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. And perhaps all that is required of a dialogue is that it prove a
fertile ground for such study. Aristophanes. The Eleven Comedies . New
York: Liveright Publishing Corp., 1943. The King James BIBLE.
Nashville, U.S.A.: Kedeka Publishers, 1976. Bloedow, E. F.
Alcibiades Reexamined . Weisbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1973.
Bloom, Allan D. The Republic of Plato . Translated, with Notes and
an Interpretive Essay, by Allan Bloom. New York: Basic Books, 1968.
Brandwood, Leonard. A Word Index to Plato . Leeds: W. S. Maney and
Son, Ltd., 1976. Brumbaugh, R. S. Plato for the Modern Age .
U.S.A.: Crowell Collier Press, 1962. Churchill, Winston.
Great Contemporaries . London: Macmillan and Co. Ltd., 1943.
Craig, Leon H. An Introduction to Plato's Republic . Edmonton: printed
and bound by the University of Alberta, 1977. de Romilly,
Jacqueline. Thucydides and Athenian Imperialism . Translated by Philip
Thody. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1963. Diodorus Siculus. Diodorus of
Sicily . Translated by C. H. Oldfather; Loeb Classical Library. Volumes
IV, V and VI. London: Heinemann, 1946. Friedlander, Paul.
Plato , Volumes I, II and III. New York: Bollingen Series, 1958.
Grene, David; and Richmond Lattimore, eds. The Complete Greek Tragedies
. Aeschylus I , translated by Lattimore; Euripides I , translated
by Lattimore. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1953.
Grote. Plat o and the Other Companions of Sokrates . Vol. II.
London: John Murray, 1885. Hamilton, E. and H. Cairns. Plato:
The Collected Dialogues . Princeton: Princeton University Press,
Bollingen Series, 1961. Hammond, N. G. L. and H. H. Scullard, eds.
The Oxford Classical Dictionary. Oxford University Press, Clarendon
Press, Herodotus. The Histories . Translated by J. E. Powell; Oxford
Library of Tranalstions. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1949.
Hesiod. Hesiod . Translated by Richmond Lattimore. Ann Arbor:
University of Michigan Press, 1959. Hobbes, Thomas. 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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