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Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Carabellese: la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale dell’arena e la pietra -- la sabbia e la roccia – il segno – scuola di Molfetta – filosofia barese – filosofia pugliese -- filosofia italiana – Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, The Swimming-Pool Library (Molfetta). Filosofo pugliese. Filosofo italiano. Molfetta, Bari, Puglia. Grice: “I love Carabellese; his masterpiece is ‘the rock and the sand,’ which reminds me of Tuke’s Cornwall! – Tuke captured some dialectic on the sand and rocks, which I’m sure were common in Ostia, too, back in the day! Carabellese speaks of a ‘semiotic scandal’ so it all connects with my pragmatics of dialectics or conversation.” Studia a Napoli e Roma. Insegna a Palermo e a Roma.A partire da una critica ferrata alla dottrina cartesiana (Le obbiezioni al cartesianesimo; il metodo, l’idea, la dualita; Il circolo vizioso in Cartesio) porta a compimento studi critici su diversi autori, tra i quali spiccano Kant e Rosmini. Elabora la dottrina dell'ontologismo critico, in cui l'essere non è mero oggetto della coscienza ma è a essa intrinseco come fondamento irriducibile, cioè essere-di-coscienza, che in ultima istanza altri non è che Dio (che, come già asseriva Vico, "è" e non "esiste"). Difese l'oggettività essenziale dell'essere e la filosofia, non come sapere specialistico trincerato, ma come operatrice per l'umanità tutta così che la coscienza filosofica esplica quella teoria che nel diversificarsi concreto della spiritualità risulta necessariamente implicita. E allora lo sforzo della filosofia non potrà mai, quindi, essere compiuto atto seppure la teoria si attui sempre in una pratica, che è l'altro termine del concreto. Insomma Carabellese difese la filosofia come ascesa teoretico-razionale a realtà teologiche, o come sentiero che volge al fondamento comune della vita politica e che alla politica rimane irriducibile. Altre opere: Critica del concreto; Il problema della filosofia da Kant a Fichte; Il problema teologico come filosofia; L'idealismo italiano; L'idea politica d'Italia; Da Cartesio a Rosmini. Fondazione storica dell'ontologismo critico. L'essere e la manifestazione. L'essere e la manifestazione: Dialettica della Forme. L'essere. Filosofo della coscienza concreta, Ravenna, Edizioni del Girasole. La sabbia e la roccia: l'ontologia critica di Pantaleo C.. Il problema dell'io in C.. Metafisica in C.. Kant e C. Dizionario Biografico degl’italiani. Autolimitazione della metafisica critica? Momenti della recezione italiana di Fichte con particolare riferimento all'ontologismo critico di Carabellese. E anche per lui lo gnoseologismo era il fraintendimento della vera scoperta di Kant, ed era all ' origine della moderna... intesa come « scoperta » deriva quell ' approfondimento dei concetti tradizionali che il Semerari chiama « lo scandalo...seDalla filosofia intesa come « scoperta » deriva quell ' approfondimento dei concetti tradizionali che il Semerari chiama “lo scandalo linguistico,” cioè la terminologia dell ' Ontocoscienzialismo, a prima vista sconcertante. See also the important chapter " Lo scandalo linguistico, " in G. Semerari, La sabbia e la roccia. Merleau - Ponty, Sens et non - sens, Paris, Nagel; It. trans. by Caruso, Senso e non senso, Milan, Il Saggiatore. La ontologia di C., così, si prospetta come una ontologia della coscienza assiologica e semantica, ossia come una critica antinaturalistica e antipsiscologistica dei valori e dei significati dell’essere. L’importanza del lavoro filosofico carabellesiano, secondo Semerari, consiste nell’esigenza radicale di lavorare alle radici del linguaggio filosofico, di andare al di là della storia già fatta, come scrive Semerari citando C., scendendo sino ai suoi presupposti: ciò significa portandosi al grado zero della parola per reinventare il linguaggio filosofico e le connessioni che in esso si sono stabilite lungo la sua storia, a partire dalla cosa stessa, ossia dall’essere in cui la coscienza è già implicata. Scrive Semerari: «Sotto questo riguardo non si può trascurare la convergenza con la ontologia critica di quella parte della filosofia linguistica contemporanea per la quale, al limite tra fenomenologia, esistenzialismo e analitica, porre la questione del linguaggio è portarsi al grado zero della parola, al silenzio come radice di ogni possibilità linguistica, fare giudice della critica del linguaggio, com’è stato suggestivamente detto, la ‘coscienza silenziosa’. singolari di Coscienza si costituiscono come soggetti pensanti in comunicazione tra loro. L’alterità dell’altro io presuppone l’identità dell’io che lo esperisce come altro. Reciprocamente la coscienza della propria identità egologica richiede il rapporto di alterità come intrinseco all’essere stesso dell’io. L’alterità sempre afferma chi dice io, il quale ciò dicendo, anche trascendentalmente si distingue, senza per questo separarsi assolutamente, da un chi che riconosce di fronte a sé. Con questo chi egli afferma una relazione reciproca con la quale attua l’egoità. Soggettività ed egoità pura sono sempre pura alterità. L’alterità di ciascun io è, come scrive C., «l’insondabile residuo di meità intraducibile in esperienza dell’altro. Ma questa intraducibilità, che è il limite che la meità ha nell’esperienza, non prova che l’alterità sia soltanto di esperienza e non pura, ma prova, precisamente, il contrario, e cioè che, a fondamento dell’alterità empirica, c’è l’alterità pura come schietta egoità.. Alterità e non assolutezza dell’io L’Essere di coscienza richiede la compattezza non la relazione fra Oggetto universale, Dio, e soggettività molteplice. La relazione è fra i soggetti: infatti, l’io come uno esistente, implica necessariamente l’altro, che è sempre un altro io, sottolinea C. Diversamente l’io assoluto fichtiano, dilaga nella coscienza, identificandosi con essa, riducendo l’oggettività a negazione; ma resta così l’io nella sua solitudine e, senza l’altro, cade nel nulla del non pensare. L’io fichtiano, nell’interpretazione del C., elimina gli altri io dalla coscienza, assolutizzandosi, ma in tal modo perde la meità, approdando all’Unico, che egli vede come una nuova forma di eleatismo. C. sottolinea che se non è da percorrere l’identificazione dell’io con la coscienza, tuttavia questo non conduce alla cancellazione della meità; invece, pensare l’immediata appartenenza del me all’essere di coscienza, non assolutizzando il me, apre ad intendere gli altri. Non l’annullamento del me costituisce la base per la relazione responsabile in sede etica (Lévinas), ma proprio partendo dal me, per C. si giunge agli altri come altri “di” me, esistenti nella loro singolarità, non si giunge agli altri “da” me. Il me esistente nella purezza dell’Essere di coscienza apriori di cui parla C., in primo luogo non si identifica con il corpo, in quanto quest’ultimo trova il suo limite nell’altro corpo e, più in generale nell’altra cosa: «Io, come innegabile esigenza di coscienza non sono, o se volete, non sono affatto corpo. pur mio. Ora la differenza fra me, che pur sono uno esistente, e il mio corpo, che anch’esso è uno, sta proprio (non se ne può trovar altra) nel limite, che il mio corpo trova negli altri corpi, e che io non trovo, se non voglio cadere nell’assurdo di ritenere me il mio corpo» C. rifiuta l’ipotesi materialistica, perché se l’io si identificasse con il corpo non potrebbe affermare nemmeno la propria corporeità, ossia che il corpo è suo. Nella concezione materialistica l’io si identifica con il corpo che diventa la radice dell’opposizione con gli altri. Se si realizzasse questa identificazione in realtà si avrebbe la soppressione dell’io come uno di coscienza, e anche gli altri non sarebbero più altri uno di coscienza. Il nulla del non pensare si porrebbe contraddittoriamente come l’essere. Anche la concezione spiritualistica che intende l’io come spirito finito, ha come esito la riduzione dell’io a corpo, perché sostenere la limitatezza dello spirito implica sottoporlo al limite, come il corpo, eliminando così il me. Anche se Fichte ha evitato la riduzione dell’io al corpo, non ha tuttavia salvato la meità identificando l’io con la coscienza. Infatti nell’io empirico il me è sostanzialmente ridotto a corpo, a non-io. Solo l’Io, unico, assoluto pone se stesso. In Hegel, poi, ogni residuo di meità è tolta nel Soggetto assoluto. L’io perciò è spirito infinito, ma da questo non deriva per C. che venga eliminata la distinzione dell’io dal tu nella coscienza, ossia che vengano tolti gli altri, con il rischio di tornare a Fichte. Per il filosofo italiano «togliere il limite è affermare gli altri», non annullarli; infatti, per giungere alla negazione dell’altro, o degli altri, «bisogna prima ammettere – osserva C. – che gli altri, in quanto tali, escludano l’uno di tale essere, e che l’uno esclude gli altri; bisogna cioè cominciare proprio con l’opporre ad uno gli altri dall’uno, ritenendoli diversi ed opposti a questo e cioè col presupporre che uno (io) sia la coscienza, e gli altri no, e perciò siano non io, non coscienza. Cioè bisogna cominciare col presupporre la empirica limitazione dei corpi, la quale appunto, nella identificazione di me col corpo mio, fa ritenere me, col mio corpo, coscienza e gli altri, che col loro corpo limitano il corpo mio, non coscienza». Già ne Il problema teologico come filosofia C. afferma, polemizzando con Fichte, che la molteplicità soggettiva non è semplicemente empirica, ma pura, condizione trascendentale della “concretezza”; la singolarità non è solitudine, ma relazione reciproca nel pensare, sentire, agire l’Universale/Dio. L’io esistente, singolare, è uno, e come tale è ciascuno, essenzialmente altro. «Il singolare è quell’uno, di cui si sa l’alterità, ed è perciò ogni uno, ciascuno, unusquisque. Uno che non sia ciascuno, non è uno. E, ancora più incisivamente: «Io sono altro: solo così “sum qui sum”» L’altro, spirito infinito come l’io, per C. non è esteriore, né eterogeneo rispetto al me, non si risolve in una identificazione con l’oggetto realisticamente inteso. Nell’ultimo sistema C. sostiene l’“identità” dei soggetti pensanti, portando alle estreme conseguenze la determinazione dell’omogeneità, senza però indicare come possano differenziarsi i soggetti l’uno dall’altro. Il rischio dell’annullamento dell’alterità, pur se non voluto, è evidente; infatti per spiegare il darsi della molteplicità soggettiva egli parla di alterazione, come moltiplicazione infinita riferendola però non all’uno, al soggetto, ma all’Unico, ossia all’essenza divina, al che. Tuttavia, se la moltiplicazionealterazione è riferita da C. all’Unico, non all’uno: allora l’altro, è un altro uno, ossia un altro soggetto, oppure un impossibile altro Unico? Ed essendo l’Unico non soggettivo, come possono derivarne i soggetti? In realtà possiamo muovere anche a C. l’osservazione di involgersi in una sorta di circolo fra Dio e io, in quanto se da un lato Dio è la qualità infinita di cui l’io è terminazione, moltiplicazione/alterazione, nello stesso tempo a Dio, in quanto non soggettivo, sono necessari i soggetti pensanti. L’uno di cui parla C. è l’io che immediatamente si intuisce singolare, e che altrettanto immediatamente avverte l’alterità: «Uno che non sia ciascuno, non è uno», afferma eloquentemente. Egli sente il pericolo di ricondurre e ridurre la meità ad una ciascunità di identici, perdendo l’originalità e l’inconfondibilità di ciascuno nei confronti degli altri. Tuttavia per C. invece proprio il recupero dell’altro consente la realizzazione di sé. Ma, se si andasse più profondo in questo amor di me spirituale, che è, o dovrebbe essere, l’amor proprio, se si sviluppasse ciò a cui esso mi costringe, si vedrebbe, che, se io veramente voglio dare una positività a questa negazione del “non tu”, se non voglio divenire un puro e semplice “non” devo considerare me come uno tale che possa e debba riversare l’amor di me uno in altro uno, che è uno come me, cioè devo riconoscere l’unità, che sono io, nell’alterità. L’amor mio proprio, che non voglia essere soltanto amor del mio corpo, è proprio amor dell’altro. L’amor proprio spirituale non mi costringe alla assolutezza (unicità e incondizionatezza) della mia unità, ma proprio alla sua alterità: l’amore è sempre amore di altro: è la grande scoperta di Cristo. La struttura dell’essere di coscienza apriori richiede l’alterità e Dio o, in altri. termini, l’uno molteplice e l’Unico: in tal modo è la stessa struttura coscienziale a dare fondamento alla carità. L’amor proprio e l’originalità di ciascuno si afferma e realizza nella relazione e nel riconoscimento degli altri: «Io facendo dagli altri riconoscere me tra essi, e riconoscendo me come altro, non tolgo ma affermo la mia originalità». Per C. l’amor di sé ha insita l’esigenza della relazione con l’altro; solamente chi concepisce l’io come l’Unico chiuso in se stesso, privo di meità e di relazione, il solo, parla di offesa dell’amor proprio, ma in realtà non si avvede che quell’Unico non è più nemmeno soggetto. Tuttavia i problemi restano: la relazione con l’altro identico rischia di essere più un narcisistico rispecchiamento, che una vera relazione, più una sorta di moltiplicazione dell’Unico, un suo reiterarsi che il faticoso cammino del riconoscersi. Fra i soggetti nella loro purezza, per cui sono infinitamente penetrativi e interi nella loro relazione, l’identità è già data immediatamente: ma allora non si comprendono gli erramenti, le lotte e gli scontri a livello empirico. L’altro per C. è un altro me, non la negazione del me. Ineludibile il riferimento al Parmenide platonico e all’opposizione che Platone pone tra uno e altri. Per C., sulla base dell’essere di coscienza, tale opposizione non si dà; alla domanda del Socrate platonico su quel che siano gli altri, quando io sia, si può rispondere, che essi, non sono altri dall’uno ma altri uno, sono perciò altri “me”. C. individua la causa della “cacciata” degli altri dalla coscienza nella erronea identificazione della coscienza concreta con l’io: per tale scambio l’io annulla la “qualità” di cui insieme agli altri è individuazione senza esaurirla. Nello stesso tempo si annulla la “quantità” pura, restando il solo, che cade nell’assurdo di non essere né soggetto, né oggetto. L’io infinitamente aperto, illimitato, identico, intero pur se nell’essenziale relazione, di cui parla C. è apriori, non si identifica con il singolo uomo vivente, limitato nello spazio e nel tempo: essere condizionato e limitata persona dell’esperienza, presuppone essere soggetto incondizionato e illimitato nell’essere di coscienza puro. Sembra presentarsi una scissione fra il soggetto in quanto pensante e l’uomo vivente spazio-temporalmente, fra miglior coscienza e coscienza empirica, per utilizzare in chiave euristica espressioni di Schopenhauer, che riflette sulla duplicità della coscienza, non facendo ancora riferimento alla volontà come principio metafisico. Però proprio il pensare, da lui inteso in senso ampio come intendere, sentire e volere che si esplicano nell’attività spirituale umana, esige il livello della purezza coscienziale. Come abbiamo visto in precedenza, per C. l’assolutizzazione della. Cfr. A. Schopenhauer, La dottrina dell’idea, antologia a cura di Mirri, Armando, Roma. dimensione spazio-temporale, ossia del limite, condurrebbe all’annullamento dell’attività spirituale umana. C. non intende semplicemente opporre la propria concezione a quella fichtiana, ma intende condurne all’estremo le conseguenze, ipotizzando una sorta di esperimento mentale. Infatti, se l’Io si ritenesse assoluto e si arrogasse il diritto di sopprimere il tu, riducendolo soltanto a sua esperienza, allora «rimarrebbe sì, solo Io, ma solo in quanto avrebbe soppresso il tu e quindi anche l’esperienza, che egli ne ha: non ci sarebbero più i tu, che egli dovrebbe dimostrare essere soltanto io empirici: gli altri non sarebbero empirici, non ci sarebbero. Or senza i tu (altri) ci sarei ancora io (uno)?»18. In realtà, per C. c’è un'unica soluzione, che esclude la fine tragica della disputa: «Non c’è dunque altra via d’uscita da esso, se non quella che io non mi contenti di ricambiare la tuità, ma gli ricambi proprio la meità, riconosca in lui non un tu posto da me (Fichte) ma un altro io, e perciò mentre gli riconosco la meità, che egli non mi riconosce, gli contesto il diritto di trasformarsi in Io assoluto, mostrandogli che così egli sopprime se stesso come io, e nega l’assoluto facendolo, lui, sapere e parlare come Io, Dio, ossia l’Unico, non è soggetto, ma come qualità infinita, costituisce l’essenza di cui i molti soggetti sono individuazione o moltiplicazione, con tutti i problemi che ne conseguono20, compreso il possibile l’esito fichtiano. Secondo C. si può dire che «sono l’identico io proprio perché siamo due»: se fosse eliminato il tu come altro me, riducendolo ad esperienza, sarebbe eliminato anche quel consentire in cui consiste la stessa esperienza. Non solo l’esperienza richiede la dimensione comunitaria, ma in generale il pensare, che è essenzialmente un convenire, un cum-sapere21 l’Universale, Dio. Quel cum non è un'aggiunta irrilevante, in quanto la dimensione intersoggettiva, comunitaria, è essenziale a tutte le forma dell’attività spirituale umana. «Ci sarà – afferma C. –, anzi c’è senza dubbio, quella empirica alterità, nella quale ciascuno di noi presenta all’altro un insondabile residuo di meità intraducibile in esperienza dell’altro, ma questa intraducibilità, che è il limite che la meità ha nella esperienza, non prova che l’alterità sia soltanto di esperienza e non pura, ma prova precisamente, il contrario, e cioè che, a fondamento dell’alterità empirica, c’è l’alterità pura come schietta egoità, prova che il limite empirico, che separa me da te, persone viventi, non è la stessa alterazione pura di noi altri due, ciascuno singolare; io, alterazione pura, per la quale ciascuno, con la propria unità è immesso nell’altro uno, Cfr. F. Valori, Il problema dell’io in C.. Cfr. in proposito C., La coscienza. immissione, senza della quale è assurdo non solo l’innegabile consentimento ma anche la divergenza di noi nell’alterità nostra; consentimento, e divergenza, per i quali noi, ciascuno come altro, siamo tanti soggetti dell’Unico, che è immanente a noi molti. La differenza fra le egoità si dà solo a livello empirico, a livello trascendentale e metafisico i soggetti sono identici, interi23 e, nello stesso tempo infinitamente penetrativi. C. contrasts the rock of concrete, temporal, plural, relational being in the light of which the problem of the origin, of the foundation, of validity cannot be given up, with the sand of historicist becoming, of the historicist succession of the facts in which law and value coincide with the succession itself. The metaphor of sand and rock used by the same C. in his later writings is taken up by Semerari in the title of an essay dedicated to critical ontologism. This metaphor gives us a good idea of the fundamental theoretical instance relating to the problem of history. Such a theoretical instance is asserted by Carabellesian ontology in its opposition to historicism through the ontological recovery of time and of existence and by contrast as well with the interpretation, traceable in Heidegger, of time and existence as the outside, as the not of meta–temporal and meta–existential Being, that is, as its decayed phenomena21.”La responsabilita profonda, grave, se una se ne vuol trovare, e questo aver SCAMBIATA LA SABBIA DELL’IERI, OGGI, E DOMANI, SEPARATI, AVER SCAMBIATA LA SABBIA DEL “FUI” PER LA ROCCIA DELL’ “ESSERE” -- l’eterno – nell’eterno -- nella roccia, l’ieri, l’oggi, e il domani non sono separati ne successivi – la copula S EST P – non S FUI P --. La responsabilita profonda e di questa coscienza storicista, che si resolve appunto nel credere che tutta la CASA umana sia FATTA SU SABBIA [on sand, not on rock]– e DI SABBIA. Abbandoniamo questa coscienza storicista di Croce, che spessso si nasconde, forse piu intransigente anche nel dommatismo ultramondano degl’ANTI-STORICI, che pur soltanto UNA SABBIOSA STORIA (la storia della semiotica, la storia di Vitruvio) concedeno all’umana attivita consapevole. CERCHIAMO LA ROCCIA al di sotto di questo SGRETOLAMENTE (la greta), che sono i successive e separati ieri, oggi, e domani. CI riuscira forse cosi di ritrovare il fondamento e di trarre anche dallo SCAVO DI FONDAZIONE, PER LA COSTRUZIONE DELLA NOSTRA CASA, materiale piu atto che non sia quello datoci dal SABBISO SUCCEDERSI DI ETA UMANE E COSMICHE. Certo nessuna costruzione noi uomini pensanti possiame fare SULLA ROCCIA se queso nostro PENSARE NON TOCCA LA ROCCIA. Nessuna costruzione possiamo fare se nostro pensare no ha LA ROCCIA A SUO INTIMO FONDAMENTO. Ma tanto meno potremo alcuna costruzione fare SE INTENDIAMO FARLA CON POLVERE di idee che si facciano sorgere o tramonatre con la storia. Su Polvere e di polvere non si costruisce. Si COSTRIUCE SOLO CON PIETRA [stone] DURA [hardened – D. Paul] SULLA ROCCIA. ROCCIA E L’ESSERE SPIRITUALE CHE *dura* -- durazione, duro – ETERNO.” 24 Omnis ergo, qui audit verba mea haec et facit ea, assimilabitur viro sapienti, qui aedificavit domum suam supra petram. 25 Et descendit pluvia, et venerunt flumina, et flaverunt venti et irruerunt in domum illam, et non cecidit; fundata enim erat supra petram. 26 Et omnis, qui audit verba mea haec et non facit ea, similis erit viro stulto, qui aedificavit domum suam supra arenam. 27 Et descendit pluvia, et venerunt flumina, et flaverunt venti et irruerunt in domum illam, et cecidit, et fuit ruina eius magna ”. Nome compiuto: Pantaleo Carbellese. Keywords: la sabbia e la roccia – il segno, lo scandalo del significato, io/tu, Husserl, intersoggetivita, intersoggetivo, interpersonal, interattivo – interazione, azione sociale – orientazione all’altro, razionalita strategica, razionalita comunicativa, complessita intensionale, il significato, i significati, l’nsieme, la comunita, il noi. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, “Grice e Carabellese,” The Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Speranza, Liguria, Italia.
Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Caracciolo:
la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale del colloquio – scuola
di San Pietro di Morubio – filosofia veronese – filosofia veneta -- filosofia
italiana – Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, The
Swimming-Pool Library (San Pietro di Morubio). Filosofo
veronese. Filosofo veneto. Filosofo italiano. San Pietro di Morubio, Verona,
Veneto. 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. 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 FAm 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. . 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. 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* . 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. . 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. 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 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.
. 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. . 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 - . 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. . 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 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.
, 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 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. , Thos.,
Lord Buckhurst, afterwards Earl of Dorset^ to Sir Robert CeciL Sir . . .
Your very lo: frend T. Buckhurst. 1 , 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. .
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. . 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, 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 et Turner) are mostly undated, but one to Davenant has
the date 1629, and another to 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, 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’. 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 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.). 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.). The phrase ‘as ever I see' is common in the Verney
letters, and also in the Wentworth 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. Nome
compiuto: Alberto Caracciolo. Keywords: il colloquio, in cammino verso il
linguaggio. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, “Grice e
Caracciolo,” The Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Speranza, Liguria, Italia.
Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Caramella:
la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale degl’eroi di Vico – scuola
di Genova – filosofia genovese – filosofia ligure -- filosofia italiana – Caritone
e Melanippo -- Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, The
Swimming-Pool Library (Genova). Filosofo
genovese. Filosofo ligure. Filosofo italiano. Genova, Liguria. 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. La 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. Gobetti, ormai orientato verso interessi più
specificamente politici, affidò al giovane C. la trattazione sulla rivista dei
temi filosofici. Su segnalazione di GOBETTI (si veda), Radice comincia 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. Passa 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. et 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 et 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 et Chariton et Melanippus
erat, mortalium genti auctores coeleftis amoris. Nome compiuto: 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, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, “Grice e
Caramella,” The Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Speranza, Liguria, Italia.
Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Caramello:
la ragione conversazionale e l’implictatura conversazionale dell’interpretare –
scuola di Torino – filosofia torinese – filosofia piemontese -- filosofia
italiana – Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, The
Swimming-Pool Library (Torino). Filosofo
torinese. Filosofo piemontese. Filosofo italiano. Torino, Piemonte. 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, quæ, 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 præmissis quasi principiis, subiungit de his, quæ pertinent ad
principalem intentionem, dicens: postea quid negatio et quid affirmatio, quæ
sunt enunciationis partes: non quidem integrales, sicut nomen et verbum
(alioquin oporteret omnem enunciationem ex affirmatione et negatione compositam
esse), sed partes subiectivæ, 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 prætermisit tractatum de hypotheticis enu nciationibus et
syllogismis. Subdit autem, et enunciatio, quæ est genus negationis et
affirmationis; et oratio, quæ est genus enunciationis. Si quis ulterius
quærat, quare non facit ulterius mentionem de voce, dicendum est quod vox est
quoddam naturale; unde pertinet ad considerationem naturalis philosophiæ, 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 præposterus: 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, quæ divisionem continet, eadem ratione præponit
affirmationi, quæ consistit in compositione: quia divisio magis accedit ad
partes, compositio vero magis accedit ad totum. Vel potest dici, secundum
quosdam, quod præmittitur negatio, quia in iis quæ possunt esse et non esse,
prius est non esse, quod significat negatio, quam esse, quod significat
affirmatio. Sed tamen, quia sunt species ex æquo dividentes genus, sunt simul
natura; unde non refert quod eorum præponatur. Præmisso prooemio, philosophus accedit ad propositum exequendum. Et quia
ea, de quibus promiserat se dicturum, sunt voces significativæ complexæ vel
incomplexæ, ideo præmittit 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, præmittit ordinem
significationis vocum; secundo, ostendit qualis sit vocum significatio, utrum
sit ex natura vel ex impositione; ibi: et quemadmodum nec litteræ et
cetera. Est
ergo considerandum quod circa primum tria proponit, ex quorum uno intelligitur
quartum. Proponit enim Scripturam, voces et animæ passiones, ex
quibus intelliguntur res. Nam passio est ex impressione alicuius agentis; et
sic passiones animæ originem habent ab ipsis rebus. Et si quidem homo esset
naturaliter animal solitarium, sufficerent sibi animæ 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, quæ respicit solum ad hic et nunc,
sufficeret sibi ad convivendum aliis vox significativa, sicut et cæteris
animalibus, quæ per quasdam voces, suas conceptiones invicem sibi manifestant:
sed quia homo utitur etiam intellectuali cognitione, quæ abstrahit ab hic et
nunc; consequitur ipsum sollicitudo non solum de præsentibus secundum locum et
tempus, sed etiam de his quæ 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 Scripturæ.
Sed quia logica ordinatur ad cognitionem de rebus sumendam, significatio vocum,
quæ 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, quæ sunt in voce,
notæ, idest, signa earum passionum quæ sunt in anima. Dicit autem ergo, quasi
ex præmissis concludens: quia supra dixerat determinandum esse de nomine et
verbo et aliis prædictis; hæc autem sunt voces significativæ; ergo oportet
vocum significationem exponere. Utitur autem hoc modo loquendi, ut dicat,
ea quæ sunt in voce, et non, voces, ut quasi continuatim loquatur cum prædictis.
Dixerat enim dicendum esse de nomine et verbo et aliis huiusmodi. Hæc autem
tripliciter habent esse. Uno quidem modo, in conceptione intellectus; alio
modo, in prolatione vocis; tertio modo, in conscriptione litterarum. Dicit
ergo, ea quæ sunt in voce etc.; ac si dicat, nomina et verba et alia
consequentia, quæ tantum sunt in voce, sunt notæ. Vel, quia non omnes voces
sunt significativæ, et earum quædam sunt significativæ naturaliter, quæ longe
sunt a ratione nominis et verbi et aliorum consequentium; ut appropriet suum
dictum ad ea de quibus intendit, ideo dicit, ea quæ sunt in voce, idest quæ
continentur sub voce, sicut partes sub toto. Vel, quia vox est quoddam
naturale, nomen autem et verbum significant ex institutione humana, quæ advenit
rei naturali sicut materiæ, ut forma lecti ligno; ideo ad designandum nomina et
verba et alia consequentia dicit, ea quæ sunt in voce, ac si de lecto
diceretur, ea quæ sunt in ligno. Circa id autem quod dicit, earum quæ sunt in
anima passionum, considerandum est quod passiones animæ 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 quædam voces hominum, ut gemitus
infirmorum, et aliorum animalium, ut dicitur in I politicæ. Sed nunc sermo est
de vocibus significativis ex institutione humana; et ideo oportet passiones
animæ 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 animæ
vocat omnes animæ 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 animæ 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 quæ
scribuntur etc., agit de significatione Scripturæ: et secundum Alexandrum hoc
inducit ad manifestandum præcedentem sententiam per modum similitudinis, ut sit
sensus: ita ea quæ sunt in voce sunt signa passionum animæ, sicut et litteræ
sunt signa vocum. Quod etiam manifestat per sequentia, cum dicit: et
quemadmodum nec litteræ etc.; inducens hoc quasi signum præcedentis. Quod enim
litteræ significent voces, significatur per hoc, quod, sicut sunt diversæ voces
apud diversos, ita et diversæ litteræ. Et secundum hanc expositionem, ideo non
dixit, et litteræ eorum quæ sunt in voce, sed ea quæ scribuntur: quia dicuntur
litteræ etiam in prolatione et Scriptura, quamvis magis proprie, secundum quod
sunt in Scriptura, dicantur litteræ; secundum autem quod sunt in prolatione,
dicantur elementa vocis. Sed quia Aristoteles non dicit, sicut et ea quæ
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, quæ sunt in voce,
sunt signa eorum quæ sunt in anima, continuatim subdit quod nomina et verba quæ
scribuntur, signa sunt eorum nominum et verborum quæ sunt in voce. Deinde cum
dicit: et quemadmodum nec litteræ etc., ostendit differentiam præmissorum
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 litteræ naturaliter significant. Ea
enim, quæ 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, quæ sicut non sunt eædem apud omnes, ita nec voces. Unde manifeste
relinquitur quod sicut nec litteræ, ita nec voces naturaliter significant, sed
ex institutione humana. Voces autem illæ, quæ naturaliter significant, sicut
gemitus infirmorum et alia huiusmodi, sunt eadem apud omnes. Secundo,
ibi: quorum autem etc., ostendit passiones animæ naturaliter esse, sicut et
res, per hoc quod eædem sunt apud omnes. Unde dicit: quorum autem; idest sicut
passiones animæ sunt eædem omnibus (quorum primorum, idest quarum passionum
primarum, hæ, scilicet voces, sunt notæ, idest signa; comparantur enim
passiones animæ ad voces, sicut primum ad secundum: voces enim non proferuntur,
nisi ad exprimendum interiores animæ passiones), et res etiam eædem, scilicet
sunt apud omnes, quorum, idest quarum rerum, hæ, scilicet passiones animæ sunt
similitudines. Ubi attendendum est quod litteras dixit esse notas, idest signa
vocum, et voces passionum animæ similiter; passiones autem animæ 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. Litteræ
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 animæ oportet attendi
rationem similitudinis ad exprimendas res, quia naturaliter eas designant, non
ex institutione. Obiiciunt autem quidam, ostendere volentes contra hoc
quod dicit passiones animæ, quas significant voces, esse omnibus easdem. Primo
quidem, quia diversi diversas sententias habent de rebus, et ita non videntur
esse eædem apud omnes animæ passiones. Ad quod respondet Boethius quod
Aristoteles hic nominat passiones animæ 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 incomplexæ), quæ sunt eædem 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 metaphysicæ quod ratio, quam
significat nomen, est definitio. Et ideo signanter dicit: quorum primorum hæ
notæ sunt, ut scilicet referatur ad primas conceptiones a vocibus primo
significatas. Sed adhuc obiiciunt aliqui de nominibus æquivocis, in
quibus eiusdem vocis non est eadem passio, quæ 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 animæ per comparationem
ad vocem, ut scilicet unius vocis una sit conceptio: quia voces sunt diversæ
apud diversos; sed intendit asserere identitatem conceptionum animæ per comparationem
ad res, quas similiter dicit esse easdem. Tertio, ibi: de his itaque
etc., excusat se a diligentiori harum consideratione: quia quales sint animæ
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 quædam significant verum vel falsum, quædam non. Et circa
hoc duo facit: primo, præmittit differentiam; secundo, manifestat eam; ibi:
circa compositionem enim et cetera. Quia vero conceptiones intellectus præambulæ
sunt ordine naturæ vocibus, quæ ad eas exprimendas proferuntur, ideo ex
similitudine differentiæ, quæ est circa intellectum, assignat differentiam, quæ
est circa significationes vocum: ut scilicet hæc 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 significativæ formantur ad
exprimendas conceptiones intellectus, ideo ad hoc quod signum conformetur
signato, necesse est quod etiam vocum significativarum similiter quædam
significent sine vero et falso, quædam 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 quæ 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 quæ sunt circa intellectum
secundum se, semper est compositio, ubi est veritas et falsitas; quæ 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, quæ est similitudo rei, non careat veritate et
falsitate. Præterea, 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 metaphysicæ; 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 aliquæ
veræ vel falsæ per comparationem ad intellectum nostrum, non essentialiter vel
formaliter, sed effective, in quantum scilicet natæ 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 quælibet 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 quælibet res naturalis per suam formam arti divinæ
conformatur. Unde philosophus in I physicæ, 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
suæ 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 metaphysicæ quod veritas
est solum in mente, sicut scilicet in cognoscente veritatem. Cognoscere autem
prædictam 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 quæ significat verum intellectum,
falsa autem quæ significat falsum intellectum: quamvis vox, in quantum est res
quædam, dicatur vera sicut et aliæ res. Unde hæc 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 præmissis 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 quærenti:
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 primæ et secundæ personæ, et de verbo exceptæ
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 Græco 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 quæ exprimitur iudicium
intellectus. Potest autem addi esse vel non esse, vel secundum præsens tempus,
quod est esse vel non esse in actu, et ideo hoc dicitur esse simpliciter; vel
secundum tempus præteritum, 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, quæ est
subiectum huius libri; in qualibet autem scientia oportet prænoscere 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, quæ 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 quædam, quæ 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 præmissis
concludit quod nomen est vox significativa. Sed cum vox sit quædam res naturalis,
nomen autem non est aliquid naturale sed ab hominibus institutum, videtur quod
non debuit genus nominis ponere vocem, quæ 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 substantiæ ex parte materiæ, in genere autem
accidentium ex parte formæ: nam formæ 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 quædam, et sic potest significari a nomine, sicut
quælibet 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
præmissam definitionem. Et primo, quantum ad ultimam particulam; secundo,
quantum ad tertiam; ibi: secundum vero placitum et cetera. Nam primæ duæ particulæ manifestæ sunt ex præmissis; 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, hæc pars ferus, per
se nihil significat sicut significat in hac oratione, quæ 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 læsione 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 compositæ, a qua
imponitur nomen ad significandum. Sed oratio significat ipsam conceptionem
compositam: unde pars orationis significat partem conceptionis compositæ.
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. Hæc autem ratio differentiæ
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 prædictæ 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 quædam 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 quæ 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 multæ
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 quædam 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, quæ æqualiter dicitur de ente, et non ente. Unde non homo
potest dici indifferenter, et de eo quod non est in rerum natura; ut si
dicamus, Chimæra 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 prædicari, 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 quædam alia verba,
scilicet impersonalia, quæ 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 præmissa nominis
definitio, quæ istis convenit. Sed dicendum, secundum Ammonium, quod supra
communius definit nomen, postmodum vero significationem nominis arctat
subtrahendo hæc a nomine. Vel dicendum quod præmissa 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 quædam 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 quæ sunt
nomini et verbo communia, relinquens ea intellectui legentis ex his quæ 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 prætermitti, 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, quæ componuntur ex nominibus; ut cum
dicitur, homo est animal. Quia vero sunt etiam quædam orationes quæ 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
quædam pars formalis ipsius, quam nomen, quod est quædam 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, quæ de altero prædicantur
nota, idest signum: quia scilicet nomina et participia possunt poni ex parte
subiecti et prædicati, sed verbum semper est ex parte prædicati. Sed hoc
videtur habere instantiam in verbis infinitivi modi, quæ 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 Græco 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 quædam 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 inhærens ei ut subiecto, et
sic significatur per verba aliorum modorum, quæ attribuuntur prædicatis. Sed
quia etiam ipse processus vel inhærentia actionis potest apprehendi ab
intellectu et significari ut res quædam, inde est quod ipsa verba infinitivi
modi, quæ significant ipsam inhærentiam 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, quæ accipitur ut res quædam. 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 quæ de altero
prædicantur, 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 notæ 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 inhæret aliquid, cum verbum significet actionem per modum actionis, de
cuius ratione est ut inhæreat, semper ponitur ex parte prædicati, nunquam autem
ex parte subiecti, nisi sumatur in vi nominis, ut dictum est. Dicitur ergo
verbum semper esse nota eorum quæ dicuntur de altero: tum quia verbum semper
significat id, quod prædicatur; tum quia in omni prædicatione oportet esse
verbum, eo quod verbum importat compositionem, qua prædicatum componitur
subiecto. Sed dubium videtur quod subditur: ut eorum quæ de subiecto vel
in subiecto sunt. Videtur enim aliquid dici ut de subiecto, quod essentialiter
prædicatur; ut, homo est animal; in subiecto autem, sicut accidens de subiecto
prædicatur; ut, homo est albus. Si ergo verba significant actionem vel
passionem, quæ sunt accidentia, consequens est ut semper significent ea, quæ
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 prædicatur, 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, quæ de altero prædicantur,
non est sic intelligendum, quasi significata verborum sint quæ prædicantur,
quia cum prædicatio videatur magis proprie ad compositionem pertinere, ipsa
verba sunt quæ prædicantur, magis quam significent prædicata. Est ergo
intelligendum quod verbum semper est signum quod aliqua prædicentur, quia omnis
prædicatio fit per verbum ratione compositionis importatæ, sive prædicetur aliquid
essentialiter sive accidentaliter. Deinde cum dicit: non currit vero et
non laborat etc., excludit quædam a ratione verbi. Et primo, verbum infinitum;
secundo, verba præteriti 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 prædictæ 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 quæ supra
posita sunt in definitione verbi. Quorum primum est quod significat tempus,
quia significat agere et pati, quæ sicut sunt in tempore, ita privatio eorum;
unde et quies tempore mensuratur, ut habetur in VI physicorum. Secundum est
quod semper ponitur ex parte prædicati, 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 prædictæ
dictiones significant remotionem actionis vel passionis. Si quis autem
obiiciat: si prædictis 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 præteriti et futuri temporis; et dicit quod
sicut verba infinita non sunt simpliciter verba, ita etiam curret, quod est
futuri temporis, vel currebat, quod est præteriti temporis, non sunt verba, sed
sunt casus verbi. Et differunt in hoc a verbo, quia verbum consignificat præsens
tempus, illa vero significant tempus hinc et inde circumstans. Dicit autem
signanter præsens tempus, et non simpliciter præsens, ne intelligatur præsens
indivisibile, quod est instans: quia in instanti non est motus, nec actio aut
passio; sed oportet accipere præsens tempus quod mensurat actionem, quæ
incepit, et nondum est determinata per actum. Recte autem ea quæ consignificant
tempus præteritum 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 præterito vel futuro est secundum quid. Dicuntur etiam
verba præteriti vel futuri temporis rationabiliter casus verbi, quod
consignificat præsens tempus; quia præteritum vel futurum dicitur per respectum
ad præsens. Est enim præteritum quod fuit præsens, futurum autem quod erit præsens.
Cum autem declinatio verbi varietur per modos, tempora, numeros et personas,
variatio quæ fit per numerum et personam non constituit casus verbi: quia talis
variatio non est ex parte actionis, sed ex parte subiecti; sed variatio quæ 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 præteriti vel
futuri temporis. Sed verba indicativi modi præsentis temporis non dicuntur
casus, cuiuscumque sint personæ 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 quæ 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 hæc 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 quædam 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 prædicari. 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
significativæ significant intellectus. Unde proprium vocis significativæ 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, quæ 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, quæ 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, quæ 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 Græco 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 æquivoce dicitur de
decem prædicamentis; omne autem æquivocum ÆQVIVOCVM GRICE 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 hæc expositio non
videtur conveniens, tum quia ens non dicitur proprie æquivoce, sed secundum
prius et posterius; unde simpliciter dictum intelligitur de eo, quod per prius
dicitur: tum etiam, quia dictio æquivoca non nihil significat, sed multa
significat; et quandoque hoc, quandoque illud per ipsam accipitur: tum etiam,
quia talis expositio non multum facit ad intentionem præsentem. 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 præpositiones 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, quæ non potest
intelligi sine extremis compositionis. Sed quia hoc commune est omnibus
nominibus et verbis, non videtur hæc 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 hæc dictio ens significaret esse
principaliter, sicut significat rem quæ habet esse, procul dubio significaret
aliquid esse. Sed ipsam compositionem, quæ 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 quædam,
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, quæ 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 formæ, 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 præsens tempus;
secundum quid autem secundum alia tempora. Et ideo ex consequenti hoc verbum
est significat compositionem. Postquam philosophus determinavit de nomine et de
verbo, quæ sunt principia materialia enunciationis, utpote partes eius
existentes; nunc determinat de oratione, quæ 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, quæ secundum se non
significant aliquid absolutum, sed solum habitudinem unius ad alterum. Sed quia
duplex est significatio vocis, una quæ refertur ad intellectum compositum, alia
quæ 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, quæ 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 quædam 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
compositæ. Habere autem partes significantes aliquid ut affirmatio, competit
soli orationi, compositæ; sed habere partes significantes aliquid per modum
dictionis, et non per modum affirmationis, est commune orationi simplici et
compositæ. 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 hæc 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, quædam tamen partes referuntur ad ipsum immediate, sicut paries et
tectum ad domum, et membra organica ad animal: quædam 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, quæ etiam
ipsa habet partes significantes. Unde ista definitio convenit tam orationi
perfectæ, quam imperfectæ. 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, quæ sunt syllabæ vel litteræ. Et ideo
dicitur quod pars orationis est significativa separata, non tamen talis pars,
quæ est una nominis syllaba. Et hoc manifestat in syllabis, quæ 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 quædam
syllaba huius nominis sorex, soricis, non significat aliquid per se, sed est
vox sola. Dictio enim quædam 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 quæ sit
vox, inquantum autem est simplex in significando, non potest habere partem
significantem. Unde syllabæ quidem sunt voces, sed non sunt voces per se
significantes. Sciendum tamen quod in nominibus compositis, quæ 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, syllabæ quæ 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,
quæ 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 interpretativæ
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 interpretativæ per instrumenta prædicta. 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 humanæ 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 motivæ, 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, quæ 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 hæc in duas: in
prima, determinat de enunciatione absolute; in secunda, de diversitate
enunciationum, quæ provenit secundum ea quæ 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 cæteræ 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 significativæ est
significare conceptionem intellectus, ut supra dictum est: duæ 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 hæc 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 metaphysicæ, in re autem sicut in causa: quia ut dicitur in libro prædicamentorum,
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 prætermissis,
sciendum est quod perfectæ orationis, quæ 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
aliquæ aliæ 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 istæ 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, quæ 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: cæteræ igitur relinquantur
etc., ostendit quod de sola enunciativa est agendum; et dicit quod aliæ quatuor
orationis species sunt relinquendæ, quantum pertinet ad præsentem intentionem:
quia earum consideratio convenientior est rhetoricæ vel poeticæ scientiæ. Sed
enunciativa oratio præsentis 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 quæ 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 quæ
sunt propria rei, sed etiam per dispositiones audientis. Unde rhetores et poetæ
plerumque movere auditores nituntur provocando eos ad aliquas passiones, ut
philosophus dicit in sua rhetorica. Et ideo consideratio dictarum specierum
orationis, quæ pertinet ad ordinationem audientis in aliquid, cadit proprie sub
consideratione rhetoricæ vel poeticæ, 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 quædam est una simplex,
quædam est coniunctione una. Sicut etiam in rebus, quæ 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 quæ 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, quæ significat compositionem intellectus,
est prior negativa, quæ 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, quæ
significat esse, prior est negativa, quæ 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 quædam aliæ sunt unæ, non simpliciter, sed
coniunctione unæ. 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 prædicatur de suis speciebus, non secundum prius et posterius:
unde Aristoteles noluit quod ens esset genus commune omnium, quia per prius prædicatur
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 æqualiter
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 substantiæ et accidentis: quia in ipsa ratione entis, substantia, quæ
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 æqualiter 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, præmittit quædam, quæ
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 præsentis
temporis, vel ex casu verbi quod est præteriti 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 quædam est, et tamen si ad rationem hominis, idest
definitionem non addatur aut est, quod est verbum, aut erat, aut fuit, quæ 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 quæ de altero prædicantur. Prædicatum autem est
principalior pars enunciationis, eo quod est pars formalis et completiva
ipsius. Unde vocatur apud Græcos propositio categorica, idest prædicativa.
Denominatio autem fit a forma, quæ 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 quædam enunciatio est una simpliciter, quædam autem coniunctione
una; posset aliquis intelligere quod illa quæ 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 præsens 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, quæ 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 metaphysicæ 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 propinquæ, idest sine aliqua
interpositione coniunctionis vel moræ. 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 multæ in locutione: et idem operatur interpositio moræ, 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
prædicta non interruptio non sufficit ad unitatem definitionis, quia contingit
etiam hanc continuitatem prolationis servari in his, quæ 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 prædicatum
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 prædictam divisionem. Et
primo, manifestat ipsum commune quod dividitur, quod est enunciatio una;
secundo, manifestat partes divisionis secundum proprias rationes; ibi: harum
autem hæc 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 quæ unum de uno significat, vel una secundum quid, scilicet quæ 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, quæ 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, quæ 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, hæc 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 prædicato, 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 litteræ est quod enunciatio una est illa, quæ
unum de uno significat, non solum si sit simplex, sed etiam si sit coniunctione
una. Et similiter enunciationes plures dicuntur quæ 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 æquivocum ÆQVIVOCVM GRICE, multa significans, vel quia
ponuntur plura nomina absque coniunctione, ex quorum significatis non fit unum;
ut si dicam, homo albus grammaticus logicus currit. Sed hæc expositio non
videtur esse secundum intentionem Aristotelis. Primo quidem, quia per
disiunctionem, quam interponit, videtur distinguere inter orationem unum
significantem, et orationem quæ 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 quæ
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 quæ
unum significent. Vel si sit aliqua enunciatio una quæ multa significet, non
erit una simpliciter, sed coniunctione una. Et secundum hoc, hæc 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 quæ
sunt plures enunciationes, et ponit duos modos pluralitatis. Primus est, quod
plures dicuntur enunciationes quæ 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 hæc
enunciatio est una et non plures. Et ideo addit et non unum. Sed melius est ut
dicatur hoc esse additum propter definitionem, quæ multa significat quæ 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 quæ non sunt opposita, possunt simul esse.
Unde manifestum est, enunciationem quæ est una coniunctione, esse etiam plures:
plures in quantum significat plura et non unum. Secundum hoc ergo possumus
accipere tres modos enunciationis. Nam quædam est simpliciter una, in quantum
unum significat; quædam est simpliciter plures, in quantum plura significat,
sed est una secundum quid, in quantum est coniunctione una; quædam sunt
simpliciter plures, quæ 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, quæ 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 quæratur, 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 quærenti,
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 præmisit: necesse est omnem
orationem enunciativam ex verbo esse vel ex casu verbi. Deinde cum dicit: harum autem hæc simplex etc., manifestat præmissam
divisionem secundum rationes partium. Dixerat enim quod una enunciatio est quæ
unum de uno significat, et alia est quæ 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, hæc
dicitur una, vel quia significat unum simpliciter, vel quia una est
coniunctione. Hæc quidem simplex enunciatio est, quæ 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. Hæc autem ex his coniuncta,
quæ scilicet dicitur coniunctione una, est velut oratio iam composita: quasi
dicat hoc modo, enunciationis unitas dividitur in duo præmissa, 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. Hæc autem divisio
primo quidem convenit enunciationi simplici; ex consequenti autem convenit
compositæ enunciationi; et ideo ad insinuandum rationem prædictæ 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 præsens tempus, subdit: quemadmodum
tempora sunt divisa, idest similiter hoc habet locum in aliis temporibus sicut
et in præsenti. 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 prædicatur de multis (quia scilicet non
significat aliquid unum, quod sit unum commune multis), non potest notificari
nisi per illa multa quæ significantur. Et inde est quod quia unum non dicitur æquivoce
de simplici et composito, sed per prius et posterius, Aristoteles in præcedentibus
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 æquivoco 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 differentiæ divisivæ 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 quæ 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, quæ 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
prædeterminata et solvit; ibi: in his ergo quæ sunt et quæ 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, Æthiops 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 præponit: inter quas
negativam præmittit affirmativæ, 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, quæ opponitur negativæ falsæ, quam
primo posuit, cum dicit: et quod est, scilicet in rerum natura, esse. Quarto
autem, ponit negativam veram, quæ opponitur affirmationi falsæ, 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
prædicatum insit vel non insit rei significatæ per subiectum. Nam cum dicitur,
corvus est albus, significatur quod non est, esse, quamvis ipse corvus sit res
existens. Et sicut istæ quatuor differentiæ enunciationum inveniuntur in
propositionibus, in quibus ponitur verbum præsentis temporis, ita etiam
inveniuntur in enunciationibus in quibus ponuntur verba præteriti 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, quæ sunt extra præsens tempus,
idest circa præterita vel futura, quæ sunt quodammodo extrinseca respectu præsentis,
quia præsens est medium præteriti et futuri. Et quia ita est, contingit omne
quod quis affirmaverit negare, et omne quod quis negaverit affirmare: quod
quidem manifestum est ex præmissis. 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 contradictoriæ, consequens est quod quælibet 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 quæ 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,
quæ requiruntur ad oppositionem affirmationis et negationis. Oportet autem
opposita esse circa idem. Et quia enunciatio constituitur ex subiecto et prædicato,
requiritur ad contradictionem primo quidem quod affirmatio et negatio sint
eiusdem prædicati: 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 prædicati 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, quæ
unum de uno significat; et ideo subdit: non autem æquivoce, idest non sufficit
identitas nominis cum diversitate rei, quæ facit æquivocationem. Sunt autem et
quædam alia in contradictione observanda ad hoc quod tollatur omnis diversitas,
præter eam quæ est affirmationis et negationis: non enim esset oppositio si non
omnino idem negaret negatio quod affirmavit affirmatio. Hæc autem diversitas
potest secundum quatuor considerari. Uno quidem modo, secundum diversas partes
subiecti: non enim est contradictio si dicatur, Æthiops est albus dente et non
est albus pede. Secundo, si sit diversus modus ex parte prædicati: 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 mensuræ, 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 hæc
omnia designat cum subdit: et quæcumque cætera 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, quæ est eiusdem de eodem,
consequenter intendit distinguere diversas oppositiones affirmationis et
negationis, ut cognoscatur quæ sit vera contradictio. Et circa hoc duo facit:
primo, præmittit quamdam divisionem enunciationum necessariam ad prædictam
differentiam oppositionum assignandam; secundo, manifestat propositum; ibi: si
ergo universaliter et cetera. Præmittit autem divisionem enunciationum quæ
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 quædam sunt universalia,
quædam sunt singularia. Manifestat autem membra divisionis dupliciter: primo
quidem per definitionem, quia universale est quod est aptum natum de pluribus
prædicari, singulare vero quod non est aptum natum prædicari 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 metaphysicæ, universale non
est aliquid extra res existens. Item, in prædicamentis dicitur quod secundæ
substantiæ non sunt nisi in primis, quæ sunt singulares. Non ergo videtur esse
conveniens divisio rerum per universalia et singularia: quia nullæ res videntur
esse universales, sed omnes sunt singulares. Dicendum est autem quod hic
dividuntur res secundum quod significantur per nomina, quæ 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 quæ 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 hæc 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 hæc 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, quæ 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
animæ intellectivæ, quod est prædicari 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 formæ intellectæ 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 materiæ, sicut est unus tantum sol, non quod repugnet
rationi solari esse in pluribus secundum conditionem formæ ipsius, sed quia non
est alia materia susceptiva talis formæ; et ideo non dixit quod universale est
quod prædicatur de pluribus, sed quod aptum natum est prædicari de pluribus.
Cum autem omnis forma, quæ 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 prædicari 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, quæ 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 separatæ, sicut posuit Plato, essent individua. Potest autem
obiici quod hoc nomen Socrates vel Plato est natum de pluribus prædicari, 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 prædicari, sed id, quod
significatur per nomen, est natum in pluribus inveniri; hoc autem non contingit
in prædictis 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 æquivocum ÆQVIVOCVM
GRICE. Deinde cum dicit: necesse est autem enunciare etc., concludit divisionem
enunciationis. Quia enim semper enunciatur aliquid de aliqua re; rerum autem quædam
sunt universalia, quædam 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 hæc 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 prædicabile de multis,
sive universale, sive species. Huiusmodi enim intentiones format intellectus
attribuens eas naturæ intellectæ, secundum quod comparat ipsam ad res, quæ 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, quæ sunt extra animam, puta si dicatur quod homo est dignissima
creaturarum. Hoc enim convenit naturæ humanæ 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
prædicatum, scilicet ut uni rei. Alio autem modo attribuitur universali, prout
est in singularibus, et hoc dupliciter. Quandoque quidem ratione ipsius naturæ
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 prædicabile de uno
solo. Quandoque autem, ratione naturæ 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 hæc
tertia divisio enunciationis quam ponit philosophus. Prima namque fuit quod
enunciationum quædam est una simpliciter, quædam vero coniunctione una. Quæ
quidem est divisio analogi in ea de quibus prædicatur 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. Quæ quidem est divisio generis in species, quia sumitur secundum
differentiam prædicati ad quod fertur negatio; prædicatum 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, quæ
sumitur secundum differentiam subiecti, quod prædicatur 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 diversæ
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 inventæ
sunt quædam dictiones, quæ possunt dici determinationes vel signa, quibus
designatur quod aliquid de universali, hoc aut illo modo prædicetur. 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 prædicandi, 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 adinventæ
sunt quædam dictiones ad significandum modum attribuendi aliquid universali sic
accepto. Sicut autem supra dictum est, quandoque aliquid attribuitur
universali ratione ipsius naturæ universalis; et ideo hoc dicitur prædicari de
eo universaliter, quia scilicet ei convenit secundum totam multitudinem in qua
invenitur; et ad hoc designandum in affirmativis prædicationibus adinventa est
hæc dictio, omnis, quæ designat quod prædicatum attribuitur subiecto universali
quantum ad totum id quod sub subiecto continetur. In negativis autem prædicationibus
adinventa est hæc dictio, nullus, per quam significatur quod prædicatum
removetur a subiecto universali secundum totum id quod continetur sub eo. Unde
nullus dicitur quasi non ullus, et in Græco dicitur, udis quasi nec unus, quia
nec unum solum est accipere sub subiecto universali a quo prædicatum non
removeatur. Quandoque autem attribuitur universali aliquid vel removetur ab eo
ratione particularis; et ad hoc designandum, in affirmativis quidem adinventa
est hæc dictio, aliquis vel quidam, per quam designatur quod prædicatum
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 prædicatur. Una quidem est, in qua de universali
prædicatur aliquid universaliter; ut cum dicitur, omnis homo est animal. Alia,
in qua aliquid prædicatur de universali particulariter; ut cum dicitur, quidam
homo est albus. Tertia vero est, in qua aliquid de universali prædicatur absque
determinatione universalitatis vel particularitatis; unde huiusmodi enunciatio
solet vocari indefinita. Totidem autem sunt negationes oppositæ. De
singulari autem quamvis aliquid diversa ratione prædicetur, 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 prædicetur de eo ratione universalis
naturæ; ut cum dicitur, Socrates est homo, vel conveniat ei ratione
singularitatis. Si igitur tribus prædictis
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 suæ universalitatis,
quoniam est, idest affirmative, aut non est, idest negative, erunt contrariæ
enunciationes; ut si dicatur, omnis homo est albus, nullus homo est albus.
Huius autem ratio est, quia contraria dicuntur quæ 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 prædicatum
dicitur de subiecto, quem designat hæc dictio, omnis. Sed super hanc remotionem
addit hæc enunciatio, nullus homo est albus, totalem remotionem, quæ 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 contrariæ enunciationes, sed illa quæ
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 quæ 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 prædicatum non universaliter de eo prædicatur,
quia non apponitur hæc dictio, omnis: quæ non significat ipsum universale, sed
modum universalitatis, prout scilicet prædicatum dicitur universaliter de
subiecto; et ideo addita subiecto universali, semper significat quod aliquid de
eo dicatur universaliter. Tota autem hæc expositio refertur ad hoc
quod dixerat: quando in universalibus non universaliter enunciatur, non sunt
contrariæ. Sed hoc quod additur: quæ 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, quæ competit huiusmodi enunciationibus.
Contingit enim quandoque has simul esse veras, homo est albus, homo non est
albus; et sic non sunt contrariæ, 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 prædicati. Contingit enim quandoque quod prædicatum 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 potentiæ; 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, quæ significantur contingit esse contraria, sed ipsæ enunciationes
non sunt contrariæ, quia ut in fine huius libri dicetur, non sunt contrariæ
opiniones quæ sunt de contrariis, sicut opinio quod aliquid sit bonum, et illa
quæ 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 prædicatum attribuatur subiecto
universaliter (quod faceret contrarietatem enunciationum), aut particulariter
(quod non faceret contrarietatem enunciationum); et ideo huiusmodi
enunciationes indefinitæ non sunt contrariæ secundum modum quo proferuntur.
Contingit tamen quandoque ratione significati eas habere contrarietatem, puta,
cum attribuitur aliquid universali ratione naturæ universalis, quamvis non
apponatur signum universale; ut cum dicitur, homo est animal, homo non est
animal: quia hæ 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 prædicati, ex hoc
scilicet quod universale prædicari posset et universaliter et non
universaliter; et ideo ad hoc excludendum dicit quod in eo quod prædicatur
aliquod universale, non est verum quod prædicetur universale universaliter.
Cuius quidem duplex esse potest ratio. Una quidem, quia talis modus prædicandi
videtur repugnare prædicato secundum propriam rationem quam habet in
enunciatione. Dictum est enim supra quod prædicatum 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, quæ 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 prædicato, 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 prædicato,
ad insinuandum quod prædicatum est in plus quam subiectum, et hoc præcipue 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 quæ falsæ essent si prædicatum universaliter prædicaretur. Et
ideo manifestans id quod posuerat, subiungit quod nulla affirmatio est in qua,
scilicet vere, de universali prædicato universaliter prædicetur, idest in qua
universali prædicato utitur ad universaliter prædicandum; ut si diceretur,
omnis homo est omne animal. Oportet enim, secundum prædicta, quod hoc prædicatum
animal, secundum singula quæ sub ipso continentur, prædicaretur de singulis quæ
continentur sub homine; et hoc non potest esse verum, neque si prædicatum sit
in plus quam subiectum, neque si prædicatum sit convertibile cum eo. Oporteret
enim quod quilibet unus homo esset animalia omnia, aut omnia risibilia: quæ
repugnant rationi singularis, quod accipitur sub universali. Nec est
instantia si dicatur quod hæc est vera, omnis homo est omnis disciplinæ
susceptivus: disciplina enim non prædicatur de homine, sed susceptivum
disciplinæ; repugnaret autem veritati si diceretur, omnis homo est omne
susceptivum disciplinæ. Signum autem universale negativum, vel
particulare affirmativum, etsi convenientius ponantur ex parte subiecti, non
tamen repugnat veritati etiam si ponantur ex parte prædicati. Contingit enim huiusmodi enunciationes in aliqua materia esse veras: hæc
enim est vera, omnis homo nullus lapis est; et similiter hæc est vera, omnis
homo aliquod animal est. Sed hæc, omnis homo omne animal est, in quacumque
materia proferatur, falsa est. Sunt autem quædam aliæ tales enunciationes
semper falsæ; sicut ista, aliquis homo omne animal est (quæ habet eamdem causam
falsitatis cum hac, omnis homo omne animal est); et si quæ aliæ similes, sunt
semper falsæ: 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: contrariæ 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 præmissa.
Dicit ergo primo quod enunciatio, quæ universale significat, scilicet
universaliter, opponitur contradictorie ei, quæ 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 æquipollet ei
quæ 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 hæ
duæ, quidam homo est albus (quæ est particularis affirmativa), nullus homo est
albus (quæ est universalis negativa), sunt contradictoriæ. 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 negativæ. Unde
relinquitur quod universali affirmativæ contradictorie opponitur particularis
negativa, et particulari affirmativæ universalis negativa. Deinde cum
dicit: contrariæ vero etc., tangit oppositionem universalium enunciationum; et
dicit quod universalis affirmativa et universalis negativa sunt contrariæ;
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
oppositæ ad verum et falsum. Et primo, quantum ad contrarias; secundo, quantum
ad contradictorias; ibi: quæcumque igitur contradictiones etc.; tertio, quantum
ad ea quæ videntur contradictoria, et non sunt; ibi: quæcumque autem in
universalibus et cetera. Dicit ergo primo quod quia universalis affirmativa et
universalis negativa sunt contrariæ, impossibile est quod sint simul veræ.
Contraria enim mutuo se expellunt. Sed particulares, quæ contradictorie
opponuntur universalibus contrariis, possunt simul verificari in eodem; sicut,
non omnis homo est albus, quæ contradictorie opponitur huic, omnis homo est
albus, et, quidam homo est albus, quæ 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 contrariæ enunciationes non
possunt simul esse veræ, sed earum contradictoriæ, a quibus removentur, simul
possunt esse veræ. Deinde cum dicit: quæcumque 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 negativæ, supposita identitate prædicati
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: quæcumque autem universalium etc., ostendit qualiter se
habeant veritas et falsitas in his, quæ 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 quæcumque
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 materiæ; 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, quæ totum
destruit, dicunt esse indigniorem particulari negativa, quæ 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 præter res; et
in libro de anima, quod non est sensus præter quinque. Sed istæ 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 contentæ sub eo; unde
sufficit ad veritatem eius quod prædicatum uni parti conveniat (quod designatur
per signum particulare); et ideo veritas particularis affirmativæ sufficit ad
veritatem indefinitæ affirmativæ. Et simili ratione veritas particularis
negativæ sufficit ad veritatem indefinitæ negativæ, quia similiter potest
aliquid negari de universali vel ratione suiipsius, vel ratione suæ partis.
Utuntur autem quandoque philosophi indefinitis negativis pro universalibus in
his, quæ per se removentur ab universalibus; sicut et utuntur indefinitis
affirmativis pro universalibus in his, quæ per se de universalibus prædicantur.
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 prædicata: quæ 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 istæ duæ veræ simul, homo est probus, homo est turpis; sed ad hanc,
homo est turpis, sequitur ista, homo non est probus; ergo istæ duæ sunt simul
veræ, homo est probus, homo non est probus: et eadem ratione istæ duæ, 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 hæc est vera, homo est albus, quodam homine existente
albo; et pari ratione, quia quidam homo fit albus, hæc est vera, homo fit
albus; ad quam sequitur, homo non est albus. Ergo istæ duæ sunt simul veræ,
homo est albus, homo non est albus. Deinde cum dicit: videbitur autem
etc., excludit id quod faceret dubitationem circa prædicta; 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 prædictis 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 quæ 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 quæ 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 duæ negationes opponerentur; sicut huic
affirmativæ, omnis homo est albus, videtur, secundum prædicta, hæc negativa
opponi, nullus homo est albus, et hæc, quidam homo non est albus. Sed si quis
recte consideret huius affirmativæ, omnis homo est albus, negativa est sola
ista, quidam homo non est albus, quæ solummodo removet ipsam, ut patet ex sua æquipollenti,
quæ est, non omnis homo est albus. Universalis vero negativa includit quidem in
suo intellectu negationem universalis affirmativæ, 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, quæ est eiusdem de eodem: ex quo hic
accipitur quod oportet negationem negare illud idem prædicatum, 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. 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, hæc sola opponitur,
Socrates non est albus, tanquam eius propria negatio. Si vero esset aliud prædicatum
vel aliud subiectum, non esset negatio opposita, sed omnino diversa; sicut
ista, Socrates non est musicus, non opponitur ei quæ est, Socrates est albus;
neque etiam illa quæ est, Plato est albus, huic quæ 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, quæ æquipollet
particulari negativæ. 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
quæ est, non est homo albus. 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 prædicari), 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 quæ dicta sunt, et concludit manifestum esse ex prædictis
quod uni affirmationi opponitur una negatio; et quod oppositarum affirmationum
et negationum aliæ sunt contrariæ, aliæ contradictoriæ; et dictum est quæ sint
utræque. Tacet autem de subcontrariis, quia non sunt recte oppositæ, 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 quæ sunt vere contradictoriæ semper una est vera, et
altera falsa. Quare autem in quibusdam oppositis hoc non verificetur, dictum
est supra; quia scilicet quædam non sunt contradictoriæ, sed contrariæ, quæ
possunt simul esse falsæ. 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 quæ
vere sunt contradictoria. Deinde cum dicit: una autem affirmatio etc.,
ostendit quæ sit affirmatio vel negatio una. Quod quidem iam supra dixerat, ubi
habitum est quod una est enunciatio, quæ unum significat; sed quia enunciatio,
in qua aliquid prædicatur 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, quæ continetur sub
universali, cuius ratio una est; secundo, ostendit quod impeditur unitas
enunciationis per multitudinem, quæ 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 quæ est eius negatio,
scilicet non est omnis homo albus. Et subdit alia exempla, quæ sunt manifesta.
In fine autem apponit quamdam conditionem, quæ requiritur ad hoc quod quælibet
harum sit una, si scilicet album, quod est prædicatum, significat unum: nam
sola multitudo prædicati impediret unitatem enunciationis. Ideo autem
universalis propositio una est, quamvis sub se multitudinem singularium
comprehendat, quia prædicatum 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, quæ sunt partes definitionis: sive sint partes
integrales alicuius compositi, sicut ex lapidibus et lignis fit domus. Si ergo
sit tale prædicatum quod attribuatur rei, requiritur ad unitatem enunciationis
quod illa multa quæ significantur, concurrant in unum secundum aliquem dictorum
modorum; unde non sufficeret sola unitas vocis. Si vero sit tale prædicatum
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 istæ,
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 quæ
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 hæc copulativa, homo est albus et equus
est albus, non potest esse vera nisi utraque pars sit vera: sed hæc, tunica est
alba, prædicta 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 prædicatum; ita etiam nec cum dicitur,
tunica est alba. Deinde cum dicit: quare nec in his etc., concludit ex præmissis
quod nec in his affirmationibus et negationibus, quæ utuntur subiecto æquivoco,
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 oppositæ
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 præmissis 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 quædam est universalis, quædam
particularis, quædam indefinita et quædam singularis. Tangitur autem hic quarta
divisio enunciationum secundum tempus. Nam quædam est de præsenti, quædam de præterito,
quædam de futuro; et hæc etiam divisio potest accipi ex his quæ supra dicta
sunt: dictum est enim supra quod necesse est omnem enunciationem esse ex verbo
vel ex casu verbi; verbum autem est quod consignificat præsens tempus; casus
autem verbi sunt, qui consignificant tempus præteritum vel futurum. Potest
autem accipi quinta divisio enunciationum secundum materiam, quæ quidem divisio
attenditur secundum habitudinem prædicati ad subiectum: nam si prædicatum per
se insit subiecto, dicetur esse enunciatio in materia necessaria vel naturali;
ut cum dicitur, homo est animal, vel, homo est risibile. Si vero prædicatum
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 prædicatum 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 præmissis concludens, quod in his quæ sunt, idest in
propositionibus de præsenti, et in his quæ facta sunt, idest in enunciationibus
de præterito, 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 prædicatur, necesse est quod semper una sit vera, scilicet
affirmativa vel negativa, et altera falsa, quæ scilicet ei opponitur. Dictum
est enim supra quod negatio enunciationis universalis in qua aliquid
universaliter prædicatur, est negativa non universalis, sed particularis, et e
converso universalis negativa non est directe negatio universalis affirmativæ,
sed particularis; et sic oportet, secundum prædicta, quod semper una earum sit
vera et altera falsa in quacumque materia. Et eadem ratio est in enunciationibus singularibus, quæ etiam
contradictorie opponuntur, ut supra habitum est. Sed in enunciationibus, in
quibus aliquid prædicatur de universali non universaliter, non est necesse quod
semper una sit vera et altera sit falsa, qui possunt ambæ esse simul veræ, ut
supra ostensum est. Et hoc quidem ita se habet quantum ad propositiones,
quæ sunt de præterito vel de præsenti: sed si accipiamus enunciationes, quæ
sunt de futuro, etiam similiter se habent quantum ad oppositiones, quæ sunt de
universalibus vel universaliter vel non universaliter sumptis. Nam in materia
necessaria omnes affirmativæ determinate sunt veræ, ita in futuris sicut in præteritis
et præsentibus; negativæ vero falsæ. In materia autem impossibili, e
contrario. In contingenti vero universales sunt falsæ et particulares sunt veræ,
ita in futuris sicut in præteritis et præsentibus. In indefinitis autem,
utraque simul est vera in futuris sicut in præsentibus vel præteritis.
Sed in singularibus et futuris est quædam dissimilitudo. Nam in præteritis et
præsentibus necesse est quod altera oppositarum determinate sit vera et altera
falsa in quacumque materia; sed in singularibus quæ 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 præsentibus et
præteritis. Nec tamen Aristoteles mentionem fecit de materia contingenti, quia
illa proprie ad singularia pertinent quæ contingenter eveniunt, quæ autem per
se insunt vel repugnant, attribuuntur singularibus secundum universalium
rationes. Circa hoc igitur versatur tota præsens 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 præmissam
differentiam. Et
circa hoc duo facit: primo, probat propositum ducendo ad inconveniens; secundo,
ostendit illa esse impossibilia quæ 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 Græco, probat consequentiam prædictam. 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 præmissa 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. Quædam enim contingunt ut in paucioribus, quæ
accidunt a casu vel fortuna. Quædam vero se habent ad utrumlibet, quia scilicet
non magis se habent ad unam partem, quam ad aliam, et ista procedunt ex
electione. Quædam 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 quæ permanent contingenter; neque fit quantum ad
productionem eorum quæ contingenter causantur; nec casu quantum ad ea quæ sunt
in minori parte, sive in paucioribus; nec utrumlibet quantum ad ea quæ se
habent æqualiter 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 præmissa 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 prædictam dissimilitudinem, ducendo ad
impossibile. Si enim similiter se habet veritas et falsitas in præsentibus et
futuris, sequitur ut quidquid verum est de præsenti, etiam fuerit verum de
futuro, eo modo quo est verum de præsenti. 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, quæ facta
sunt, quod erit. Si autem semper est verum dicere de præsenti quoniam est, vel
de futuro quoniam erit, non potest hoc non esse vel non futurum esse. Cuius
consequentiæ 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 præsenti vel de futuro, non potest esse quin illud sit præsens 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 præmissis
quod omnia, quæ 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 præsenti
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 quæ habet inclinationem ad suum effectum, quæ 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, quæ 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 prædictam positionem affirmatio est falsa, qua dicitur, hoc erit; nec
tamen negatio est vera: et similiter negatio erit falsa, affirmatione non
existente vera; ergo prædicta positio est impossibilis, scilicet quod veritas
desit utrique oppositorum. Secundam rationem ponit; ibi: ad hæc si verum est et
cetera. Quæ 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 præsenti: sequitur enim esse cras, si verum est
dicere quod erit cras. Si ergo vera est prædicta 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 præmissis. 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 quæ adduxerat esse impossibilia.
Et circa hoc duo facit: primo, ostendit impossibilia ea quæ sequebantur;
secundo, concludit quomodo circa hæc se veritas habeat; ibi: igitur esse quod
est et cetera. Circa primum tria facit: primo, ponit inconvenientia
quæ sequuntur; secundo, ostendit hæc inconvenientia ex prædicta positione
sequi; ibi: nihil enim prohibet etc.; tertio, ostendit esse impossibilia
inconvenientia memorata; ibi: quod si hæc possibilia non sunt et cetera. Dicit
ergo primo, ex prædictis rationibus concludens, quod hæc 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 quæ 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, quæ sunt ex
necessitate, sed solum de contingentibus, quæ possunt esse et non esse.
Secundum inconveniens est quod omnes actiones humanæ, quæ sunt propter aliquem
finem (puta negotiatio, quæ est propter divitias acquirendas), erunt superfluæ:
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 hæc 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 prædicta 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 præcogitatum, vel præordinatum de his quæ 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 nostræ
enunciationis non est causa existentiæ 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 præterito, 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 quæ fiunt, sic se habeat ut ex
necessitate fiat. Et huiusmodi consequentiæ 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, quæ nunc dicuntur, ad ea quæ futura sunt, quæ
erat eorum, quæ prius dicebantur, ad ea quæ sunt præsentia vel præterita; et
ita omnia ex necessitate acciderunt, et accidunt, et accident, quia quod nunc
factum est, utpote in præsenti vel in præterito existens, semper verum erat
dicere, quoniam erit futurum. Deinde cum dicit: quod si hæc possibilia
non sunt etc., ostendit prædicta 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 quæ dicta sunt, per hoc quod homo manifeste
videtur esse principium eorum futurorum, quæ agit quasi dominus existens suorum
actuum, et in sua potestate habens agere vel non agere; quod quidem principium
si removeatur, tollitur totus ordo conversationis humanæ, et omnia principia
philosophiæ 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 quæ agunt absque consilio non
habent dominium sui actus, quasi libere iudicantes de his quæ 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 quædam, quæ 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, quæ non sunt in actu
semper, sed sunt in potentia, hoc manifestum est quod non omnia ex necessitate
sunt vel fiunt, sed eorum quædam sunt ad utrumlibet, quæ 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, quæ 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 hæc
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 æqualiter ad utrumque, quod dicitur contingens
ad utrumlibet. Et hoc est quod Boethius attribuit Philoni. Sed manifeste
hæc est sententia Aristotelis in hoc loco. Assignat enim rationem
possibilitatis et contingentiæ, in his quidem quæ sunt a nobis ex eo quod sumus
consiliativi, in aliis autem ex eo quod materia est in potentia ad utrumque
oppositorum. Sed videtur hæc ratio non esse sufficiens. Sicut enim
in corporibus corruptibilibus materia invenitur in potentia se habens ad esse
et non esse, ita etiam in corporibus cælestibus invenitur potentia ad diversa
ubi, et tamen nihil in eis evenit contingenter, sed solum ex necessitate. Unde
dicendum est quod possibilitas materiæ ad utrumque, si communiter loquamur, non
est sufficiens ratio contingentiæ, nisi etiam addatur ex parte potentiæ activæ
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, quæ 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, multæ causæ ad hoc
concurrentes accipiunt rationem unius causæ sufficientis; et ita concludebant
quod omnia ex necessitate eveniunt. Sed hanc rationem solvit Aristoteles
in VI metaphysicæ 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 hæc 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 aquæ impeditur combustio. Si autem utraque propositionum prædictarum
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, quæ nunc est in præsenti, vel iam fuit in præterito;
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 prædictarum 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 methaphysicæ 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 cælestium corporum in qua ponebant fatum, dicentes
nihil aliud esse fatum quam vim positionis syderum. Sed ex hac causa
non potest provenire necessitas in omnibus quæ hic aguntur. Multa enim hic
fiunt ex intellectu et voluntate, quæ per se et directe non subduntur virtuti cælestium
corporum: cum enim intellectus sive ratio et voluntas quæ 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 cælestium
corporum: nulla enim vis corporalis potest agere per se, nisi in rem corpoream.
Vires autem sensitivæ in quantum sunt actus organorum corporalium per accidens
subduntur actioni cælestium corporum. Unde philosophus in libro de anima
opinionem ponentium voluntatem hominis subiici motui cæli adscribit his, qui non
ponebant intellectum differre a sensu. Indirecte tamen vis cælestium 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 cælestium corporum non provenit necessitas
in his quæ 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 naturæ se habet ad unum; quod autem
est per accidens non est unum; unde et supra dictum est quod hæc 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 præexistunt
in corporibus cælestibus, puta in imbribus et tempestatibus, non eveniunt, quia
scilicet impediuntur per accidens. Et quamvis illud etiam impedimentum secundum
se consideratum reducatur in aliquam causam cælestem; 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 præordinantem;
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 quæcumque in hoc mundo
aguntur, etiam quæ videntur fortuita vel casualia, reduci in ordinem providentiæ
divinæ, 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 quæ in hoc mundo accidunt, saltem bonorum, videtur quod omnia ex
necessitate accidant. Primo quidem ex parte scientiæ eius: non enim potest eius
scientia falli; et ita ea quæ ipse scit, videtur quod necesse sit evenire.
Secundo ex parte voluntatis: voluntas enim Dei inefficax esse non potest;
videtur ergo quod omnia quæ vult, ex necessitate eveniant. Procedunt
autem hæ obiectiones ex eo quod cognitio divini intellectus et operatio divinæ
voluntatis pensantur ad modum eorum, quæ in nobis sunt, cum tamen multo
dissimiliter se habeant. Nam primo quidem ex parte cognitionis vel
scientiæ considerandum est quod ad cognoscendum ea quæ secundum ordinem
temporis eveniunt, aliter se habet vis cognoscitiva, quæ sub ordine temporis
aliqualiter continetur, aliter illa quæ 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 præcedentibus et subsequentibus,
in quantum sunt præcedentes et subsequentes; quod pertinet ad ordinem loci. Et ideo quilibet eorum videt eos, qui iuxta se sunt et aliquos eorum qui
eos præcedunt; 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 præcedentis et subsequentis (in comparatione
scilicet ad eius intuitum), sed simul omnes videret, et quomodo unus eorum
alium præcedit. 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 præsentis, præteriti et futuri. Et ideo præsentia
cognoscit tanquam actu existentia et sensu aliqualiter perceptibilia; præterita
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 quæ sunt ut in pluribus; nullo autem modo, si in suis causis
sunt omnino in potentia non magis determinata ad unum quam ad aliud, sicut quæ
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
metaphysicæ. Sed Deus est omnino extra ordinem temporis, quasi in arce æternitatis
constitutus, quæ est tota simul, cui subiacet totus temporis decursus secundum
unum et simplicem eius intuitum; et ideo uno intuitu videt omnia quæ 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 æternaliter
sic videt unumquodque eorum quæ 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 quæ respicit ordinem causæ 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
quæ fiunt in tempore; et tamen ea quæ in tempore eveniunt non sunt vel fiunt ex
necessitate, sed contingenter. Similiter ex parte voluntatis divinæ
differentia est attendenda. Nam voluntas divina est intelligenda ut extra
ordinem entium existens, velut causa quædam profundens totum ens et omnes eius
differentias. Sunt autem differentiæ 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, quæ transcendit ordinem necessitatis et contingentiæ. Hoc
autem non potest dici de voluntate humana, nec de aliqua alia causa: quia omnis
alia causa cadit iam sub ordine necessitatis vel contingentiæ; 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
contingentiæ, 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 quædam vera non per se nota, sed
per alia. Horum autem duplex est conditio: quædam 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. Quædam autem sunt, quæ 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, quæ habet rationem ultimi finis; et huiusmodi bono ex
necessitate inhæret voluntas: naturali enim quadam necessitate omnes appetunt
esse felices. Quædam vero sunt bona, quæ sunt appetibilia propter finem, quæ
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, hæc 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 hæc eligenda. Et propter hoc philosophus signanter radicem
contingentiæ in his quæ fiunt a nobis assignavit ex parte consilii, quod est
eorum quæ 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
hæc quidem dicta sunt ad salvandum radices contingentiæ, quas hic Aristoteles
ponit, quamvis videantur logici negotii modum excedere. Postquam philosophus ostendit esse impossibilia ea, quæ ex prædictis
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 quæ 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 veræ 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
præmissis concludens, quod si prædicta 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 hæc 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 hæc 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, quæ 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, quæ 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 hæc 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 quæ 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 enunciativæ 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 quæ ita se habent ut sint ad utrumlibet, et quæcumque ita se
habent quod contradictoria eorum qualitercumque contingere possunt, sive æqualiter
sive alterum ut in pluribus, ex necessitate sequitur quod etiam similiter se
habeat contradictio enunciationum. Et exponit consequenter quæ sint illæ res,
quarum contradictoria contingere queant; et dicit huiusmodi esse quæ 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, quæ sunt de contingentibus, necesse est quod sub disiunctione
altera pars contradictionis sit vera vel falsa; non tamen hæc vel illa
determinate, sed se habet ad utrumlibet. Et si contingat quod altera pars
contradictionis magis sit vera, sicut accidit in contingentibus quæ 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 prædictis 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 quæ sunt iam de præsenti et in his quæ non sunt, sed
possunt esse vel non esse. Sed hoc modo se habet in utriusque, sicut dictum
est, quia scilicet in his quæ sunt necesse est determinate alterum esse verum
et alterum falsum: quod non contingit in futuris quæ 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, ipsæ dictiones, quæ prædicantur
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 hæc pars in tres partes: in prima, ostendit quid accidat
enunciationi ex hoc quod aliquid additur ad dictiones in subiecto vel prædicato
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 prædicatum 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 prædicati; 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: præter 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 quæ de altero prædicantur, 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 formæ. Et ne aliquis diceret quod id quod in
affirmatione subiicitur est simul nomen et innominatum, ad hoc excludendum
subdit quod id quod est, scilicet prædicatum, 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 formæ 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 metaphysicæ, 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. Quædam enim est affirmatio, quæ constat ex
nomine et verbo; quædam autem est quæ 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: præter verbum
etc., ostendit quod differentia enunciationum non potest sumi ex parte verbi.
Dictum est enim supra quod, præter verbum nulla est affirmatio vel negatio.
Potest enim præter 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 infinitæ particulæ, quæ 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, quæ 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 præter 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 præsentis temporis. Præteritum enim et
futurum, quæ significant casus verbi, dicuntur per respectum ad præsens. Unde
si dicatur, hoc erit, idem est ac si diceretur, hoc est futurum; hoc fuit, hoc
est præteritum. Et propter hoc, ex casu verbi et nomine fit enunciatio. Et ideo
subiungit quod sive dicatur est, sive erit, sive fuit, vel quæcumque alia
huiusmodi verba, sunt de numero prædictorum verborum, sine quibus non potest
fieri enunciatio: quia omnia consignificant tempus, et alia tempora dicuntur
per respectum ad præsens. Deinde cum dicit: quare prima erit affirmatio
etc., concludit ex præmissis 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, quæ sunt quatuor, sicut et illæ in quibus est subiectum non
universaliter positum. Prætermisit 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 prætermittit
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, quæ
posset sumi secundum casus verbi, quia sicut ipse dicit, in extrinsecis
temporibus, idest in præterito et in futuro, quæ circumstant præsens, est eadem
ratio sicut et in præsenti, 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 prædicati. Et circa
hoc duo facit; primo, distinguit huiusmodi enunciationes; secundo, manifestat
quædam quæ circa eas dubia esse possent; ibi: quoniam vero contraria est et
cetera. Circa primum duo facit: primo, agit de enunciationibus in quibus nomen
prædicatur 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: aliæ 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 prædicatur. Ad cuius evidentiam considerandum
est quod hoc verbum est quandoque in enunciatione prædicatur secundum se; ut
cum dicitur, Socrates est: per quod nihil aliud intendimus significare, quam
quod Socrates sit in rerum natura. Quandoque vero non prædicatur per se, quasi
principale prædicatum, sed quasi coniunctum principali prædicato 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, prædicatur ut
adiacens principali prædicato. Et dicitur esse tertium, non quia sit tertium prædicatum,
sed quia est tertia dictio posita in enunciatione, quæ simul cum nomine prædicato
facit unum prædicatum, 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 prædicatur, dupliciter dicuntur
oppositiones. Circa quod considerandum est quod in præmissis 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 prædicatur, oportet esse duas oppositiones eodem subiecto
existente secundum differentiam nominis prædicati, quod potest esse finitum vel
infinitum; sicut hæc 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 negativæ particulæ ad hoc verbum est, quod
est nota prædicationis. 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 prædicato, tamquam tertium nomen vel
verbum in affirmatione. Potest enim ipsum est, dici nomen, prout quælibet
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 duæ quidem
etc.; tertio, rationem numeri explicat; ibi: dico autem quoniam est et cetera.
Dicit ergo primo quod quia duæ sunt oppositiones, quando est tertium adiacens
prædicatur, cum omnis oppositio sit inter duas enunciationes, consequens est
quod sint quatuor enunciationes illæ in quibus est, tertium adiacens, prædicatur,
subiecto finito non universaliter sumpto. Deinde cum dicit: quarum duæ quidem
etc., ostendit habitudinem prædictarum enunciationum ad invicem; et dicit quod
duæ dictarum enunciationum se habent ad affirmationem et negationem secundum
consequentiam, sive secundum correlationem, aut analogiam, ut in Græco habetur,
sicut privationes; aliæ vero duæ minime. Quod quia breviter et obscure dictum
est, diversimode a diversis expositum est. Ad cuius evidentiam
considerandum est quod tripliciter nomen potest prædicari in huiusmodi
enunciationibus. Quandoque enim prædicatur nomen finitum, secundum quod
assumuntur duæ enunciationes, una affirmativa et altera negativa, scilicet homo
est iustus, et homo non est iustus; quæ dicuntur simplices. Quandoque vero prædicatur
nomen infinitum, secundum quod etiam assumuntur duæ aliæ, scilicet homo est non
iustus, homo non est non iustus; quæ dicuntur infinitæ. Quandoque vero prædicatur
nomen privativum, secundum quod etiam sumuntur duæ aliæ, scilicet homo est
iniustus, homo non est iniustus; quæ dicuntur privativæ. Quidam ergo sic
exposuerunt, quod duæ enunciationes earum, quas præmiserat scilicet illæ, quæ
sunt de infinito prædicato, se habent ad affirmationem et negationem, quæ sunt
de prædicato finito secundum consequentiam vel analogiam, sicut privationes,
idest sicut illæ, quæ sunt de prædicato privativo. Illæ enim duæ, quæ sunt de
prædicato infinito, se habent secundum consequentiam ad illas, quæ sunt de
finito prædicato secundum transpositionem quandam, scilicet affirmatio ad
negationem et negatio ad affirmationem. Nam homo est non iustus, quæ est
affirmatio de infinito prædicato, respondet secundum consequentiam negativæ de
prædicato finito, huic scilicet homo non est iustus. Negativa vero de infinito
prædicato, scilicet homo non est non iustus, affirmativæ de finito prædicato,
huic scilicet homo est iustus. Propter quod Theophrastus vocabat eas, quæ sunt
de infinito prædicato, transpositas. Et similiter etiam affirmativa de
privativo prædicato respondet secundum consequentiam negativæ de finito prædicato,
scilicet hæc, homo est iniustus, ei quæ est, homo non est iustus. Negativa vero
affirmativæ, scilicet hæc, homo non est iniustus, ei quæ est, homo est iustus.
Disponatur ergo in figura. Et in prima quidem linea ponantur illæ, quæ sunt de
finito prædicato, scilicet homo est iustus, homo non est iustus. In secunda
autem linea, negativa de infinito prædicato sub affirmativa de finito et
affirmativa sub negativa. In tertia vero, negativa de privativo prædicato
similiter sub affirmativa de finito et affirmativa sub negativa: ut patet in
subscripta figura.Sic ergo duæ, scilicet quæ sunt de infinito prædicato, se
habent ad affirmationem et negationem de finito prædicato, sicut privationes,
idest sicut illæ quæ sunt de privativo prædicato. Sed duæ aliæ quæ 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, duæ vero, minime, referens hoc ad illas quæ sunt de
infinito subiecto. Sed hoc manifeste est contra litteram. Nam cum præmisisset
quatuor enunciationes, duas scilicet de finito prædicato et duas de infinito,
subiungit quasi illas subdividens, quarum duæ quidem et cetera. Duæ vero,
minime; ubi datur intelligi quod utræque duæ intelligantur in præmissis. Illæ
autem quæ sunt de infinito subiecto non includuntur in præmissis, sed de his
postea dicetur. Unde manifestum est quod de eis nunc non loquitur. Et
ideo, ut Ammonius dicit, alii aliter exposuerunt, dicentes quod prædictarum
quatuor propositionum duæ, scilicet quæ sunt de infinito prædicato, sic se
habent ad affirmationem et negationem, idest ad ipsam speciem affirmationis et
negationis, ut privationes, idest ut privativæ affirmationes seu negationes. Hæc
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, quæ est de infinito prædicato. Duæ vero, quæ sunt de finito prædicato,
non se habent ad speciem affirmationis et negationis secundum privationem, sed
simpliciter. Hæc enim, homo est iustus, est simpliciter affirmativa, et hæc,
homo non est iustus, est simpliciter negativa. Sed nec hic sensus convenit
verbis Aristotelis. Dicit enim infra: hæc igitur quemadmodum in resolutoriis
dictum est, sic sunt disposita; ubi nihil invenitur ad hunc sensum pertinens.
Et ideo Ammonius ex his, quæ in fine I priorum dicuntur de propositionibus, quæ
sunt de finito vel infinito vel privativo prædicato, 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 prædicari potest: sicut hæc enunciatio, homo est
iustus, se habet ad omnia illa, de quorum quolibet vere potest dici quod est
homo iustus; et similiter hæc 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, quæ ei correspondet. Nam, quod sit homo non
iustus, vere potest dici de quolibet homine, qui non habet habitum iustitiæ;
sed quod non sit homo iustus, potest dici non solum de homine non habente
habitum iustitiæ, sed etiam de eo qui penitus non est homo: hæc enim est vera,
lignum non est homo iustus; tamen hæc 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 iustitiæ, 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 iustitiæ neque habent habitum
iniustitiæ. His igitur visis, facile est exponere præsentem litteram hoc
modo. Quarum, scilicet quatuor enunciationum prædictarum, duæ quidem, scilicet
infinitæ, 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 duæ privativæ: 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, quæ est in plus, et non convertitur.
Sed sicut simplex negativa sequitur ad infinitam affirmativam; quæ est in
minus, et non convertitur; ita etiam negativa simplex sequitur ad privativam
affirmativam, quæ est in minus, et non convertitur. Ex quo patet quod eadem est
habitudo in consequendo infinitarum ad simplices quæ est etiam
privativarum. Sequitur, duæ autem, scilicet simplices, quæ relinquuntur,
remotis duabus, scilicet infinitis, a quatuor præmissis, minime, idest non ita
se habent ad infinitas in consequendo, sicut privativæ 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 privativæ 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 prædicta
expositione primo accipitur similitudo habitudinis ad simplices, et postea
dissimilitudo habitudinis respectu infinitarum. Et ideo simplicior et magis
conveniens litteræ Aristotelis est expositio Porphyrii quam Boethius ponit;
secundum quam expositionem attenditur similitudo et dissimilitudo secundum
consequentiam affirmativarum ad negativas. Unde dicit: quarum, scilicet quatuor
præmissarum, duæ quidem, scilicet affirmativæ, 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. Duæ vero, scilicet negativæ, minime, idest non ita se habent
ad affirmativas, ut scilicet ex negativis sequantur affirmativæ, sicut ex
affirmativis sequebantur negativæ. Et quantum ad utrumque similiter se habent
privativæ sicut infinitæ. Deinde cum dicit: dico autem quoniam etc.,
manifestat quoddam quod supra dixerat, scilicet quod sint quatuor prædictæ
enunciationes: loquimur enim nunc de enunciationibus, in quibus hoc verbum est
solum prædicatur 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 prædictis duabus enunciationibus affirmativis
respondet duæ aliæ negativæ. 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 quædam
quadrata figura, in cuius uno angulo describatur hæc enunciatio, homo est
iustus, et ex opposito describatur eius negatio quæ est, homo non est iustus;
sub quibus scribantur duæ aliæ infinitæ, 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 prædictæ enunciationes
disponuntur secundum ordinem consequentiæ, 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 quæ sunt de infinito
subiecto. Unde oportet quod homo et non homo accipiantur ex parte prædicati.
Sed quia philosophus exemplificat de enunciationibus in quibus ex parte prædicati
ponitur iustum et non iustum, visum est Alexandro, quod prædicta 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-LIPSIÆ IN ÆDIBUS B. G.
TEUBNERI. LIPSIÆ: B. G. TETJBNERI. In secundæ editionis textu recensendo lii
libri manu scripti mihi præsto fuerunt: S codex (Salisb. 10) bibliothecæ
Palatinæ 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 Monacensis s.
XI et X: vetustior manus s. X incipit a f. (editionis Basileensis = nostræ
editionis). T codex (Tegernseensis) Monacensis, 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. Præter hos quattuor codices, quorum plenam scripturæ
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, 17 huius editionis conposita
sit possibile non necessarium, postremo desinit in verba de contingenti et de
possi (sic), ut finis quinti et sextus liber totus perierit. J codex
Einsidlensis PRÆFATIO. G codex Sangallensis 830 s. XI. B codex Bernensis, in
quo desunt p. 383, 1 ut in eo et dicit. Hos omnes codices ex uno eodemque fonte
fluxisse inde apparet, quod eædem in omnibus lacunæ, eædem interpolationes,
eadem vitiorum genera deprehenduntur, et de lacunis quidem conferas præterea de
interpolationibus autem 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 dialecticæ autem interrogationis duæ sunt
species, sicut audivimus docet 5, manifestum est pro vocabulo corrupto
audivimus 5 Eu de mus restituendum fuisse, 23 quin recte scripserim: ad
tenacioris memoriæ subsidium 5, cum codices inperversa scritione t elatior is
consentiant, quis est qui dubitet? confer præterea locum illum in omnibus
æqualiter libris turbatum. Pro fundamento autem textus constituendi codicem S
habui, omnium longe præstantissimum, qui non raro ceteris fidelius veræ
scripturæ vestigia servaverit, confer e. c. 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 sæpe 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. , 21 autumant putant itidem similiter infit dicit , 1 potiores
meliores 246, 20 itidem similiter. Ad S et F libros optimos proxime accedit E,
et ipse optimæ notæ 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 quæ in G supra lineam vel in
margine leguntur in T in textum irrepserint, quare nec interpolationibus vacat
et variæ lectiones promiscue iuxta positæ inveniuntur, sunt tamen quæ in hoc
codice melius quam in ceteris servata videantur. Minimæ 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 quædam in E Boetii comment. II. a**VI PRÆFATIO. a
secunda manu in margine et in B sunt addita, ceteram B sæpius prima tantum et
postrema Aristotelis verba expositioni BOEZIO præmittit, quæ vocula 'usque5
(vel 'reliqua usque5) iunguntur. De versione BOZIO ana libri Aristoteliei Ttegi
eQ[ir}- vaiccg eiusque a nostro Aristotelis textu discrepantia in Fleckeiseni
annal. vol. CXVII . 247 253 disputavi. Monachii mense Martio a. MDCCCLXXX. Car.
Meiser. Boezio. IH LIBRVM ARISTOTELIS nEPI EPMHNEIAS COMMENTARII. SECVNDA
EDITIO. BOEZIO (vedasi) comment. S = codex (Salisb. n. 10) Vindobonensis n. 80.
( E præmissa translatio). F = codex Frisingensis
Monacensis T = codex (Tegernseensis) Monacensis (X = præmissa translatio). E =
codex (Ratisb. S. Emm. n. 582) Monacensis n. 14582. N = codex Einsidlensis . J
= codex Einsidlensis G = codex Sangallensis. B = codex Bernensis b = editio
Basileensis BOEZIO COMMENTARIORVM IN LIBRVM ARISTOTELIS IIEPI EPMHNEIA2 SECVNDÆ
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 Prætextatus priores BOEZIO VIRI ILLVSTRIS EX
CONSVLV ORDINE (CONS ORD F) IN PERIERMENIAS ARISTOTOLIS (ARESTOTELIS F)
EDITIONIS SECVNDÆ LIBER I INCIPIT. SF A-M-S-B- SECVNDA ÆDITIO IN LIBRVM PERI
HERMENIAS INCIPIT. GT BOEZIO VIRI ILL ÆDITIONIS SCDÆ IN PERIERMENIAS ARIST- LIB
I INCIPIT. J BOEZIO VIRI CLARISSIMI ET ILLVSTRIS EX CONSVLARI ORDINE PATRICII
SCDÆ 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 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 quæsitos reperire non valui, sive igitur ille omnino tacuit, nos
prætermissa dicemus, sive aliquid scripsit, nos quoque docti viri imitati
studium in eadem laude versabimur. sed quamquam multa sint Aristotelis, quæ
SUBTILISSIMA PHILOSOPHIÆ arte celata sint, hic tamen ante omnia liber nimis et
acumine sententiarum et verborum brevitate constrictus est. quocirca plus hic
quam in X prædicamentis expositione sudabitur. Prius igitur quid VOX sit
definiendum est. hoc enim perspicuo et manifesto omnis libri patefiet intentio.
VOX est æris per linguam percussio, quæ per quasdam gutturis partes, quæ
arteriæ vocantur, ab animali profertur, sunt enim quidam alii SONI, qui eodem
perficiuntur flatu, quos lingua non percutit, ut est tussis, hæc enim flatu fit
quodam per arterias egrediente, sed nulla linguæ inpressione formatur atque
ideo nec ullis subiacet elementis, scribi enim nullo modo potest, quocirca vox
hæc 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 omnis om. F intentio de
voce SG-J et in marg. T definitio vocis E diff vocis F2 19 guturis F 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 quæ Græce 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 litteræ, quæ cum iunctæ fuerint, unam
efficiunt vocem coniunctam conpositamque, quæ locutio prædicatur. sive autem
aliquid quæcumque vox SIGNIFICET, ut est hic sermo “homo”, sive omnino nihil,
sive positum alicui nomen SIGNIFICARE possit, ut est “HLITYRI” (hæc 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: hæc omnia locutiones vocantur, ut sit propria locutionis forma
vox conposita quæ 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 hæc 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 linguæ sola percussio, vox est; sin
vero talis percussio sit, ut in litteras redigat sonum, locutio; quod si vis
quoque quædam 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 et 8 lexin, 7 phasin 9 literæ in marg. S
quæ coniunctæ 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 tur, illa
SIGNIFICATIVA vox redditur. concurrentibus igitur his tribus: linguæ
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, quæ interpretationis vocabulo non tenentur, nec omnis locutio
interpretatio est, idcirco quod (ut dictum est) sunt locutiones quædam, quæ
significatione careant et cum per se quædam non significent, iunctæ 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 syllabæ in eo quod sunt syllabæ nihil omnino significant,
coniunctiones vero consignificare quidem possunt, PER SE VERO NIHIL DESIGNANT,
interpretationis vero partes hoc libro constituit nomen et verbum, quæ scilicet
per se ipsa SIGNIFICANT, nihilo minus quoque orationem, quæ 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, quæ 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 quæ namq; S2F 10 iunctæ F: iuncta ceteri 14 illud
quoq; E 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 duæ primæ 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 prædicamenta
partitus est. atque hoc distat libri huius intentio a prædicamentorum in
denariam multitudinem numerositate p. 291 collecta, ut hic quidem tantum de
numero SIGNIFICANTIUM vocum quæratur, quantum ad ipsas attinet voces, quibus
significativis vocibus intellectus animi designentur, quæ sunt scilicet
simplicia quidem nomina et verba, ex his vero conpositæ orationes:
prædicamentorum vero hæc intentio est: de significativis rerum vocibus in
tantum, quantum eas medius animi SIGNIFICET intellectus, vocis enim quædam
qualitas est nomen et verbum, quæ nimirum ipsa illa decem prædicamenta
significant, decem namque prædicamenta 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 primæ T 11 intellectus F corr. F1 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 prædicamentis 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 ipsæ 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, quælibet enim syllaba
vel quodlibet nomen vel quælibet alia vox, quæ scribi litteris potest,
locutionis nomine continetur, quæ Græce dicitur sed non eodem modo
interpretatio. huic namque non est satis, ut sit huiusmodi vox quæ litteris
valeat adnotari, sed ad hoc ut aliquid quoque significet, prædicamentorum vero
in hoc ratio constituta est, in quo hæ duæ 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 prædicamenta, quæ verbis atque
nominibus DESIGNENTUR, duo vero quædam id est nomen et verbum, quæ ipsos
significent intellectus, sunt igitur elementa interpretationis verba et nomina,
propriæ vero partes 30 quibus ipsa constat interpretatio sunt orationes,
orationum vero aliæ sunt perfectæ, aliæ inperfectæ. 7 Ar. Poet. c. . 3
pro quoniam: cum F 4 quod F 7 arte poetica FE2, arte in marg. S 17 lexis FTE 31
aliæ uero inp. TE, aliæ inperf. om. S in marg. addit S2 I. 9 perfectæ sunt ex
quibus plene id quod dicitur valet intellegi, inperfectæ 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 hæc
omina firma, imperativa ut Yade age, nate, voca Zephyros et labere pennis,
interrogativa ut Dic mihi, Damoeta, cuium pecus? an Meliboei? vocativa 0 pater,
o hominum rerumque æterna potestas, enuntiativa, in qua veritas vel falsitas
invenitur, ut Principio arboribus varia est natura serendis, huius autem duæ
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 LIZIO
de enuntiativa simplici oratione disputat et de eius elementis, nomine scilicet
atque verbo, quæ 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. Æn. II
689. 691 9 Yerg. Æn. IY 223 11 Yerg. Ecl. III 1 12 Yerg. Æn. 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 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. æque namque
et oratio et verba ac nomina, quæ sunt interpretationis elementa, nomine
interpretationis vocantur, sed Alexander addidit inperfecte sese habere libri
titulum: neque enim designare, de qua oratione perscripserit, multæ 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 nomine 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 quædam 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 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 bæc 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 quædam Aristoteles in principio libri huius de intellectibus
animi tractat, quos intellectus animæ passiones vocavit, et de bis se plenius
in libris de anima disputasse commemorat, et quoniam passiones animæ 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 animæ non pro adfectibus, sed pro
intellectibus posuisse, his Alexander multa alia addit argumenta, cur hoc opus
Aristotelis maxime esse videatur, ea namque dicuntur hic, quæ sententiis
Aristotelis quæ sunt de enuntia- [5. 6 continentur F 6
cum om. F1 hæc S, corr. S2 10. 11 potius sign. nom. S2F et animæ T in supra lin. T vocabat b prius pro om. S1 Hic E1 5 12
SECVNDA EDITIO] tione consentiant; illud quoque, quod stilus ipse propter
brevitatem pressior ab Aristotelis obscuritate non discrepat; et quod
Theophrastus, ut in aliis solet, cum de similibus rebus tractat, quæ 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 quæ ab Aristotele
dicta ante cognovit, alias vero diligentius res non ab Aristotele tractatas
exsequitur, hic quoque idem fecit, nam quæ Aristoteles hoc libro de
enuntiatione tractavit, leviter ab illo transcursa sunt, quæ 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 quædam de propositionibus adnotaret. mihi quoque videtur
hoc subtiliter perpendentibus liquere hunc librum ad analyticos esse
præparatum, 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 animæ 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 quædam 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 quæ ex aliqua utilitate veniunt, ex passione quoque
provenire necesse est. nam ut divina sine ulla sunt passione, ita nulla illis
extrinsecus utilitas valet adiungi: quæ 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, hæc dicta sufficiunt, quid vero utilitatis
habeat, non ignorabit qui sciet qua in oratione veritas constet et falsitas. in
sola enim hæc enuntiativa oratione consistunt, iam vero quæ dividant verum
falsumque quæve definite vel quæ varie et mutabiliter veritatem falsitatemque
partiantur, quæ iuncta dici possint, cum separata valeant prædicari, quæ
separata dicantur, cum iuncta sint prædicata, quæ sint negationes cum modo
propositionum, quæ earum consequentiæ aliaque plura in ipso opere considerator
poterit diligenter agnoscere, quorum magnam experietur utilitatem qui animum
curæ alicuius investigationis adverterit, sed nunc ad ipsius Aristotelis verba
veniamus. Primum oportet constituer, 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 animæ? 11 sufficiant b 16 patiantur T 16. 17 quæ iuncta
om. F, in marg. quæ iunctim F2? 17.18 iuncta cum om. S1 20.21 consideratior
SF*T 21 quorum ego: quarum codices 22 curæ ego: cura codices 23 ipsius om. F 25
quid Ar. xL: quid sit codices 26 sit uerbum codices præter 2/E2 est om. 2%
{eras, in S) quibus disputaturus est definire, hic enim constituere definire
intellegendum est. determinandum namque est quid hæc omnia sint id est quid
nomen sit, quid verbum et cetera, quæ elementa interpretationis esse
prædiximus, 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 quædam quæstio, 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, quæ scilicet huiusmodi est, ut iunctis
tantum verbis et nominibus conponatur. si quis enim nomen iungat et verbum, ut
dicat Socrates ambulat, simplicem fecit enuntiativam orationem, enuntiativa
namque oratio est ut supra memoravi quæ 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 quærere, cur alias quoque quæ
videntur orationis partes non proposuerit, qui non totius simpliciter
orationis, sed tantum simplicis enuntiationis instituit elementa partiri,
quamquam duæ propriæ partes orationis esse dicendæ sint, nomen 30 scilicet
atque verbum, hæc enim per sese utraque significant, coniunctiones autem vel
præpositiones nihil omnino nisi cum aliis iunctæ designant; participia verbo
cognata sunt, vel quod a gerundivo modo 2 definire om. S1 17 et T 22. 23 est
verum F 25 quæ 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 passionis significatio vel actionis, quod si casibus horum quædam
flecti non possunt, nihil inpedit. sunt enim quædam nomina quæ monoptota
nominantur, quod si quis ista longius et non proxime petita esse arbitretur,
illud tamen concedit, quod supra iam diximus, non esse æquum 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 enuntiativæ orationis, quæ 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 enuntiativæ orationis, quæ dividitur in
adfirmationem atque negationem, divisionem partium facere voluisse, quæ sunt
nomina et verba, hæc enim per se ipsa intellectum simplicem servant, 1. 2 continent
F 7 monopta S concedat b 10 calumpniari E eum? 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 „ quæ eadem dictiones vocantur, sed non sola dicuntur, sunt namque
dictiones et aliæ quoque: orationes vel inperfectæ vel perfectæ, cuius plures
esse partes supra iam docui, inter quas perfectæ orationis species est
enuntiatio, et hæc 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 æquivoca esse et uno quidem enuntiationis
vocabulo nuncupari, prædicari autem enuntiationem ad utrasque ut nomen
æquivocum ÆQVIVOCVM GRICE, 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 hæc 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 quæ subruatur quam negatio quæ subruat, in
quibus autem prius aliquid et posterius est, illa sub eodem genere poni non
possunt, ut in eo titulo prædicamentorum dictum est qui de his quæ 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 quædam
negatio est, coniunctio adfirmatio. conpositi autem est con- 1 eædem SF sola
ego: solæ codices 2 quoq; ut b . est species F 5 alias alias E2 12 unum S1T 22
fit T I c. 1. 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 quæ
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,
quæcumque quolibet modo priora essent aliis, ea sub eodem genere poni non
posse, sed quæ- 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 separaret SF,
separabat S2F2, separat T nullus SF1 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 primæ et secundæ substantiæ, tamen utraque æqualiter in subiecto
non sunt et idcirco esse ipsorum ex eo pendet, quod in subiecto non sunt, atque
ideo sub uno substantiæ genere conlocantur: ita quoque quamquam adfirmationes
negationibus in orationis prolatione priores sint, tamen ad esse atque ad
naturam propriam æqualiter enuntiatione participant, enuntiatio vero est in qua
veritas et falsitas inveniri potest, qua in re et adfirmatio et negatio æquales
sunt, æqualiter enim et adfirmatio et negatio veritate et falsitate
participant, quocirca quoniam ad id quod sunt adfirmatio et negatio æqualiter
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 quæ priora sunt sub communi genere poni non posse, sed quæ 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
quærit, 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 utræque b 8 sint E 13 et post re om. F 16 ad
ego addidi: om. codices pro a: et SF supponatur SF multiplica F ^ quid sit n.
codices 31 est om. F primum S: primo S2 et ceteri I c. 1. 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 LIZIO
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 æqualiter sub enuntiatione ab Aristotele constitui, id
etiam Aristotelem probare, præmisit enim primam negationem, secundam posuit
adfirmationem, quæ res nihil habet vitii, si ad ipsam enuntiationem adfirmatio
et negatio ponantur æquales, quæ enim natura æquales sunt, nihil retinent
contrarii indifferenter acceptæ, est igitur ordo quo proposuit: primum totius
orationis est. potest T 2 non est F; non supra lin. SE; sanus est delet S2 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 et hinc E primum F ergo T est F (in rasura) probare
dicit FTE2S2(m»Mf^.) probare dr Misit G (suprascr. dicit Premisit G2) enim om.
E1 quod F, quoq. T elementum, nomen scilicet et verbum, post hæc negationem et
adfirmationem, quæ species enuntiationis sunt, quorum genus id est
enuntiationem tertiam nominavit, quartam vero orationem posuit, quæ ipsius
enuntiationis genus est. et horum se omnium definitiones daturum esse promisit,
quas interim relinquens atque præteriens et in posteriorem tractatum differens
illud nunc addit quæ sint verba et nomina aut quid ipsa significent, quare
antequam ad verba Aristotelis ipsa veniamus, pauca communiter de nominibus
atque verbis et de his quæ significantur a verbis ac nominibus disputemus, sive
enim quælibet 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 hæc
per quæ omnis oratio conlocutioque perficitur, res quæ sub- iectæ sunt,
intellectus qui res concipiant et rursus a vocibus significentur, voces vero
quæ intellectus designent, quartum quoque quiddam est, quo voces ipsæ valeant
designari, id autem sunt litteræ, scriptæ namque litteræ ipsas significant
voces, quare quattuor ista sunt, ut litteræ quidem significent voces, voces
vero intellectus, intellectus autem concipiant res, quæ scilicet habent quandam
non confusam neque fortuitam consequentiam, sed terminata naturæ suæ
ordinatione constant, res enim semper comitantur eum qui ab ipsis concipitur
intellectum, ipsum vero intellectum vox sequitur, sed voces elementa id est
quarum? res vocibus om. F, in marg. add. F1? significent SF suæ naturæ E
constat SE comitatur F2 eum dei. F2 intellectus F I c. 1. litteræ, rebus enim
ante propositis et in propria substantia constitutis intellectus oriuntur,
rerum enim semper intellectus sunt, quibus iterum constitutis mox significatio
vocis exoritur, præter intellectum namque vox penitus nihil designat, sed
quoniam voces sunt, idcirco litteræ, quas vocamus elementa, repertæ sunt,
quibus vocum qualitas designetur, ad cognitionem vero conversim sese res habet,
namque apud quos eædem sunt litteræ 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
eædem res sunt idemque intellectus, non statim eædem voces eædemque sunt
litteræ. nam cum ROMANUS, Græcus 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 Græcus 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 eædem res idemque intellectus
sunt, non statim apud eos vel easdem voces vel eadem elementa consistere,
præcedit autem res intellectum, intellectus vero vocem, vox litteras, sed hoc
converti non potest, neque enim si litteræ sint, mox aliqua ex his significatio
vocis exsistit, hominibus namque qui litteras ignorant nullum nomen quælibet
elementa significant, quippe quæ nesciunt, nec si voces 1 positis F habent T
sit om. F1 designi- ficatione S1 intellectum res F 31 consistit E sint, mox
intellectus esse necesse est. plures enim voces invenies quæ nihil omnino
significent, nec intellectui quoque subiecta res semper est. sunt enim
intellectus sine re ulla subiecta, ut quos centauros vel chimæras poetæ
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 propriæ divinitate substantiæ in propria natura ipsius rei nihil ignorat,
et si est intellectus, et vox est; quod si vox fuerit, eius quoque sunt
litteræ, quæ si Ignorantur, nihil ad ipsam vocis naturam, neque enim, quasi
causa quædam vocum est intellectus aut vox causa litterarum, ut cum eædem sint
apud aliquos litteræ, necesse sit eadem quoque esse nomina: ita quoque cum
eædem 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 eædem sint, possunt litteræ esse
diversæ, ut in hoc nomine quod est homo: cum unum sit nomen, diversis litteris
scribi potest, namque Latinis litteris scribi potest, potest etiam Græcis,
potest aliis nunc primum inventis litterarum figuris, quare quoniam apud quos
eædem res sunt, eosdem intellectus esse necesse est, apud quos idem intellectus
sunt, voces eædem non sunt et apud quos eædem voces sunt, non necesse
significant F 3 est semper E omnes T2 Denm b 10 snbst. div. E 13 nataram
pertinet F2 14 quædam causa F ut enim cum S2F pro litteræ: uoces E2 easdem E2
pro nomina: literas E2 18 mox non S2FE2 25 namque potest in marg. F res om. F1
non eædem (non supra lin .) F prius sunt om. F I c. 1. 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 eædem quoque voces sunt
et apud quos eædem voces sunt, idem sunt intellectus; apud quos autem idem sunt
intellectus, apud eosdem res quoque eædem subiectæ sunt: rursus apud quos eædem
res sunt, idem quoque sunt intellectus; apud quos idem intellectus, non eædem
voces; nec apud quos eædem voces sunt, eisdem semper litteris verba ipsa vel
nomina designantur, sed nos in supra dictis sententiis elemento atque littera
promiscue usi sumus, quæ autem sit horum distantia paucis absolvam, littera est
inscriptio atque figura partis minimæ vocis articulatæ, elementum vero sonus
ipsius inscriptionis: ut cum scribo litteram quæ est a, formula ipsa quæ
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 (prætermittantur enim litteræ 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 propriæ actionis exercent
atque officium (rebus enim subiectis ab his capiunt intellectus et per nomina
verbaque 0 14 designentur T doctis S1 . min. p. art. voc. E littera T pro a: id T 20 grafio STE 24. 25 vel qui F1 29 profecti ego :
profecto SFE, profectu T, profectus S2F2E2 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
hæc sint quattuor, litteræ, voces, intellectus, res, proxime quidem et
principaliter litteræ verba nominaque significant, hæc 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 prætermittendum est. hoc autem ex his omnibus solum
cognosci oportet, quod ea quæ sunt in litteris eam significent orationem quæ in
voce consistit et ea quæ est vocis oratio quod animi atque intellectus
orationem designet, quæ tacita cogitatione conficitur, et quod hæc 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 quæ fit in intellectibus orationem, idcirco quod apud
omnes eædem atque inmutabiles sint; 6 et om. S1 uerba et nomina S2F, nomina et
uerba (in ras .) E hæc designant in marg. E significationes F 16 //usippus S,
siue usippus S2FT nunc om. SFT dicunt SF et quod S2FE2 est om. S1 uocis est F 24
quod dei. S2, om. FE 29 intellectus S1 I c. 1. duas vero NON NATURALITER, SED
POSITIONE constitui, quæ sunt scilicet verba nomina et litteræ, 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
quæ sunt in voce earum quæ sunt in anima passionum notæ et ea quæ scribuntur
eorum quæ sunt in voce, et quemadmodum nec litteræ omnibus eædem, sic nec voces
eædem, quorum autem hæc primorum notæ, eædem omnibus passiones animæ et quorum
hæ similitudines, res etiam eædem, de his quidem dictum est in his quæ sunt
dicta de anima, alterius est enim negotii. Cum igitur prius posuisset nomen et
verbum et quæcumque secutus est postea se definire promisisset, hæc interim
prætermittens de passionibus animæ deque earum notis, quæ sunt scilicet voces,
pauca præmittit, 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 animæ passionum
interposuisse sermonem, ut utilitatem propositi operis inculcaret, disputaturus
enim de vocibus, quæ sunt notæ animæ passionum, recte de his quædam ante
præmisit, nam cum suæ nullus animæ passiones ignoret, notas quoque cum animæ
passionibus non nescire utilissimum est. neque enim illæ cognosci possunt nisi
per voces quæ sunt 1 non om. S1 4.5 eisdem FE noces eædem F Ar.: eædem uoces
ceteri hæ codices cf. p. 43, 6 12 animæ sunt codices : sunt om. Ar. cf. ed. I
hæ 27, he§ X: eædem ceteri 14 dicta post anima X enim om. X1 (enim est X2)
definire se F neglexerunt h: neglexerant codices . explicata E ( corr . E2)
Aristotelem F SECVNDA EDITIO earum scilicet notæ. Alexander vero aliam huius-
modi interpositionis reddidit causam, quoniam, iquit, verba et nomina
interpretatione simplici continentur, 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 quæ
significant momentum sumunt (in illis enim prius est eorum ordo et continentia,
post redundat in voces): quocirca quo- 10 niam significantium momentum ex his
quæ signifcantur oritur, idcirco prius nos de his quæ voces ipsæ significant
docere proponit, sed Herminus hoc loco repudiandus est. nihil enim tale quod ad
causam propositæ sententiæ pertineret explicuit. Ale- 15 x and er vero strictim
proxima intellegentia prætervectus tetigit quidem causam, non tamen principalem
rationem Aristotelicæ 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 quæ sonarent in vocibus arbitrabantur, alii vero incorporeas
quasdam naturas meditabantur, quarum essent significationes quæcumque vocibus
designarentur: Platonis aliquo modo species incorporeas æmulati 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 interprætationis T pro iam: autem S, om. F 7
significantur b 13 ad in marg. E 20 de om. F1 apud om. E1 22 sententiæ 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. 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 hæc
usque ad Aristotelis pervenisset ætatem, necesse fuit qui nomen et verbum
significativa esset definiturus prædiceret 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 enimdivisa sunt intellectus et sensus, differre
igitur aliquid arbitratur sensum atque intellectum, sed qui passiones animæ 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 animæ nomina 'et verba
significare proposuit, non sensus sed intellectus eum dicere putandum est. sed
quoniam imaginatio quoque res animæ est, dubitaverit aliquis ne forte passiones
animæ imagi- 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 Græca om. F (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 animæ om. F nationes, qnas Græci (pavraCiag nominant, dicat,
sed hæc 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
cpavrccANTAZMsl codices pro rj: N codices 7 interpretatur EN aliquid S2F .
demonstret T, corr. T2 quis F 25 idem ( pro id est) T2 26 pro qui: quid S, quod
S2F I c. 1. ginatio quædam primæ figuræ 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 animæ perceptione substernitur, nam cum
res aliqua sub sensum vel sub cogitationem cadit, prius eius quædam necesse est
imaginatio nascatur, post vero plenior superveniat intellectus cunctas eius
explicans partes quæ confuse fuerant imaginatione præsumptæ. quocirca
inperfectum quiddam est imaginatio, nomina vero et verba non curta quædam, sed
perfecta significant. quare recta Aristotelis sententia est: quæcumque 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 quæ scribi possit
elementis, alteram quæ voce proferri, tertiam quæ 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 prædixit erroremque lectoris ex multiplici veterum
lite venientem sententiæ suæ manifestatione conpescuit. atque hoc modo nihil in
eo deprehenditur esse superfluum, nihil ab ordinis continuatione se- iunctum.
quærit vero Porphyrius, cur ita dixerit: sunt ergo ea quæ sunt in voce, et non
sic: sunt si quod S^1 7 ait. sub om. F enim (pro eius) E 10 confuse b: confusæ
SF, confusa TE in im. S2, in yma- ginationem F præsumpta T imaginationis SFE1?
18 sit ( pro possit) S1 19 cogitationem SFE conecti ego : conectit codices,
connectitur b 21 teneri F, corr. F2 esse om. T1 ad T igitur voces; et rursus
cur ita et ea quæ scribuntur et non dixerit: et litteræ, quod resolvit hoc
modo, dictum est tres esse apud Peripateticos orationes, unam quæ litteris
scriberetur, aliam quæ proferretur in voce, tertiam quæ 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 quæ scribantur, alia quæ dicantur, alia quæ
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 quæ definire velit ostendit, et
quoniam de his nominibus loquitur ac verbis, quæ voce proferuntur, idem ipsum
planius explicans ait: sunt ergo ea quæ sunt in voce earum quæ sunt in anima
passionum notæ et ea quæ scribuntur eorum quæ sunt in voce, velut si diceret:
ea verba et nomina quæ in vocali oratione proferuntur [H. P. Grice: UTTER]
animæ passiones denuntiant, illa autem rursus verba et nomina quæ scribuntur
eorum verborum nominumque SIGNIFICANTIÆ præsunt quæ voce proferuntur [H. P.
Grice: UTTER], nam sicut vocalis orationis verba et nomina CONCEPTIONES [not
passions] animi intellectusque significant, ita quoque verba et nomina illa quæ
in solis litterarum formulis iacent ijjorum verborum et nominum significativa
sunt quæ loquimur, id est quæ per vocem sonamus, nam quod ait: sunt ergo ea quæ
sunt in voce, subaudiendum est verba et nomina, et rursus cum dicit: et ea quæ
scribuntur, idem subnectendum rursus est verba scilicet vel nomina, et quod
rursus 1 cur om. F1 proferetur F2T post nomen ras. sex vel octo litt.
in S quid sit n. codices ergo om. SF uerba rursus F uerba orationis F . cum
dicit rursus F vel] et b I c. 1. adiecit: eorum quæ sunt in voce, addendum
eorum nomimum atque verborum quæ profert atque explicat vocalis oratio, quod si
nihil deesset omnino, ita foret totius plenitudo sententiæ: sunt ergo ea verba
et nomina quæ sunt in voce earum quæ sunt in anima passionum notæ et ea verba
et nomina quæ scribuntur eorum verborum et nominum quæ sunt in voce, quod
communiter intellegendum est, licet ea quæ subiunximus deesse videantur, quare
non est disiuncta sententia, sed primæ 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 quæ in voce sunt, quorum
essent significativa disseruit, ait enim hæc passiones animæ designare. illud
quoque adiecit quibus ipsa verba et nomina quæ in voce sunt designentur, his
scilicet quæ litterarum formulis exprimuntur, SED QUONIAM NON OMNIS VOX
SIGNIFICATIVA EST, VERBA VERO VEL NOMINA NUMQUAM SIGNIFICATIONIBUS VACANT
QUONIAMQUE NON OMNIS VOX QUÆ SIGNIFICAT QUÆDAM *POSITIONE* DESIGNAT, SED
*QUÆDAM NATURALITER*, UT LACRIMÆ, GEMITUS ATQUE MÆROR – ANIMALIUM QUOQUE CETERORUM
QUÆDAM *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
significativæ nec solum significativæ, sed etiam QUÆ POSITIONE DESIGNENT
ALIQUID, NON NATURA: non dixit: sunt igitur voces earum quæ sunt in anima
passionum notæ, namque neque omnis vox significativa quæ sunt in v. nomina in
marg. F 15 sunt] sunt designantes TGr 17 et uerba et T 20 vel]
et b vacant ego: vacarent codices, carent b que om. S1 quadam S2E moerorem S,
merore FE nam FT est et SUNT QUÆDAM *SIGNIFICATIVÆ* QUÆ *NATURALITER* NON
POSITIONE SIGNIFICENT, quod si ita dixisset, nihil ad proprietatem verborum et
nominum pertineret, quocirca noluit communiter dicere voces, sed dixit tantum
ea quæ 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 quæ sunt in voce, velut si diceret: quæ 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 æs
inpressum quadam figura est, ut nummus vocetur, sed etiam ut alicuius rei sit
pretium: eodem quoque modo verba et nomina non solum voces sunt, sed POSITÆ AD
QUANDAM INTELLECTUUM SIGNIFICATIONEM, vox enim quæ 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 æs, sed proprio nomine nummus, quo ab alio ære discrepet, nuncupatur,
ergo hæc Aristotelis sententia qua ait ea quæ sunt in voce nihil aliud designat
nisi eam vocem, quæ non solum vox sit, sed quæ cum vox sit habeat tamen aliquam
proprietatem et 4 dicere pro dixit T. des. s. intell. T, corr. T2 nummos S1
garulus F putabit ego: putavit codices aliq. rer. F dicitur T ideo om. F1 non
nummus in marg. S qua ait om. F1 I c. 1. aliquam quodammodo figuram positæ
significationis inpressam. horum vero id est verborum et nominum quæ sunt in
voce aliquo modo se habente ea sunt scilicet significativa quæ scribuntur, ut
hoc quod dictum est quæ scribuntur de verbis ac nominibus dictum quæ sunt in
litteris intellegatur, potest vero hæc quoque esse ratio cur dixerit et quæ
scribuntur: quoniam litteras et inscriptas figuras et voces, quæ isdem
significantur formulis, nuncupamus (ut a et ipse sonus litteræ nomen capit et
illa quæ 10 in subiecto ceræ vocem significans forma describitur), designare
volens, quibus verbis atque nominibus ea quæ in voce sunt adparerent, non dixit
litteras, quod ad sonos etiam referri potuit litterarum, sed ait quæ
scribuntur, ut ostenderet de his litteris dicere quæ in scriptione consisterent
id est quarum figura vel in cera stilo vel in membrana calamo posset effingi,
alioquin illa iam quæ in sonis sunt ad ea nomina referuntur quæ in voce sunt,
quoniam sonis illis nomina et verba iunguntur. sed Porphyrius de utraque
expositione iudicavit dicens: id quod ait et quæ scribuntur non potius ad
litteras, sed ad verba et nomina quæ posita sunt in litterarum inscriptione
referendum, restat igitur ut illud quoque addamus, cur non ita dixerit: sunt
ergo ea quæ sunt in voce intellectuum notæ, sed ita earum quæ sunt in anima
passionum notæ, nam cum ea quæ sunt 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, quæ in animam ex subiectis veniunt
rebus, passus enim quilibet eius rei proprietatem, 3 sese E 5 et F scriptas b
se de? . quæ inscriptione T menbrana F proposita F 24 illas Tl 26 si T .
medietatibus (pro pass.) T BOEZIO (si veda) comment. II. quam intellectu
conplectitur, ad eius enuntiationem designationemque contendit, cum enim quis
aliquam rem intellegit, prius imaginatione formam necesse est intellectæ rei
proprietatemque suscipiat et fiat vel passio vel cum passione quadam
intellectus perceptio, hac vero posita atque in mentis sedibus conlocata fit
indicandæ ad alterum passionis voluntas, cui actus quidam continuandæ
intellegentiæ protinus ex intimæ rationis potestate supervenit, quem scilicet
explicat et effundit oratio nitens ea quæ primitus in mente fundata est
passione, sive, quod est verius, significatione progressa oratione progrediente
simul et significantis seorationis motibus adæquante, fit vero bæc passio velut
figuræ alicuius inpressio, sed ita ut in animo fieri consuevit, aliter namque
naturaliter inest in re qualibet propria figura, aliter vero eius ad animum
forma transfertur, velut non eodem modo ceræ vel marmori vel chartis litteræ id
est vocum signa mandantur. et imaginationem Stoici del PORTICO a rebus in
animam translatam loquuntur, sed cum adiectione semper dicentes ut in anima,
quocirca cum omnis animæ passio rei quædam videatur esse proprietas, porro
autem designativæ voces intellectuum principaliter, rerum dehinc a quibus
intellectus profecti sunt significatione nitantur, quidquid est in vocibus
significativum, id animæ passiones designat, sed hæ passiones animarum ex rerum
similitudine procreantur, videns 4 intellegi T (corr. T1) intellectio T Hæc T 8
quidem F quem actum F, actum supra lin. J, s. actum supra lin. S2 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. adæq.) metibus S1, mentibus F1 transferetur T, corr. T2 17 vel om. F a om.
S1 25 nitatur S^1 animorum SFE et T^1 I c. 1. namque aliquis sphæram vel
quadratum vel quamlibet aliam rerum figuram eam in animi intellegentia quadam
vi ac similitudine capit, nam qui sphæram 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 animæ quas intellectus vocavit rerum quædam
similitudines sunt, idcirco Aristoteles, cum paulo post de passionibus animæ
loqueretur, continenti ordine ad similitudines 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
quæ sunt in voce earum quæ sunt in anima passionum notæ et ea quæ scribuntur
eorum quæ sunt in voce, et quemadmodum nec litteræ omnibus eædem, sic nec voces
eædem hoc modo conatur exponere: proposuit, inquit, ea quæ sunt in voce
intellectus animi designare et hoc alio probat exemplo, eodem modo enim ea quæ
sunt in voce passiones animæ SIGNIFICANT, quemadmodum ea quæ scribuntur voces
DE-SIGNANT, ut id quod ait et ea quæ 1 aliquis om. T, aliqui E feram S, speram
S2FT ui§ (pro vi ac) SF speram FT duum S2F2 sciamusque ego: sciemusq. codices
mens om. T pass. animæ editio princeps inscribuntur SFE eædem uoces codices
enim modo F scribuntur ita intellegamus, tamquam si diceret: quemadmodum etiam
ea quæ scribuntur eorum quæ sunt in voce, ea vero quæ scribuntur, inquit
Alexander, notas esse vocum id est nominum ac verborum ex hoc monstravit quod
diceret et quemadmodum nec litteræ omnibus eædem, sic nec voces eædem, SIGNVM
namque est vocum ipsarum significationem litteris contineri, quod ubi variæ
sunt litteræ et non eadem quæ scribuntur varias quoque voces esse necesse est.
hæc Alexander. Porphyrius vero quoniam tres proposuit orationes, unam quæ
litteris contineretur, secundam quæ verbis ac nominibus personaret, tertiam
quam mentis evolveret intellectus, id Aristotelem significare pronuntiat, cum
dicit: sunt ergo ea quæ sunt in voce earum quæ sunt in anima passionum notæ,
quod ostenderet si ita dixisset: sunt ergo ea quæ sunt in voce et verba et
nomina animæ passionum | notæ, et quoniam monstravit quorum essent voces
SIGNIFICATIVÆ, illud quoque docuisse quibus SIGNIS [“Words are not signs” – H.
P. Grice] verba vel nomina panderentur ideoque addidisse et ea quæ scribuntur
eorum quæ sunt in voce, tamquam si diceret: ea quæ scribuntur verba et nomina
eorum quæ sunt in voce verborum et nominum notæ sunt. nec disiunctam esse
sententiam nec (ut Alexander putat) id quod ait: et ea quæ scribuntur ita
intellegendum, tamquam si diceret: sicut ea quæ scribuntur id est litteræ illa
quæ sunt in voce significant, ita ea quæ sunt in voce notas esse animæ
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 eædem F, eedem T
quæ F aristotelen T 18 prius et om. TE et b sunt om. SF primum? quidem quod b
deinde quod b tamque] tamquam T esset E2 I c. 1. cumque, quæ est vocum et animæ
passionum, oportet sicut voces diversis litteris permutantur, ita quoque
passiones animæ diversis vocibus permutari, quod non fit. idem namque
intellectus variatis potest vocibus significari, sed Alexander id quod eum
superius sensisse memoravi boc probare nititur argumento, ait enim etiam in hoc
quoque similem esse significationem litterarum ac vocum, quoniam sicut litteræ
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 quæ scribuntur ita dictum esset,
tamquam si diceret: sicut ea quæ scribuntur, quidquid ad hanc sententiam
videtur adiungere, æqualiter non dubitatur errare, quocirca nostro iudicio qui
rectius tenere volent Porphyrii se sententiis adplicabunt. Aspasius quoque
secundæ sententiæ Alexandri, quam supra posuimus, valde consentit, qui a nobis
in eodem quo Alexander errore culpabitur. LIZIO vero duobus modis esse has
notas putat litterarum, vocum passionumque animæ constitutas: uno quidem
positione, alio vero naturaliter. atque hoc est quod ait: et quemadmodum nec
litteræ omnibus eædem, sic nec voces eædem, nam si litteræ voces, ipsæ vero
voces intellectus animi naturaliter designarent, omnes homines isdem litteris,
isdem etiam vocibus uterentur, quod quoniam apud omnes neque eædem litteræ
neque eædem voces sunt, constat eas non esse naturales, sed hic duplex lectio
est. Alexander
enim hoc modo legi putat oportere: quorum autem hæc primo- oporteret E 11
recipit S, corr. S2 quam Alexander in marg. S vocum om. S1 . eædem v. codices
hisdem S2F2TE hisdem SF2TE hæ codices rum NOTÆ, eædem omnibus PASSIONES animæ
et quorum eædem similitudines, res etiam eædem, volens enim Aristoteles ea quæ
positione significant ab bis quæ aliquid DE-SIGNANT NATVRALITER segregare hoc
interposuit: ea quæ POSITIONE (thesei, not physei – Grice) SIGNIFICANT varia
esse, ea vero quæ naturaliter apud omnes eadem, et incobans quidem a vocibus ad
litteras venit easque primo non esse naturaliter significativas demonstrat
dicens: et quemadmodum nec litteræ omnibus eædem, sic nec voces eædem, nam si
idcirco probantur litteræ non esse naturaliter significantes, quod apud alios
aliæ sint ac diversæ, eodem quoque modo probabile erit voces quoque NON NATURALITER
SIGNIFICARE, quoniam singulæ hominum gentes non eisdem inter se vocibus conio
quantur. volens vero similitudinem intellectuum rerumque subiectarum docere
NATVRALITER constitutam ait: quorum autem hæc primorum notæ, eædem omnibus
passiones animæ, quorum, inquit, voces quæ apud diversas gentes ipsæ quoque
diversæ sunt SIGNIFICATIONEM retinent, quæ scilicet sunt animæ passiones, illæ
apud omnes eædem sunt, neque enim fieri potest, ut quod APVD ROMANOS “homo”
intellegitur lapis apud barbaros intellegatur, eodem quoque modo de ceteris 25
rebus, ergo huiusmodi sententia est, qua dicit ea quæ voces significent apud
omnes hominum gentes non mutari, ut ipsæ quidem voces, sicut supra monstravit
cum dixit quemadmodum nec litteræ omnibus eædem, sic nec voces eædem, apud
plures diversæ sint, illud vero quod voces ipsæ significant apud omnes homines
idem sit nec ulla ra- 1 animæ sunt codices inchoatis T significas S1,
signifitivas T colloquuntur b ait S, quod ait TE (quod dei. E1?) apud om. F,
add. F1 qui T modo quoq. F 29 apud ego: cum apud codices fit F I c. 1. tione
valeat permutari, qui sunt scilicet intellectus rerum, qui quoniam naturaliter
sunt permutari non possunt, atque hoc est quod ait: quorum autem hæc primorum
notæ, id est voces, eædem omnibus passiones animæ, ut demonstraret voces quidem
esse diversas, quorum autem ipsæ voces significativæ essent, quæ sunt scilicet
animæ passiones, easdem apud omnes esse nec | ullratione, quoniam sunt
constitutæ 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 ANIMÆ PASSIONES VOCAT PER HOC
ESSE NATURALES OSTENDIT, QUOD *APUD OMNES IDEM SINT, a quibus id est
intellectibus ad res transitum fecit, ait enim quorum hæ similitudines, res
etiam eædem hoc scilicet sentiens, quod res quoque naturaliter apud omnes
homines essent eædem: sicut ipsæ animæ passiones quæ ex rebus sumuntur apud
omnes homines eædem sunt, ita quoque etiam ipsæ res quarum similitudines sunt
animæ passiones eædem apud omnes sunt, quocirca quoque naturales sunt, sicut
sunt etiam rerum similitudines, quæ sunt animæ passiones. H er minus vero huic
est expositioni contrarius. dicit enim non esse verum eosdem apud omnes homines
esse intellectus, quorum voces significativæ sint, quid enim, inquit, in
æquivocatione dicetur, ubi unus idemque vocis modus plura significat? sed magis
hanc lectionem veram putat, ut ita 30 sit: quorum autem hæc primorum notæ, hæ
omnibus passiones animæ et quorumhæ similitudines, res etiam hæ: ut
demonstratio vi- 4 hæ codices animæ sunt codices quarum b: quorum codices
homines F, corr. F2 res quoq. b sunt F autem ovi.deatur quorum voces significativæ
sint vel quorum passiones animæ similitudines, et lioc simpliciter accipiendum
est secundum Her minum, ut ita dicamus: quorum voces significativæ sunt, illæ
sunt animæ passiones, tamquam diceret: animæ passiones sunt, quas significant
voces, et rursus quorum sunt similitudines ea quæ intellectibus continentur,
illæ 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
æquivocationis 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 æquivocum ÆQVIVOCVM GRICE 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 diversæ fuerant animæ passiones propter æquivocationem nominis.
neque enim fieri potest, ut qui voces POSITIONE SIGNIFICANTES A NATVRA eo
distinxerit quod easdem apud omnes esse non diceret, eas res quas esse
naturaliter 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 hæc
primorum notæ, eædem omnibus passiones animæ sunt, quærit Ale- . suptiliterq.
SE 11 hoc dei. S2, om. F quod F: quo STEGN, quoque E2 dicit E2 voce eras, in F
utrique? 17 designat T quod T nomen S1 distinxerint T quos (suprascr. d) S, qui
(in marg. quod) T eas] is? demonstraret T pro porphirii E hæ codices I c. 1. x
and er: si rerum nomina sunt, quid causæ 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 notæ 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 quæ ex rebus nobis io innatæ sunt animæ
passiones, quocirca propter quorum significantiam voces ipsæ proferuntur, recte
eorum primorum esse dixit notas, in hoc vero Aspasius permolestus est. ait
enim: qui fieri potest, ut eædem apud omnes passiones animæ sint, cum tam
diversa sententia de iusto ac bono sit? arbitratur Aristotelem passiones animæ
non de rebus incorporalibus, sed de his tantum quæ sensibus capi possunt
passiones animæ 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 ARBITRATVR,
intellexisse vero non dicitur. Aristoteles autem cum de similitudine loquitur,
de intellectu pronuntiat, neque enim fieri potest, ut qui quod bonum est malum
esse arbitratur boni similitudinem mente conceperit, neque enim intellexit rem
subiectam. sed quæ sunt iusta ac bona ad positionem omnia naturamve referuntur,
et si de iusto ac bono ita loquitur, ut de eo quod civile ius aut civilis in- 1
quod T causa S F dixerit b pro tamen: quidem T sunt E, corr. E2 quidem post
dictum F 10 nris STE (corr. S2E2) sint S præter T esse prim. F id S, cum id TE
(cum dei. E2) quidem (pro quod est) T quo S2F2: quod SFTE dicetur? si om. S1
ita om. F1 iuria dicitur, recte non eædem sunt passiones animæ, 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 quamvis diversa
cultura sit, idem tamen cuiusdam eminentissimæ naturæ est intellectus, quare
repetendum breviter a principio est. partibus enim ad orationem usque pervenit:
nam quod se prius quid esset verbum, quid nomen constituere dixit, hæ minimaæ
orationis partes sunt; quod vero adfirmationem et negationem, iam de conposita
ex verbis et nominibus oratione loquitur, quæ eædem 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, quæ in litteris, quæ in voce, quæ 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 quæ sunt in voce dicens: sunt ergo ea quæ sunt in voce et demonstrat
quorum sint SIGNIFICATIVA adiciens earum quæ sunt in anima passionum notæ.
rursus nominum ipsorum verborumque quæ in voce sunt ea verba et nomina quæ
essent in litteris constituta significativa esse declarat dicens et ea quæ
scribuntur eorum quæ sunt in voce, et quoniam quattuor ista quædam sunt:
litteræ, voces, intellectus, res, quorum litteræ 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 a ego add.: om. codices 8 quod om. T 15. 16 or. est F 16 postrem. in om. FE ea quæ FE positurus b: positurus
est codices sign. sint F eorum SFE litteras et voces? per om. SFT quod b:
quo///F, quo STE I c. . litteræ omnibus eædem, sic nec voces eædem. ut vero
demonstraret intellectus et res esse naturaliter, ait apud omnes eosdem esse
intellectus, quorum essent voces significativæ, et rursus apud omnes easdem
esse res, quarum similitudines essent animæ passiones, ut est quorum autem hæc
primorum notæ, scilicet quæ sunt in voce, eædem omnibus passiones animæ et
quorum hæ similitudines, res etiam eædem, passiones autem animæ dixit, quoniam
alias diligenter ostensum est omnem vocem animalis aut ex passione animæ aut
propter passionem proferri, similitudinem vero passionem animæ vocavit, quod
secundum LIZIO nihil aliud intellegere nisi cuiuslibet subiectæ rei
proprietatem atque imaginationem in animæ ipsius reputatione suscipere, de
quibus animæ 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 animæ 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- .
eædem v. codices et] ut intellectus esse quarum b: quorum codices 6 hæc E Ar. :
hæ Eet ceteri 8 animæ sunt codices aliud S: aliud est est aliud TE ait. quon.]
quomodo E 22 perspiciendum S: persp. est S2FTE de om. SF disputauit S^F1TE 28
cui Ar. <p cf. ed. I: cum codices 30 autem falsitas veritasq; veritas 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. Nome
compiuto : 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, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice,“Grice e Caramello, » The
Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Speranza, Liguria, Italia.
Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Carando:
la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale di Socrate – scuola
di Pettinengo – filosofia piemontese -- filosofia italiana – Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice,
The Swimming-Pool Library (Pettinengo). Filosofo piemontese. Filosofo italiano. Pettinengo, Biella, Piemonte. 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 enhanced
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 disfiguring 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' continuation 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
overturning 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 noteworthy 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
opportunity to link him with the act since he was already suspected of
pro¬faning the Eleusian Mysteries and of generally having a hybristic disregard
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, particularly 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. However, 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 forthcoming, 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 nearby island to levy funds. He left instructions not to engage the
enemy under any circumstances, but during his absence a battle was fought
nonetheless. 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 appearances, 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 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 improving 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 circumstances in which they found
themselves, but as these were decidedly different, so too were their manners of
adaptation. Socrates remained exclusively 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 conformity with all major Athenian
conventions, Socrates was st ill considered 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 contemptuous 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 relationship 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 hemlock, 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 unlikely 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 extraordinary 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 reflecting 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 comprehend 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 themselves 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 significance 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 persuading
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 constituted 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 between 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 disbelief 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 explored 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 something 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 attractiveness. 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 representing 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 experiences 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 repercussions 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 maintain 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. Accordingly, 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 influenced 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 transforms 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
comprehensive 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
particularly 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 appears, 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 understanding 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 participant, as there
might be were they to insult or publicly challenge someone's authority.
Conventional piety and civic-mindedness need place no limitations on the
depth of the inquiry; the only limits are those implicit 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 participation, 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 before 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
perhaps 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
differentiate 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 impossible 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 attesting 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 conceivably 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 importance 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 understanding 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 concerned 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
reflection 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 suggests that there is a special need to have reasons
presented. Perhaps Alkibiades' understanding of his own feelings either
is wrong or insufficient; 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 purportedly 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 significantly 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, including 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 inappropriateness 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 bothering 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 released 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 possible 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 important 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 understanding 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 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
discourse 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 careful
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 circumstances. 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 considered 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 interlocutor (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 important 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, prefacing 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 platform, 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 considerations 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 effective 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 inquiry 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
something altogether different, such as entertainment through reading a
story, one may discover that another way of life is better. The argument 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.
Propaganda 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 importance 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 unrelated) 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 influence 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 importantly 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 consideration 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. 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 unfortunate
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 comprehensive
'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 unlawful 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, 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 cannot. 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 answering but in fact points out an important example to the
contrary. The Greek language is taught by the many quite capably even
though they cannot 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 exemplifies 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 distinguishes 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 someone 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 (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). 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
individual, 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
concerning 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 possibility 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 responsible 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,
moreover, 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 referred 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 arguments 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 [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. The just and the advantageous are not the same, for great
injustices 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.
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 encounter
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 concerning 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
influences 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 themselves. 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 persuades 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 sentiments - 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 proposing 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
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 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 inconsistently maintain in speech what they do not uphold in deed.
This is the most immediate level on which to recognize the problem of the
relation 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, 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. Something 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 understand 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 conclusions 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 performing 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 advantageous. 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. 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. 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 required 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 distinction. 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
reformulation 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 continually 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 contradictory 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 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
perceive 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 enlighten 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
considerations 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 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 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,
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 implicit 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 differentiates 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 conclusion 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 concede the necessity of looking toward the best man.
The argument to counter this position is importantly epistemological. 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 understandable, 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 (geographic 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 proceeds naturally from local
victory through stages toward world championship, 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 someone 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 recognizing 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 surpass 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
satisfied 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 compared, 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 discussions 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 schooling; indeed, it suggests virtually everything that affects
one's upbringing. The importance of this facet in the development of a
man's nature becomes more obvious when one remembers the different
characteristics 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 superficially; 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
provides 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; Statesman). 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 suggesting 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 useful at this point.
Daidalos was a legendary ingenious craftsman, inventor 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).
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 fourteen 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 possibilities) . 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 suspects 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 somehow 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. Without 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 understand precisely how it is accomplished. The
question of what is to be taught leads readily to a consideration 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 qualification for teaching (or
for the knowledge requisite for teaching). Agreement 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 difficulty 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, disclosing 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 unless 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), 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. 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 indication 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 refused 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
requires 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 regarding 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 connected 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 combination 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 characteristics. 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. 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 surrounding 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, including 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). If, on the other hand, it requires completely
different 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
contradictions 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
importance. 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 powerful; 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 expression 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 mentions 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 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 consideration 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 especially
interesting is the significance of these opening lines for the themes of
the First Alkibiades . The first speaker in the Republic provides 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 suggest 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. Presumably, 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.) Perhaps 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 combat 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
remarks 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 horsemanship, 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 meaningful 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 discussing 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. 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 controlled 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 players who lead singers and employ
dancers; Alkibiades means ruling men who share life as fellow citizens
and conduct business. Socrates inquires 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 discovered 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 something 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 extent 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 performing in unison . Perhaps
political rule is properly understood as involving 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.
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 friendship
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 involved with more than mere
life, but is aiming at the good life, mere preservation of the citizens
is not sufficient. Socrates' subtle transformation 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. 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 (maybe 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 inquires if he means agreement or
disagreement by friendship. Alkibiades replies that agreement is meant,
but one must notice that this significantly 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 themselves" and states agreed, with regard to
speaking Greek, or more precisely, 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 circumstances, 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 provide 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 relationships. 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 performing 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 friendship, 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, perhaps 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 understanding 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 compatible. 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 correct 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
answering 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) 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 recognize 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 compare
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 understanding of the First
Alkibiades is that Socrates has succeeded in convincing 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 argument that taking proper care of one's belongings is an
art different from care of oneself (128d). But perhaps one should survey
the entire argument 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 belongings 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.
Already 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 combined 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" 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. 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 introduction 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 highmindedness 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 remain. 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.
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
utterances. 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 greathearted Erekhtheos," as one like no other born on earth for
the arrangement 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 belongings 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 exercises 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 belongs 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 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. 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 opportunity 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 belongings 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. 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. These others,
it seems, would be doctors and gymnastics trainers - the only experts of
the body explicitly recognized in the dialogue. Remembering that neither doctor
or trainer knows himself, 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. Someone 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 discussion of the one
techne that presides over all the bodies and belongings. 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 circumstances 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 understood 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 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 godless 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 hierarchically 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 ambiguous 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 importance 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 existence 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. Dissenters 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 disbelief in religious authority in the interests of those in the
community who depend on religious conviction for their good conduct. Most
consider 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 contrary, 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 concern 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 concern. 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 important
to the life of knowledge. Both play a part in Alkibiades' education 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 friendship 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. Throughout the discussion 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. In addition, at yet another level, it has
been frequently observed 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 flattering
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' unquenchable 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 intensity 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 implicitly 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 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 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 insufficient, and that I was in a position to
remedy that inadequacy. As a rule of thumb in interpretation one should
not begin with such presuppositions. 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. We are also told she had dresses worth fifty
minae. 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
(henceforth 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 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. Plato,
Symposium 220e-221c; Plutarch VII. 4; Diadoros cf. Thucydides, History of the
Peloponnesian War. Thucydudes, Cf. also Plutarch, Plutarch, XIV. 6-9;
Thucydides Plutarch, XIII. 3-5. Cf. Aristotle's discussion in his
Politics, Thucydides, Diodoros, Thucydides, Thucydides, Plutarch, XVIII. 1-2;
Thucydides.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, Thucydides, Plutarch, Thucydides, Thucydides,
VI. 48-50. Thucydides, Thucydides,
Plutarch, Diodoros, Thucydides, Plutarch, Thucydides, Plutarch, Thucydides,
Thucydides, Plutarch; cf. also Plato, Alkibiades, where Plato's mention might
provide some support for a claim that the motive was other than
lust. 35. Thucydides, Plutarch, Plutarch, Thucydides, Diodoros,
XIII. 41. iv-42iii; Plutarch, Thucydides Thucydides, Thucydides, VIII. 97. For
an excellent and beautiful examination of this in Thucydides, read Leo Strauss,
"Preliminary Observations of the Gods in Thucydides' Work."
INTERPRETATION, Nijhoff, The Hague,
Netherlands. Plutarch, Xenophon, Hellenika, Diodoros Xenophon,
Hellenika, I, i, 9-10; Plutarch, Xenophon, Hellenika,
Xenophon, Hellenika, I, iv, 8-17; Plutarch, Xenophon,
Hellenika, I, iv, 20-21; Plutarch,Plutarch, Diodoros, Plutarch, Xenophon,
Hellenika I, v, 11-16; Plutarch, Plutarch, Diodoros, Plutarch. 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; cf. Aristophanes, Clouds, Plato, Symposium,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. Cf. for example: Plato, Gorgias 500c, Aristotle,
Politics 1324a24 ff., Rousseau, Social Contract, Marx, Theses on
Feuerbach, Hobbes, Leviathan, edited by C. B. MacPherson, Pelican Books,
Middlesex 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 connection
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, 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
speaking 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 speculation 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. 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 understanding the thing. The
prescientific, or common-sensical, understanding of things is a
teleological one. The superior/ideal/proper characteristic 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. For this
kind of detailed information, I found the Word Index to Plato,
by 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). 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 (perhaps indeed the one Socrates is suggesting to Alkibiades) can be
understood 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. 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. Cf.
Republic. 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. 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 invites 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. 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 display 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. 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 demands 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. Presumably 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. However, when it is an extreme question
of health - e.g., starvation, a plague - a question of life or death,
they do. The condition 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; 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. 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. Perhaps he is implying a difference between power and actual
military capability. 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. 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, 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). 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) is in the Republic 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. The reader of the dialogue has already been reminded of
the Allegory of the Cave, also in the context of nurture. Sydenham,
Works of Plato, 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: "[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. 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 reputation. 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. This is not intended to
challenge Prof. Bloom's interpretation ( The Republic of Plato, p. 311). As far
as I am capable of understanding 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. 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 [citato da
H. P. Grice] 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. 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. 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 quasitemperance
based on right opinion? 127. This is what Socrates' anonymous
companion at the beginning of Protagoras suggests to Socrates with
respect to Alkibiades. 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; Laws 772a, 833c, 854d, 873b, 925a; Kratylos 403b;
Phaidros; Menexenos; Statesman; Sophist. This word for release,
apallattetai, has only been used for the release of eros to this point in
the dialogue. 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. 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. 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 interplay 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. 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. 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 statement. 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, The
King James BIBLE. Nashville, U.S.A.: Kedeka,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, 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, Churchill, Winston. Great Contemporaries . London: Macmillan; Craig,
Leon H. An Introduction to Plato's Republic . Edmonton: printed and bound
by the University of Alberta, de Romilly, Jacqueline. Thucydides and
Athenian Imperialism . Translated by Philip Thody. Oxford: Basil
Blackwell, Diodorus Siculus. Diodorus of Sicily . Tr. Oldfather; Loeb
Classical Library, London: Heinemann, Friedlander, Plato, New York:
Bollingen Series, 1958. Grene, David; and Richmond Lattimore,
eds. The Complete Greek Tragedies . Aeschylus I, tr. Lattimore; Euripides
I, translated by Lattimore. Chicago, Grote. Plat o and the Other
Companions of Sokrates . London: John Murray, 1885. Hamilton and
Cairns. Plato: The Collected Dialogues . Princeton, Bollingen Series, Hammond and
Scullard, The Oxford Classical Dictionary, Clarendon, Herodotus. The
Histories . Tr. Powell; Oxford, Hesiod. Hesiod . Tr. Lattimore. Ann Arbor:
Michigan; Hobbes, Thomas. Leviathan . Ed. Macpherson. Middlesex, England:
Pelican, Homer. Iliad . Translated by Richmond Lattimore. New York: Harper
and Row, Homer. Odyssey . Translated by Richard Lattimore. New York:
Harper and Row, Jensen, Nietzsche and Liberation: The Prelude to a
Philosophy of the Future," Interpretation . 6:2. The Hague:
Nijhoff, Jowett, B., ed. The Dialogues of Plato Translated by Jowett.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, Clarendon Press, MACHIAVELLO MACHIAVELLI (si
veda), The Prince . Tr. and ed. by Musa. New York: St. Martin's.
Marx, Theses on Feuerbach," The Marx-Engels Reader . Ed. Tucker. New
Tork: Norton, McKeon, Richard, ed. The Basic Works of Aristotle . New York:
Random House, Olympiodorus. Commentary on the First Alkibiades of Plato.
Critical texts and Indices by L. G. Wes ter ink'. Amsterdam:‘
North-Holland,O'Neill, William. Proclus: Alkibiades I A Translation and
Commentary. The Hague: Nijhoff, Paulys-Wissowa. Real-Encyclopoedie der
Classischen Altertumswissenschaft . Stuttgart: Metzler Buchhandlung, Plato.
Plato in Twelve Volumes . Loeb Classical Library; translated by R. G.
Bury, H. N. Fowler, W. Lamb, P. Shorey; London: Heinemann, Plutarch.
Lives . Loeb Classical Library, tr. Perrin.
London: Heinemann, Rousseau, J.-J. The Social Contract . Translated and
edited by R. Masters and J. Masters. New York: St. Martin's, RYLE (citato
da H. P. Grice), Plato's Progress. Cambridge, Schleiermacher. Introduction to
the Dialogues of Plato . Translated by W. Dobson. Cambridge: J. et j. j.
Deighton, Shorey, Paul. What Plato Said . Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1933. Solzhenitsyn, A. "Harvard Commencement
Address." Harvard, Strauss, Leo. "Preliminary Observations of the
Gods in Thucydides Work," Interpretation, 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, 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. Nome compiuto: Ennio Carando.
Keywords: l’amore platonico, l’amore socratico, l’implicatura di Socrate, filosofo
socratico, Socrate, Alcibiade. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H.
P. Grice, “Grice e Carando,” The Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Speranza,
Liguria, Italia.
Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Carapelle:
la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale – linguaggio e
metafilosofia – linguaggio oggetto – meta-linguaggio – Peano – Tarski 1944 – bootstrapping
– scula di Napoli – filosofia napoletana – filosofia campanese -- filosofia
italiana – Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, The
Swimming-Pool Library (Napoli). Filosofo
napoletano. Filosofia campanese. Filosofo italiano. Napoli, Campania. 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
(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. 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 C., 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 C. 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 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 matematica. Questo germinale
orientamento, unito a una sensibilità religiosa che non tarderà a manifestarsi,
ebbe come primo e scontato effetto di allontanare C. dall'area neo-idealistica,
il cui radicale immanentismo, la esclusione dei concetti di peccato e di grazia
e l'avversione per ogni for- P. Filiasi
C., 17 ruolo della metodologia nel rinnovamento della filo sofia
contemporanea, La filosofia contemporanea in Italia. Invito al dialogo, Asti,
Arethusa. ma di naturalismo, non potevano in alcun modo essere accettati.
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, 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»; * P; Filiasi Carcano, // ruolo della
metodologia, Cfr. C., 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 C.
vede 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 d’Husserl. Scri ve Angiolo Maros
Dell'Oro: A un certo punto si intromise Husserl. C. pensa, o spera, che là
fenomenologia sarebbe stata la scienza delle scienze – REGINA SCIENTIARVM –
Grice --, 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. Sùbito rifiutata, in realtà, come idealismo
metafisico, quale eira frettolo samente spacciata in certe grossolane versioni
del tempo (non esclusa, lo abbiamo 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 C. 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. d’Aliotta, Roma,
Perrella, Cf. Il pensiero scientifico
ìtt Italia 'Creiriòria, Màngiarotti; Cfr. Cartario/ Da Carierò'ad H«w&f/,:«
Ricerche filosofìche. In piena coscienza,
scrive il filosofo 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. 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 FC. 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 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 contemporaneo. D'altro canto, si diceva, non è neppure precluso a
questo program- C., Crisi della civiltà; C., Anti-metafisica 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 C. 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 C.
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. 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 Mazzantini; il secondo è Annibale Pastore ne
parleremo ora che teneva nell'ateneo
torinese la cattedra di filosofia teoretica; C.,. Crisi.della civiltà,:; C., Anti-metafisica
e sperimentalismo. Apparently, Hilbert is the first to use the prefix meta (from
the Greek over) in the sense we use it in meta-language, meta-theory, and now
meta-system. Hilbert introduces the term meta-mathematics 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.” 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 language 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 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. Nome compiuto: Paolo Filiasi Carcano di Montaltino di
Carapelle. Paolo Filiasi Carcano di Montaltino de Carapelle, quarto duca di
Montaltino. 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, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, “Grice e Carapelle,” The
Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Speranza, Liguria, Italia.
Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Carbonara: la ragione conversazionale
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