alkibiades is to  speak the truth; the dialogue would be futile if he didn't answer truly.  So here it is acknowledged that truth (at least for the sake of useful  dialogue) is the standard for speaking well. He quickly follows the  insincere praise with an indication of the real criteria for determining  if something was well-spoken. Socrates is not destroying Alkibiades'  notion of his ability to achieve ideals, he is instead destroying the  ideals. He acknowledged Alkibiades' skill and then suggests it is not  a good skill to have. Socrates, in effect, tells Alkibiades to forget  the clever answers and to speak the truth. One of the themes of  Socrates' instruction of the youth seems to be the teaching of proper goals or standards.   Alkibiades admits that a year ago he thought he knew justice and  injustice, and two, three and four years ago as well. Socrates remarks  that before that Alkibiades was a child and Socrates knows well enough  that even then the precocious child thought he knew. The philosopher had  often heard Alkibiades as a boy claim that a playmate cheated during a  game, and so labelled him unjust with perfect confidence (110b).  Alkibiades concedes that Socrates speaks the truth but asks what else  should he have done when someone cheated him? Socrates points out that  this very question indicates Alkibiades' belief that he knows the answer.  If he recognized his ignorance, Socrates responds, he would not ask what  else he should have done as though there was no alternative.   Alkibiades swears that he must not have been ignorant because he  clearly perceived that he was wronged. If this implies that, as a child,  he thought he knew justice and injustice, then so he must. And he admits  he couldn't have discovered it while he thought he knew it (110c).  Socrates suggests to Alkibiades that he won't be able to cite a time  when he thought he didn't know, and Alkibiades swears again that he can¬  not. Apparently, then, he must conclude that he cannot know the just on  the basis of discovery (llOd).   This argument appears to depend on the premise that one begins  at a loss, completely ignorant, and then one subsequently discovers what  justice is. But such an assumption is surely unwarranted. The discovery  could be a slow, gradual process of continual refinement of a child's  understanding of justice. Often one's opinions are changed because one  discovers something that doesn't square with previous beliefs. If one  is sufficiently confident of the new factor, one's beliefs may change. During the course of the succeeding dialogue, the reader may see a  number of ways in which this procedure might take place in a person's  life.   Socrates draws to Alkibiades' attention that if he   doesn't know justice by his own discovery, and didn't learn it from   others, how could he know it. Alkibiades suggests that perhaps he said   the wrong thing before and that he did in fact learn it, in the same way   as everyone else. It is not clear that this is a sincere move on   Alkibiades' part (though it proves later in the dialogue to have   support as being the actual account of the origin of most people's views   of justice). Perhaps in order to win the argument he is willing to   simply change the premises. Unfortunately, his changing of this one   entirely removes the need for the argument. Socrates doesn't bother   to point out to Alkibiades that if everybody knows it, and in the same   way, then Alkibiades has no claim to special expertise, and so no basis   for presuming to advise the Athenians. Alkibiades' abilities in speaking   have been demonstrated, a care and willingness to learn from dialogue   86   have yet to be instilled.   As is presently indicated to Alkibiades, his answer brings about   a return to the same problem - from whom did he learn it? To his reply   that the many taught him (llOe), Socrates responds that they are not   87   worthy teachers in whom he is taking refuge. They are not competent   88   to teach how to play and how not to play draughts and since that is  insignificant compared to justice, how can they teach the more serious  matter? Alkibiades perceptively counters this by pointing out that they  can teach things more worthy than draughts; it was they and no single    master who taught Alkibiades to speak Greek. Alkibiades by this point proves that he is capable of quick and  independent thought. He doesn't merely follow Socrates' lead in answer¬  ing but in fact points out an important example to the contrary. The  Greek language is taught by the many quite capably even though they can¬  not teach the less important draughts nor many other peculiar skills.   A number of issues important to the discussion are brought to the  surface by this example. First, one should notice that language is  another thing Alkibiades has learned which Socrates didn't mention.  Language is necessary for learning most other subjects, and one can learn  quite a lot by just listening to people speaking. A common language is  the precondition of the conversation depicted in the First Alkibiades ,  as is some general agreement, however superficial, between Socrates and  Alkibiades as to what they mean when they say 'justice.' In order to  have an argument over whether or not one of them is indeed knowledgeable  about justice and injustice, they must have some notion of what 'justice'  conventionally means. They are not talking about the height of the sky,  the price of gold, or the climate on mountaintops. Justice ( dikaios) is  a word in the Greek language. Most people share sufficient agreement  about its meaning so as to be able to teach people how the word should  be used. This conventional notion of justice thus informs a child's  sense of justice, and as is shown by the strategy of the Republic as  well as of the First Alkibiades , the conventional opinions about justice  must be dealt with and accounted for in any more philosophic treatment.   One must assume that conventional opinions about justice have  some connection, however tenuous, with the truth about it. This exempli¬  fies the peculiar nature of 'agreement' as a criterion of knowledge.   That experts agree about their subject matter is not altogether beside the point, but too much emphasis should not be placed upon it. There are  innumerable examples of "sectarian" agreements, none of which by that  fact have any claim to truth. There is also considerable agreement in  conventional opinions and the "world-views" of various communities  which must be accounted for but not necessarily accepted.   Socrates admits to Alkibiades (whom he chooses to address, at  this moment, as "well-born," perhaps in order to remind him that he dis¬  tinguishes himself from the many) that the people can be justly praised  for teaching such things as language, for they are properly equipped  (and actually the many do not teach one how to use language well). To  teach, one ought to know, and an indication of their knowing is that they  agree among each other on the language. If they disagreed they couldn't  be said to know and wouldn't be able to teach. One might parenthetically  point to some other important things that the many teach. Children learn  the laws from the many, including the laws/rules of games. To call some¬  one a cheater (110b) does not mean someone knows justice; they simply  must know the rules of the game and be able to recognize when such rules  have been violated. Rules of games are strictly conventional. They gain  their force from an agreement, implicit or explicit, between the players.  One might wonder if justice is, correspondingly, the rules of a super-  game, or if it is something standing behind all rule-obeying.   The many agree on what stone and wood are. If one were to say  "stone" or "wood," they could all reach for the same thing. That is what  Alkibiades must mean by saying that all his fellow citizens have knowledge  of Greek. And they are good teachers in as much as they agree on these  terms in public and private. Poleis also agree among each other (111b,    118d, 126c-e; cf. Lakhes 186d). Anyone who wanted to learn what stone  and wood were would be rightly sent to the many.   The fact that Greeks agree with each other when they name objects  hardly accounts for their knowledge of the language, much less their   ability to teach it. Naming is far from being the bulk of speaking a   , 89   language, (Hobbes and Scripture to the contrary notwithstanding ). Not   only is it improper to consider many parts of speech as having the   function of designating things, but even descriptive reference to the   sensible world is only a partial aspect of the use of language. To   mention only a few everyday aspects of language that do not obviously   conform, consider the varied use of commands, metaphors, fables, poetry   and exclamation. To suggest that what constitutes one's knowledge of a   language is to point to objects and use nouns to name them, would be   completely inadequate. It would be so radically insufficient, in fact,   that it could not even account for its own articulation.   Language consists of much more than statements which correspond  to observables in the actual world. But even were one to restrict one's  examination of language to understanding what words mean, or refer to,  one would immediately run into difficulties. All sorts of words are  used in everyday language which demand some measure of evaluation on the  part of the user and the listener. A dog may be pointed to and called  "dog." A more involved judgement is required in calling it a "wild dog,"  or "wolf," not to say a "bad dog." Agreement or disagreement on the use  of such terms does not depend on knowledge of the language as much as on  the character of the thing in question.   There are problems even with Socrates' account of naming. One  cannot be certain that the essence of a thing has been focussed upon by  those giving the name to the thing. One might fasten upon the material, or the form, or yet some other feature of the object. For example, a  piece of petrified wood, or a stone carving of a tree would significantly  complicate Socrates' simple example. It is not at all clear that the  same thing would be pointed to if someone said "stone." The reader may  remember that the prisoners in the cave of the Republic spend quite a bit  of their time naming the shadows on the wall of the cave ( Republic 515b,  516c). The close connection between this discussion and that of the  Republic is indicated also by the fact that the objects which cast the  shadows in the cave are made of stone and wood ( Republic 515a.1). People  in the cave don't even look at the objects when they name things.  According to the analogy of the cave they would be the people teaching  Alkibiades to speak Greek; they are the people in actual cities. And  what they call "stone" and "wood" are only an aspect of stone and wood,  the shadowy representations of stone and wood. If the essences of stone  and wood, comparatively simple things, are not denoted by language, one  can imagine in what the agreement might consist in the popular use of  words like "City" and "Man." The question of the relation of a name to  the essential aspect of the thing adds a significant dimension to the  philosophic understanding of the human use of language.   Alkibiades and Socrates seem to be content with this analysis of  naming, however, and Socrates readily proceeds to the next point in the  argument. If one wanted to know not only what a man or a horse (note  the significance of the change from stone and wood) was, but which was a  good runner, the many would not be able to teach that - proof of which  is their disagreement among themselves. Apparently finding this example  insufficient, Socrates adds that should one want to know which men were  healthy and which were diseased, the many would also not be able to  teach that, for they disagree (llle).   Notice two features of these examples that may be of philosophic   interest. To begin with, the respective experts are, first the gymnastics trainer and second, the physician. In this dialogue, both the gymnastics  expert and the doctor have arguments advanced on their behalf, supporting  their claim to be the proper controllers of, or experts about, the whole  body (126a-b, 128c). As supreme rulers of the technae of the body they  have different aspects of the good condition in mind and consequently  might give different advice (for example on matters of diet). Thereupon  one is confronted with the standard problem of trying to maintain two or  more supreme authorities: which one is really the proper ruler in the  event of conflict.   There is yet another aspect of the same problem that is of some  concern to the reader of the First Alkibiades . One might say that the  relation of the body to the soul is a very persuasive issue in this  dialogue, and the suggestion that there are two leaders in matters of  the body causes one to wonder whether there is a corresponding dual  leadership in the soul.   Secondly, the reader notices that the composition of "the many"  shifts on the basis of what is being taught. On the one hand, the doctor  fits into "the many" as being unable to tell the good runner; on the  other hand, when the focus is on health, all but the doctor appear to  constitute "the many."   The question of how to understand the make-up of the many points  to a very large issue area in philosophy, namely that which is popularly  termed the 'holism vs. individualism debate,' or more generally, the    question of the composition and character of groups. What essentially characterizes groups - in particular that politically indispensible  group, "the many?" This issue is not superfluous to this dialogue, nor  to this portion of this dialogue. By placing the doctor alone against  the many (in the second example), one unwittingly contradicts oneself.  Alkibiades and Socrates fall among the ranks of the Many as well as the  Few.   Perhaps the most obvious problem connected with determining the  composition of the group, "the many," is brought into focus when one  tries to discover how one "goes to the many" to learn (llld). There are  quite a few possibilities. Does the opinion of "the many" become the  average (mean) opinion of all the different views prevalent in a city?   Or is it the opinion held by the majority? One might go to each indi¬  vidual, to each of a variety of representative individuals, or even to  51% of the individuals in a given place, and then statistically evaluate  their opinions, arriving at one or another form of majority consensus.   Or, one might determine conventional opinion by asking various indi-   91   viduals what they believe everyone else believes. There seem to be  countless ways of understanding "the many," each of which allows for  quite different outcomes. The problems for the student of political  affairs, as well as for the aspiring politician, are compounded because  the many do not appear to hold a single view unanimously or unambiguously  on many of the important questions.   Regardless of which is the appropriate understanding of "the many,  the reader must at all events remember that "the many" and "the few" are  a perennial political division. There are, likewise, several ways in  which "the few" are conceived. Some consider them to be the men of    wealth, the men of virtue, the men of intelligence, and so on. Reference to "the few," however, is rarely so vague as reference to the many,  since people who speak of "the few" are usually aware of which criteria  form the bases of the distinction. Despite the lack of clarity con¬  cerning the division between "the many" and "the few," it is appealed  to, in most regimes as being a fundamental schizm. Most regimes, it may  be ventured, are in fact based either upon the distinction, or upon  trying to remove the distinction, and they appeal to this division,  however vague, to legitimate themselves.   At this point in the discussion of the First Alkibiades (llle),  Alkibiades and Socrates are considering whether the many are capable  teachers of justice. They appear to be making their judgement solely on  the basis of the criterion of agreement. One might stop to consider not  only whether agreement is sufficient to indicate knowledge, but indeed  whether it is even necessary. One cannot simply deny the possi¬  bility that one might be able to gain knowledge because of disagreements.  Profound differences of opinion might indicate the best way of learning  the truth, as, for example the disagreements among philosophers about  justice teaches at the very least what the important considerations might  be. Socrates continues. Since disagreement among the many indicates  that they are not able to teach (though lack of ability rarely prevents  them from trying anyway, cf. Apology 24c-25a; Gorgias 461c), Socrates  asks Alkibiades whether the many agree about justice and injustice, or if  indeed they don't differ most on those very concerns. People do not   92   fight and kill in battle because they disagree on questions of health,  but when justice is in dispute, Alkibiades has seen the battles. And if    he hasn't seen them (Socrates should know this, after all, cf. 106e) he has heard of the fights from many, particularly from Homer, because he's  heard the Odyssey and Iliad. Alkibiades' familiarity with Homer is of great significance. It,  along with his knoweldge of Greek, are probably the two most crucial  "oversights" in Socrates' list of what Alkibiades learned. In fact, they  are of such importance that they overshadow the subjects in which he did  take lessons, in terms of their effect on his character development, his  common-sense understanding, and on his suitability for political office.  Homer is an important source of knowledge and of opinion, and is respons¬  ible for there being considerable consensus of belief among the Greeks in  many matters. He provides the authoritative interpretation of the gods  as well as of the qualities and actions of great men. If Alkibiades  knows Homer and if he knows that Homer is about justice, then he has  learned much more about justice than one would surmise on the basis of  his formal schooling.   Alkibiades agrees with Socrates' remark that the Iliad and Odyssey  are about disagreements about justice and injustice. He also accepts the  interpretation that a difference of opinion about the just and the unjust  caused the battles and deaths of the Akhaians and Trojans; the dispute  between Odysseus and Penelope's suitors; and the deaths and fights of  the Athenians, Spartans and Boiotians at Tanagra and Koroneia. (One  notes that Socrates has blended the fabulous with the actual, and has  chosen, as his non-mythic example, probably the one over which it is  most difficult for Alkibiades to be non-partisan - the battle in which  his father died. This also raises his heritage to the level of the  epic.) The reader need not agree with this interpretation on a number  of counts. Firstly, the central case is noteworthy in that Socrates interprets Odysseus' strife with the men of Ithaka to be over a woman,  and not primarily the kingdom and palace. It is not at all clear, more¬  over, that what caused the altercation between Odysseus and the suitors  was a difference of opinion about justice. They might have all wanted  the same thing, but the reaction of the suitors at Odysseus' return   indicates that they didn't feel they were in the right - they admitted  93   gurlt. Secondly, what is noticeable in Homer is that only one aspect  of the epic is about the dispute about justice (and also, both Homeric  examples involve a conflict between eros and justice, represented by  Helen and Penelope). In the epics the disagreement among the many refers  not to the many of one polis but of various poleis against each other.  Indeed the many of each polis in the Trojan war agree.   These observations foreshadow the discussion that will presently  come to the fore in the dialogue under somewhat different circumstances.  The problem of the difference between the just and the expedient is a  key one in political philosophy, and it is introduced by the reflection  that in a number of instances disagreement does not focus on what the  just solution is, but on who should be the victor, who will control the  thing over which the sides are disputing. Both sides agree that it  would be good to control one thing. More shall be said about this later  in the context of the discussion.   Socrates inquires of Alkibiades whether the people involved in  those wars could be said to understand these questions if they could  disagree so strongly as to take extreme measures. Though he must admit  that  teachers of that sort are ignorant, Alkibiades had nevertheless re¬  ferred Socrates to them. Alkibiades is quite unaware of the nature of  justice and injustice and he also cannot point to a teacher or say when    he discovered them. It thus seems hard to say he has knowledge of them. Alkibiades agrees that according to what Socrates has said it is  not likely that he knows (112d). Socrates takes this opportunity to  teach Alkibiades a most important lesson. Though apparently a digression,  it will mark a pivotal point in the turning around of Alkibiades that  occurs by the middle of the discussion.   Socrates says that Alkibiades' last remark was not fair ( kalos)  because he claimed Socrates said that Alkibiades was ignorant, whereas  actually Alkibiades did. Alkibiades is astounded. Did he_ say it?   Socrates is teaching Alkibiades that the words spoken in an argument  ought indeed to have an effect on one's life, that the outcomes of argu¬  ments are impersonal yet must be taken seriously, and that responsibility  for what is said rests with both partners in dialogue. The results of  rational speech are to be trusted; reason is a kind of power necessarily  determining things. Alkibiades cannot agree in speech and then decide,  if it is convenient, to dismiss conclusions on the grounds that it was  someone else who said it. Arguments attain much more significance when  they are recognized as one's own. One must learn they are not merely  playthings (cf. Republic 539b). Accepting responsibility for them and  their conclusions is essential. It is important politically with  reference to speech, as well as in the more generally recognized sense  of assuming responsibility for one's actions. To cite an instance of  special importance to this dialogue, who is responsible for Alkibiades -  Perikles? Athens? Socrates? Alkibiades himself? One can often place  responsibility for one's actions on one's society, one's immediate  environment, or one's teachers. Perhaps it is not so easy to shun  responsibility for conclusions of arguments. Most men desire consistency    and at least feel uneasy when they are shown to be involved in  contradictions. In this discussion of who must accept responsibility for  the conclusions of rational discourse, Alkibiades learns yet another  lesson about the power of speech. He has, by his own tongue, convicted  himself of ignorance.   Socrates demonstrates to Alkibiades that if he asks whether one or  two is the larger number, and Alkibiades answers that two is greater by  one, it was Alkibiades who said that two was greater than one. Socrates  had asked and Alkibiades had answered; the answer was the speaker.  Similarly, if Socrates should ask which letters are in "Socrates" and  Alkibiades answered, Alkibiades would be the speaker. On the basis of  this the young man agrees that, as a principle, whenever there is a  questioner and an answerer, the speaker is the answerer. Since so far  Socrates had been the questioner and Alkibiades the answerer, Alkibiades  is responsible for whatever has been uttered.   What has been disclosed by now is that Alkibiades, the noble son   of Kleinias, intends to go to the ekklesia to advise on that of which he   knows nothing. Socrates quotes Euripides - Alkibiades "hear it from   94   [himself] not me." Socrates doesn't pull any punches. Not only does  he refer to an almost incestuous woman to speak of Alkibiades' condition,  but he follows with what must seem a painfully sarcastic form of address  (since it is actually ironic) which the young man would probably wish to  hear from serious lips. Alkibiades, the "best of men,' is contemplating  a mad undertaking in teaching what he has not bothered to learn.   Alkibiades has been hit, but not hard enough for him to change his  mind instead of the topic. He thinks that Athenians and the other Greeks  don't, in fact, deliberate over the justice of a course of action - they    consider that to be more or less obvious - but about its advantageousness  (113d). The just and the advantageous are not the same, for great in¬  justices have proven advantageous, and sometimes little advantage has been  gained from just action. Socrates announces that he will challenge  Alkibiades' knowledge of what is expedient, even if he should grant that  the just and the advantageous are ever so distinct (113e).   Alkibiades perceives no hindrance to his claiming to know what is  advantageous unless Socrates is again about to ask from which teacher  he learned it or how he discovered it. Hereupon Socrates remarks that  the young man is treating arguments as though they were clothing which,  once worn, is dirtied. Socrates will ignore these notions of Alkibiades,  implying that they involve an incorrect understanding of philosophic  disputation. Alkibiades must be taught that what is ever correct  according to reason remains correct according to reason. Variety in  arguments is not a criterion affecting their rational consistency.   Socrates shall proceed by asking the same question, intending it to, in  effect, ask the whole argument. He claims to be certain that Alkibiades  will find himself in the same difficulty with this argument.   The reader will recognize that Alkibiades is not likely to en¬  counter precisely the same problems with this new argument. The nature  of the agreement and disagreement by individuals and states over the  matter of usefulness or advantageousness is different than that concern¬  ing justice. A man may know it would be useful to have something, or  expedient to do something, and also know it to be unjust. States, too,  may agree on something's advantageousness, say controlling the Hellespont  but they may disagree on who should control it. The conflict in these  cases is not the result of a disagreement as to what is true (e.g., it  is true that each country's interests are better served by control of key sea routes), but it is based precisely on their agreement about the  truth regarding expediency. When states and individuals are primarily  concerned with wealth, then knowing what is useful presents far fewer  problems than knowing what is just.   Since Alkibiades is so squeamish as to dislike the flavor of old  arguments, Socrates will disregard his inability to corroborate his  claim to knowledge of the expedient. Instead he will ask whether the  just and the useful are the same or different. Alkibiades can question  Socrates as he had been questioned, or he can choose whatever form of  discourse he likes. As he feels incapable of convincing Socrates,  Alkibiades is invited to imagine Socrates to be the people of the  ekklesia ; even there, where the young man is eager to speak, he will have  to persuade each man singly (114b). A knowledgeable man can persuade one  alone and many together (114b-c). A writing master is able to persuade  either one or many about letters and likewise an arithmetician in¬  fluences one man or many about numbers.   For quite a few reasons the reader might object to Socrates'  inference from these examples to the arena of politics. Firstly, they  are not the kinds of things discussed in politics, and one might suspect  that the "persuasion" involved is not of the same variety. Proof of  this might be offered in the form of the observation that the inability  to persuade in politics does not necessarily imply the dull-wittedness  of the audience. Strong passions bar the way for reason in politics  like they rarely do in numbers and letters. This leads to the second  objection. Not only is knowledge of grammar and arithmetic fundamentally  different than politics, but they represent extreme examples in them¬  selves. They correspond to two very diverse criteria of knowledge both of which have been previously introduced in the dialogue. The subject  matter of letters is decided upon almost exclusively by agreement; that  of numbers is learned most importantly through discovery, and this does  not depend on people's agreement (cf. 112e-113a, 126c; and 106e reminds  one that Alkibiades has taken lessons only in one of these).   Presumably, however, if the arithmetician and grammarian can, then  Alkibiades also will be able to persuade one man or many about that which  he knows. Apparently the only difference between the rhetorician in front  of a crowd and a man engaged in dialogue is that the rhetorician persuades  everyone at once, the latter one at a time. Given that the same man per¬  suades either a multitude or an individual, Socrates invites Alkibiades  to practice on him to show that the just is not the expedient. (Ironically,  there may be no one Alkibiades ever meets who is further from the multitude).   If it weren't for his earlier statement (109c) where he indicated  his recognition of the difference between private and public speech, it  would appear that Alkibiades had quite a lot to learn before he confronted  the ekklesia . One might readily propose that there is indeed very little  similarity between persuading one and persuading the multitude. In a  dialogue one man can ask questions that reveal the other's ignorance;   Socrates does this to Alkibiades in this dialogue, he might not in public. In a dialogue, there needn't always be public pressure with which  to contend (an important exception being courtroom dialogue); a public  speech, especially one addressing the ekklesia must yield to or otherwise  take into account the strength of the many. Often when addressing a crowd  one only has to address the influential. At other times one need only  appeal to the least common denominator. There are factors at work in    crowds which affect reactions to a speaker, factors which do not seem to be present in one-to-one dialogue. When addressing a multitude, a speaker  must be aware of the general feelings and sentiments of the group, and  address himself to them. When in dialogue he can tailor his comments to  one man's specific interests. To convince the individual, however, he  will have to be precisely right in his deduction of the individual's senti¬  ments - in a crowd a more general understanding is usually sufficient.   Mere hints at a subject will be successful; when addressing a multitude  with regard to a policy, a rhetorician will not be taken to task for  every claim he makes. If his general policy is pleasing to the many, it  is unlikely that they will critically examine all of his reasons for pro¬  posing the policy. Also, when speaking to a crowd, one is not expected  to prove one's technical expertise. An individual may be able to discover  the limits of one's knowledge; a crowd will rarely ask. This whola  analysis, however, is rendered questionable by the ambiguity of the  composition of "the many," discussed above. One could, for example, come  across a very knowledgeable crowd, or a stupid individual and many of the  above observations would not hold. However, the situations most directly  relevant to the dialogue involve rhetoric toward a crowd such as that of  the ekklesia , and thoughtful dialogue between individuals such as  Alkibiades and Socrates.   If Alkibiades ever intends to set forth a plan of action to the  Athenians, the adoption of his proposal will depend on his convincing  them in the ekklesia . The ability to persuade the multitude attains  great political significance; and especially in democracies, a man's  ability in speaking is often the foundation of his power.   Once recognized, this power is susceptible to cultivation. Rhetoric, the art of persuasive speech, is the art which provides the knowledge requisite to gain effective power over an audience. All   political men are aware of rhetoric; their rhetorical ability to a large   95   extent determines their success or failure. Of course, there are at  least two important qualifications or limits on the power of even the  most persuasive speech. The first limit is knowledge. A man who knows  grammar and arithmetic will not be swayed wrongly about numbers, when  they are used in any of the conventional ways. That an able rhetorician  escape detection in a lie is a necessity if he is to be successful among  those knowledgeable in the topic he addresses. Presumably those who  possess only beliefs about the matter would be more readily seduced to  embrace a false opinion.   The second limit is more troubling. It is the problem of those   who simply are not convinced by argument. They distrust the spoken word.   These seem to fall into three categories. The first is exemplified in the   character of Kallikles in the Gorgias . It primarily includes those who   are unwilling to connect the conclusions of arguments to their own lives.   They may agree to something in argument and, moments later, do something   quite contrary to their conclusions. This characteristic is well-   displayed in Kallikles who, when driven to a contradiction doesn't even  96   care. He holds two conflicting opinions and holds them so strongly  that he doesn't even care that they support conclusions that are contrary  to reason and yield contrary results. Kallikles is unwilling to continue  discussing with Socrates ( Gorgias); he does not  want to learn from rational speech. He remains unconvinced by Socrates'  argument and by his rhetoric ( Gorgias). If Socrates is to rule Kallikles, he will need more than reason  and wisdom and beautiful speech ( Gorgias 523a-527e); he will need some kind of coercive power.   Secondly, almost all people have some experience of those who in¬  consistently maintain in speech what they do not uphold in deed. This is  the most immediate level on which to recognize the problem of the rela¬  tion of theory to practice. Alkibiades seems to have this opinion of  speech at the beginning of the dialogue, for he can admit almost anything  in speech (106c.2). Two things, however, show that he is far above it.   He implicitly recognizes that the realm of speech is the realm within  which he must confront Socrates, and he has a desire for consistency.  Kallikles is too dogmatic to even recognize his inconsistency. But when  Socrates forces Alkibiades to take responsibility for all the conclusions  they have reached to that point (112e. 5ff.), he realizes he must have  made an error either in his premises or his argument. This marks the  first and major turning around of Alkibiades. He recognizes that he has  said he is ignorant.   A third type of person who is not convinced by rhetoricians is the  one who distrusts argument because he recognizes the skill involved in  speaking. Not because he is indifferent to the compulsion of reason but  precisely because he wants to act according to reason, he desires to be  certain of not being tricked. (Most people are also familiar with the  feeling that something vaguely suspicious is going on in a discussion.)   He is convinced that there are men - e.g., sophists - who are skilled at  the game of question and answer and can make anyone look like a fool.   And so what? He is not at all moved by their victory in speech. Some¬  thing other than rational speech is needed to convince him. Indeed, this  is one of the most difficult challenges Socrates meets in the Republic ,    and indicates a higher level of the theory/practice relationship. Adeimantos is not convinced by mere words. He has to be shown that  philosophy is useful to the city, among other things ( Republic 487b.1-d.5;  498c.5 ff; 367d.9-e.5; 367b.3; 389a.10). Although he is distrustful of  mere speech, he learns to respect it as a medium through which to under¬  stand the political. He has the example of Socrates whose life matches,  or is even guided by, his speech. Socrates' difficulty lies in making  the case in speech to this man who does not put full stock in the con¬  clusions of speech. One must wonder, moreover, what kinds of deeds will  suffice for those others who cannot even view Socrates. This is the  problem faced by all writers who want to reach this sort of person.   Perhaps one might consider very clever speakers like Plato to be per¬  forming the deed of making the words of a Socrates appear like the deeds  of Socrates, in the speech of the Dialogues. Almost paradoxically, they  must convince through speech that speech isn't "mere talk."   Alkibiades charges Socrates with hybris and Socrates acknowledges  it for the time being, for he intends to prove to Alkibiades the opposite  view, namely that the just is the expedient (114d). Socrates doesn't  deny the charge, or even, as one might expect, playfully redirect it as  might be appropriate; the accusation is made by a man who, not much  later, will be considered hybristic by almost the entire Athenian public.  It is not clear precisely what is hybristic about Socrates' last remarks.  Hybris is a pride or ambition or insolence inappropriate to men. Perhaps  both men are hybristic as charged; in this instance it is not imperative  that they defend themselves for they are alone. Possibly anyone who  seeks total power as does Alkibiades, or wisdom like Socrates, is too  ambitious and too haughty. They would be vying with the gods to the  extent that they challenge civic piety and the supremacy of the deities of the polis . One wants to rule the universe like a god, the other to  know it like a god.   The charge of hybris has been introduced in the context of  persuading through speech. Allegedly the person who knows will have the  power to persuade through speech. This is itself rather a problematic  claim as it implies all failure to persuade is an indication of ignorance.  However questionable the assertion, though, the connection it recalls  between these three important aspects of man's life - knowledge, power  and language - is too thoroughly elaborated to be mere coincidence. It  is very likely that the reader's understanding of these two exceptional  men and the appropriateness of the charge of hybris will have something  to do with language's relation to knowledge and power. Alkibiades asks Socrates to speak, if he intends to  demonstrate to Alkibiades that the just is not distinct from the ad¬  vantageous. Not inclined to answer any questions (cf. 106b), Alkibiades  wishes Socrates to speak alone. Socrates, pretending incredulity, asks  if indeed Alkibiades doesn't desire most of all to be persuaded and  Alkibiades, playing along, agrees that he certainly does. Socrates  suggests that the surest indication of persuasion is freely assenting,  and if Alkibiades responds to the questions asked of him, he will most  assuredly hear himself affirm that the just is indeed the advantageous.  Socrates goes so far as to promise Alkibiades that if he doesn't say it,  he never need trust anybody's speech again.   This astonishingly extravagant declaration by Socrates bespeaks  certain knowledge on his part. Socrates implies he is confident of one  of two things. Perhaps he knows that the just is advantageous, or the  true relationship between the two, and thus argues for the proof of the claim that anyone who knows can persuade. (The immense difficulties with  this have already been suggested.) What is more likely, however, is that  he does not think the just is identical to the advantageous, but he knows  he can win the argument with Alkibiades and drive him to assert whatever  conclusion he wants (that he could in effect make the weaker argument  appear the stronger). If the latter is true, the reader is reminded of  the power of speech and the possible dangers that can arise from its use.  He will also wonder if Socrates is quite right in his proposal that  Alkibiades need never trust anyone's speech if he cannot be made to  agree. It seems to be more indicative of the untrustworthiness of speech  if Alkibiades should agree, not that he refuse to agree. However, the  reader has been placed in the enviable position of being able to judge  for himself, through a careful review of the argument. His personal  participation, to the limit of his ability, is after all the only means  through which he can be certain that he isn't being duped into believing  something instead of knowing it.   Alkibiades doubts he will admit the point, but agrees to comply,  confident that no harm will attend his answers. Whereupon Socrates  claims that Alkibiades speaks like a diviner (cf. 127e, 107b, 117b), and  proceeds, presuming to be articulating Alkibiades' actual opinion.   Some just things are advantageous and some are not (115a). Some  just things are noble and some are not. Nothing can be both base and  just, so all just things are noble. Some noble things might be evil and  some base things may be good, for a rescue is invested with nobility on  account of courage, and with evil because of the deaths and wounds.  However, since courage and death are distinct, it is with respect to  separate aspects that the rescue can be said to be both noble and evil.  Insofar as it is noble it is good, and it is noble because of courage.  Cowardice is an evil on par with (or worse than, 115d) death. Courage  ranks among the best things and death among the worst. The rescue is  deemed noble because it is the working of good by courage, and evil  because it is the working of evil by death. Things are evil because of  the evil produced and good on account of the good that results. In as  much as a thing is good it is noble and base inasmuch as it is evil.   To designate the rescue as noble but evil is thus to term it good but  evil (116a). In so far as something is noble it is not evil, and neither  is anything good in so far as it is base. Whoever does nobly does well  and whoever does well is happy (116b). People are made happy through  the acquisition of good things. They obtain good things by doing well  and nobly. Accordingly, doing well is good and faring well is noble.   The noble and good are the same. By this argument all that is noble is  good. Good things are expedient (116c) and as has already been admitted,  those who do just things do noble things (115a); those who do noble things  do good things (116a). If good things are expedient then just things are  expedient.   As Socrates points out, it is apparently Alkibiades who has  asserted all of this. Since he argues that the just and the expedient  are the same, he could hardly do other than ridicule anyone who rose up  to advise the Athenians or the Peparathians believing he knew the just  and the unjust and claiming that just things are sometimes evil. Before proceeding, the reader must pause and attempt to determine  the significance of the problem of the just versus the expedient. No  intimate familiarity with the tradition of political philosophy is re¬  quired in order to observe that the issue is dominant throughout the tradition/ perhaps most notably among the moderns in the writings of  Machiavelli and Hobbes who linked the question of justice and expediency  to the distinction between serving another's interest and serving one's  own interest. They, and subsequent moderns, in the spirit of the  "Enlightenment," then proceed with the intention of eradicating the dis¬  tinction. Self-interest, properly understood, is right and is the proper  basis for all human actions. Not only is there a widespread connection  between the issue, the traditional treatment of the issue, and human  action - but the reader might recall that the ancient philosophers, too,  considered it fundamental. One need only realize that the philosophic  work par excellence , Plato's Republic , receives its impetus from this  consideration. The discussion of the best regime (perhaps the topic of  political philosophy) arises because of Glaukon's challenging reformula¬  tion of Thrasymakhos' opinion that justice is the advantage of the  stronger. Recognition of this fact sufficiently corroborates the view  that this issue warrants careful scrutiny by serious students of political  philosophy. Socrates has chosen this topic as the one on which to  demonstrate the internal conflicts in Alkibiades' soul. Perhaps that  is a subtle indication to the reader as to where he might focus when he  begins the search for self-knowledge, the inevitable prerequisite for  his improvement.   Alkibiades swears by all the gods. He is overwhelmed. Alkibiades  protests that he isn't sure he knows even what he is saying; he continual¬  ly changes his views under Socrates' questioning. Socrates points out to  him that he must be unaware of what such a condition of perplexity  signifies. If someone were to ask him whether he had two or three eyes,  or two or four hands, he would probably respond consistently because he knows the answer. If he voluntarily gives contradictory replies, they  must concern things about which he is ignorant. Alkibiades admits it is  likely; but there are probably other reasons why one might give contra¬  dictory answers, just as one might intentionally appear to err - in speech  speech.   Alkibiades' ignorance with regard to justice, injustice, noble,  base, evil and good is the cause of his confusion about them. Whenever  a man does not know a thing, his soul is confused about that thing.   By Zeus (fittingly), Alkibiades concedes he is ignorant of how to  rise into heaven. There is no confusion in his opinion about that simply  because he is aware that he doesn't know. Alkibiades must take his part  in discerning Socrates' meaning. He knows he is ignorant about fancy  cookery, so he doesn't get confused, but entrusts it to a cook.   Similarly when aboard ship he knows he is ignorant of how to steer, and  leaves it to the pilot. Mistakes are made when one thinks one knows  though one doesn't. Otherwise people would leave the job to those who  do know. The ignorant person who knows he is ignorant doesn't make  mistakes (117e). Those who make mistakes are those who think they know  when they don't; those who know act rightly; those who don't, leave it  to others.   All this is not precisely true for a number of reasons. Chance  or fortune always plays a part and something unexpected could interfere  in otherwise correctly laid plans. Also, as any honest politician or  general would have to say, sometimes courses of action must be decided  and acted upon, even when one is fully cognizant of one's partial  ignorance.   The worst sort of stupidity, Socrates testifies is the stupidity conjoined with confidence. It is a cause of evils and the most pernicious  evils occur through its involvement with great matters like the just, the  noble, the good and the advantageous. Alkibiades' bewilderment regarding  these momentous matters, coupled with his ignorance of his very ignorance,  imputes to him a rather sorry condition. Alkibiades admits he is afraid so.   Socrates at this point (118b) makes clear to Alkibiades the nature  of his predicament. He utters an exclamation at the plight of the young  man and deigns to give it a name only because they are alone. Alkibiades,  according to his own confession, is attached to the most shameful kind of  stupidity. Perhaps to contrast Alkibiades' actual condition with what he  could be, Socrates chooses precisely this moment to refer to Alkibiades  as "best of men" (cf. also 113c). With such apparent sarcasm still  reverberating in the background, Socrates intimates that because of this  kind of ignorance he is eager to enter politics before learning of it.  Alkibiades, far from being alone, shares this lot with most politicians  except, perhaps, his guardian Perikies, and a few others.   Already recognized to be obviously a salient feature of the action  of the dialogue, the fact that the two are alone, engaged in a private  conversation, is further stressed here as the reader approaches the  central teaching of the First Alkibiades . Alkibiades has been turned  around and now faces Socrates. They can confide in each other even to  the extent of criticizing all or nearly all of Athens' politicians.   They shall, in the next while, be saying things that most people should  not hear. And at this moment it seems to be for the purpose of naming  Alkibiades' condition that Socrates reminds the reader of their privacy.   A number of possible reasons for the emphasis on privacy in this regard  come to mind. Socrates likely would not choose to call Alkibiades  stupid in front of a crowd.   In the first place, his having just recognized his ignorance makes  him far less stupid than the crowd and it would be inappropriate to have  them feel they are better than he. Alkibiades is by nature a cut above  the many, and it would be a sign of contempt to expose him to ridicule  in front of the many. Though he may be in a sorry condition, he is being  compared to another standard than the populace.   Secondly, to expose and make Alkibiades sensitive to public censure  is probably not in his best interests. A cultivation in most noble youths  of the appropriate source of their honor and dishonor is important.  Socrates, by not making Alkibiades feel mortified in front of the many,  is heightening his respect for the censure of men like Socrates. Without  this alternative, the man who seeks glory is confronted with a paradox of  sorts. He wants the love/adoration of the many, and yet he despises the  things they love or adore. Alkibiades is being shown that the praise of  few (and if the principle is pushed to its limit, eventually the praise  of one - oneself, i.e. pride) is more to be prized.   Thirdly, as Socrates explains to Meletus in his trial ( Apology  26a), when someone does something unintentionally, it is correct to  instruct him privately and not to summon the attention of the public.  Alkibiades is not ignorant on purpose; Socrates should privately instruct  him. It is also probable that Alkibiades will only accept private  criticism which doesn't threaten his status.   And perhaps fourthly, if Socrates were to insult Alkibiades in  public the many would conclude that there was a schizm between them.  Because they are men whose natures are akin, and because of their  (symbolic) representation of politics and philosophy, or power and knowledge, any differences they have must remain private. It is in their  best interest as well as the interest of the public, that everyone per¬  ceive the two as being indivisible. And as was observed earlier, even  the wisest politicians must appear perfectly confident of their knowledge  and plans. This is best done if they conceal their private doubts and  display complete trust in their advisors, providing a united front when  facing the many.   When Socrates suggests Perikles is a possible exception, Alkibiades  names some of the wise men with whom Perikles conversed to obtain his  wisdom. Those whom he names are conventionally held to be wise; Alkibiades  might not refer to the same people by the end of this conversation with  Socrates. In any event, upon Alkibiades' mention of the wise men,   Socrates insinuates that Perikles' wisdom may be in doubt. Anybody who  is wise in some subject is able to make another wise in it, just as  Alkibiades' writing teacher taught Alkibiades, and whomever else he  wishes, about letters. The person who learns is also then able to en¬  lighten another man. The same holds true of the harper and the trainer  (but apparently not the flute player, cf. 106e). The ability to point  to one's student and to show his capability is a fine proof of knowing  anything. If Perikles didn't make either of his sons wise, or Alkibiades'  brother (Kleinias the madman) ,why is Alkibiades in his sorry condition?  Alkibiades confesses that he is at fault for not paying attention to  Perikles. Still, he swears by the king of gods that there isn't any  Athenian or stranger or slave or foreman who is said to have become wise  through conversation with Perikles, as various students of sophists have  been said to have become wise and erudite through lessons. Socrates  doesn't need to explicate the conclusion. Instead, he asks Alkibiades what he intends to do.   The conclusion of the argument is never uttered. It is obviously  meant to question Perikles' wisdom, but rather than spell it out, the  topic is abruptly changed. If Perikles were dead, not alive and in  power, piety would not admit of even this much criticism to be levied.  Alkibiades would be expected to defend his uncle against those outside  the family; and all Athenians to defend him against critics from other  poleis . In addition, if this was a public discussion, civic propriety  would demand silence in front of the many concerning one's doubts about  the country's leaders. But since they are indeed alone, and need not  worry about the effects on others of their discussion of Perikles'  wisdom, they might have concluded the argument. The curious reader will  likely examine various reasons for not finishing it. Three possibilities  appear to be somewhat supported by the discussion to this point.   One notices, to begin with, that it would be adequate for the  argument, if a person could be found who was reputed to have gained  wisdom from Perikles. Given that a reputation among the many has not  been highly regarded previously in the dialogue, there seems little need  to press this point in the argument. If a man was said to have been  made wise by Perikles, the criteria by which that judgment would be made  seem much less reliable than the criteria whereby the many evaluate a  man's skill in letters. There is no proof of Perikles' ability to make  another wise in finding someone who is reputed to be wise. Conversely,  Perikles may well have made someone wise who did not also achieve the  reputation for wisdom.   A second point in connection with the argument is that the three  subjects mentioned are those in which Alkibiades has had lessons. Alkibiades has ability in them, yet cannot point to people whom he has  made wise in letters, harping or wrestling. That does not seem sufficient  proof that he is ignorant (thus that his master was ignorant and so on) .   It is also not clear that Alkibiades' teachers could have made any student  whomsoever they wished, wise in these subjects; Perikles 1 sons must have  achieved their reputation as simpletons (118e) from failing at something.  Knowledge cannot require, for proof, that one has successfully taught  someone else. Not all people try to teach what they know. There must be  other proofs of competence, such as winning at wrestling, or pleasing an  audience through harping. Similarly, not having taught someone may not  prove one's ignorance; it may just indicate unwilling and incapable  students. Alkibiades, for example, didn't learn to play the flute. There  is no indication that his teacher was incapable - either of playing or of  teaching. Alkibiades is said to have refused to learn it becaus e of con¬  siderations of his own. It might also be suggested that pointing to  students doesn't solve the major problem of proving someone's knowledge.   Is it any easier to recognize knowledge in a student than in a teacher?   A third closely connected point is that some knowledge may be of   such significance that the wise man properly spends his time actively   98   using it (e.g., by ruling) and not teaching it. Perikles, through  ruling, may have made the Athenians as a whole better off, and perhaps  even increased their knowledge somewhat. Had his son and heirs to his  power observed his example while he was in office, they too might have  become wiser. Adding further endorsement to this notion is the quite  reasonable supposition that some of the things a wise politician knows  cannot be taught through speech but only through example, just as some  kinds of knowledge must be gained by experience. He may communicate his teaching through his example, or even less obviously, through whatever   institutions or customs he has established or revised. Some subjects   should  probably also be kept secret for the state, and some types of   prudential judgement are acquired only be guided experience. Perikles's very silence,  indeed, may be a testimony to his political wisdom.   In response to Socrates' question as to what Alkibiades will do,  the young man suggests that they put their heads together (119b). This  marks the completion of Alkibiades' turning around. Alkibiades, who  began the discussion annoyed and haughty has requested Socrates' assistance in escaping his predicament. He is ready to accept Socrates' advice.  This locution (of putting their heads together) will be echoed later by  Socrates (124c) and will mark another stage of their journey together.   The central portion of the dialogue, the portion between the two joinings  of their heads, is what shall be taken up next. Since most of the men who do the work of the polis are uneducated  (119b), Alkibiades presumes he is assured of gaining an easy victory  over them on the basis of his natural qualities. If they were educated,  he would have to take some care with his learning, just as much training  is required to compete with athletes. But they are ignorant amateurs  and should be no challenge.   Socrates launches into an exclamatory derision of this "best of  men." What he has just said is unworthy of the looks and other resources  of his. Alkibiades doesn't know what Socrates means by this and Socrates  responds that he is vexed for Alkibiades and for his love. Alkibiades  shouldn't expect this contest to be with these men here. When Alkibiades  inquires with whom his contest is to be, Socrates asks if that is a  question worthy of a man who considers himself superior. Alkibiades wants to ascertain if Socrates is suggesting that his contest is not with these  men, the politicians of the polis .   This passage is central to the First Alkibiades . The answer im¬  plicit in Socrates' response I deem to be far more profound than it might  seem to the casual observer. Hopefully the analysis here will support  this judgement and show as well, that this question of the contest (agon)  is a paramount question in Alkibiades' life, in the lives of all superior  men, and in the quest for the good as characterized by political philosophy.   If Alkibiades' ambition is really unworthy of him, if he thinks he  ought to strive only be be as competent as the Athenians, then Socrates  is vexed for his love. Earlier (104e) the reader was informed that  Socrates would have had to put aside his love for Alkibiades if Alkibiades  proved not to have such a high ambition. Thus Socrates was attracted to  Alkibiades' striving nature. He followed the youth about for so long  because Alkibiades' desires for power were growing. What thus differ¬  entiates Alkibiades from other youths (such as several of those with  whom Socrates is shown in the dialogues, to have spent time) is that he  has more exalted ambitions than they. Should Socrates come to the con¬  clusion that Alkibiades does not in fact have this surpassing will for  power, the philosopher would be forced to put away his love for  Alkibiades. Now, after some discussion, it seems there is a possibility  that Alkibiades wants only to be as great as other politicians. Many  boys wish this; Alkibiades' eros would not be outstanding. Were this  true, it would indeed be no wonder if Socrates were vexed for his love.   However, it appears that this is just something Alkibiades has  said (119c.3, 9). Socrates' love is not released, so Alkibiades passes  this, the test of Socrates' love. It is at this point in the dialogue that one can finally discern the character of the test. The question,  really, is what constitutes a high enough ambition. An athlete must try  to find out with whom to train and fight, for how long, how closely, and  at what time (119b; 107d-108b). He determines all of this himself; he  determines, in other words, the extent of his ambition to improve and  care for himself in terms of his contest. That with whom he fights  determines how he prepares himself. The contest is thus a standard  against which to judge his achievement.   The next step appears to be obvious: for the athlete of the soul  as well as the athlete of the body, the question is with whom ought he  contest. Socrates suggests shortly that should Alkibiades' ambition be  to rule Athens, then his contest would rightly be with other rulers,  namely the Spartan kings and the Great King of Persia. Since Socrates  apparently proceeds to compare in some detail the Spartan and Persian  princes' preparations for the contest, the surface impression is that  Alkibiades really must presume his contest to be with the Persians and  Spartans. The reader remembers, however, that Alkibiades would rather  die than be limited to ruling Athens (105b-c). What is the proper  contest for someone who desires to rule the known, civilized world and  to have his rule endure beyond his own lifetime; what is the preparation  requisite for truly great politics? At this point the question of the  contest assumes an added significance. The reference cannot be any  actual ruler; the inquiry has encountered another dimension of complexity.   The larger significance is, it is suspected, connected to the  earlier, discussion about the role of the very concept of the superior  man in political philosophy, particularly in understanding the nature of  man. The very idea that a contest for which one ought to prepare oneself is with something not actualized by men of the world (at least not in an  obvious sense since it cannot be any actual ruler) poses problems for  some views of human nature. For example, in the opinion of those who  believe that man's "nature" is simply what he actually is, or what is  "out there"; the actual men of the world and their demonstrated range  of possibilities are what indicate the nature of man. On this view,  man's nature, typically is understood to be some kind of statistical norm.  These people will agree that politics is limited by man and thought about  political things is thus limited by man's nature, but they will not con¬  cede the necessity of looking toward the best man.   The argument to counter this position is importantly epistemo¬  logical. It is almost a surety that any specific individual will deviate  from the norm to some degree, and the difference can only be described as  tending to be higher or lower than, or more or less than, the norm. This  deviation, which is to one side or other of the norm, makes the individual  either better or worse than the norm. Thus individuals, it may be said,  can be arranged hierarchically based on their position relative to the  norm and "the better”.  Whenever one tries to account for an individual's hierarchical  position vis a vis the norm, it is done in terms of circumstances which  limit or fail to limit his realization of his potential. Since no one  is satisfied with an explanation of a deviation such as "that is under¬  standable, 25% of the cases are higher than normal," some explanation of  why this individual stopped short, or proceeded further than average is  called for. 100 The implicit understanding of the potential, or of the  proper/ideal proportions, then, is what allows for comparison between  individuals. By extension, this understanding of the potential, whether or not it is actualized, is what provides the ability to judge between  regimes or societies. The amount a polity varies (or its best men, or  its average men) from the potential is the measure of its quality  relative to other polities. The explanation of this variation (geo¬  graphic location, form of regime, economic dependency, or other standard  reasons) will be in terms of factors which limit it from nearing, or  allow it to approach nearer the goal.   As it is not uniformly better to have more and not less the normal  of any characteristic, any consistent judgement of deviation from the norm  must be made in light of the best. Indeed, it usually is, either explicitly or implicitly. This teleological basis of comparison is the  common-sensical one, the prescientific basis of judgement. When someone  is heard to remark "what a man," one most certainly does not understand  him to be suggesting that the man in question has precisely normal  characteristics. Evaluating education provides a clear and fitting  example of how the potential, not the norm, serves as the standard for  judging. A teacher does not attempt to teach his students to conform  to the norm in literary, or mathematical ability. It would be ludicrous  for him to stop teaching mid-year, say, because the normal number of his  students reached the norm of literacy for their age. Indeed, education  itself can be seen as an attempt to exceed the norm (in the direction of  excellence) and thereby to raise it. That can only be done if there is  a standard other than the norm from which to judge the norm itself. The  superior man understands this. He competes with the best, not the norm.   As a youth he comes to know that a question central to his ambition, or  will for power is that of his proper contest.   The theoretical question of how one knows with whom to compete is very difficult although it may (for a long time) have a straightforward  practical solution. It is at the interface between the normally accepted  solution and the search for the real answer that Alkibiades and Socrates  find themselves, here in the middle of their conversation.   For most people during part of their lives, and for many people  all of their life, the next step in one's striving, the next contestant  one must face, is relatively easy to establish. Just as a wrestler pro¬  ceeds naturally from local victory through stages toward world champion¬  ship, so too does political ambition have ready referents - up to a  point. It is at that point that Alkibiades finds himself now, no doubt  partly with the help of Socrates prodding his ambitions (e.g., 105b. ff,  105e). What had made it relatively easy to know his contestant before  were the pictures of the best men as Alkibiades understood them, namely  politically successful men, Kyros and Xerxes (much as an ambitious  wrestler usually knows that a world championship title is held by some¬  one in particular). Alkibiades' path had been guided. Socrates has  chosen to address Alkibiades now, perhaps because Alkibiades' ambition  is high enough that the conventional models no longer suffice. Alkibiades  is at the stage wherein he must discover what the truly best man is,  actual examples have run out. He recognizes that he needs Socrates' help  (119b); no one else has indicated that Alkibiades' contest might take  place beyond the regular sphere of politics, with contestants other than  the actual rulers of the world. But how is he to discover the best man  in order that he may compete?   This is the theoretical question of most significance to man, and  could possibly be solved in a number of ways. Within the confines of the  dialogue, however, this analysis will not move further than to recognize both the question/ and its centrality to political philosophy. 101 To  note in passing, however, there may be many other questions behind that  of the best man. There may, for example, be more than one kind of best  man, and a decision between them may involve looking at a more prior  notion of "best." At any rate, it has been shown that it is apparently no accident  that the central question in a dialogue on the nature of man is a question  by a superior youth as to his proper contest. What is not yet understood  is why a philosophic man's eros is devoted to a youth whose erotic  ambition is for great politics, a will to power over the whole world.   By means of a thinly veiled reference to Athen's Imperial Navy,  over which Alkibiades would later have full powers as commander, Socrates  attempts to illustrate to the youth the importance of choosing and recog¬  nizing the proper contestants. Supposing, for example, Alkibiades were  intending to pilot a trireme into a sea battle, he would view being as  capable as his fellows merely a necessary qualification. If he means to  act nobly ( kalos ) for himself and his city, he would want to so far sur¬  pass his fellows as to make them feel only worthy enough to fight under  him, not against him. It doesn't seem fitting for a leader to be satis¬  fied with being better than his soldiers while neglecting the scheming  and drilling necessary if his focus is the enemy's leaders. Alkibiades  asks to whom Socrates is referring and Socrates responds with another  question. Is Alkibiades unaware that their city often wars with Sparta  and the Great King? If he intends to lead their polis , he'd correctly   suppose his contest was with the Spartan and Persian kings. His contest  is not with the likes of Meidias who retain a slavish nature and try to  run the polis by flattering, not ruling it. If he looks to that sort  for his goal, then indeed he needn't learn what's required for the  greatest contest, or perform what needs exercising, or prepare himself  adequately for a political career. Alkibiades, the best of men,  has to consider the implications of believing that the Spartan generals  and the Persian kings are like all others (i.e., no better than normal). 103  Firstly, one takes more care of oneself if one thinks the opponents worthy,  and no harm is done taking care of oneself. Assuredly that sufficiently   establishes that it is bad to hold the opinion that they are no better than anyone else.   Almost as a second thought, Socrates turns to another criterion   which might indicate why having a certain opinion is bad - truth (cf.   Republic 386c). There is another reason, he continues, namely that the   opinion is probably false. It is likely that better natures come from   well-born families where they will in the end become virtuous in the event they are well brought up. The Spartan and Persian kings, descended   from Perseus, the son of Zeus, are to be compared with Socrates' and  Alkibiades' ancestral lines to see if they are inferior. 100 Alkibiades  is quick to point out that his goes back to Zeus as well, and Socrates  adds that he comes from Zeus through Daidalos and Hephaistos, son of Zeus.  Since ancestral origin in Zeus won't qualitatively differentiate the  families, Socrates points out that in both cases - Sparta and Persia -  every step in the line was a king, whereas both Socrates and Alkibiades  (and their fathers) are private men. The royal families seem to win the  first round. The homelands of the various families could be next com¬  pared, but it is likely that Alkibiades' her   itage, which Socrates is able  to describe in detail, would arouse laughter. In ancestry and in birth  and breeding, those people are superior, for, as Alkibiades should have observed, Spartan kings have their wives guarded so that no one outside the line could corrupt the queen, and the Persians have such awe for  the king that no one would dare, including the queen.   With the conclusion of Socrates' and Alkibiades' examination of  the various ancestries of the men, and before proceeding to the dis¬  cussions of their births and nurtures, a brief pause is called for to  look at the general problem of descent and the philosophic significance  to have in this dialogue. References to familial descent are diffused throughout the First  Alkibiades . It begins by calling attention to Alkibiades' ancestry and  five times in the dialogue is he referred to as the son of Kleinias. On two occasions he is even addressed as the  son of Deinomakhe. If that weren't enough, this dialogue  marks one of only two occasions on which Socrates' mother, the midwife  Phainarete, is named (cf. Theaitetos 149a). The central of the things  on which Socrates said Alkibiades prides himself is his family, and  Socrates scrutinizes it at the greatest length. The sons of Perikles  are mentioned, as are other familial relations such as the brother of  Alkibiades. The lineages of the Persian kings, of the Spartan kings,  of Alkibiades and Socrates are probed, and Socrates reveals that he has  bothered to learn and to repeat the details. The mothers of the Persian  kings and Spartan kings are given an important role in the dialogue, and  in general the question of ancestry is noticeably dominant, warranting  the reader's exploration.   As already discussed in the beginning, the reference to Alkibiades'  descent might have philosophic significance in the dialogue. Here again,  the context of the concern about descent is explicitly the consideration of the natures of men. Better natures usually come from better ancestors  (as long as they also have good nurtures). At the time of birth, an  individual's ancestry is almost the only indication of his nature, the  most important exception being, of course, his sex. But, as suggested by  Socrates' inclusion of the proviso that they be well brought up (120e), a  final account of man's nature must look to ends not only origins, and to  his nurture, not only descent. Nurture ( paideia) is intended to mean a  comprehensive sense of education, including much more than formal school¬  ing; indeed, it suggests virtually everything that affects one's up¬  bringing. The importance of this facet in the development of a man's  nature becomes more obvious when one remembers the different character¬  istics of offspring of the same family (e.g., Kleinias and Alkibiades,  both sons of Kleinias and Deinomakhe, or the sons of Ariston participating  in the Republic ). These suggestions, added to the already remarked upon  importance of nurture in a man's life, mutually support the contention  that nature is to be understood in terms of a fulfilled end providing a  standard for nurture. The nature of man, if it is to be understood in  terms of a telos , his fulfilled potential, must be more than that which  he is born as. An individual's nature, then, is a function of his  descent and his nurture. Often they are supplementary, at least super¬  ficially; better families being better educated, they are that much more  aware and concerned with the nurture of their offspring. 'Human nature'  would be distinguished from any individual's nature in so far as it  obviously does not undergo nurture; but if properly understood, it pro¬  vides the standard for the nurture of individuals. To the point of birth,  then, ancestry is the decisive feature in a man's nature, and thus sets  limits on his nature. When his life begins, that turns around, and education and practice become the key foci for a man's development. After birth a man cannot alter his ancestry, and nurture assumes its   role in shaping his being, his nature.   The issue is addressed in a rather puzzling way by Socrates' claim   that his ancestry goes through Daidalos to Hephaistos, the son of Zeus.   This serves to establish (as authoritatively as in the case of the others)   that he is well-born. It does nothing to counter Alkibiades' claim that   he, like the Persian and Spartan kings, is descended from Zeus (all of   them claiming descent from the king of the Olympians); in other words, it   does not appear to serve a purpose in the explicit argument and the   reader is drawn to wonder why he says it.   Upon examination one discovers that this is not the regular story.   Normally in accounts of the myths, the paternal heritage of Hephaistos   is ambiguous at best . Hesiod relates that Hephaistos was born from Hera   109   with no consort. Hera did not mate with a man; Haphaistos had no   father. 1 '*’ 0 Socrates thus descends from a line begun by a woman - the  queen of the heavens, the goddess of marriage and childbirth (cf.  Theaitetos 148e-151e; also 157c, 160e-161e, 184b, 210b-c; Statesman  268b). By mentioning Hephaistos as an ancestor, Socrates is drawing  attention to the feminine aspect of his lineage. An understanding of  the feminine is crucial to an account of human nature. The male/female  division is the most fundamental one for mankind, rendering humans into  two groups (cf. Symposium 190d-192d). The sexes and their attraction  to each other provide the most basic illustration of eros , perhaps man's  most powerful (as well as his most problematic) drive or passion. Other  considerations include the female role in the early nurture of children  (Republic 450c) and thus the certain, if indirect effect of sex on the polls (it is not even necessary to add the suspicions about a more subtle  part for femininity reserved in the natures of some superior men, the  philosophers). Given this, it is quite possible that Socrates is sug¬  gesting the importance of the male/female division in his employment of  'descent' as an extended philosophic metaphor for human nature.   A brief digression concerning Hephaistos and Daidalos may be use¬  ful at this point. Daidalos was a legendary ingenious craftsman, in¬  ventor and sculptor (famous for his animate sculptures). He is said to  have slain an apprentice who showed enough promise to threaten Daidalos'  supremacy, and he fled to Krete. In Krete he devised a hollow wooden  cow which allowed the queen to mate with a bull. The offspring was the  Minotaur. Daidalos constructed the famous labyrinth into which select  Athenian youths were led annually, eventually to be devoured by the  Minotaur. ^ Daidalos, however, was suspected of supplying the youth  Theseus (soon to become a great political founder) with a means to exit  from the maze and was jailed with his son Ikaros. A well known legend  tells of their flight. Minos, the Kretan king was eventually killed in  his pursuit of Daidalos.   Hephaistos was the divine and remarkably gifted craftsman of the  Olympians, himself one of the twelve major gods. Cast from the heavens  as an infant, Hephaistos remained crippled. He was, as far as can be  told, the only Olympian deity who was not of surpassingly beautiful  physical form. It is interesting that Socrates would claim descent from  him. Hephaistos was noted as a master craftsman and manufactured many  wondrous things for the gods and heroes. His most remarkable work might  have been that of constructing the articles for the defence of the noted  warrior, Akhilleus, the most famous of which was the shield (Homer,  Iliad y XVIII/ 368-617).   The next topic discussed in this, the longest speech in the dialogue, is the nurture of the Persian youths. Subsequently Socrates   discourses about Spartan and Persian wealth and he considers various   possible reactions to Alkibiades' contest with the young leaders of both   countries. The account Socrates presents raises questions as to his   possible intentions. It is quite likely that Socrates and Xenaphon, who   also gives an account of the nurture of the Persian prince, have more in   mind than mere interesting description. Their interpretations and   presentations of the subject differ too markedly for their purposes to have been simply to report the way of life in another country. Thus,   rather than worry over matters of historical accuracy, the more curious  features of Socrates' account will be considered, such as the relative  emphasis on wealth over qualities of soul, and the rather lengthy  speculation about the queens', not the kings', regard for their sons.   In pointed contrast to the Athenians, of whose births the  neighbors do not even hear, when the heir to the Persian throne is  born the first festivities take place within the palace and from then on  all of Asia celebrates his birthday. The young child is cared for by  the best of the king's eunuchs, instead of an insignificant nurse, and  he is highly honored for shaping the limbs of the body. Until the boy  is perhaps seven years old, then, his attendant is not a woman who would  provide a motherly kind of care, nor a man who would provide an example  of masculinity and manliness, but a neutered person. The manly Alkibiades,  as well as the reader, might well wonder as to the effect this would have  on the boy, and whether it is the intended effect.   At the age of seven the boys learn to ride horses and commence to hunt. This physical activity, it seems, continues until the age of four¬  teen when four of the most esteemed Persians become the boys' tutors.   They represent four of the virtues, being severally wise, just, temperate,  and courageous. The teaching of piety is conducted by the wisest tutor  of the four (which certainly allows for a number of interesting possi¬  bilities) . He instructs the youth in the religion of Zoroaster, or in  the worship of the gods, and he teaches the boy that which pertains to a  king - certainly an impressive task. The just tutor teaches him to be  completely truthful (122a); the temperate tutor to be king and free man  overall of the pleasures and not to be a slave to anyone, and the brave  tutor trains him to be unafraid, for fear is slavery. Alkibiades had  instead an old (and therefore otherwise domestically useless) servant to  be his tutor.   Socrates suspends discussion of the nurture of Alkibiades'  competitors. It would promise to be a long description and too much of  a task (122b). He professes that what he has already reported should  suggest what follows. Thereby Socrates challenges the reader to examine  the manner in which this seemingly too brief description of nurture at  least indicates what a complete account might entail.   This appears to be the point in the dialogue which provides the  most fitting opportunity to explicitly and comprehensively consider  nurture. It has become clear to Socrates and Alkibiades that the correct  nurture is essential to the greatest contest, and Socrates leaves  Alkibiades (and the reader) with the impression that he regards the  Persian nurture to be appropriate. One might thus presume that an  examination of Persian practices would make apparent the more important  philosophical questions about nurture. Socrates had been specific in noticing the subjects of instruction  received by Alkibiades (106e), and the reader might follow likewise in  observing the lessons of the Persian princes. On the face of it, Socrates  provides more detail regarding this aspect of their nurture than others,  so it might be prudent to begin by reflecting upon the teaching of  religion and kingly things, of truth-telling, of mastering pleasures, and  of mastering fears. Perhaps the Persian system indicates how these virtues  are properly seen as one, or how they are arranged together, for one sus¬  pects that conflicts might normally arise in their transmission. These  subjects are being taught by separate masters. A consistent nurture  demands that they are all compatible, or that they can agree upon some  way of deciding differences. If the four tutors can all recognize that  one of them ought to command, this would seem to imply that wisdom some¬  how encompasses all other virtues. In that case, the attendance of the  one wise man would appear to be the most desirable in the education of a  young man. The wise man's possession of the gamut of virtues would  supply the prince with a model of how they properly fit together. With¬  out a recognized hierarchy, there might be conflicts between the virtues.  Indeed, as the reader has had occasion to observe in an earlier context  of the dialogue, two of the substantive things taught by two different  tutors may conflict strongly. There are times when a king ought not to  be honest. The teacher of justice then would be suggesting things at  odds with that which pertains to a king. How would the boys know which  advice to choose, independently of any other instruction? In addition,  Socrates suggests that the bravest Persian (literally the 'manliest')  tells or teaches the youth to fear nothing, for any fear is slavery.   But surely the expertise of the tutor of courage would seem to consist in his knowing what to fear and what not to fear. Otherwise the youth  would not become courageous but reckless. Not all fears indicate that  one is a slave: any good man should run out of the way of a herd of  stampeding cattle, an experienced mountain climber is properly wary of  crumbling rock, and even brave swimmers ought to remain well clear of  whirlpools. For this to be taught it appears that the courageous tutor  would have to be in agreement with the tutor of wisdom. These sorts of  difficulties seem to be perennial, and a system of nurture which can  overcome them would provide a fine model, it seems, for education into  virtues. If the Persian tutors could indeed show the virtues to be  harmonious, it would be of considerable benefit to Alkibiades to under¬  stand precisely how it is accomplished.   The question of what is to be taught leads readily to a considera¬  tion of how to determine who is to teach. The problem of ascertaining  the competence of teachers seems to be a continuing one (as the reader of  this dialogue has several occasions to observe - e.g., llOe, ff.). But  besides their public reputation there is no indication of the criteria  employed in the selection of the Persian tutors. To this point in the  dialogue, two criteria have been acknowledged as establishing qualifica¬  tion for teaching (or for the knowledge requisite for teaching). Agree¬  ment between teachers on their subject matter (lllb-c) is important for  determining who is a proper instructor, as is a man's ability to refer to  knowledgeable students (118d). As has already been indicated, both of  these present interesting difficulties. Neither, however, is clearly or  obviously applicable to the Persian situation. The present king might  prove to be the only student to whom they can point (in which case they  may be as old as Zopyros) and he might well be the only one in a position to agree with them. It is conceivable that some kinds of knowledge are  of such difficulty that one cannot expect too many people to agree. If  the Persians have indeed solved the problems of choosing tutors, and of  reconciling public reputation for virtue with actual possession of  virtue, they have overcome what appears to be a most persistent diffi¬  culty regarding human nurture.   Another issue which surfaces in Socrates' short account of the  Persian educational system is that of the correct age to begin such  nurture. Education to manhood begins at about the age of puberty for  the prince. If the virtues are not already quite entrenched in his  habits or thoughts (in which latter case he would have needed another  source of instruction besides the tutors - as perhaps one might say the  Iliad and Odyssey provide for Athenian youths such as Alkibiades), it is  doubtful that they could be inculcated at the age of fourteen. Socrates  is completely silent about the Persians' prior education to virtue, dis¬  closing only that they began riding horses and participating in "the  hunt." Since both of those activities demand some presence of mind, one  may presume that early Persian education was not neglected. This  earliest phase of education is of the utmost importance, however, for if  the boy had been a coward for fourteen years, one might suspect tutoring  by a man at that point would not likely make him manly. And to make  temperate a lad accustomed to indulgence would be exceedingly difficult.  Forcibly restricting his consumption would not have a lasting effect un¬  less there were some thing to draw upon within the understanding of the  boy, but Socrates supplies Alkibiades with no hint as to what that might  be. Presently the young man will be reminded of Aesop's fables and the  various stories that children hear. If, in order to qualify as proper nurturing, such activities as children participate in - e.g., music and  gymnastics - ought to be carried out in a certain mode or with certain  rules (cf. Republic 377a-e; 376c-414c), Socrates gives no indication of  their manner here. Unless stories and activities build a respect for  piety and justice, and the like, it is not obvious that the respect will  be developed when someone is in his mid-teens. It would seem difficult,  if not impossible, to erase years of improper musical and gymnastic  education. Socrates remains distressingly silent about so very much of  the Persian (or proper) method of preparing young men for the great  contest.   The only one who would care about Alkibiades 1 birth, nurture or  education, would be some chance lover he happened to have, Socrates says  in reference to his seemingly unique interest in Alkibiades' nature  (122b). He concludes what was presumably the account of the education  of the Persian princes, intimating that Alkibiades would be shamed by a  comparison of the wealth, luxury, robes and various refinements of the  Persians. It is odd that he would mention such items in the context  immediately following the list of subjects the tutors were to teach in  the education of the soul of the king - including the complete mastery  of all pleasure. It is even more curious that he would deign to mention  these in the context of making Alkibiades sensitive to what was required  for his preparation for his proper contest. The historical Alkibiades,  it seems, would not be so insensitive to these luxuries as to need reminding of them, and the dialogue to this point has not given any indica¬  tion that these things of the body are important to the training  Alkibiades needs by way of preparing for politics. The fact that Socrates  expressly asserts that Alkibiades would be ashamed at having less of those things corroborates the suggestion that more is going on in this long  speech than is obvious at the surface.   Briefly, and in a manner that doesn't appear to make qualities of  soul too appealing, Socrates lists eleven excellences of the Spartans:  temperance, orderliness, readiness, easily contented, great-mindedness,  well-orderedness, manliness, patient endurance, labor loving, contest  loving and honor loving. Socrates neither described these glowingly,  nor explains how the Spartans come to possess them. He merely lists  them. Then, interestingly, he remarks that Alkibiades in comparison is  a child . He does not say that Alkibiades would be ashamed, or that he  would lose, but that he had somehow not yet attained them. Like some  children presumably, he may have the potential to grow into them if they  are part of the best nature. There is no implication, then, that  Alkibiades' nature is fundamentally lacking in any of these virtues, and  this is of special interest to the reader given the more or less general  agreement, even during his lifetime, as to his wantonness. Socrates  here suggests that Alkibiades is like a child with respect to the best  nature. This part of Socrates' speech reveals two possible alternatives  to the Persian education, alternatives compatible with the acquisition of  virtue. A Spartan nurture was successful in giving Spartans the set of  virtues Socrates listed. Since Alkibiades obviously cannot regain the  innocence necessary to benefit from early disciplined habituation, and  since Socrates nevertheless understands him to be able to grow into  virtue in some sense, there must be another way open to him. This  twenty year old "child" has had some early exposure to virtue, at least  through poetry, and perhaps it is through this youthful persuasion that Socrates will aid him in his education. Indeed Socrates appeals often  to his sense of the honorable and noble - which is related to virtue even  if improperly understood by Alkibiades. As the dialogue proceeds from  this point/ Socrates appears to be importantly concerned with making  Alkibiades virtuous through philosophy. He is trying to persuade  Alkibiades to let his reason rule him in his life, most importantly in  his desire to know himself. Perhaps, on this account, one might acquire  virtue in two ways, a Spartan nurture, for example, and through philosophy.   Again, however, Socrates stops before he has said everything he  might have said, and turns to the subject of wealth. In fact, Scorates  claims that he must not keep silent with regard to riches if Alkibiades  thinks about them at all. Thus, according to Socrates, not only is it  not strange to turn from the soul to wealth, but it is even appropriate.  Socrates must attest to the riches of Spartans, who in land and slaves  and horses and herds far outdo any estate in Athens, and he most  especially needs to report on the wealth of gold and silver privately  held in Lakedaimon. As proof for this assertion, which certainly runs  counter to almost anyone's notion of Spartan life, Socrates uses a fable  within this fabulous story.   Socrates assumes Alkibiades has learned Aesop's fables - somehow -  for without supplying any other details he simply mentions that there are  many tracks of wealth going into Sparta and none coming out. In order to  explain Socrates' otherwise cryptic remarks, the children's fable will be  recounted. Aesop's story concerns an old lion who must eat by his wits  because he can no longer hunt or fight. He lies in a cave pretending to  be ill and when any animals visit him he devours them. A fox eventually  happens by, but seeing through the ruse he remains outside the cave. When ths lion asks why he doesn't come in, the fox responds that he sees too  many tracks entering the cave and none leaving it.   The lion and the fox represent the classic confrontation between  power and knowledge. 114 One notices that in the fable the animals  generally believe an opinion that proves to be a fatal mistake. The fox  doesn't. He avoids the error. The implication is that Socrates and  Alkibiades have avoided an important mistake that the rest of the Greeks  have made. One can only speculate on what it is precisely. They seem  to be the only ones aware of one of Sparta's qualities, a quality which,  oddly, is in some sense essential to Alkibiades' contest. Perhaps  Socrates' use of the fable merely suggests that erroneous opinions about  the nature of one's true contestant may prove fatal, but there may be  more to it than that.   This fable fittingly appears in the broad context of nurture;  myths and fables are generally recognized for their pedagogic value. Any  metaphoric connection this fable brings to mind with the more famous   Allegory of the Cave in Plato's Republic will necessarily be speculative. But they are not altogether out of place. The cave, in a sense,   represents the condition of most people's nurtures and thus represents a  fitting setting for a fable related in this dialogue. Given Socrates'  fears of what will happen to Alkibiades (132a, 135e) and Alkibiades' own  concern for the demos , the suggested image of people (otherwise fit  enough to be outside) being enticed into the cave and unable to leave it  might be appropriate.   At any rate, in terms of the argument for Sparta's wealth, this  evidence does nothing to show that the wealth is privately held. It is  apparent, after all, that the evidence indicates gold is pouring into  Spsi’ts. from all over Greece, but not coining' out of the country, whereas  Socrates seems to interpret this as private, not public wealth. Perhaps  the reader may infer from this that a difference between city and man is  being subtly implied. Socrates is suggesting that wealth is an important  part of the contest, and yet he includes himself in the contest at a  number of points. This rather inconclusive and ambiguous reference to  the wealth of Sparta and the Spartans might suggest that the difference  between the city and man regarding riches, may be that great wealth is  good for a city (for example, as Thucydides observes, wealth facilitates  warmaking), and is thus something a ruler should know how to acquire -  but not so good for an individual. Socrates' next statement supports  this interpretation. A king's being wealthy might not mean that he uses  it privately. Socrates informs Alkibiades that the king possesses the  most wealth of any Spartans for there is a special tribute to him (123a-  b) . In any case, however great the Spartan fortunes appear compared with  the fortunes of other Greeks, they are a mere pittance next to the Persian  king's treasures. Socrates was told this himself by a trustworthy person  who gathered his information by travelling and finding out what the local  inhabitants said. Socrates treats this as valuable information, yet which,  given his chosen way of life, he couldn't have acquired firsthand.   Large tracts of land are reserved for adorning the Persian queen  with clothes, individual items having land specially set aside for them.  There were fertile regions known as the "king's wife's girdle," veil,  etc.Certainly an indication of wealth, it also seems to suggest a  wanton luxury, especially on the part of women (and which men flatter  with gifts).   Returning to the supposed contest between Alkibiades and the Spartan and the Persian kings, Socrates adopts a very curious framework  for the bulk of the remainder of this discourse. He continues in terms  of the thoughts of the mother of the king and proceeds as though she were,  in part, in a dialogue with Alkibiades 1 mother, Deinomakhe. If she found  out that the son of Deinomakhe was challenging her son, the king's mother,  Amestris, would wonder on what Alkibiades could be trusting. The manner  in which Socrates has the challenge introduced to Amestris does not  reveal either of the men's names. Only their mothers are referred to -  and the cost of the mothers' apparel seems to be as important to the  challenge or contest as the size of the sons' estates. Only after he is  told that the barbarian queen is wondering does the reader find out that  her son's name is Artaxerxes and that  she is aware that it is Alkibiades  who is challenging her son. She might well have been completely ignorant  of the existence of Deinomakhe's family, or she may have thought it was  Kleinias, the madman (118e), who was the son involved. Since there is no  contest with regards to wealth - either in land or clothing - Alkibiades  must be relying on his industry and wisdom - the only thing the Greeks  have of any worth.   Perhaps because she is a barbarian, or because of some inability  on her part, or maybe some subtlety of the Greeks, she doesn't recognize  the Greeks' speaking ability as one of their greatest accomplishments.  Indeed, both in the dialogue and historically, it was his speaking ability  on which Alkibiades was to concentrate much of his effort, and through  which he achieved many of his triumphs. Greeks in general and Athenians  in particular spent much time cultivating the art of speaking. Sophists  and rhetoricians abounded. Rhapsodists and actors took part in the many  dramatic festivals at Athens. Orators and politicians addressed crowds of  people almost daily Cor so it seems).   Socrates continues. If she were to be informed (with reference to  Alkibiades' wisdom and industriousness) that he was not yet twenty, and was  utterly uneducated, and further, was quite satisfied with himself and re¬  fused his lover's suggestion to learn, take care of himself and exercise  his habits before he entered a contest with the king, she would again be  full of wonder. She would ask to what the youth could appeal and would  conclude Socrates and Alkibiades (and Deinomakhe) were mad if they thought  he could contend with her son in beauty ( kalos ), stature, birth, wealth,  and the nature of his soul (123e). The last quality, the nature of the  soul, has the most direct bearing on the theme of the dialogue, and as  the reader remembers, is the promised but not previously included part of  the list of reasons for Alkibiades' high opinion of himself (104a. ff.).  Since it is also the most difficult to evaluate, one might reasonably  wonder what authority Amestris' judgement commands. It is feasible for  the reader to suspect that this is simply Socrates' reminder that a  mother generally favors her own son. But perhaps her position and  experience as wife and mother to kings enables her in some sense to judge  souls.   Lampido, another woman, the daughter, wife and mother of three  different kings, would also wonder, Socrates proposes, at Alkibiades'  desire to contest with her son, despite his comparatively ignoble ( kakos )  upbringing. Socrates closes the discussion with the mothers of kings by  asking Alkibiades if it is not shameful that the mothers and wives  (literally, "the women belonging to the kings ) of their enemies have a  better notion than they of the qualities necessary for a person who wants    to contend with them. The problem of understanding human nature includes centrally the  problem of understanding sex and the differences between men and women.  Thus political philosophy necessarily addresses these matters. Half of  a polity is made up of women and the correct ordering of a polity re¬  quires that women, as well as men, do what is appropriate. However,  discovering the truth about the sexes is not simple in any event, partly  at least because of one's exclusion from personal knowledge about the  other sex; and it has become an arduous task to gather honest opinions  from which to begin reflecting.   The discussion of women in this central portion of the dialogue  is invested with political significance by what is explored later re¬  garding the respective tasks of men and women (e.g., 126e-127b). Before  proceeding to study the rest of this long speech, it may be useful to  briefly sketch two problem areas. Firstly the outline of some of the  range of philosophic alternatives presented by mankind's division into  two sexes will be roughly traced out. This will foreshadow the later  discussion of the work appropriate to the sexes. Secondly, a suggestion  shall be ventured as to one aspect of how 'wonder' and philosophy may be  properly understood to have a feminine element - an aspect that is con¬  nected to a very important theme of this dialogue.   Thus, in order to dispel some of the confusion before returning  to the dialogue, the division of the sexes may imply, in terms of an  understanding of human nature, that there is either one ideal that both  sexes strive towards, or there is more than one. If there is one goal  or end, it might be either the 'feminine,' the 'masculine, a combina¬  tion of the traits of both sexes, or a transcendent "humanness" that  rises above sexuality. The first may be dismissed unless one is willing to posit that everything is "out-of-whack" in nature and all the wrong   people have been doing great human deeds. Traditionally, the dominant opinion has implicitly been that the characteristics of 'human' are for  the most part those called 'masculine', or that males typically embody  these characteristics to a greater extent. Should this be correct, then  one may be warranted in considering nature simply "unfair" in making half  of the people significantly weaker and less able to attain those character¬  istics. Should the single ideal for both sexes be a combination of the  characteristics of both sexes, still other difficulties arise. A normal  understanding of masculine and feminine refers to traits that are quite  distinct; those who most combine the traits, or strike a mean, appear  to be those who are most sexually confused.   The other possibility mentioned was that there be two (or more)  sets of characteristics - one for man and one for woman. The difficulty  with this alternative is unlike the difficulties encountered in the one-  model proposal. One problem with having an ideal for each sex, or even  with identifying some human characteristics more with one sex than the  other, is that all of the philosophic questions regarding the fitting  place of each sex still remain to be considered.   Some version of this latter alternative seems to be endorsed later  in the First Alkibiades (126e-127b). There it is agreed £md agreement  frequently is the most easily met of the suggested possible criteria of  knowledge mentioned in the dialogue) that there are separate jobs for  men and women. Accordingly, men and women are said to be rightly unable  to understand each other's jobs and thus cannot agree on matters sur¬  rounding those jobs.   One of the implications of this, however, unmentioned by either Socrates or Alkibiades, is that women therefore ought not to nurture  young sons. A woman does not and cannot grasp what it is to be a man  and to have manly virtue. Thus they cannot raise manly boys. However,  this is contrary to common sense. One would think that if there was any  task for which a woman should be suited (even if it demands more care  than is often believed) it would be motherhood. Because of this a mother  would have to learn a man's business if she would bear great sons. At  this point the problems of the surface account of the First Alkibiades  become apparent to even the least reflective reader.   If it is the same task, or if the same body of knowledge (or  opinion) is necessary for being a great man as for raising a great man,  then at least in one case the subjects of study for men and women are not  exclusive. Women dominate the young lives of children. They must be able  to turn a boy's ambitions and desires in the proper direction until the  menfolk take over. Since it would pose practical problems for her to  attempt to do so in deed, she must proceed primarily through speech, in¬  cluding judicious praise and blame, and that is why the fables and myths  women relate ought to be of great concern to the men (cf. for example.  Republic 377b-c). If, on the other hand, it requires completely differ¬  ent knowledge to raise great sons than it does to be great men, then men,  by the argument of the dialogue should not expect to know women's work.   If this is the proper philosophic conclusion the reader is to reach, then  it is not so obviously disgraceful for the womenfolk to know better than  Socrates and Alkibiades what it takes to enter the contest (124a). The  disgrace, it seems, would consist in being unable to see the contra¬  dictions in the surface account of the First Alkibiades , and thus not  being in a position to accept its invitation to delve deeper into the problem of human nature.   At this point a speculation may be ventured as to why, in this   dialogue, wonder takes on a feminine expression, and why elsewhere.   Philosophy herself is described as feiminine Ce.g., Republic 495-b-c,   536c, 495e; Gorgias 482a; cf. also Letter VII 328e, Republic 499c-d,   548b-c, 607b). One might say that a woman's secretiveness enhances her seductiveness. Women are concerned with appearance (cf. 123c; the   very apparel of the mothers of great sons is catalogued) . Philosophy and  women may be more alluring when disclosure ("disclothesure") of their  innermost selves requires a certain persistence on the part of their  suitors. Philosophy in its most beguiling expression is woman-like.   When subtle and hidden, its mystery enhances its attractiveness. Perhaps  it will be suggested - perhaps for great men to be drawn to philosophy she  must adopt a feminine mode of expression, in addition to the promise of a  greater power; if viewed as a goddess she must be veiled, not wholly  naked.   To further explore the analogue in terms of expression, one notices  that women are cautious of themselves and protective of their own. They  are aware, and often pass this awareness on to men that in some circles  they must be addressed or adorned in a certain manner in order to avoid  ridicule and appear respectable. As well, a woman's protection of her  young is expected. Philosophy, properly expressed, should be careful to  avoid harming the innocent; and a truly political philosopher should be  protective of those who will not benefit from knowing the truth. If the  truth is disruptive to the community, for example, he should be most  reluctant to announce it publicly. The liberal notion that every truth  is to be shared by all might be seen to defeminize philosophy. Women, too in speech will lie and dissemble to protect their own; in deed, they are  more courageous in retreat, able to bear the loss of much in order to  ensure the integrity of that of which they are certain is of most im¬  portance .   Political philosophy is not only philosophy about politics; it is  doing (or at least expressing) all of one's philosophizing in a politic  way. Its expression would be "feminine." This suggestion at least  appears to square with the role of women in the dialogue. It accounts  for the mothers' lively concern over the welfare and status of the power¬  ful; it provides a possible understanding of how the 'masculine' and  'feminine' may have complementary tasks; it connects the female to  'wonder'; it lets the reader see the enormous significance of speech to  politics; it reminds one of the power of eros as a factor in philosophy,  in politics, in Socrates' attraction to Alkibiades, and in man's  attraction to philosophy; it helps to explain why both lines of descent,  the maternal as well as the paternal, are emphasized in the cases of the  man coveting power and the man seeking knowledge. Through the very ex¬  pression of either, politics and philosophy become interconnected.   Socrates addresses Alkibiades as a blessed man and tells him to  attend him and the Delphic inscription, "know thyself." These people  (presumably Socrates is referring to the enemy, with whose wives they  were speaking; however, the analysis has indicated why the referent is  left ambiguous: there is a deeper sense of 'contest' here than war with  Persians and Spartans) are Socrates' and Alkibiades' competitors, not  those whom Alkibiades thinks. Only industriousness and techne will give  them ascendancy over their real competitors. Alkibiades will fail in  achieving a reputation among Greeks and barbarians if he lacks those qualities. And Socrates can see that Alkibiades desires that reputation  more than anyone else ever loved anything.   The reader may have noticed that the two qualities Socrates men¬  tions are very similar to the qualities of the Greeks mentioned by the  barbarian queen above. Socrates is implicitly raising the Greeks above  the barbarians by making the Greek qualities the most important, and he  diminishes the significance of their victory in terms of wealth and land.   He thus simultaneously indicts them on two counts. They do not recognize  that Alkibiades is their big challenge, sothey are in the disgraceful  condition of which Alkibiades was accused, namely not having an eye to  their enemies but to their fellows. By raising the Greek virtues  above  the barbarian qualities, Socrates throws yet more doubt on the view that  they are indeed the proper contestants for Alkibiades. It is interesting  that the barbarian queen knew or believed these were the Greek's  qualities but she did not correctly estimate their importance.   Another wonderful feature of this longest speech in the First  Alkibiades is the last line: "I believe you are more desirous of  it than anyone else is of anything," (124b). Socrates ascribes to Alkibiades  an extreme eros . It may even be a stranger erotic attraction or will to  power than that marked by Socrates' eros for Alkibiades. But the  philosopher wants to help and is able to see Alkibiades' will. Socrates  even includes himself in the contest. Socrates is indeed a curious   man. So ends the longest speech in the dialogue.   Alkibiades agrees. He wants that. Socrates' speech seems very  true. Alkibiades has been impressed with Socrates' big thoughts about  politics, for Socrates had indicated that he is familiar enough with the  greatest foreign political powers to make plausible/credible his implicit is* orf or explicit criticism of them. Socrates has also tacitly approved of  Alkibiades 1 ambitions to rule not only Athens, but an empire over the  known world. Alkibiades must be impressed with this sentiment in  democratic Athens. In addition to all this, Socrates has hinted to the  youth that there is something yet bigger. Alkibiades requests Socrates'  assistance and will do whatever Socrates wants. He begs to know what is  the proper care he must take of himself.   Socrates echoes Alkibiades' sentiment that they must put their   heads together (124c; cf. 119b). This is an off-quoted line from Homer's  119   Iliad. In the Iliad the decision had been made- that information must   be attained from and about the Trojans by spying on their camp. The  brave warrior, Diomedes, volunteered to go, and asked the wily Odysseus  to accompany him. Two heads were better than one and the best wits of  all the Greek heroes were the wits of Odysseus. Diomedes recognized this  and suggested they put their heads together as they proceed to trail the  enemy to their camp, enter it and hunt for information necessary to an  Akhaian victory.   Needless to say, the parallels between the Homeric account, the  situation between Alkibiades and Socrates, and the Aesopian fable, are  intriguing. When Alkibiades uttered these lines previously, it was  appropriate in that he requested the philosopher (the cunning man) to go  with him. Alkibiades and Socrates, like Diomedes and Odysseus, must  enter the camp of the enemy to see what they were up against in this  contest of contests, so to speak. Alkibiades, assuming the role of  Diomedes, in a sense initiated the foray although an older, wiser man had  supplied the occasion for it. Alkibiades had to be made to request  Socrates' assistance. The part of the dialogue following Alkibiades's quoting of Homer was a discussion of the contest of the superior man and  ostensibly an examination of the elements of the contest. They thoroughly  examined the enemy in an attempt to understand the very nature of this  most important challenge.   This time, however, the wilier one (Socrates/Odysseus) is asking  Alkibiades/Diomedes to join heads with him. The first use of the quote  served to establish the importance of its link to power and knowledge.   The second mention of the quote is perhaps intended to point to a con¬  sideration of the interconnectedness of power and knowledge. In what way  do power and knowledge need each other? What draws Socrates and Alkibiades  together?   The modern reader, unlike the Athenian reader, might find an example   from Plato more helpful than one from Homer. Some of the elements of the   relationship are vividly displayed in the drama of the opening passages of   the Republic . The messenger boy runs between the many strong and the few  120 ...   wise. His role is similar to that of the auxiliary class of the   dialogue but is substantively reversed. Although he is the go-between  who carries the orders of one group to the other and has the ability to  use physical means to execute those orders (he causes Socrates literally  to "turn around," and he takes hold of Socrates' cloak), he is carrying  orders from those fit to be ruled to those fit to rule. What is es¬  pecially interesting is the significance of these opening lines for the  themes of the First Alkibiades . The first speaker in the Republic pro¬  vides the connection between the powerful and the wise . And he speaks  to effect their halt. There has to be a compromise between those who  know but are fewer in number, and those who are stronger and more numer¬    ous but are unwise. The slave introduces the problem of the competing claims to rule despite the fact that he has been conventionally stripped  of his.   Polemarkhos, on behalf of the many (which includes a son of  Ariston) uses number and strength as his claims over the actions of  Socrates and Glaukon. Socrates suggests that speech opens up one other  possibility. Perhaps the Few could persuade the Many. He does not sug¬  gest that the many use speech to persuade the few to remain (although  this is what in fact happens when Adeimantos appeals to the novelty of  a torch race). Polemarkhos asks "could you really persuade if we don't  listen?" and by that he indicates a limit to the power of speech.   Later in the dialogue it is interesting that the two potential rulers of  the evening's discussion, Thrasymakhos and Socrates, seem to fight it out  with words or at least have a contest. The general problem of the proper  relation between strength and wisdom might be helpfully illuminated by  close examination of examples such as those drawn from the Republic , the  Iliad and Aesop's fable.   In any event, Socrates and Alkibiades must again join heads. Pre¬  sumably, the reader may infer, the examination of the Spartans and Persians  was insufficient. (That was suspected from the outset because Alkibiades  would rather die than be limited to Athens. Sparta and Persia would be  the proper contestants for someone intending only to rule Europe.) Per¬  haps they will now set out to discover the real enemy, the true contestant.  The remainder of the dialogue, in a sense, is a discussion of how to com¬  bat ignorance of oneself. One might suggest that this is, in a crucial  sense, the enemy of which Alkibiades is as yet not fully aware.   Socrates, by switching his position with Alkibiades vis-a-vis the  guote, reminds the reader that Odysseus was no slouch at courage and that Diomedes was no fool. It also foreshadows the switch in their roles made  explicit at the end of the dialogue. But even more importantly, Socrates  tells Alkibiades that he is in the same position as Alkibiades. He needs  to take proper care of himself too, and requires education. His case is  identical to Alkibiades' except in one respect. Alkibiades' guardian  Perikles is not as good as Socrates' guardian god, who until now guarded  Socrates against talking with Alkibiades. Trusting his guardian, Socrates  is led to say that Alkibiades will not be able to achieve his ambitions  except through Socrates.   This rather enigmatic passage of the First Alkibiades (124c) seems  to reveal yet another aspect of the relation between knowledge and power.  If language is central to understanding knowledge and power, it is thus  instructive about the essential difference, if there is one, between men  who want power and men who want knowledge. Socrates says that his  guardian (presumably the daimon or god, 103a-b, 105e), who would not let  him waste words (105e) is essentially what makes his case different than  that of Alkibiades. In response to Alkibiades' question, Socrates only  emphasizes that his guardian is better than Perikles, Alkibiades'  guardian, possibly because it kept him silent until this day. Is  Socrates perhaps essentially different from Alkibiades because he knows  when to be silent? The reader is aware that according to most people,  Socrates and Alkibiades would seem to differ on all important grounds.  Their looks, family, wealth and various other features of their lives  are in marked contrast. Socrates, however, disregards them totally, and  fastens his attention on his guardian. And the only thing the reader  knows about his guardian is that it affects Socrates' speech.   Socrates claims that because he trusts in the god he is able to say (he does not sense opposition to his saying) that Alkibiades needs   Socrates. To this Alkibiades retorts that Socrates is jesting or playing   like a child. Not only may one wonder what is being referred to as a  121   jest, but one notices that Socrates surprisingly acknowledges that   maybe he is. He asserts, at any rate, he is speaking truly when he re¬  marks that they need to take care of themselves - all men do, but they  in particular must. Socrates thereby firmly situates himself and  Alkibiades above the common lot of men. He also implies that the higher,  not the lower, is deserving of extra care. Needless to say, the notion  that more effort is to be spent on making the best men even better is  quite at odds with modern liberal views.   Alkibiades agrees, recognizing the need on his part, and Socrates  joins in fearing he also requires care. The answer for the comrades  demands that there be no giving up or softening on their part. It would  not befit them to relinquish any determination. They desire to become  as accomplished as possible in the virtue that is the aim of men who are  good in managing affairs. Were one concerned with affairs of horseman¬  ship, one would apply to horsemen, just as if one should mean nautical  affairs one would address a seaman. With which men's business are they  concerned, queries Socrates. Alkibiades responds assured that it is the  affairs of the gentlemen ( kalos kai agathos) to whom they must attend,  and these are clearly the intelligent rather than the unintelligent.   Everyone is good only in that of which he has intelligence (125a).  While the shoemaker is good at the manufacture of shoes, he is bad at the  making of clothing. However, on that account the same man is both bad  and good and one cannot uphold that the good man is at the same time bad  (but cf. 116a). Alkibiades must clarify whom he means by the good man. By altering the emphasis of the discussion to specific intelligence or  skills, Socrates has effectively prevented Alkibiades from answering "gentlemen" again, even if he would think that the affairs of gentlemen  in democracies are the affairs with which a good ruler should be concerned.   Given his purported ambitions, it is understandable that  Alkibiades thinks good men are those with the power to rule in a polis  (125b). Since there are a variety of subjects over which to rule, or hold  power, Socrates wants to clarify that it is men and not, for example,  horses, to which Alkibiades refers. Socrates undoubtedly knew that  Alkibiades meant men instead of horses; the pestiness of the question  attracts the attention of the reader and he is reminded of the famous  analogy of the city made by Socrates in the Apology . Therein, the city  is likened to a great horse ( Apology 30e). It would thus not be wholly  inappropriate to interpret this bizarre question in a manner which,  though not apparent to Alkibiades, would provide a perhaps more meaning¬  ful analysis. Socrates might be asking Alkibiades if he intends to rule  a city or to rule men (in a city). It is not altogether out of place to  adopt the analogy here; corroborating support is given by the very subtle  philosophic distinctions involved later in distinguishing ruling cities  from ruling men (cf. 133e). For example, cities are not erotic, whereas  men are; cities can attain self-sufficiency, whereas men cannot. It  does not demand excessive reflection to see how erotic striving and the  interdependency of men affects the issues of ruling them. What is good  for a man, too, may differ from what is good for a city (as mentioned  above with reference to wealth), and in some cases may even be incompatible  with it. These are all issues which demand the consideration of rulers  and political thinkers. Additional endorsement for the suitability of the analogy between city and man for interpreting this passage, is provided  by Socrates in his very next statement. He asks if Alkibiades means  ruling over sick men (125b). Earlier (107b-c) the two had been dis¬  cussing what qualified someone to give advice about a sick city.   Alkibiades doesn't mean good rule to be ruling men at sea or  while they are harvesting (though generalship and farming, or defence and  agriculture, are essential to a city). He also doesn't conclude that good  rule is useful for men who are doing nothing (as Polemarkhos is driven to  conclude that justice is useful for things that are not in use - Republic  333c-e). In a sense Alkibiades is right. Rulers rule men when they are  doing things such as transacting business, and making use of each other  and whatever makes up a political life (125c). But rule in a precise,  but inclusive, sense is also rule over men when they are inactive. The  thoughts and very dreams are ruled by the true rulers, who have con¬  trolled or understood all the influences upon men.   Socrates fastens onto one of these and tries to find out what kind   of rule Alkibiades means by ruling over men who make use of men.   Alkibiades does not mean the pilot's virtue of ruling over mariners who   make use of rowers, nor does he mean the chorus teacher who rules flute   122   players who lead singers and employ dancers; Alkibiades means ruling  men who share life as fellow citizens and conduct business. Socrates in¬  quires as to which techne gives that ability as the pilot's techne gives  the ability to rule fellow sailors, and the chorus teacher's ability to  rule fellow singers. At this point the attentive reader notices that  Socrates has slightly altered the example. He has introduced an element  of equality. When the consideration of the polis was made explicit, the  pilot and chorus teacher became "fellows" -"fellow sailors" and "fellow singers." This serves at least to suggest that citizenship in the polis  is an equalizing element in political life. To consider oneself a  fellow citizen with another implies a kind of fraternity and equality  that draws people together. Despite, say, the existence of differences  within the city, people who are fellow citizens often are closer to each  other than they are to outsiders who may otherwise be more similar.   There is another sense in which Socrates' shift to calling each  expert a "fellow" illuminates something about the city. This is dis¬  covered when one wonders why Socrates employed two examples - the chorus  teacher and the pilot.   One reason for using more than a single example is that there is  more than one point to illustrate. It is then up to the reader to  scrutinize the examples to see how they importantly differ. The onus is  on the reader, and this is a tactic used often in the dialogues. Someone  is much more likely to reflect upon something he discovered than some¬  thing that is unearthed for him. One important distinction between  these two technae is that a pilot is a "fellow sailor" in a way that the  chorus teacher is not a "fellow singer." Even in the event a pilot  shares in none of the work of the crew rules (as the chorus teacher need  not actually sing), if the ship sinks, he sinks with it. So too does the  ruler of a city fall when his city falls. This is merely one aspect of  the analogy of the ship-of-state, but it suffices to remind one that the  ruler of a polity must identify with the polity, perhaps even to the ex¬  tent that he sees the fate of the polity as his fate (cf. Republic 412d).   Perhaps more importantly, there is a distinction between the  chorus master and the pilot which significantly illuminates the task of  political rule. A pilot directs sailors doing a variety of tasks that make sailing possible# whereas the chorus master directed singers per¬  forming in unison . Perhaps political rule is properly understood as in¬  volving both.   Alkibiades suggests that the techne of the ruler (the fellow-  citizen) is good counsel# but as the pilot gives good not evil counsel  for the preservation of his passengers, Socrates tries to find out what  end the good counsel of the ruler serves. Alkibiades proposed that the  good counsel is for the better management and preservation of the polis  (126a).   In the next stage of the discussion Socrates makes a number of  moves that affect the outcome of the argument but he doesn't make a point  of explicating them to Alkibiades. Socrates asks what it is that becomes  present or absent with better management and preservation . He suggests  that if Alkibiades were to ask him the same question with respect to the  body, Socrates would reply that health became present and disease absent.  That is not sufficient. He pretends Alkibiades would ask what happened  in a better condition of the eyes# and he would reply that sight came and  blindness went. So too deafness and hearing are absent and present when  ears are improved and getting better treatment . Socrates would like  Alkibiades# now# to answer as to what happens when a state is improved  and has better treatment and management . Alkibiades thinks that friend¬  ship will be present and hatred and faction will be absent.   From the simple preservation of the passangers of a ship# Socrates  has moved to preservation and better management# to improved and getting  better treatment# to improvement, better treatment and management. Simple  preservation# of course# is only good (and the goal of an appropriate  techne) when the condition of a thing is pronounced to be satisfactory, such that any change would be for the worse. In a ship the pilot only  has to preserve the lives of his passengers by his techne , he does not  have to either make lives or improve them. In so far as a city is in¬  volved with more than mere life, but is aiming at the good life, mere  preservation of the citizens is not sufficient. Socrates' subtle trans¬  formation indicates the treatment necessary in politics.   Another point that Socrates has implicitly raised is the hierarchy  of technae . This may be quite important to an understanding of politics  and what it can properly order within its domain. Socrates employs the  examples of the body and the eyes (126a-b). The eyes are, however, a  part of the body. The body cannot be said to be healthy unless its parts,  including the eyes, are healthy; the eyes will not see well in a generally  diseased body. The two do interrelate, but have essentially different  virtues. The virtue of the eyes and thus the techne attached to that  virtue, are under/within the domain of the body and its virtue, health.   The doctor, then, has an art of a different order than the optometrist.  (The doctor and his techne may have competition for the care of the body;  the gymnastics expert has already been met and he certainly has things  to say about the management of the body - cf. 128c but the principle there  would be a comprehensive techne .) Given the example of the relation of  the parts to the whole, perhaps Socrates is suggesting that there is an  analogue in the city: the health of the whole city and the sight of a  part of the city. The reader is curious if the same relation would hold  as to which techne had the natural priority over the other. Would the  interests of the whole rule the interests of a part of the city?   Socrates' examples of the body and the part of the body could, in  yet another manner, lead toward contemplation of the political. There is a possible connection between all three. The doctor might well have to  decide to sacrifice the sight of an eye in the interests of the whole  body. Perhaps the ruler (the man possessing the political techne) would  have to decide to sacrifice the health (or even life) of individuals (may¬  be even ones as important as the "eyes" of the city) for the well-being of  the polis . Thus, analogously# the political art properly rules the  various technae of the body.   Earlier the reader had occasion to be introduced to a system of  hierarchies (108c-e). Therein he found that harping was ruled by music and  wrestling by gymnastics. Gymnastics, as the techne of the body, is, it is  suggested, ruled by politics. Perhaps music should also be ruled by  politics. In the Republic , gymnastics is to the body roughly what music  is to the soul. Both, however, are directed by politics and are a major  concern of political men. It is fortunate for Alkibiades that he is  familiar with harping and gymnastics (106e), so that as a politician he  will be able to advise on their proper performance. One already has reason  to suspect that the other subject in which Alkibiades took lessons is  properly under the domain of politics.   Alkibiades believes that the better management of a state will  bring friendship into it and remove hatred and faction. Socrates in¬  quires if he means agreement or disagreement by friendship. Alkibiades  replies that agreement is meant, but one must notice that this sig¬  nificantly reduces the area of concern to which Alkibiades had given  voice. He had mentioned two kinds of strife, and one needn t think long  and hard to notice that friendship normally connotes much more than  agreement. Socrates next asks which techne causes states to agree about  numbers; does the same art, arithmetic, cause individuals to agree among  each other and with themselves. In addition to whatever suspicion one entertains that this is not the kind of agreement Alkibiades meant when  he thought friendship would be brought into a city with better management/  one must keep in mind the similarity between this and an earlier argument  (111c). In almost the same words, people agreed "with others or by them¬  selves" and states agreed, with regard to speaking Greek, or more pre¬  cisely, with naming. There are two features of this argument which should  be explored. Firstly, one might reflect upon whether agreement between  states is always essentially similar to agreement between people, or  agreement with oneself. People can fool themselves and they can possess  their own "language." Separate states may have separate weights and  measures, say, but individuals within a state must agree. Secondly,  there may be more than one kind of agreement with which the reader should  be concerned in this dialogue. This might be most apparent were there  different factors which compelled different people, in different circum¬  stances, to agree. Men sometimes arrive at the same conclusions through  different reasons.   The first two examples employed by Socrates illuminate both of  these points. Arithmetic and mensuration are about as far apart as it is  possible to be in terms of the nature of the agreement. Mensuration is  simply convention or agreement, and yet its entire existence depends on  people's knowing the standards agreed upon. Numbers, on the contrary,  need absolutely no agreement (except linguistically in the names given to  numbers) and no amount of agreement can change what they are and their  relation to each other.   The third example represents the type of agreement much closer to  that with which it is believed conventional politics is permeated. It is  the example of the scales — long symbolic of justice. Agreement with  people and states about weights on scales depends on a number of factors,  as does judgement about politics. There is something empirical to  observe, namely the action as well as the various weights; there is a  constant possibility of cheating (on one side or another) against which  they must take guard; there is a judgement to be made which is often  close, difficult and of crucial importance, and there is the general  problem of which side of the scale/polity is to receive the goods, and  what is the standard against which the goods are measured. To spell out  only one politically important aspect of this last factor, consider the  difference between deciding that a certain standard of life is to pro¬  vide the measure for the distribution of goods, and deciding that a  certain set of goods are to be distributed evenly without such a standard.  In one case the well off would receive no goods, they being the standard;  in the other case all would supposedly have an equal chance of receiving  goods. Other political factors are involved in determining what should  be weighed, what its value is, who should preside over the weighing, and  what kind of scale is to be used. The third example, the scales, surely  appears to be more pertinent to Socrates and Alkibiades than either of  the other two, although one notices that both arithmetic and mensuration  are involved in weighing.   Alkibiades is requested to make a spirited effort to tell Socrates  what the agreement is, the art which achieves it, and whether all parties  agree the same way. Alkibiades supposes it is the friendship of father  and mother to child, brother to brother and woman to man (126e). A good  ruler would be able to make the people feel like a family - their fellow  citizens like fellow kin. This seems to be a sound opinion of Alkibiades;  many actual cities are structured around families or clans or based on  legends of common ancestry (cf. Republic 414c-415d) . There is a complication, however, which is not addressed by either participant in  the dialogue. Socrates had suggested three parts to the analysis of  agreement - its nature, the art that achieves it, and whether all agree  in the same way. Alkibiades in his response suggests three types of  friendship which may differ dramatically in all of the respects Socrates  had mentioned. And the political significance of the three kinds of  friendship also has different and very far-reaching effects. Consider  the different ties, and feelings that characterize man-woman relation¬  ships. And imagine the different character of a regime that is  patterned not on the parent-child relation, but instead characterized by  male-female attraction!   In a dialogue on the nature of man in which there is already  support for the notion that "descent" and "family" figure prominently in  the analysis of man's nature, it seems likely that the three kinds of  familial (or potentially familial) relationships mentioned here would be  worthy of close and serious reflection. Socrates, however, does not take  Alkibiades to task on this, but turns to an examination of the notion  that friendship is agreement, and the question of whether or not they  can exist in a polis . Socrates had himself suggested that Alkibiades  meant agreement by friendship (126c), and in this argument that  restricted sense of friendship plays a significant role in their arriving  at the unpalatable conclusion. The argument leads to the assertion that  friendship and agreement cannot arise in a state where each person does   his own business.   asks Alkibiades if a man can agree with a woman about  wool—working when he doesn't have knowledge of it and she does. And  further, does he have any need to agree, since it is a woman's accomplishment? A woman, too, could not come to agreement with a man  about soldiering if she didn't learn it - and it is a business for men.  There are some parts of knowledge appropriate to women and some to men  on this account (127a) and in those skills there is no agreement between  men and women and hence no friendship - if friendship is agreement. Thus  men and women are not befriended by each other so far as they are per¬  forming their own jobs, and polities are not well-ordered if each person  does his own business (127b). This conclusion is unacceptable to  Alkibiades; he thinks a well-ordered polity is one abounding in friend¬  ship, but also that it is precisely each party doing his own business  that brings such friendship into being. Socrates points out that this  goes against the argument. He asks if Alkibiades means friendship can  occur without agreement, or that agreement in something may arise when  some have knowledge while others do not. These are presumably the steps  in the argument which are susceptible to attack. Socrates incidentally  provides another opening in the argument that could show the conclusion  to be wrong. He points out that justice is the doing of one's own work  and that justice and friendship are tied together. But Alkibiades, per¬  haps remembering his shame (109b-116d), does not pursue this angle,  having learned that the topic of justice is difficult. In order to  determine what, if anything, was wrongly said, various stages of the  argument will now be examined.   By beginning with the consideration of why anyone would suppose a  state was well-ordered when each person did his own business, one  observes that otherwise every individual would argue about everything  done by everybody. The reader may well share Alkibiades suspicion that  what makes a state well-ordered is that each does what he is capable of and trusts the others to do the same. This indicates, perhaps, the major  problems with the discussion between Socrates and Alkibiades. Firstly,  there are many ways that friendship depends less upon agreement than on  the lack of serious disagreement. Secondly, agreement can occur, or be  taken for granted, in a number of ways other than by both parties having  knowledge.   As revealed earlier in the dialogue, Alkibiades would readily  trust an expert in steering a ship as well as in fancy cooking (117c-d).  Regardless of whether it was a man's or a woman’s task, he would agree  with the expert because of his skill. In these instances he agreed  precisely because he had no knowledge and they did. Of course, faith in  expertise may be misplaced, or experts may lose perspective in under¬  standing the position of their techne relative to others. But though  concord and well-ordered polities do not necessarily arise when people  trust in expertise, friendship and agreement can come about through each  man's doing his own business.   Agreement between people, thus, may come about when one recognizes  his ignorance. It may also arise through their holding similar opinion  on the issue, or when one holds an opinion compatible with knowledge  possessed by another. For example, a woman may merely have opinions  about soldiering, but those opinions may allow for agreement with men,  who alone can have knowledge. Soldiering is a man's work, but while men  are at war the women may wonder about what they are doing, or read  stories about the war, or form opinions from talking to other soldiers'  wives, or have confidence in what their soldier—husbands tell them.   There is also a sense in which, if war is business for men, women don't  even need opinions about how it is conducted for they are not on the battlefield. They need only agree on its importance and they need not  even necessarily agree on why it is important (unless they are raising  sons). Women will often agree with men about waging war on grounds  other than the men's. For example, glory isn't a prime motivator for most  women's complying with their husbands' desires to wage war. It has been  suggested that agreement may arise on the basis of opinion and not  knowledge, and further that opinions need not be similar, merely com¬  patible. As long as the war is agreed to by both sexes, friendship will  be in evidence regardless of their respective views of the motives of war.   Apathy or some other type of disregard for certain kinds of work  may also eliminate disagreement and discord, provided that it isn't a  result of lack of respect for the person's profession. For example, a  man and a woman might never disagree about wool-working He may not care  how a spindle operates and would not think of interfering. And he  certainly wouldn't have to be skilled at the techne of wool-working to  agree with his wife whenever she voiced her views - his agreement with  her would rest on his approval of the resulting coat.   Socrates has not obtained from Alkibiades' speech the power to  learn what the nature of the friendship is that good men must have.  Alkibiades, invoking all the gods (he cannot be sure who has dominion  over the branch of knowledge he is trying to identify), fears that he  doesn't even know what he says, and has for some time been in a very  disgraceful condition. But Socrates reminds him that this is the cor¬  rect time for Alkibiades to perceive his condition, not at the age of  fifty, for then it would be difficult to take the proper care. In answer¬  ing Alkibiades' question as to what he should do now that he is aware of  his condition, Socrates replies he need only answer the questions Socrates puts to him. With the favor of the god (if they can trust in Socrates'  divination - cf. 107b, 115a) both of them shall be improved.   What Socrates may have just implied is that while Alkibiades'  speech is unable to supply the power to even name the qualities of a good  man, Socratic speech in itself has the power to actually make them better.  All Alkibiades must do is respond to the questions Socrates asks. The  proper use of language, it is suggested, has the power to make good men.  One may object that speech cannot have that effect upon a listener who is  not in a condition of recognizing his ignorance, but one must also recog¬  nize that speech has the power to bring men to that realization. Almost  half of the First Alkibiades is overtly devoted to this task. Indeed it  seems unlikely that people perceive their plight except through some form  of the human use of language except when they are visually able to com¬  pare themselves to others. It would be difficult to physically coerce  men into perceiving their condition. An emotional attempt to draw a  person's awarness - such as a mother's tears at her son's plight - needs  speech to direct it; the son must learn what has upset her. Speech is  also necessary to point to an example of a person who has come to a  realization of his ignorance. Socrates or someone like him, might  discern his condition by himself, but even he surely spent a great deal  of time conversing with others to see that their confidence in their  opinions was unfounded. In any event, what is important for the under¬  standing of the First Alkibiades is that Socrates has succeeded in con¬  vincing Alkibiades that thoughtful dialogue is more imperative for him  at this point than Athenian politics.   Together they set out to discover (cf. 109e) what is required to  take proper care of oneself; in the event that they have never previously done so, they will assume complete ignorance. For example, perhaps one  takes care of oneself while taking care of one's things (128a). They are  not sure but Socrates will agree with Alkibiades at the end of the argu¬  ment that taking proper care of one's belongings is an art different from  care of oneself (128d). But perhaps one should survey the entire argu¬  ment before commenting upon it.   Alkibiades doesn't understand the first question as to whether a  man takes care of feet when he takes care of what belongs to his feet, so  Socrates explains by pointing out that there are things which belong to  the hand. A ring, for example, belongs to nothing but a finger. So too  a shoe belongs to a foot and clothes to the body. Alkibiades still  doesn't understand what it means to say that taking care of shoes is  taking care of feet, so Socrates employs another fact. One may speak of  taking correct care of this or that thing, and taking proper care makes  something better. The art of shoemaking makes shoes better and it is by  that art that we take care of shoes. But it is by the art of making  feet better, not by shoemaking, that we improve feet. That art is the  same art whereby the whole body is improved, namely gymnastic.   Gymnastic takes care of the foot; shoemaking takes care of what  belongs to the foot. Gymnastic takes care of the hand; ring engraving  takes care of what belongs to the hand. Gymnastic takes care of the  body; weaving and other crafts take care of what belongs to the body.   Thus taking care of a thing and taking care of its belongings involve  separate arts. Socrates repeats this conclusion after suggesting that   care of one's belongings does not mean one takes care of oneself.   Further support is here recognized, in this dialogue, for a  hierarchical arrangement of the technae , but that simultaneously somewhat qualifies the conclusion of the argument. Gymnastic is the art of   taking care of the body and it thus must weave into a pattern all of the   arts of taking care of the belongings of the body and of its parts. Its   very control over those arts, however, indicates that they are of some   importance to the body. Because they have a common superior goal, the   taking care of the body, they are not as separate as the argument would   suggest. Just as shoes in bad repair can harm feet, shoes well made   may improve feet (cf. 121d, for shaping the body). They are often made   in view of the health or beauty of the body as are clothes and rings.   Because things which surround one affect one, as one's activities and one's   reliance on some sorts of possessions affect one, proper care for the be-   123   longings of the body may improve one's body.   Socrates continues. Even if one cannot yet ascertain which art  takes care of oneself, one can say that it is not an art concerned with  improving one's belongings, but one that makes one better. Further, just  as one couldn't have known the art that improves shoes or rings if one  didn't know a shoe or a ring, so it is impossible that one should know  the techna that makes one better if one doesn't know oneself (124a).  Socrates asks if it is easy to know oneself and that therefore the writer  at Delphi was not profound, or if it is a difficult thing and not for  everybody. Alkibiades replies that it seems sometimes easy and sometimes  hard. Thereupon Socrates suggests that regardless of its ease or  difficulty, knowledge of oneself is necessary in order to know what the  proper care of oneself is. It may be inferred from this that most  people do not know themselves and are not in a position to know what the  proper care of themselves is. They might be better off should they adopt  the opinions of those who know, or be cared for by those who know more.  In order to understand themselves, the two men must find out how,   generally, the 'self' of a thing can be seen (129b), Alkibiades figures   Socrates has spoken correctly about the way to proceed, but instead of   124   thus proceeding, Socrates interrupts in the name of Zeus and asks  whether Alkibiades is talking to Socrates and Socrates to Alkibiades.  Indeed they are. Thus Socrates says, he is the talker and Alkibiades  the hearer. This is a thoroughly baffling interruption, for not only is  its purpose unclear, but it is contradictory. They have just agreed that  both were talking.   Socrates pushes onward. Socrates uses speech in talking (one  suspects that most people do). Talking and using speech are the same  thing, but the user and the thing he uses are not the same thing. A  shoemaker who cuts uses tools, but is himself quite different from a  tool; so also is a harper not the same as what he uses when harping.   The shoemaker uses not only tools but his hands and his eyes, so,  if the user and the thing used are different, then the shoemaker and  harper are different from the hands and eyes they use. So too, since  man uses his whole body, he must be different from his body. Man must  be the user of the body, and it is the soul which uses and rules the body.  No one, he claims, can disagree with the remark that man is one of three  things. Alkibiades may or may not disagree, but he needs a bit of   clarification. Man must be soul, or body, or both as one whole. Al¬  ready admitted is the proposition that it is man that rules the body,  and the argument has shown that the body is ruled by something else, so  the body deesn't rule itself. What remains is the soul.   The unlikeliest thing in the world is the combination of both,  gQQj-^-(- 0 g suggests (130b) , for if one of the combined ones was said not to share in the rule, then the two obviously could not rule. It is not  necessary to point out to the reader that the possibility of a body's  share in the rule was never denied, nor to indicate that what Socrates    ostensibly regards as the unlikeliest thing of all, is what it seems most  reasonable to suspect to be very like the truth. Emotions and appetites,  so closely connected with the body, are a dominant and dominating part  of one's life. They account for a major part of people's lives, and even  to a large extent influence their reason (a faculty which most agree is  not tied to the body in the same way). The soul might be seen to be at  least partly ruled by the body if it is appetites and emotions which  affect whether or not reason is used and influence what kind of decisions  will be rationally determined.   Anyhow, according to Socrates, if it is not the body, or the com¬  bined body and soul, then man must either be nothing at all, or he must  be the soul (130c). But the reader is aware that only on the briefest  of glances does this square with "the statement that no one could dissent  to," (cf. 130a). Man cannot be 'nothing' according to that statement any  more than he can be anything else whatsoever, such as 'dog,' 'gold,'  'dream,' etc. 'Nothing' was not one of the alternatives.   Alkibiades swears that he needs no clearer proof that the soul is  man, and ruler of the body, but Socrates, overruling the authority of  Alkibiades' oath, responds that the proof is merely tolerable, sufficing  only until they discover that which they have just passed by because of  its complexity. Unaware that anything had been by-passed (Socrates had  interrupted that part of the discussion with his first conventional  oath - 129b), the puzzled Alkibiades asks Socrates. He receives the reply  that they haven't been considering what generally makes the self of a thing discoverable, but have been looking at particular cases (130d; cf.  129b). Perhaps that will suffice, for the soul surely must be said to  have a more absolute possession of us than anything else.   So, whenever Alkibiades and Socrates converse with each other,  it is soul conversing with soul; the souls using words (130d.l). Socrates,  when he uses speech, talks with Alkibiades' soul, not his face. Socratic  speech is thus essentially different from the speech of the crowds of  suitors who conversed with Alkibiades (103a, cf. also 106b). If Socrates'  soul talks with Alkibiades' soul and if Alkibiades is truly listening,  then it is Alkibiades' soul, not one of his belongings that hears Socrates  (cf. 129b-c). Someone who says "know thyself" (cf. 124a, 129a) means  "know thy soul"; knowing the things that belong to the body means knowing  what is his, but not what he is.   The reader will note how the last two steps of the argument subtly,  yet definitely, indicate the ambiguous nature of the body's position in  this analysis. Someone who knows only the belongings of the body will not  know the man. According to the argument proper, someone who knew the  body, too, would still only know a man's possessions, not his being.   Socrates continues, pressing the argument to show that no doctor  or trainer, insofar as he is a doctor or a trainer, knows himself.   Farmers and tradesmen are still more remote, for their arts teach only  what belongs to the body (which is itself only a possession of the man)  and not the man (131a). Indeed, most people recognize a man by his body,  not by his soul, which reveals his true nature.   126   gocrates pauses briefly to introduce consideration of a virtue.  Seemingly out of the blue, he remarks that "if knowing oneself is  temperance" then no craftsman is temperate by his te c h ne (131b). Because of this the good man disdains to learn the technae . This sudden intro¬  duction of the virtue/ defining temperance as self-knowledge/ will assume  importance later in the dialogue (e.g., at 133c).   Returning to the argument, Socrates proposes that one who cares  for the body cares for his possessions. One who cares for his money  cares not for himself, nor for his possessions, but for something yet  more remote. He has ceased to do his own business.   Those who love Alkibiades' body don't love Alkibiades but his   possessions. The real lover is the one who loves his soul. The one who  loves the body would depart when the body's bloom is over, whereas  the lover of the soul remains as long as it still tends to the better. Socrates is the one that remained; the others left when the bloom of the  body was over. Silently accepting this insult to his looks, one of his  possessions, Alkibiades recognizes the compliment paid to himself. The  account of the cause of Socrates' remaining and the others' departure,  however, has changed somewhat from the beginning CIO3b, 104c). Then the  lovers left because a quality of Alkibiades' soul was too much for them  (but not for Socrates) to handle. Now it is a decline in a quality of  the body that apparently caused them to depart, but it is still an  appreciation of the soul that retains Socrates' interest.   Perhaps the significance of this basic shift is to indicate to  Alkibiades the true justification for his self-esteem. His highminded¬  ness was based on his physical qualities and their possessions, not on  his soul. Socrates may be insulting the other lovers, but he is at the  same time making it difficult for Alkibiades to lose his pride in the  things of the body. Thus Socrates' reinterpretation of the reasons for  the lovers' departure reinforces the point of the argument, namely that one's soul is more worthy of attention and consideration than one's body.   Alkibiades is glad that Socrates has stayed and wants him to re¬  main. He shall, at Socrates' request, endeavour to remain as handsome   as he can. So Alkibiades, the son of Kleinias, "has only one lover and   128   that a cherished one," Socrates, son of Sophroniskos and Phainarite.   Now Alkibiades knows why Socrates alone did not depart. He loves  Alkibiades, not merely what belongs to Alkibiades (131e).   Socrates will never forsake Alkibiades as long as he (his soul)  is not deformed by the Athenian people. In fact that is what especially  concerns Socrates. His greatest fear is that Alkibiades will be damaged  through becoming a lover of the demos - it has happened to many good  Athenians. The face (not the soul?) of the "people of great-hearted  Erekhtheos" is fair, but to see the demos stripped is another thing. As  the dialogue approaches its end, Socrates becomes poetic in his utter¬  ances. On this occasion he prophetically quotes Homer ( Iliad II, 547).  When listing the participants on the Akhaian side of the Trojan War,   Homer describes the leader of the Athenians, the "people of the great¬  hearted Erekhtheos," as one like no other born on earth for the arrange¬  ment and ordering of horses and fighters. Alkibiades would become  famous for his attempts to order poleis and his arranging of naval  military forces.   In the Gorgias, Scorates relates a myth about the final judgement  of men, and one of the interesting features of the story is that the  judges and those to be judged are stripped of clothes and bodies ( Gorgias  523a-527e). 129 All that is judged is the soul. This allows the judges  to perceive the reality beneath the appearance that a body and its belong¬  ings provide. Flatterers (120b) would not be as able to get to the Blessed Isles/ although actually, in political regimes, living judges are  often fooled by appearances. Judges too are stripped so that they could  see soul to soul (133b; cf. Gorgias 523d), and would be less likely to be  moved by rhetoric, poetry, physical beauty or any other of the elements  that are tied to the body through, for example, the emotions and appetites.  It seems thus good advice for anyone who desires to enter politics that  he get a stripped view of the demos . In addition, those familiar with the  myth in the Gorgias might recognize the importance of Alkibiades stripping  himself, and coming to know his own soul, before he enters politics.   Socrates is advising Alkibiades to take the proper precautions. He  is to exercise seriously, learning all that must be known prior to an  entry into politics (132b). Presumably this knowledge will counteract  the charm of the people. Alkibiades wants to know what the proper exer¬  cises are, and Socrates says they have established one important thing and  that is knowing what to take care of. They will not inadvertently be  caring for something else, such as, for example, something that only be¬  longs to them. The next step, now that they know upon what to exercise,  is to care for the soul and leave the care of the body and its possessions  to others.   If they could discover how to obtain knowledge of the soul, they  would truly "know themselves." For the third time Socrates refers to the  Delphic inscription (132c; 124a, 129a) and he claims he has discovered  another interpretation of it which he can illustrate only by the example  of sight. Should someone say "see thyself" to one's eye, the eye would  have to look at something, like a mirror, or the thing in the eye that  is like a mirror (132d-e). The pupil of the eye reflects the face of the person looking into it like a mirror. Looking at anything else  (except mirrors, water, polished shields, etc.) won't reflect it. Just  as the eye must look into another eye to see itself, so must a soul  look into another soul. In addition it must look to that very part of  the soul which houses the virtue of a soul - wisdom - and any part like  wisdom (133b; cf. 131b). The part of the soul containing knowledge and  thought is the most divine, and since it thus resembles god, whoever sees  it will recognize all that is divine and will get the greatest knowledge  of himself.   In order to see one's own soul properly, then, Socrates suggests  that it is necessary to look into another's soul. Alkibiades must look  into someone's soul to obtain knowledge of himself, and he must possess  knowledge of himself in order to be able to rule himself. This last is  a prerequisite for ruling others. Since it lacks a 'pupil,' the soul  doesn't have a readily available window/mirror for observing another's  soul, as the eye does for observing oneself through another's eye. Such  vision of souls can only be had through speech. Through honest dialogue  with trusted friends and reflection upon what was said and done, one may  gain a glimpse of their soul. The souls must be "stripped" so that  words are spoken and heard truly. Socrates, by being the only lover who  remained, and, having shown his value to Alkibiades, will continue to  speak (104e, 105e). He is offering Alkibiades a look at his soul.   This is in keeping, it appears, with the advice that Alkibiades  look to the rational part of the soul. Socrates is the picture of the  rational man; through his speech the reader is also offered the oppor¬  tunity to try to see into Socrates' soul to better understand his own.  Again, as discussed above, a man's nature can be understood by looking to the example of the best, even if it is only an imitation of the best  in Dialogues.   Socrates now recalls the earlier mention of temperance as though  they had come to some conclusion regarding the nature of the virtue.   They had supposedly agreed that self-knowledge was temperance (133c; cf.  131b). Lacking self-knowledge or temperance, one could not know one's  belongings, whether they be good or evil. Without knowing Alkibiades  one could not know if his belongings are his. Ignorance of one's be¬  longings prohibits familiarity with the belongings of belongings (133d).  Socrates reminds Alkibiades that they have been incorrect in admitting  people could know their belongings if they didn't know themselves (133d-e).   This latter argument raises at least two difficulties. Firstly,  it renders problematic the suggestion that one should leave one's body  and belongings in another's care (132c). These others, it seems, would  be doctors and gymnastics trainers - the only experts of the body ex¬  plicitly recognized in the dialogue. Remembering that neither doctor or  trainer knows himself (131a), one might wonder how he can know Socrates'  and Alkibiades' belongings. He cannot, according to the argument here  (133c-d) know his own belongings without knowing himself and he cannot  be familiar with others' belongings while ignorant of his own.   The argument, secondly, creates a problem with the understanding  heretofore suggested about how men generally conduct their lives. Most  people do not know themselves and do not properly care for themselves.   The argument of the dialogue has intimated that they in fact care for  their belongings. Thus it would seem that, in some sense, they do know  their belongings, just as Alkibiades' lovers, ignorant of Alkibiades  and probably ignorant of themselves, still know that Alkibiades' body belonged to Alkibiades. And they knew, like he knew C104a-c) that his  looks and his wealth belong to his body. The reader might conclude from  this that the precise knowledge they do not have is knowledge either of  what the belongings should be like, or what their true importance and  proper role in a man's life should be. Knowledge of one's soul would  consist, partly, in knowing how to properly handle one's belongings.   That allows one to do what is right, and not merely do what one likes.   It is the task of one man and one techne (the chief techne in the  hierarchy) to grasp himself, his belongings, and their belongings. Some¬  one who doesn't know his belongings won't know other mens'. And if he  doesn't know theirs, he won't know those of the polity.   This last remark raises the consideration of what constitutes the  belongings of a polity. And that immediately involves one in reflection  upon whether the city has a body, and a soul. What is the essence of the  city? The reader is invited to explore the analogy to the man, but even  more, it is suggested that he is to reflect upon how to establish the  priority of one over the other. This invitation is indicated by the dis¬  cussion of the one techne that presides over all the bodies and belong¬  ings. The relation of the city to the individual man has been of  perennial concern to political thinkers, and a most difficult aspect of  the problem terrain involves the very understanding of the City and Man  (cf. 125b).   The question is multiplied threefold with the possibility that an  adequate understanding of the city requires an account of its soul, its  body and its body's belongings. An account of man, it has been suggested  in this dialogue, demands knowing his soul, body, possessions, and the   relation and ordering of each. It is quite possible that what is    proper best for a man will conflict with what is best for a city. The city  might be considered best off if it promotes an average well-being.   Having its norm, or median, slightly higher than the norm of the next  city would indicate it was better off. It is also possible that the cir¬  cumstances within which each and every man thrives would not necessarily  bring harmony to a city.   The problem of priority is further complicated by the introduction  of the notion that the welfare of each citizen is not equally important  to the city. Perhaps what is best for a city is to have one class of its  members excel, or to have it produce one great man. What is to be under¬  stood as the good of the city's very soul?   Furthermore, even if the welfare of the whole city is to be  identified with the maximum welfare of each citizen, it might still be  the case that the policies of the city need to increase the welfare of a  few people. For example, in time of war the welfare of the whole polity  depends on the welfare of a few men, the armed forces. As long as war  is a threat, the good of the city Cits body, soul, or possessions) could  depend on the exceptional treatment of one class of its men.   Knowledge of the true nature of the polity is essential for  political philosophy and so for proper political decision-making. Men  ignorant of the polity, the citizens, or themselves cannot be statesmen  or economists (133e; cf. Statesman 258e). Such a man, ignorant of his  and others' affairs will not know what he is doing, therefore making  mistakes and doing ill in private and for the demos . He and they will   be wretched.   Temperance and goodness are necessary for well-being, so it is  bad men who are wretched. Those who attain temperance not those who become wealthy, are released from this misery. ^ Similarly, cities need   virtue for their well-being, not walls, triremes, arsenals, numbers or   size (134b; The full impact of this will be felt if one remembers that   this dialogue is taking place immediately prior to the outbreak of the   war with Sparta. Athens is in full flurry of preparation, for she has   seen the war coming for a number of years) . Proper management of the   polis by Alkibiades would be to impart virtue to the citizens and he   131   could not impart it without having it (134c). A good governor has to   acquire the virtue first. Alkibiades shouldn't be looking for power as  it is conventionally understood - the ability to do whatever one pleases -  but he should be looking for justice and temperance. If he and the state  acted in accordance with those two virtues, they would please god; their  eyes focussed on the divine, they will see and know themselves and their  good. If Alkibiades would act this way, Socrates would be ready to  guarantee his well-being (134e). But if he acts with a focus on the god¬  less and dark, through ignorance of humself his acts will go godless and  dark.   Alkibiades has received the Socratic advice to forget about power  as he understands it, in the interest of having real power over at least  himself. Conventionally understood, and in most applications of it,  power is the ability to do what one thinks fit ( Gorgias 469d) . Various  technae give to the skilled the power to do what they think fit to the  material on which they are working. The technae , however, are hier¬  archically arranged, some ruling others. That is, some are archetectonic  with respect to others. What is actually fit for each techne is dictated  by a logically prior techne . The techne with the most power is the one  that dictates to the other techne what is fit and what is not. This    understanding seems to disclose two elements of power: the ability to do what one thinks is fit, and knowing what is fit.   If a man can do what he wants but is lacking in intelligence, the   result is likely to be disastrous (135a; Republic 339a-e, Gorgias 469b,   470a). If a man with tyrannical power were sick and he couldn't even be   talked to, his health would be destroyed. If he knew nothing about   navigation, a man exercising tyrannical power as a ship's pilot may well   132   cause all on board to perish. Similarly in a state a power without   excellence or virtue will fare badly.   It is not tyrannical power that Alkibiades should seek but virtue,  if he would fare well, and until the time he has virtue, it is better,  more noble and appropriate for a man, as for a child, to be governed by a  better than to try to govern; part of being 'better' includes knowledge  that right rule is in the subject's interest. It is appropriate for a   bad man to be a slave; vice befits a slave, virtue a free man (135c; it   seems strange that vice should be appropriate for anyone, slave or free,  perhaps, rather, it defines a slave). One should most certainly avoid  all slavery and if one can perceive where one stands, it may not at  present be on the side of the free (135c). Socrates must indicate to  Alkibiades the importance of a clearer understanding of both what he  desires, power, and what this freedom is. In a conventional, and ambigu¬  ous sense, the man with the most freedom is the king or tyrant who is  not sub ject to anyone. Socrates must educate Alkibiades. The man who  wants power like the man who seeks freedom, doesn't know substantively  what he is looking for; the only power worth having comes with wisdom,  which alone can make one free.   Socrates confides to Alkibiades that his condition ought not to  be named since he is a noble ( kalos) man (cf. 118b - is this another condition which will remain unnamed despite their solitude?). Alkibiades  must endeavour to escape it. If Socrates will it, Alkibiades replies, he  will try. To this Socrates responds that it is only noble to say "if  god wills it." This appears to be Socrates' pious defence to a higher  power. However, since he has drawn attention to the phrase himself, a  reminder may be permitted to the effect that it is not necessarily quite  the conventional piety to which he refers: a strange parade of deities  has been presented for the reader's review in this dialogue.   Alkibiades is eager to agree and wants, fervently, to trade  places with Socrates (135d). From now on Alkibiades will be attending  Socrates. Alkibiades, this time, will follow and observe Socrates in  silence. For twenty years Socrates has been silent toward Alkibiades,  and now, thinking it appropriate to trade places, Alkibiades recognizes  that silence on his part will help fill his true, newly found needs.   In the noise-filled atmosphere of today, it is especially difficult  to appreciate (and thus to find an audience that appreciates) the im¬  portance of the final aspect of language that will be discussed in  connection with knowledge and power - silence. The use of silence for  emphasis is apparently known to few. But note how a moment of silence  on the television draws one's attention, whether or not the program was  being followed. And an indication of a residual respect for the power  of silence is that one important manner of honoring political actors and  heroes is to observe a moment of silence. Think, too, how judicious use  of silence can make someone ill at ease, or cause them to re-examine  their speech. The words "ominous" and "heavy" may often be appropriately  used to describe silence. Silence can convey knowledge as well as power,  and as the above examplss may serve to show, it may have a significant role in each. When one begins to examine the role of silence in the lives  of the wise and the powerful, one begins to see some of the problems of a  loud society.   To start with, the reader acquaints himself with the role of  silence in political power. As witnessed in the dialogue, and, as well,  in modern regimes, there are many facets of this. Politicians must be  silent about much. Until recently, national defence was an acceptable  excuse for silence on the part of the leaders of a country. The exist¬  ence of a professional "news" gathering establishment necessitates that  this silence be total, and not only merely with respect to external  powers, for some things that the enemy must not know must be kept from  the citizens as well (cf. 109c, 124a).   Politicians are typically silent about some things in order to  attain office, and about even more things in order to retain it. Dis¬  senters prudently keep quiet in order to remain undetained or even alive.  Common sense indeed dictates that one observe a politic silence on a  wide variety of occasions. Men in the public eye may conceal their dis¬  belief in religious authority in the interests of those in the community  who depend on religious conviction for their good conduct. Most con¬  sider lying in the face of the enemy to be in the interests of the polity,  and all admire man who keeps silent even in the face of severe enemy  torture. Parents often keep silent to protect their children, either  when concerned about outsiders or about the more general vulnerability  of those unable to reason.   One important political use of silence is in terms of the myths  and fables related to children. Inestimable damage may be done when the  "noble lie" that idealistically structures the citizen's understanding of his regime is repudiated in various respects by the liberal desire to  expose all to the public in the interests of enlightenment. At the point  where children are shown that the great men they look up to are "merely  human," one most clearly sees the harm that may be done by breaking  silence. Everybody becomes really equal, despite appearances to the con¬  trary, since everyone - even the heroes - acts from deep, irrational  motives, appetites, fears, etc. High ideals and motives for action are  debunked.   Since many of the political uses of silence mentioned above con¬  cern appropriate silence about things known, the next brief discussion  will focus on silence and knowledge. The primary aspect of the general  concern for silence in the life devoted to the pursuit of knowledge is a  function of the twin features of political awareness and political con¬  cern. Though closely tied to the aforementioned appropriate uses of  silence, this is concerned less with the disclosure of unsalutary facts  about the life and times of men than with questions and truths of a  higher order. For example, if it could be discerned that man's condition  was abysmal, that he would inevitably become decadent, it would not be  politically propitious to announce the fact on the eight-o'clock newscast  There seem to be at least two situations in which such facts are revealed  A politically unaware man might not realize it; a politically aware but  somehow unconcerned man might not care about the well-being of the  community as a whole.   There are at least two additional respects in which silence is im¬  portant to the life of knowledge. Both play a part in Alkibiades' educa¬  tion in the First Alkibiades and contribute to his desire to trade places    with Socrates. Firstly one must be silent to learn what others have to say. On the face of it, this seems a trivial and fairly obvious thing  to say. However when one appreciates the importance of trust and friend¬  ship in philosophic discourse, one perceives that the notion of silence  important to this aspect of learning is much broader than the mere  logistics of taking turns speaking. To mention only a single example,  one has to prove one's ability to "keep one's mouth shut" in order to  develop the kind of trust essential to frank discussion among dialogic  partners.   Secondly, silence enhances mystery if there is reason to suspect  that the silent know more than they have revealed. This attraction to  the mysterious accounts for many things, including to mention only one  example, the great appeal of detective stories. If both witnesses and  the author did not know more than they let on in the beginning, if the  reader/detective did not have to take great care in extracting the truth  from muddled accounts, it is not likely that the genre would have the  enduring readership it now enjoys.   Both of these might be tied directly to Socrates' initial silence  toward Alkibiades. Socrates had kept quiet until Alkibiades had reached  a certain stage in the development of his ambition. His prolonged  silence, and then his repeated reminders of it, as he begins to speak,  increases Alkibiades' curiosity. As it becomes more and more apparent  to Alkibiades that Socrates knows what he is talking about, Alkibiades  becomes increasingly desirous of learning. He wants Socrates to reveal  the truth to him, the truth he suspects Socrates is keeping to himself  (e.g., 124b, 132b, 127e, 119c, 130d, 131d, 135d). Throughout the dis¬  cussion the men discuss ever more important subjects and it is readily  apparent that their mutual trust grows at least partly because of their recognition of what is appropriately kept silent (e.g., 109c, 118b,   135c). In addition, at yet another level, it has been frequently ob¬  served that Socrates' silence ragarding a part of the truth, or the  necessity of an example, or a segment of the argument, indicates to the  careful reader a greater depth to the issues. Recognition of this  silence increases the philosophic curiosity of the readers as he attempts  to discover both the subject of, and the reason for, the silence.   Alkibiades has suggested that he shall switch "places" with  Socrates. Socrates has attended on him for all this time and now  Alkibiades wants to follow Socrates. This is only one of a number of  "switches" that occur in the turning around of Alkibiades, witnessed  only by Socrates and the careful reader.   In the beginning Socrates says that the lovers of Alkibiades  left because his qualities of soul were too overpowering. He is flatter¬  ing Alkibiades in order, perhaps, to entice Alkibiades to begin listening.  In the end he suggests they ceased pursuing the youth because the bloom  of his beauty (the appearance of his body) has departed from him. At  first glance this is not complimentary at all. Nevertheless it is now  that Alkibiades claims to want very much to remain and listen. He will  even bear insults silently.   At the start Alkibiades is haughty, superior and self-sufficient.   In the end he wishes to please Socrates, recognizing his need for the  power of speech in his coming to know himself. At first he believes he  already knows, and arguments seem extraneous. By the end he wants to  talk over the proper care of his soul at length with Socrates.   Probably the most notable turning around in the dialogue is the  lover—beloved switch between the beginning and the end (cf. also Symposium 217d). But a number of puzzling features come to the fore when  one attempts to draw out the implications of the change. In what way is  their attraction switched? Socrates is attracted to Alkibiades' un¬  quenchable eros . Perhaps a mark of its great will for power is that it  is now directed toward Socrates. However, what does that suggest about  Socrates' eros in turn, either in terms of its strength or its direction?  What kind of eros is attracted to a most powerful eros which in turn is  directed back to it? Do Socrates and Alkibiades both have the same in¬  tensity of desires and are their ambitions not directed toward the same  ends?   Perhaps Socrates' answer will suffice. He is pleased with the  well-born man. His eros is like a stork - he has hatched a winged eros  and it returned to care for him. (This is the first indication that  Socrates assumes responsibility for the form of Alkibiades' desires; it  also indicates another whole series of problems regarding how Alkibiades  will "care for" Socrates). They are kindred souls (or at least have  kindred eros) , and their relationship is now one of mutual aid. Socrates  will look into Alkibiades' soul to find his own and Alkibiades will peer  into Socrates' soul in attempting to discern his. The reader is im¬  plicitly invited to look too; he has the privilege starting again and  examining the souls more closely each time he returns to the beginning.   Alkibiades agrees that that is the situation in which they find  themselves and he will immediately begin to be concerned with justice.  Socrates wishes he'll continue, but expresses a great fear. In an ironic  premonition of both their fates, he says he doesn't distrust Alkibiades'  nature, but, being able to see the might of the state (cf. 132a), he  fears that both of them will be overpowered.There is always an irony involved in concluding an essay on a   Platonic dialogue. The most fitting ending, it seems, would be to whet   one's appetite for more. This I shall attempt to do by pointing out an   intriguing feature about the dialogue in general. If one were to look   at the Platonic corpus as a kind of testament to Socrates, a story by   Plato of a Socrates made young and beautiful regardless of their historical   accuracy. For example, the Theaitetos , Sophist and Statesman all take   place at approximately the same time, shortly before Socrates' trial.   Similarly, the Euthyphro and Apology occur about then. The Crito and   Phaido follow shortly thereafter, and so on. The First Alkibiades has its   own special place. The First Alkibiades may well be the dialogue in   133   which Socrates makes his earliest appearance. The Platonic tradition   has presented us with this as our introduction to Socrates, to philosophy.   Why? This dialogue marks the first Socratic experience with philosophy   that we may witness. Why? The fateful first meeting between Socrates   and Alkibiades is also our first meeting with Socrates. Why? The   reader's introduction to the philosopher and to philosophizing is in a   conversation about a contest for the best man. Why? One must assume   134    that, for some reason, Plato thought this fitting. Plato, Republic 377a.9-10. The dialogue is known as the  First Alkibiades , Alkibiades I and Alkibiades Major . Its title in Greek  is simply Alkibiades but the conventional titles enable us to distinguish  it from the other dialogue called Alkibiades . Stephanus pagination in  the text of this thesis refers to the First Alkibiades of Plato. The  Loeb text (translated by W. Lamb, 1927) formed the core of the reading.  However, whenever a significant difference was noted between the Lamb  translation and that of Thomas Sydenham ( circa 1800), my own translation  forms the basis of the commentary. Unless otherwise noted, all other  works referred to are by Plato.   2. The major sources for Alkibiades' life are Thucydides, Xenophon,  Plutarch and Plato. It seems to be the case that no history can be  "objective." Since one cannot record everything, a historian must choose  what to write about. Their choice is made on the basis of their opinion  of what is important and therein vanishes the "objectivity" so sought  after but always kept from modern historians. The superiority of the  accounts of the men referred to above lies partially in that they do not  pretend to that "value-neutral" goal, even though their perspective may  nonetheless be impartial.   I wish to take this opportunity to emphasize the limited importance  of the addition of this sketch of the historical Alkibiades. Were it  suggested that such a familiarity were essential to the understanding of  the dialogue, it would be implied that the dialogue as it stands is in¬  sufficient, and that I was in a position to remedy that inadequacy. As  a rule of thumb in interpretation one should not begin with such pre¬  suppositions. However, there are a number of ways in which the reading  of the dialogue is enriched by knowing the career of Alkibiades. For  example, the reader who doesn't know that Alkibiades' intrigues with  (and illegitimate son by) the Spartan queen was a cause of his fleeing  from Sparta and a possible motive for his assassination, would not have  a full appreciation of the comment by Socrates on the security placed  around the Spartan queens (121b-c). At all events, extreme caution is  necessary so that extra historical baggage will not be imported into the  dialogue. It might be quite easy to prematurely evaluate the historical  Alkibiades, and thereby misunderstand the dialogue.   3. We are also told she had dresses worth fifty minae (123c). Plutarch, Life of Alkibiades , 1.1 (henceforth referred to  simply as Plutarch); Plato, Alkibiades I , 112c, 124c, 118d—e.  Plutarch, II. 4-6.   6. Diodoros Siculus, Diodoros of Sicily , XII. 38. iii-iv (hence¬  forth Diodoros).   7. This is the Anytos who was Socrates' accuser. He was also  notorious in Athens for being the first man to bribe a jury (composed of  500 men)! He had been charged with impiety. Some suspect that Alkibiades'  preference for Socrates caused Anytos to be jealous and that this was a  motive for his accusation of Socrates.   8. Plutarch, IV. 5.   9. The historical accuracy of the representation is impossible to  determine and, so far as we need be concerned, philosophically irrelevant.   10. Actually Alkibiades admits this in a dialogue which Plato  wrote (cf. Symposium 212c-223b, esp. 215a, ff.).    11. Plutarch, VI. 1.   12. Plato, Symposium 219e-220e; Plutarch VII. 3.   13. Plato, Symposium 220e-221c; Plutarch VII. 4; Diadoros XIII.  69. i-70. vi; cf. Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War , IV 89-  101 (henceforth: Thucydides).   14. Thucydudes, V. 40-48.   15. Cf. also Plutarch, X. 2-3.   16. Plutarch, XIV. 6-9; Thucydides V. 45.   17. Plutarch, XIII. 3-5. Cf. Aristotle's discussion in his  Politics , 1284al5-b35; 1288a25-30; 1302b5-22; 1308bl5-20.   18. Thucydides, VI. 16-18.   19. Diodoros, XII. 84. i-iii; Thucydides, VI. 9-25, 8-15.   20. Thucydides, VI. 25.   21. Plutarch, XVIII. 1-2; Thucydides, VI. 26.   22. The Hermai were religious statues, commonly positioned by the  front entrance of a dwelling. Hermes was the god of travelling and of  property. Cf. Thucydides, VI. 27-28.    23.   Thucydides,   VI. 29; Plutarch, XVIII. 3-XX. 1   24.   Thucydides,   VI. 46.   25.   Thucydides,   VI. 48-50.  Thucydides, VI. 48.   27. Thucydides, VI. 50-51.   28. Plutarch, XX. 2-XXI. 6; Diodoros, XIII. 4 i-iv; Thucydides,   VI. 60-61.   29. Plutarch, XXII. 1-4.   30. Thucydides, VI. 88-93.   31. Plutarch, XXIII. 1-6.   32. Thucydides, VII. 27-29.   33. Thucydides, VIII. 6, 11-14.   34. Plutarch, XXIII. 7-8; cf. also Plato, Alkibiades I , 121b-c  where Plato's mention might provide some support for a claim that the  motive was other than lust.   35. Thucydides, VIII. 45-47; Plutarch, XXV 1-2.   36. Plutarch, XXIV. 3-5.   37. Thucydides, VIII. 48-54.   38. Diodoros, XIII. 41. iv-42iii; Plutarch, XXVI. 1-6.   39. Thucydides, VIII. 72-77.   40. Thucydides, VIII. 89-93.   41. Thucydides, VIII. 97. For an excellent and beautiful examina¬  tion of this in Thucydides, read Leo Strauss, "Preliminary Observations of  the Gods in Thucydides' Work." INTERPRETATION , IV:1, Winter, Martinus  Nijhoff, The Hague, Netherlands.    42.   Plutarch,   XXVII. 1-4.   43.   Xenophon,   Hellenika I, i, 11-18; Diodoros, XIII. 49. iii-52ii   44.   Xenophon,   Hellenika, I, i, 9-10; Plutarch, XXVII. 4-XXVIII. 2   45.   Xenophon,   Hellenika, I, iii, 1-22.   46.   Xenophon,   Hellenika, I, iv, 8-17; Plutarch, XXXI. 1-XXXII. 3.   47.   Xenophon,   Hellenika, I, iv, 20-21; Plutarch, XXXII. 4-XXXIII.   48.   Plutarch,   XXXIV. 2-6.   49.   Diodoros,   XIII. 68. i-69. iii. 50. Plutarch, XXIX. 1-2.   51. Xenophon, Hellenika I, v, 11-16; Plutarch, XXXV. 2-XXXVI. 2.   52. Plutarch, XXXVI-XXXVIII.   53. Diodoros, XIV. 11. i-iv; Plutarch XXXVIII. 4-XXXIX. 5. There  are various accounts, the similar feature being the Spartan instigation.  It is not likely that it was a personal assassination (because of the  queen), but it was probably not purely due to political motives, either.   54. Aristophanes, Frogs , 1420-1431; cf. Aristophanes, Clouds,   362; Plato, Symposium 221b.   55. Aristophanes, Clouds , 217 ff.   56. Politically speaking, however, this is not to be thoroughly  disregarded, for in their numbers they can trample even the best of men.   57. Cf. for example: Plato, Gorgias 500c, Aristotle, Politics  1324a24 ff., Rousseau, Social Contract , Book I, Preface and Bk. II, chap.  7, Marx, Theses on Feuerbach , #11.   58. Hobbes, Leviathan , edited by C. B. MacPherson, Pelican Books,  Middlesex, 1968, page 102 ff.    59. It is interesting that Socrates uses the promise of power to  entice Alkibiades to listen so that he can persuade him that he doesn't  know what power is. It is very important for the understanding of the  dialogue that the reader remember that Socrates has characterized  Alkibiades' desire for honor (105b) as a desire for power. This is of  crucial significance throughout the dialogue, and in particular in con¬  nection with Socrates' attempts to teach Alkibiades from whom to desire  honor, and in what real power consists. The reader is advised to keep  both in mind throughout the dialogue. Perhaps at the end he may be in a  position to judge in what the difference consists.   60. The most notorious example, perhaps, is Martin Heidegger,  although he was surely not the only important man implicated with fascism.   61. Cf. Aiskhylos, Agamemnon 715-735, and Aristophanes, Frogs  1420-1431, for the metaphor. The latter is a reference to Alkibiades  himself, the former a statement of the general problem. (f. also  Republic 589b; Laws 707a; Kharmides 155d; and Alkibiades I 123a).   62. The fully developed model resulting from this effort should  probably only be made explicit to the educators. The entire picture  (including the hero's thoughts about the cosmos, etc.) would be baffling  to children and most adults, and would thus detract from their ability  to identify with the model. Perhaps a less thoroughly-developed example  would suffice for youths. However, the entire conception of the best  man that the youths are to emulate should be made explicit. The task is  difficult but worth the effort, since the consistency of two or more features of the model can only be positively ascertained if he is fully  developed. An obvious example of where conflicts might arise should  this not be done is where, say, a very hybristic, superior and self-  confident young man is the leader of the radical democratic faction of  a city. Some kind of conflict is inevitable there, and those tensions  are much more obvious though not necessarily more penetrating than those  caused by incompatible metaphysical views.   63. For example, Lakhes , Kharmides , Republic , Euthyphro .   64. These questions are not the same, for in many dialogues the  person named does not have the longest, or even a seemingly major speak¬  ing part; e.g., Gorgias , Phaedo , Minos , Hipparkhos .Protagoras , 336d. Here Alkibiades is familiar with Socrates,  for he recognizes his "little joke" about his failing memory. However,  Socrates was not yet notorious throughout Athens, for the eunuch guarding  the door did not recognize him ( Protagoras 314d). Much of this specula¬  tion as to the date depends on there not being anachronisms between (as  opposed to within) Platonic dialogues. We have no priori reason to  believe there are no anachronisms. However, it might prove to be useful  to compare what is said about the participants in other dialogues. The  problem of anachronisms within dialogues is a different one than we are  referring to in our discussion of the dramatic date. Plato, for a variety  of philosophic purposes, employs anachronisms within dialogues, including  perhaps, that of indicating that the teaching is not time-bound.   66. This is obviously related to teleology, a way of accounting  for things that concentrates on the fulfilled product, the end or teleos  of the thing and not on its origin, as the most essential for under¬  standing the thing. The prescientific, or common-sensical, understanding  of things is a teleological one. The superior/ideal/proper character¬  istic of things somehow inform the ordinary man's understanding of the  normal. This prescientific view is important to return to, for it is  such an outlook, conjoined with curiosity, that gives rise to philosophic  wonder.    67. 103a.1, 104c.4, 104d.4, 104e.l, 123c.8, 123e.3, 124a.2. For  this kind of detailed information, I found the Word Index to Plato , by  Leonard Brandwood, an invaluable guide.   68. The challenge to self-sufficiency is important to every  dialogue, to all men. It is something we all, implicitly or explicitly,  strive towards, a key question about all men's goals. Even these days,  one thing that will still make a man feel ashamed is to have it suggested  that he depends on someone (especially his spouse).   The first step toward self-improvement has to be some degree of  self-contempt, and that might be sparked if Alkibiades realizes his  dependency.    69. Socrates might be saying this to make the youth open up. It  isn't purely complimentary; he doesn't say you are right. (Cf. also  Kharmides 158 a-b). I am indebted for this observation to Proclus  whose Commentary on the First Alkibiades , is quite useful and interesting. In order to claim that something is or is not a cause for  wonder, one apparently would have to employ some kind of criteria. Such  criteria would refer to some larger whole which would render the thing   in question either evident or worthy of wonder or trivial. None of these  has been explicitly suggested in the dialogue with reference either to  difficulty of stopping speech or beginning to talk.   71. It may be important to note that this discussion refers to  political limits, political ambitions. Perhaps a higher ambition (per¬  haps indeed the one Socrates is suggesting to Alkibiades) can be under¬  stood as an attempt to tyrannize nature herself, to rule (by knowing the  truth about) even the realm of possibility and not to be confined by it.   72. One notices that this, by implication, is a claim by Socrates  to know himself, not exactly a modest claim.   73. Interestingly, he does not consider what Alkibiades heard in  such speeches to be part of his education, "comprehensively" listed at  106e.    74. This appears similar to Socrates' strategy with Glaukon. Cf.  Craig, L.H., An Introduction to Plato's Republic , pp. 138-202; especially  pp. 163-4; Bloom, A., "Interpretive Essay," in The Republic of Plato ,   pp. 343-4.   75. Cf. Republic , 435c.   76. Cf. Republic , 327b, 449b; Kharmides , 153b; Parmenides , 126a.While imagined contexts may influence one's thinking and  speaking in certain ways, one is not naively assuming that then one will  speak and act the same as one would if the imagined were actualized.   Many things might prevent one from doing as well as one imagined. An  example familair to the readers of Plato might be the construction of the  good city in speech. Cf. 105d, 131e, 123c, and 121a. One might be curious as to  the difference between Phainarete's indoor teaching of Socrates and  Deinomakhe's indoor teaching of Alkibiades. Also perhaps noteworthy is  that Alkibiades was taught indoors by his actual mother: the masculine  side of his nurture was not provided by his natural father. Except see Hobbes, Leviathan, chapter 29; Plato, Republic ,  372e. And one must remember that when the plague strikes, the city is  dramatically affected.   80. Thucydides, VI. 21; I. 142-3; II. 13.   81. Note two things: (1) Athenians don't debate about this at  the ekklesia ; (2) Alkibiades, as well as the wrestling master, would be  qualified (118c-d).   Socrates drops dancing here; perhaps it is similar enough to wrestling to need no separate mention/ and to provide no additional  material for consideration. But if that were so one might wonder why it  was mentioned in the first place.    83. Perhaps "all cases" should be qualified to "all cases which  are ruled by an art." The general ambiguity surrounding this remark in¬  vites the reader's reflection on the extent to which Socrates' suggestion  could be seen to be a much more general kind of advice. Perhaps  Alkibiades would be better off imitating Socrates - period. Or perhaps  something else about Socrates' pattern (of life) could be said to provide  "the correct answer in all cases," - he is after all a very rational man.   84. The referent here is unclear in the dialogue. It could be  'lawfulness' and 'nobility' just as readily as the 'justice' which  Socrates chooses to consider; that choice significantly shapes the course  of the dialogue. Note: Socrates brought up 'lawful' (even though there  probably is no law in Athens commanding advisors to lie to the demos in  the event they war on just people); whereas Alkibiades' concern was  nobility.   85. This would be especially true if considerations of justice  legitimately stop at the city's walls. Cf. also Thucydides, I. 75, and  compare the relative importance of these motives in I. 76.  This conclusion may not be fair to Alkibiades, for he is  clearly not similar to Kallikles (see below) since he is convinced that  he must speak with Socrates to get to the truth. He wants to keep  talking. But he is still haughty. He has just completed a short dis¬  play of skill that wasn't sufficiently appreciated by Socrates, and, most  importantly, there will be an unmistakeable point in the dialogue at which  Alkibiades does become serious about learning. Alkibiades will confess  ignorance and that will mark a most important change in his attitude.   His attention here isn't focussed on the premises but on the conclusion  of the argument.   87. There are a number of possibilities here for speculation as  to the cause of his taking refuge - from shame? from the truth? from  the argument?   88. Draughts is a table game with counters, presumably comparable  to chess. Draughts is a Socratic metaphor for philosophy or dialectics.  The example arises in connection with language, and seem to indicate the  reader's participation in the dialogue. First, of course, Plato must  have us in mind, for Alkibiades cannot know that draughts are Socrates'  metaphor for philosophical dialectics. Second, the metaphor itself de¬  mands reflecting upon. How not to play is a strange thing to insert.  Though proceeding through negation is often the only way to progress in  philosophy, one doesn't set out to learn how not to play. The many indeed  cannot teach one to philosophize, but the question of how not to  philosophize often has to be answered in light of the many, as does the  question of how not to "argue." The philosopher must show caution both  because of the many's potential strength over himself, and through his  consideration of their irenic co-existence; he must not rock the boat, so  to speak. Cf. Hobbes, Leviathan , p. 100; Genesis 2:19-20.   90. It is interesting that with reference to "running" (the  province of the gymnastics expert or horseman) Socrates mentions both  horses and men. In the example of "health" he mentions only men. Pre¬  sumably he is indicating that there is some distinction to be made  between men and horses that is relevant to the two technae . Quite likely  this distinction shall prove to be a significant aid in the analysis of  the metaphors of 'physician 1 and 'gymnast' that so pervade this dialogue.  Borrowing the analogy of 'horses' from the Apology (30e), wherein cities  are said to be like horses, one might begin by examining in what way a  gymnastics expert pertains more to the city than does a doctor, or why  "running" and not "disease" is a subject for consideration in the city,  while both are important for men. Perhaps a good way to begin would be  by understanding how, when man's body becomes the focus for his concerns,  the tensions arise between the public and private realm, between city and  man.    91. The practical political problem, of course, is not simply  solved either when the philosophic determination of 'the many' is made,  or when empirical observation yields the results confirming what 'the  many' believe. The opinions must still be both evaluated and accounted  for.    92. However, when it is an extreme question of health - e.g.,  starvation, a plague - a question of life or death, they do. The con¬  dition of the body does induce people to fight and the condition of the  body seems to be the major concern of most people and is thus probably  a real, though background, cause of most wars and battles.   93. Homer, Odyssey , XXII 41-54; XVIII 420-421; XX 264-272, 322-  337, 394.   94. In Euripides' play, Hippolytos , Phaedra, the wife of Theseus,  is in love with her stepson Hippolytos, and though unwilling to admit,  she is unable to conceal, her love from her old nurse. She describes him  so the nurse has to know, and then says she heard it from herself, not  Phaedra.   95. It is undoubtedly some such feature of power as this that  Alkibiades expects Socrates to mention as that power which only he can  give Alkibiades. It may be that Socrates' power is closely tied to  speech - we are not able to make that judgement yet - but Alkibiades  is certainly not prepared for what he gets.   The reader is cautioned to remember that Socrates is assuming  power to be the vehicle for Alkibiades' honor. At least one sense in  which this is necessary to Socrates' designs has come to light.   Alkibiades could be convinced that he should look for honor in a narrower  group of people once he thought they were the people with the secret to  power. It is not as likely that he would come to respect that group  (especially not for being the real keys to power) if he hadn't already  had his sense of honor reformed. Cf. Gorgias , beginning at 499b and continuing through the end.  He certainly doesn't seem to care, although it may be a bluff or a pose.   97. Such as, perhaps, a dagger only partially concealed under his  sleeve - Gorgias 469c-d.   98. This, of course, is from the perspective of the city. Very  powerful arguments have been made to the contrary. The city may not be  the primary concern of the wisest men.   99. Perhaps it should be pointed out, though, that men who devote  themselves to public affairs frequently neglect their family - again the  tension between public and private is brought to our attention (cf. Meno,  93a-94e).   100. The fact that oaks grow stunted in the desert does not mean  that the stunted oak of the desert is natural. The only thing we could  argue is natural is that 'natural' science could explain why the acorn  was unable to fulfill its potential, just as 'natural' science can explain  how there can be two-headed, gelded, or feverish horses. In any  explanation of this sort the reference is to a more ideal tree or horse.  And any examination of an existing tree or horse will involve a reference  to an even more perfect idea of a tree or a horse.   101. It may be of no small significance that Socrates uses the  word ' ideas ' in this central passage. It is the only time in this  dialogue that the word is used and it seems at first innocuous. 'Ideas'  is another form of ' eidos ' - 'the looks' so famous in the central   epistemological books of the Republic. What is so exceptional about the   " *   use here is that it occurs precisely where the question of the proper  contest, the question of the best man, is raised. Socrates says, "My,  my, best of men, what a thing to say! How unworthy of the looks and  other advantages of yours." We are perhaps being told it is unworthy  of 'the looks,' 'the ideas , 1 that Alkibiades does not pose a high enough  ambition. The translators (who never noted this) are not in complete  error. Their error is one of imprecision. The modifier "your" ( soi)  is an enclitic and would have been understood (by Alkibiades) to refer  to "looks" as well as to his other advantages. However, as an enclitic,  it is used as a subtle kind of emphasis, and it is clearly the "other  advantages" that are emphasized. The 'soi' would normally appear in  front of the first of a list of articles. It doesn't here, and the  careful reader of the Greek text would certainly be first impressed  with it as " the looks." The reference to Alkibiades' looks would be a  second thought. And only in someone not familiar with the Republic or  with the epistemological problem of the best man, would the "second-  thought" be weighty anough to drown the first impression.   Incidentally, it is indeed interesting that the word for the  highest metaphysical reality in Plato's works is a word so closely tied  to everyday appearance. Once again there is support for the dialectical  method of questioning and answering, to slowly and carefully refine the  world of common opinion and find truth or the reality behind appearance.   102. Whether the war justly or unjustly is not mentioned. I believe that the referent to "others" is left ambiguous.  Note also that here (120c) Socrates speaks of the Spartan generals  ( strategoi ), a subtle change from 'king' (120a) a moment earlier. Per¬  haps he is implying a difference between power and actual military  capability.   104. This is/ of course/ generally good advice. Cf. Thucydides  I 84: one shouldn't act as though the enemy were ill-advised. One must  build on one's foresight, not on the enemy's oversight.   105. The important provision of nurture is added to nature. Cf.  103a and the discussion of the opening words of the dialogue.   106. Socrates has included himself in the deliberation explicitly  at this point, serving as a reminder to the reader that both of these  superior men should be considered in the various discussions, not just  one. A comparison of them and what they represent will prove fruitful to  the student of the dialogue.   107. Plato, another son of Ariston, is perhaps smiling here; we  recall why it is suspected that Alkibiades left Sparta and perhaps why  he was killed.   Two more facets of this passage are, firstly, that this might be  seen as another challenge by Socrates (in which case we should wonder as  to its purpose). Secondly, it implies that Alkibiades' line may have  been corrupted, or is at least not as secure as a Spartan or Persian one.  Alkibiades cannot be positive that his acknowledged family and kin are  truly his.   108. There is a very important exception and one significant to  this dialogue as well as to political thinking in general. One may change  one's ancestry by mythologizing it (or lying) as Socrates and Alkibiades  have both done. This may serve an ulterior purpose; recall, for example,  the claims of many monarchies to divine right.   109. Hesiod Theogony 928; cf. also Homer, Iliad 571 ff.   110. The opposite of Athena, Aphrodite ( Symposium 180d), and  Orpheus ( Republic 620a).   111. A number of Athenians may have thought this was much the  same effect as Socrates had. He led promising youths into a maze from  which it was difficult to escape. This discussion should be compared in detail with the  education outlined in the Republic . Such a comparison provides even more  material for reflection about the connection between a man's nurture and  his nature. (One significant contrast: the Persians lack a musical  education).   113. Compare, for example, the difference concerning horseback   riding: Plato, Alkibiades I, 121e; and Xenophon, Kyropaideia , I, iii, 3. Cf., for example, Machiavelli, The Prince , chapters 18, 19.  The only other fox in the Platonic corpus (besides its being the name of  Socrates' deme - Gorgias 495d) is in the Republic (365c) where the fox is  the wily and subtle deceiver in the facade of justice which is what  Adeimantos, in his elaboration of Glaukon's challenge, suggests is all  one needs.   115. The reader of the dialogue has already been reminded of the  Allegory of the Cave, also in the context of nurture, at 111b.   116. Thomas Sydenham, Works of Plato Vol. I , p. 69, points out -  that Herodotos tells us that this is not exclusively a Persian custom.  Egyptians, too, used all the revenue from some sections of land for the  shoes and other apparel of the queen. Cf. Herodotos, Histories , II, 97.   117. Cf. Pamela Jensen, "Nietzsche and Liberation: The Prelude to  a Philosophy of the Future ," Interpretation 6:2, p. 104: "[Nietzsche] does  not suppose truth to be God, but a woman, who has good reasons to hide  herself from man: her seductiveness depends upon her secretiveness..."   118. This greatly compounds the problems of understanding the two  men and their eros . What has heretofore been interpreted by Socrates as  Alkibiades' ambition for power is now explicitly stated to be an ambition  for reputation. Are we to understand them as more than importantly  connected, but essentially similar? And what are we to make of Socrates'  inclusion of himself at precisely this point? Does he want power too?  Reputation? Perhaps we are to see both men (and maybe even all erotic  attraction whatsoever) as willing to have power. Socrates sees power   as coming through knowledge. Alkibiades sees it as arising from reputa¬  tion. Is Socrates in this dialogue engaged in teaching Alkibiades to  respect wisdom over glory in the interests of some notion of power? The  philosopher and the timocrat come out of (or begin as) the same class of  men in the Republic. The reader should examine what differences relevant  to the gold/philosophic class, if any, are displayed by Socrates and  Alkibiades. Perhaps Socrates' education of Alkibiades could be seen as  a project in alchemy - transforming silver into gold.   119. Homer, Iliad , X. 224-6. Cf. Protagoras , 348d; Symposium ,  174d; Alkibiades II , 140a; as well as Alkibiades I , 119b, 124c.   120. This is not intended to challenge Prof. Bloom's interpreta¬  tion ( The Republic of Plato , p. 311). As far as I am capable of under¬  standing it and the text, his is the correct reading. However, with  respect to this point I believe the dialogue substantiates reading the  group of men with Polemarkhos as the many with power, and Socrates and  Glaukon as the few wise.   121. This is left quite ambiguous. The jest could refer to:   a) Socrates' claim to believe in the gods   b) Socrates' reason as to why his guardian is better   c) Socrates' claim that he is uniquely capable of providing Alkibiades  with power. In the Republic, inodes and rules of music are considered of  paramount political importance. Cf. Republic 376c-403c.   123. Cf. however. Symposium , 174a, 213b. At this stage of the  argument Socrates does not distinguish between the body and the self.   124. This is the only time Socrates swears by an Olympian god.   He has referred to his own god, the god Alkibiades "talked" to, a general  monotheistic god, and he has sworn upon the "common god of friendship"   (cf. Gorgias 500b, 519e, Euthyphro 6b), as well as using milder oaths  such as 1 Babai 1 (118b, 119c). It would probably be very interesting to   find out how Socrates swears throughout the dialogues and reflect on their  connection to his talk of piety, and of course, his eventual charge and  trial.    125. Strictly speaking that is the remark on which there won't be  disagreement, not the one following it. "Man is one of three things,"   is something no one can disagree with. (He is what he is and any two  more things may be added to make a set of three.) Why does Socrates  choose to say it this way? And why three? Are there three essential  elements in man's nature? As we shall presently see, he does assume a  fourth which is not mentioned at this time.   126. Though first on the list of Spartan virtues, temperance  ( sophrosyne ), a virtue so relevant to the problem of Alkibiades, does  not receive much treatment in this dialogue. One might also ask: if  temperance is knowing oneself, is there a quasi-virtue, a quasi¬  temperance based on right opinion?   127. This is what Socrates' anonymous companion at the beginning  of Protagoras suggests to Socrates with respect to Alkibiades.   128. Homer, Odyssey , II. 364. Odysseus' son, Telemakhos, is  called the "only and cherished son" by his nurse when he reveals to her  his plan of setting out on a voyage to discover news about his father.   His voyage too (permitting the application of the metaphor of descent  and human nature) is guarded by a divine being. Alkibiades/Telemakhos  is setting out on a voyage to discover his nature.   129. For other references to "stripping" in the dialogues, see  Gorgias 523e, 524d; cf. also Republic 601b, 612a, 359d, 361c, 577b, 474a,  452a-d, 457b; Ion 535d; Kharmides 154d, 154e; Theaitetos 162b, 169b;   Laws 772a, 833c, 854d, 873b, 925a; Kratylos 403b; Phaidros 243b;   Menexenos 236d; Statesman 304a; Sophist 237d.   130. This word for release (apallattetai) has only been used  for the release of eros to this point in the dialogue (103a, 104c, 104e,  105d). Parenthetically, regarding this last passage, we note also that  the roles of wealth and goodness in well-being have not been thoroughly  0 xplored. Perhaps he is suggesting a connection between becoming rich  and not becoming temperate.   131. One might interject here that perhaps the virtues resulting  from, say, a Spartan nurture, do not depend on the virtues of the governors. Perhaps they depend on the virtue or right opinion of the  lawgiver, but maybe not even that. There might be other counterbalancing  factors, as, for example, Alexander Solzhenitsyn suggests about Russians  today - (Harvard Commencement Address, 1978, e.g., paragraph 22).   132. As was mentioned with respect to their other occurrences in  the dialogue, the metaphors of the diseased city, physician of the city,  doctor of the body, pilot of ship, ship-of-state and passenger are all  worth investigating more thoroughly, and in relation to each other.  There is a dialogue, the Parmenides , in which the "Young  Socrates" speaks. We do not know what to make of this, but the fact that  he is called the "Young" Socrates somehow distinguishes his role in this,  from the other dialogues. He is not called "Young Socrates" in the  Alkibiades I , nor is he referred to as "Middle-aged Socrates" in the  Republic , nor is he named "Old Socrates" in the Apology .   134. Having come this far, the reader might want to judge for  himself some recent Platonic scholarship pertaining to the First  Alkibiades. In comparatively recent times the major source of interest  in the dialogue has been the popular dispute about its authenticity.   Robert S. Brumbaugh, in Plato for the Modern Age , (p. 192-3)  concludes:   But the argument of the dialogue is clumsy, its dialectic  constantly refers us to God for philosophic answers, and  its central point of method - tediously made - is simply  the difficulty of getting the young respondent to make  a generalization. There is almost none of the inter¬  play of concrete situation and abstract argument that  marks the indisputably authentic early dialogues of  Plato. Further, the First Alkibiades includes an almost  textbook summary of the ideas that are central in the  authentic dialogues of Plato's "middle" period; so  markedly that it was in fact used as an introductory  textbook for freshman Platonists by the Neo-Platonic  heads of the Academy ... it would be surprising if  this thin illustration of the tediousness of induction  were ever Plato's own exclusive philosophic theme: he  had too many other ideas to explore and offer.   Benjamin Jowett, translator of the dialogue and thus familiar with  the writings, says in his introduction to the translation:   ... we have difficulty in supposing that the same  writer, who has given so profound and complex a notion  of the characters both of Alkibiades and Socrates in  the Symposium should have treated them in so thin and  superficial a manner as in the Alkibiades , or that he  would have ascribed to the ironical Socrates the  rather unmeaning boast that Alkibiades could not  attain the objects of his ambition without his help; or that he should have imagined that a mighty  nature like his could have been reformed by a few not  very conclusive words of Socrates... There is none  of the undoubted dialogues of Plato in which there is  so little dramatic verisimilitude.Schleiermacher, originator of the charge of spuriousness,  analyzed the dialogue, (pp. 328-336). It is to him that we owe the  current dispute. Saving the best for last:   ... there is nothing in it too difficult or too  profound and obscure for even the least prepared  tyro... This ... work ... appears to us but very  insignificant and poor...   and   ... [genuinely Platonic passages] may be found  sparingly dispersed and floating in a mass of  worthless matter...   and   ... we must not imagine for a moment that in these  speeches some philosophic secrets or other are  intended to be contained. On the contrary, though  many genuine Platonic doctrines are very closely  connected with what is here said, not even the  slightest trace of them is to be met with...   and   ... in short, however we may consider it, [the  Alkibiades ] is in this respect either a contradiction  of all other Platonic dialogues, or else Plato's own  dialogues are so with reference to the rest. And  whoever does not feel this, we cannot indeed afford  him any advice, but only congratulate him that his  notions of Plato can be so cheaply satisfied...   In any event, much could be said about whether anything important  to the philosophic enterprise would hinge upon the authorship.   My comments concerning the issue will be few. Firstly there is  no evidence that could positively establish the authorship. Even should  Plato rise from the dead to hold a press conference, we are familiar  enough with his irony to doubt the straightforwardness of such a state¬  ment.    Secondly, many of the arguments are based on rather presumptuous  beliefs that their proponents have a thorough understanding of the corpus  and how it fits together. I will not comment further on such self-  satisfaction.   Thirdly, there are a number of arguments based on stylistic  analyses. If only for the reason that these implicitly recognize that  the dialogue itself must provide the answer, they will be addressed.   Two things must be said. First, style changes can be willed, so to  suggest anything conclusive about them is to presume to understand the  author better than he understood himself. Second, style is only one of  the many facets of a dialogue, all of which must be taken into account  to make a final judgement. As is surely obvious by now, that takes  careful study. 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Leviathan . Edited by C. B. Macpherson. Middlesex,  England: Pelican Books, 1968.   Homer. Iliad . Translated by Richmond Lattimore. New York: Harper and  Row, 1951.   Homer. Odyssey . Translated by Richard Lattimore. New York: Harper and  Row, 1965.   Jensen, Pamela. "Nietzsche and Liberation: The Prelude to a Philosophy  of the Future," Interpretation . 6:2. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff,  1977.   Jowett, B., ed. The Dialogues of Plato : Volume I. Translated by B.  Jowett. Oxford: Oxford University Press, Clarendon Press, 1953.   Machiavelli, N. The Prince . Translated and edited by Mark Musa. New  York: St. Martin's Press, 1964.   Marx, K. "Theses on Feuerbach," The Marx-Engels Reader . Edited by  R. C. Tucker. New Tork: W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1972.   McKeon, Richard, ed. The Basic Works of Aristotle . New York: Random  House, 1941.   Olympiodorus. Commentary on the First Alkibiades of Plato. Critical  texts and Indices by L. G. Wes ter ink'. Amsterdam:‘ North-Holland  Publishing Company, 1956.   O'Neill, William. Proclus: Alkibiades I A Translation and Commentary .   The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1965.   Paulys-Wissowa. Real-Encyclopoedie der Classischen Altertumswissenschaft .  Stuttgart: J. B. Metzler Buchhandlung, 1893.   Plato. Plato in Twelve Volumes . Loeb Classical Library; translated by  R. G. Bury, H. N. Fowler, W. Lamb, P. Shorey; London: Heinemann,   1971.   Plutarch. Lives . Loeb Classical Library, Vol. IV; translated by B.  Perrin. London: Heinemann,  Rousseau, J.-J. The Social Contract . Translated and edited by R. Masters  and J. Masters. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1978.   Ryle, G. Plato's Progress. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,Schleiermacher. Introduction to the Dialogues of Plato . Translated by  W. Dobson. Cambridge: J. & j. j. Deighton, Shorey, Paul. What Plato Said . Chicago: University of Chicago Press,  1933.   Solzhenitsyn, A. "Harvard Commencement Address." Harvard University,  Cambridge, Mass. 1978.   Strauss, Leo. "Preliminary Observations of the Gods in Thucydides Work,"  Interpretation 4:1. The Hague z Martinus Nijhoff, 1974.   Sydenham, Floyer, transl. The Works of Plato . Vol. I. Edited by  Thomas Taylor. London: R. Wilks, Taylor, A. E. Plato: The Man and His Work . New York: Meridian Books,  1956.   Thucydides. History of the Peloponnesian War . Translated by Rex Warner;  Introduction and Notes by M. I. Finley. Middlesex, England:   Penguin, 1954.   Westlake, H. D. Individuals in Thucydides . Cambridge: Cambridge  University Press, 'Ennio Carando. Keywords: l’amore platonico, l’amore socratico, l’implicatura di Socrate, filosofo socratico, Socrate, Alcibiade. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, “Grice e Carando” – The Swimming-Pool Library.

 

Grice e Carapelle: l’implicatura conversazionale – linguaggio e metafilosofia – linguaggio oggetto – meta-linguaggio – Peano – Tarski 1944 – bootstrapping -- filosofia italiana – Luigi Speranza (Napoli). Filosofo italiano. Grice: “I like Carcano; I cannot say he is an ultra-original philosopher, but I may – My favourite is actually a tract on him, on ‘meta-philosophy,’ or rather ‘language and metaphilosophy,’ which is what I’m all about! How philosophers misuse ‘believe,’ say – but Carcano has also philosophised on issues that seem very strange to Italians, like ‘logica e analisi,’ ‘semantica’ and ‘filosofia del linguaggio’ – brilliantly!” Quarto Duca di Montaltino, Nobile dei Marchesi di C.. Noto per i suoi studi di fenomenologia, semantica, filosofia del linguaggio e più in generale di filosofia analitica. Studia a Napoli, durante i quali si formò alla scuola di Aliotta e si dedica allo studio delle scienze. Studia a Napoli e Roma. Sulla scia teoretica del suo tutore volle approfondire le problematiche poste dalla filosofia e riesaminare attentamente il linguaggio in uso. La sua tesi centrale è che correnti come il pragmatismo, il positivismo, la fenomenologia, l'esistenzialismo e la psicoanalisi, fossero il portato dell'esigenza teoretica di una maggiore chiarezza – la chiarezza non e sufficiente -- delle varie questioni che emergevano da una crisi culturale, vitale ed esistenziale. Al centro di tale crisi giganteggia la polemica fra senza senso metafisico e senso anti-metafisica, soprattutto a causa del vigore critico del positivismo logico, contro il quale a sua volta lui -- che ritiene necessaria una sostanziale alleanza o quantomeno un aperto dialogo fra la metafisica e la scienza -- pone diversi rilievi critici, principale dei quali è quello di minare alla base l'unità dell'esperienza, alla Oakeshott -- che senza una cornice o una struttura metafisica in cui inserirsi rimarrebbe indefinitamente frammentata in percezioni fra loro irrelate. A questo inconveniente si può rimediare temperando il positivismo con lo sperimentalismo, ovvero accompagnando alla piena accettazione del metodo una piena apertura all’esperienza così come “esperienza” è stata intesa, ad esempio, nella fenomenologia intenzionalista intersoggetiva di Husserl. In questo senso si può procedere a mantenere una costante tensione sui problemi posti dalla filosofia, in opposizione a ogni dogma di sistema, e al contempo non cadere nell'angoscia a cui conduce lo scetticismo radicale che tutto rifiuta, compresa l'esperienza. Non si tratterebbe dunque per la filosofia di definire verità immutabili ma di sincronizzarsi col ritmo del metodo basato sull’esperienza fenomenologico, sussumendo i risultati sperimentali e integrandoli nel continuum di una struttura metafisica mediante il ponte dell'esperienza. Altre opere: “Filosofia e civiltà” (Perrella, Roma); Filosofia (Soc. Ed. del Foro Italiano, Roma); Il problema filosofico. Fratelli Bocca, Roma); La semantica, Fratelli Bocca, Roma – cf. Grice, “Semantics and Metaphysics”) Metodologia filosofica, una rivoluzione filosofica minore. Libreria scientifica editrice, Napoli 1958. Esistenza ed alienazione” (MILANI, Padova); Scienza unificata, Unita della scienza (Sansoni, Firenze); Analisi e forma logica (MILANI, Padova); Il concetto di informativita, MILANI, Padova); La filosofia linguistica, Bulzoni Editore, Roma. Dizionario biografico degli italiani, Roma. Ben altrimenti articolato e puntuale ci sembra l'intervento operato sulla fenomenologia da Paolo Filiasi Carcano di Montaltino de Carapelle, quarto duca di Montaltino, ed allievo di Aliotta a Na­poli e pur fedele estensore delle sue teorie, sulle quali, per questo mo­ tivo, ci siamo nell'ultima parte dilungati sorvolando sullo scarso ruolo t-he gioca in esse l'opera di Husserl. L'iter formativo di Carcano interseca situazioni ed esperienze riscontrabili, come ve­ dremo, anche in altri giovani filosofi della stessa generazione. Di più, nel.suo caso, c'è una singolare — e probabilmente indotta — analogia con la vicenda teoretica del primo Husserl. In realtà, — scrive l'autore in un brano autobiografico del 1956 — io non posso dire di essere venuto alla filosofia in maniera diretta, per un'intima voca­ zione alla speculazione o per un normale maturarsi dei miei studi e della mia men­ talità giovanile, ma questa era soprattutto caratterizzata da un'intensa passione pèrle scienze e da una viva disposizione per la matematica54. Questo germinale orientamento, unito a una sensibilità religiosa che non tarderà a manifestarsi, ebbe come primo e scontato effetto di allontanare Filiasi Garcano dall'area neo-idealistica, il cui radicale immanentismo, la esclusione dei concetti di peccato e di grazia e l'avversione per ogni for- 53 Ibidem, p. 7. 54 P. Filiasi Carcano, 17 ruolo della metodologia nel rinnovamento della filo­ sofia contemporanea, in AA.W., La filosofia contemporanea in Italia. Invito al dialogo, Asti, Arethusa, 1958, p. 219.  ma di naturalismo, non potevano in alcun modo essere accettati 55. Di qui un sentimento di estraneità e di insoddisfazione subito denunciati fin dai primi scritti, l'intima perplessità e la difficoltà di orientarsi in una temperie culturale già decisa e fissata nelle sue grandi linee da altri. E, d'altro canto, un naturale rivolgersi al problema metodologico, come pre­ liminare assunzione di consapevolezza circa i percorsi teoretici che con­ veniva seguire per ottenere uno scopo valido, senza tuttavia ancora nul­ la presumere circa la necessità di quei percorsi o la natura di questo sco­ po. In tal senso, l'elaborazione di una qualsivoglia metodologia doveva prevedere come esito programmatico, da un lato, una sorta di epochizza- zione delle grandi tematiche metafisiche e della tradizionale formulazione dèi problemi, dall'altro lato, un lungo e paziente lavoro di analisi, con­ fronto, chiarificazióne e comprensione che consentisse di recuperare, di quelle tematiche e di quei problemi, il contenuto più autentico. Ma più lo sguardo critico del giovane filòsofo andrà maturando fino ad abbracciare nel suo complesso il controverso panorama culturale del tempo, più quel programma iniziale perderà la sua connotazione prope­ deutica per trasformarsi in compito destinale, in una ' fighi for clarity* che assumeva i termini di un radicale esame di coscienza nei confronti della filosofia. Scrive Filiasi Carcano: Confesserò che varie volte ho avuto ed ho l'impressione di non aver abba­ stanza compreso, e per questo alla mia spontanea insoddisfazione (al tempo stesso scientifica e religiosa) si mescola un senso di incomprensione. Questo stato d'animo spiega bene il mio atteggiamento che non è propriamente di critica (...), ma ha piut­ tosto il carattere di un prescindere, di una sospensione del giudizio, di una messa in parentesi, in attesa di una più matura riflessione 56. Al fondo dei dualismi e delle vuote polemiche che, nella comunità filoso- fica italiana degli anni Trenta, sembravano prevaricare sulle più urgenti esigenze scientifiche e di sviluppo, Filiasi Carcano coglie i sintomi dì un conflitto epocale, di una inquietudine psicologica e di un'incertezza morale che andranno a comporsi in una vera e propria fenomenologia della crisi. ' Crisi della civiltà ', anzitutto, come recita il titolo della sua opera prima 57, dove al desiderio di fuggire l'alternativa del dogmatismo fa da 55 Per questi punti mi sono riferito a M. L. Gavazzo, Paolo Filiasi Carcano,. «Filosofia oggi», X, 1, 1987, pp. 57-74.; * P; Filiasi Carcano, // ruolo della metodologia,;cit., p. 220. 57 Cfr. P. Carcano, Crisi della civiltà e orientamenti della filosofia contraltare l'eterno dissidio tra ragione e fede. Crisi esistenziale, di con­ seguenza, dovuta al prevalere delle tendenze scettiche e antimetafisiche su quelle spirituali e religiose. Crisi della filosofia, infine, fondata sulla raggiunta consapevolezza del suo carattere problematico, sull'incapacità di realizzare interamente la pienezza del suo concetto. Come moto di reazione immediata occorreva allora, oltreché circoscrivere le proprie pre­ tese conoscitive ponendosi su un piano risolutamente pragmatico, assur­ gere ad una più compiuta presa di coscienza storica e conciliare la filoso­ fia con una mentalità scientificamente educata. Solo, cioè, il confronto con una seria problematica scientifica (la quale Filiasi Carcano vedeva realizzata nell'ottica positivista dello sperimentalismo aliottiano) avreb­ be potuto segnare per la filosofia l'avvento di una più matura riflessione intorno alle proprie dinamiche interne e ai propri genuini compiti critici. E a questo scopo parve a Filiasi Carcano, fin dai suoi studi d'esor­ dio, singolarmente soccorrevole proprio l'opera di Edmund Husserl. Scri­ ve Angiolo Maros Dell'Oro: A un certo punto si intromise Husserl. Filiasi Carcano pensò, o sperò, che là fenomenologia sarebbe stata la ' scienza delle scienze', capace di indicargli la via zu den Sachen selbsf, per dirla con le parole del suo fondatore. Da allora è stata invece per lui l'enzima patologico di una problematica acuta 58. Sùbito rifiutata, in realtà, come idealismo metafisico, quale eira frettolo­ samente spacciata in certe grossolane versioni del tempo (non esclusa, lo ^bbiamo visto,.quella del suo, maestro), la fenomenologia viene aggredita alla radice dal giovane studioso, con una cura e un rigore filologico — i quali pure riscontreremo in altri suoi coetanei — giustificabili solo con l'urgenza di una richiesta culturale cui l'ambiente nostrano non poteva evidentemente soddisfare. Non è un caso che Filiasi Carcano insista, fin dal suo primo articolo dedicato ad Husserl, sul valore della fenomeno­ logia, ad un tempo, emblematico, nel quadro d'insieme della filosofia contemporanea, e liberatorio rispetto al giogo dei tradizionali dogmi idealistici che i giovani, soprattutto in Italia, si sentivano gravare sulle spalle ". contemporanea, pref. di A. Aliotta, Roma, Libreria Editrice Perrella,  Cf. Il pensiero scientifico ìtt Italia 'Creiriòria, Màngiarotti Editore, 1963, p. 108. 39 Cfr. P. Filiasi Cartario/ Da Carierò'ad H«w&f/,:« Ricerche filoSofìche », In piena coscienza, — scriverà l'autore — se abbiamo voluto scio­ gliere l'esperienza da una necessaria interpretazione idealistica, non è stato per forzarla nuovamente nei quadri di una metafisica esistenziale, ma per ridare ad essa, secondo lo schietto spirito della fenomenologia, tutta la sua libertà 60. Tale schiettezza, corroborata da un carattere decisamente antisistema­ tico e dal recupero di una vitale esigenza descrittiva, avrebbe consentito lo schiudersi di un nuovo, vastissimo territorio di indagine, sospeso tra constatazione positivistica e determinazione metafisica, ma capace, al tem­ po stesso, di metter capo ad un positivismo di grado superiore e ad un più autentico pensare metafisico. Si trattava, in sostanza, non tanto di dedurre i caratteri di una nuova positività oppure di rifondare una me- tafisica, quanto piuttosto di guadagnare un più saldo punto d'osserva­ zione dal quale far spaziare sul multiverso esperienziale il proprio sguar­ do fenomenologicamente addestrato. È in questo punto che la fenome­ nologia, riabilitando l'intuizione in quanto fonte originaria di autorità (Rechtsquelle), operando in base al principio dell'assenza di presupposti e offrendo i quadri noetico-noematici per la sistemazione effettiva del suo programma di ricerca, veniva ad innestarsi sul tronco dello sperimenta­ lismo di stampo aliottiano, che Filiasi Carcano aveva assimilato a Napoli negli anni del suo apprendistato filosofia). Il ritorno ' alle cose stesse * predetto dalla fenomenologia non solo manteneva intatta la coscienza cri­ tica rimanendo al di qua di ogni soglia metafisica, ma anche e più che mai serviva a ribadire il carattere scientifico e descrittivo della filosofia. In un passo del 1941 si possono scorrere, a modo di riscontro, i punti di un vero e proprio manifesto sperimentalista: Descrivere la nostra esperienza nel mondo con l'aiuto della critica più raffi­ nata; cercare di raccordarne i vari aspetti in sintesi sempre più vaste e più com­ prensive, esprimenti, per cosi dire, gradi diversi della nostra conoscenza del mon­ do; non perdere mai il senso profondo della problematicità continuamente svol- gentesi dal corso stesso della nostra riflessione; infine stare in guardia contro tutte le astrazioni che rischiano di alterare e disperdere il ritmo spontaneo della vita: sono questi i principali motivi dello sperimentalismo e (...) al tempo stesso, i modi mediante i quali esso va incontro alle più attuali esigenze logiche e metodologiche del pensiero contemporaneo61. D'altro canto, si diceva, non è neppure precluso a questo program- *° P. Filiasi Carcano, Crisi della civiltà, cit., p. 138. 61 P. Filiasi Carcano, Antimetafisica e sperimentalismo, Roma, Perrella ma un esito trascendente, e a fenderlo possibile sarà ancora una volta, in virtù della sua cruciale natura teoretica, proprio l'atteggiamento feno­ menologico. Scrive Filiasi Carcano: In realtà, il dilemma tra una scienza che escluda l'intuizione e una intui­ zione che escluda la scienza, non c'è che su di un piano realistico ma non su di un piano fenomenologicamente ridotto: su questo piano scienza e intuizione tornano ad accordarsi, accogliendo una pluralità di esperienze, tutte in un certo senso le­ gittime e primitive, ma tutte viste in un particolare atteggiamento di spirito che sospende ogni giudizio metafisico. È questo, com'io l'intendo, il modo particola­ rissimo con cui la filosofia può tornare oggi ad occuparsi di metafisica. Certo, nella prospettiva husserliana, il problema del trascendens puro e semplice, che farà da sfondo a tutto il percorso speculativo di Filiasi Carcano, sembrava rimanere ingiudicato o, almeno, intenzionalmente rin­ viato in una sorta di ' al di là ' conoscitivo, Ma in ordine alla missione spirituale che l'uomo deve poter esplicare nel mondo storico, il metodo fenomenologico conserva tutta la sua efficacia. Esso —nota Filiasi Carcano nelle ultime pagine del suo Antimetafisica e spe­ rimentalismo — certo difficilmente può condurre a risultati, ma compie per lo meno analisi e descrizioni interessanti, e tanto più notevoli in quanto tende a sollevare il velo dell'abitudine per farci ritrovare le primitive intuizioni della vita religiosa 63. Dato questo suo carattere peculiare e l'orizzonte significativo nel quale viene assunta fin dal principio, la fenomenologia continuerà a va­ lere per Filiasi Carcano come referente teoretico di prim'ordine, accom­ pagnandolo, con la tensione e la profondità tipiche delle esperienze fon­ damentali, in tutti i futuri sviluppi della sua speculazione. La terza grande area di interesse per il pensiero hussèrliano negli anni Trenta in Italia, fa capo all'Università.di Torino e si costituisce prin­ cipalmente intorno all'attività 4i tre studiosi: il primo, già incontrato e che, in qualche modo, fa da ponte fra questa e la neoscolastica mila­ nese è Carlo Mazzantini; il secondo è Annibale Pastore —ne parleremo ora — che teneva nell'ateneo torinese la cattedra di filosofia teoretica; 6- P, Filiasi Corcano,. Crisi.della civiltà,.eit,,. p.., 184.,:;  Carcano, Antimetafisica e sperimentalismo, cit., p. 153.  Apparently, David Hilbert was the first to use the prefix meta(from the Greek over) in the sense we use it in metalanguage, metatheory, and now metasystem. He introduced the term metamathematics to denote a mathematical theory of mathematical proof. In terms of our control scheme, Hilbert's MST has a non-trivial representation: a mapping of proofs in the form of usual mathematical texts (in a natural language with formulas) on the set of texts in a formal logical language which makes it possible to treat proofs as precisely defined mathematical objects. This done, the rest is as usual: the controlled system is a mathematician who proves theorems; the controlling person is a metamathematician who translates texts into the formal logical language and controls the work of the mathematician by checking the validity of his proofs and, possibly mechanically generating proofs in a computer. The emergence of the metamathematician is an MST. Since we have agreed not to employ semantically closed languages, we have to use two different languages in discussing the problem of the definition of truth and, more generally, any problems in the field of semantics. The first of these languages is the language which is "talked about" and which is the subject- matter of the whole discussion; the definition of truth which we are seeking applies to the sentences of this language. The second is the language in which we "talk about" the first language, and in terms of which we wish, in particular, to construct the definition of truth for the first language. We shall refer to the first language as "the object-language,"and to the second as "the meta-language." It should be noticed that these terms "object-language" and "meta- language" have only a relative sense. If, for instance, we become inter- ested in the notion of truth applying to sentences, not of our original object-language, but of its meta-language, the latter becomes automatically the object-language of our discussion; and in order to define truth for this language, we have to go to a new meta-language-so to speak, to a meta- language of a higher level. In this way we arrive at a whole hierarchy of languages. The vocabulary of the meta-language is to a large extent determined by previously stated conditions under which a definition of truth will be considered materially adequate. This definition, as we recall, has to imply all equivalences of the form (T): (T) X is true if, and only if, p. The definition itself and all the equivalences implied by it are to be formulated in the meta-language. On the other hand, the symbol 'p' in (T) stands for an arbitrary sentence of our object-language.  Let “A(p)** mean “I assert p between 5.29 and 5.31’*. Then q is “there is a  proposition p such that A(p) and p is fake”. The contradiction emerges from the  supposition that q is the proposition p in question. But if there is a hierarchy of  meanings of the word “false** corresponding to a hierarchy of propositions, we  shall have to substitute for q something more definite, i.e. “there is a proposition  p of order «, such that k{p) and p has falsehood of order n*\ Here n may be any  integer: but whatever integer it is, q will be of order « + i? and will not be capable  of truth or falsehood of order n. Since I make no assertion of order n, q is false,   The hierarchy must extend upwards indefinitely, but not  downwards, since, if it did, language could never get started.  There must, therefore, be a language of lowest type. I shall  define one such language, not the only possible one.* I shall call  this sometimes the “object-language”, sometimes the “primary  language”. My purpose, in the present chapter, is to define and  describe this basic lai^age. The languages which follow in the  hierarchy I shall call secondary, tertiary, and so on; it is to be  understood that each language contains all its predecessors.   The primary language, we shall find, can be defined both  logically and psychologically; but before attempting formal  definitions it will be well to make a preliminary informal explora-  tion.   It is clear, from Tarski’s argument, that the words “true”  and “false” cannot occur in the primary language; for these  words, as applied to sentences in the language, belong to the  (« -t- language. This does not mean that sentences in the  primary language are neither true nor false, but that, if “/>” is a  sentence in this language, the two sentences “p is true” and  “p is false” belong to the secondary language. This is, indeed,  obvious apart from Tarski’s argument. For, if there is a primary  language, its words must not be such as presuppose the existence  of a language. Now “true” and “false” are words applicable to  sentences, and thus presuppose the existence of language. (I  do not mean to deny that a memory consisting of images, not  words, may be “true” or “false”; but this is in a somewhat  different sense, which need not concern us at present.) In the  primary language, therefore, though we can make assertions, we  cannot say that our own assertions or those of others are either  true or false.   When I say that we make assertions in the primary language,  I must guard against a misunderstanding, for the word “assertion”   and, since q is not a possible value of p, the argument that q is also true collapses.  The man who says ‘T am telling a lie of order n” is telling a He, but of order  n 4 - I. Other ways of evading the paradox have been suggested, e.g. by Ramsey,  “Foundations of Mathematics”, p. 48.   * My liierarchy of languages is not identical with Carnap's or Tarski's. Proceeding psychologically, I construct a  language (not the language) fulfilling the logical conditions for  the langu^e of lowest type; I call this the “object-language” or  the “primary language”. In this language, every word “denotes”  or “means” a sensible object or set of such objects, and, when  used alone, asserts the sensible presence of the object, or of one of   *9 AN INQUIRY INTO MEANING AND TRUTH   the set of objects, which it denotes or means. In defining this  language, it is necessary to define “denoting” or “meaning” as  applied to object-words, i.e., to the words of this language. Paolo Filiasi Carcano di Montaltino di Carapelle. Paolo Filiasi Carcano. Paolo Carcano. Montaltino. Keywords: linguaggio e metafilosofia, semantica, quarto duca di montaltino, semantica ed esperienza, semantica e fenomenologia, filiasi carcano, montaltino, carapelle. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, “Grice e Carapelle” – The Swimming-Pool Library. Carapelle.

 

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