RÉSUMÉDans cet article, j'examine si la description spinozienne de la béatitude peut être identifiée à un idéal contemplatif dans la tradition aristotélicienne. Je présente d'abord les caractéristiques principales de la vie contemplative telle que définie par Aristote ainsi que sa différence avec la vie des vertus orientées vers la pratique — une différence fondée sur la distinction d'Aristote entrepraxisettheoria. En mettant en évidence les points communs entre les deux types de connaissance adéquate de Spinoza — c'est-à-dire la connaissance intuitive (...) et la raison —, je montre qu'il n'y a pas de place pour une distinction similaire chez Spinoza, ce qui permettra d'identifier la connaissance intuitive et la béatitude qui l'accompagne exclusivement avec l'activité théorique. (shrink)

Although Spinoza’s words about intuition, also called “the third kind of knowledge,” remain among the most difficult to grasp, I argue that he succeeds in providing an account of its distinctive character. Moreover, the special place that intuition holds in Spinoza’s philosophy is grounded not in its epistemological distinctiveness, but in its ethical promise. I will not go as far as one commentator to claim that the epistemological distinction is negligible (Malinowski-Charles 2003),but I do argue that its privileged place (...) in Spinoza’s system belongs primarily to its ethical importance, by which I mean that intuition’s value is prized by virtue of the agency it confers upon those who enjoy it. Spinoza often notes that what distinguishes the “wise man” is that he is more powerful, able to do more. That is,the wise and free person with whose description the Ethics culminates is set apart not, first and foremost, by virtue of possessing a scientific account of the true cosmological order. The Ethics is perhaps called an ethics, rather than a treatise on metaphysics or knowledge, because it concludes with a demonstration of how one comes to be able to do what is best and to live a more joyful life. Intuitive science is essential to the characterization of the power to think and live well. (shrink)

This chapter investigates Spinoza's conception of reason, focusing on (i) the difference between reason and the imagination, and (ii) the difference between reason and intuitive knowledge. The central interpretive debate this chapter considers is about the scope of rational cognition. Some commentators have argued that it is only possible to have rational cognition of properties that are universally shared, whereas intuitive knowledge may grasp the essences of particular individuals. Another prominent interpretation is that reason differs from (...) intuition only in virtue of its form or manner of apprehension, and not in virtue of the content or ideas it apprehends. However, authors on both sides of the debate have held that reason is incapable of grasping singular things. After summarizing the debate, this chapter presents an argument that Spinozan reason is not blind to particulars: it is (at least sometimes) capable of grasping the causal structure that characterizes an individual. (shrink)

In Nicomachean Ethics X.7, Aristotle argues that perfect happiness consists in contemplation alone. The question that I want to take up in this essay is whether the superiority of contemplative life fits with Aristotle’s argument for the self-sufficiency of the political life, according to which politics can lead us to happiness without being guided by philosophical knowledge of the highest sort. My basic argument is that, paradoxical as it may seem, Aristotle is led to acknowledge that contemplative life is (...) superior to political life by the same strand of argumentation which makes him plea for the self-sufficiency of the political life in the first place. In order to show how this argument unfolds, I take my point of departure from Aristotle’s analysis of phronēsis as stated in Nicomachean Ethics VI and bring it to bear on his discussion of the respective virtues of the contemplative and political ways of life in Politics VII. (shrink)

In this paper I assume that we have some intuitive knowledge—i.e. beliefs that amount to knowledge because they are based on intuitions. The question I take up is this: given that some intuition makes a belief based on it amount to knowledge, in virtue of what does it do so? We can ask a similar question about perception. That is: given that some perception makes a belief based on it amount to knowledge, in virtue of (...) what does it do so? A natural idea about perception is that a perception makes a belief amount to knowledge in part by making you sensorily aware of the concrete objects it is about. The analogous idea about intuition is that an intuition makes a belief amount to knowledge in part by making you intellectually aware of the abstract objects it is about. I expand both ideas into fuller accounts of perceptual and intuitive knowledge, explain the main challenge to this sort of account of intuitive knowledge (i.e. the challenge of making sense of intellectual awareness), and develop a response to it. (shrink)

Baruch, or Benedictus, Spinoza (1632–77) is the author of works, especially the Ethics and the Theological-Political Treatise, that are a major source of the ideas of the European Enlightenment. The Ethics is a dense series of arguments on progressively narrower subjects – metaphysics, mind, the human affects, human bondage to passion, and human blessedness – presented in a geometrical order modeled on that of Euclid. In it, Spinoza begins by defending a metaphysics on which God is the only substance and (...) is bound by the laws of his own nature. Spinoza then builds a naturalistic ethics that is constrained by, and to some extent is a product of, his strong metaphysics. Human beings are individuals that causally interact with other individuals and are extremely vulnerable to external influence. They are not substances. Moreover, human beings are bound by the same laws that bind all other individuals in nature, so Spinoza presents accounts of goodness, virtue, and perfection that are consistent with these perfectly general laws. Spinoza’s principal influences include René Descartes, Thomas Hobbes (see hobbes, thomas), Moses Maimonides (see maimonides, moses), the Roman Stoics (see stoicism), and Aristotle (see aristotle). Although his innovative philosophical views undoubtedly contributed to the strong writ of cherem, or ostracism, that Spinoza received from the Portuguese Jewish community of Amsterdam in 1656, his work nevertheless also shows the influence of the study of Scripture and of Jewish law. (shrink)

Mencius, referred to as second sage in Chinese philosophy history, grounds his theory about original goodness of human nature on psychological components by bringing in something new down ancient ages. Including the principles of virtuous action associated with Confucius to his doctrine, but by composing them along psychosocial development, he theorizes utterly out of the ordinary that makes all the difference to the school. In his argument stated a positive opinion, he explains the method of forming individuals' moral awareness by (...) means of inseparable integrity of feelings and thoughts, saying human being are born innately good. According to Mencius, heart-mind correlation is the motivational complement of inner incentives. Knowledge and virtue, which are extensions of inborn goodness, comprehended intuitively; then affective motives respond to circumstance, what is learned transmits to cognitive process and eventually behavior emerges. Comparing during the years of Warring State period he lived, in western geography Aristotle, who is one of the pioneers of Greek philosophy, argues deductive and inductive methods in mental activity. On the other hand, Mencius uses analogical reasoning throughout his self-titled work. This essay is an attempt to assert that most postulates of developmental theories, which have been considered an integral part of modern psychology, begin with Mencius in early era. Secondly, this study also aims to discuss the main paradigm of Mencius across emotivist-rationalist opposition, which keeps emotion above thought as well as reason above emotion. (shrink)

The discussions of conatus – force, tendency, effort, and striving – in early modern metaphysics have roots in Aristotle’s understanding of life as an internal experience of living force. This paper examines the ways that Spinoza’s conatus is consonant with Aristotle on effort. By tracking effort from his psychology and ethics to aesthetics, I show there is a conatus at the heart of the activity of the ψυχή that involves an intensification of power in a way which anticipates many of (...) the central insights of early modern and 20th century European philosophy. The first section outlines how Aristotle’s developmental conception of the soul as geometrically ordered lays the foundation for his understanding of effort. The developmental series of powers of the soul are analogous to the series of shapes in mathematics. The second section links the striving of the soul to the gradual acquisition of virtues as a directed activity unifying multiplicity. The third examines the paradigm of self-awareness that Aristotelian effort involves. In the final section I show how ancient Greek theories of music were founded on the experience of striving. The “nature” of music is defined by Aristoxenus, and Theophrastus, in relation to the passion and intentionality of the soul. The geometrical order, as a synthesis of elements in geometry, music, or ethics, is a generative process in which past elements are retained and reintegrated in later stages of development. It requires effort to think geometrically, and the progress of knowledge itself is an integral aspect of all effort. Effort is the lived and self-aware cause which, moving step by step in an orderly and deliberate way, grows and advances upon itself. For both Spinoza and Aristotle, effort is the immanent intelligence which accomplishes what is in the purview of its understanding. Thus, will, in this conception of effort, is not something we already possess innately, but emerges gradually by an effort aimed at improvement. (shrink)

Aristotle tells us that contemplation is the most self-sufficient form of virtuous activity: we can contemplate alone, and with minimal resources, while moral virtues like courage require other individuals to be courageous towards, or courageous with. This is hard to square with the rest of his discussion of self-sufficiency in the Ethics: Aristotle doesn't generally seek to minimize the number of resources necessary for a flourishing human life, and seems happy to grant that such a life will be self-sufficient despite (...) requiring a lot of external goods. In this paper I develop an interpretation of self-sufficiency as a form of independence from external contributors to our activity, and argue that this interpretation accounts both for Aristotle's views on contemplation and for the role self-sufficiency plays in his broader account of human happiness. (shrink)

Practical research, according to Aristotle, strives to actualize the Supreme Good as the ultimate end of life. The Final Good could be determined if preceded by an outline based on conceptual analysis. For this reason, Aristotle considers agathón (ἀγαθόν), as the universal concept of good, and clarifies its conceptual-categorical structure to explain how we can understand it. In virtue of the similarity between good and existences for their extension of senses (good has as many meanings as existences), Aristotle proceeds to (...) analyze good compared to existence as an absolute philosophical conception. Alongside his comparative study of good and existence, we can consider a metaphysics for good similar to the metaphysics of being and question its possibility. Corresponding to the metaphysics of existence that considers being qua being, one can imagine a metaphysics for good that investigates goodness qua goodness and explores its philosophical characteristics and theoretical attributes aimed at the question of its possibility. It appears, in the process of Aristotle’s analysis that there is a common meaning and central definite characteristic in several significations and different categories of being by reference to one starting point: the primary being or substance. From the categorical point of view, similarly, various categories are accidental qualities of the fundamental category of substance. Because of the one principle of the primary being or substance, a metaphysics for being which contemplates on being qua being would be possible. But good, on the contrary, is used homonymously in various different senses without any common meaning and with no reference to one principle. Of the categorical attitude, good is applied in any individual category independently with no connection with each other and by no reference to one main category. There is not, in fact, any category of primary good or substantial good which constitutes universal meaning and a single category as an appropriate subject matter for the intended knowledge of the metaphysics of good. Consequently, it is not possible to establish one primary philosophy for goodness qua goodness in the same way as the first philosophy of being as being. Knowledge, according to Aristotle, is composed of the eidos (form or essence) as a universal absolute subject and eidetic attitude as a necessary theoretical way of understanding. Eidetic view and eidos entity are based on the common meaning and single principle which are not found in the concept of good. Thus, the theoretical approach to good, which could not constitute the eidos of good and eidetic knowledge, leads to the Platonic Idea of good and the dialectical attitude. But Aristotle who does not follow dialectic, cannot obtain the eidetic path to goodness either, and, therefore, reconstructs good as the well-being which is the final good that humankind can obtain practically. So he goes on to outline good not as the good in itself which in essence necessitates theoretical cognition, but as a final good of human life that is a condition that entails practical realization. (shrink)

Genevieve Lloyd’s Spinoza is quite a different thinker from the arch rationalist caricature of some undergraduate philosophy courses devoted to “The Continental Rationalists”. Lloyd’s Spinoza does not see reason as a complete source of knowledge, nor is deductive rational thought productive of the highest grade of knowledge. Instead, that honour goes to a third kind of knowledge—intuitive knowledge (scientia intuitiva), which provides an immediate, non-discursive knowledge of its singular object. To the embarrassment of some (...) hard-nosed philosophers, intellectual intuition has an affective component; it is a form of love, and ultimately given that human beings are finite modes of God/Nature (Deus sive Natura), it is a form of the intellectual love of God (amor Dei intellectualis). Some philosophers do not know what to make of this mysterious aspect of Spinoza’s philosophy, which is nonetheless firmly anchored in a reading of Part V of the Ethics. Nonetheless, this note will insist with Lloyd’s “Reconsidering Spinoza’s Rationalism” that such doctrine is an integral part of Spinoza’s philosophy. Moreover, it will be shown that Spinoza is well aware of the limitations of reason (ratio) in gaining scientific knowledge of the world and requires intuition precisely because of the inability of reason to represent individuals in their full particularity. Imagination too has a role to play in shaping scientific knowledge, although reason performs a vital critical role in disciplining and liberating the human mind from inadequate imaginary ideas. The result is an interpretation of Spinoza’s epistemology as both rationalist and intuitionist. DOI: 10.1080/24740500.2021.1962652. (shrink)

Virtue reliabilism appears to have a major advantage over generic reliabilism: only the former has the resources to explain the intuition that knowledge is more valuable than mere true belief. I argue that this appearance is illusory. It is sustained only by the misguided assumption that a principled distinction can be drawn between those belief-forming methods that are grounded in the agent’s intellectual virtues, and those that are not. A further problem for virtue reliabilism is that of explaining why (...) knowledge is more valuable than mere justified true belief. I argue that virtue reliabilism lacks the resources to explain this value difference. I conclude by considering what it would take for a theory to explain the extra value of knowledge over mere justified true belief. (shrink)

As one commentator notes, Spinoza’s conception of “the third kind of knowledge”—intuition, has been “regarded as exceptionally obscure. Some writers regard it as a kind of mystic vision; others regard it as simply unintelligible.” For Spinoza, the first kind of knowledge, which he calls “imagination,” is a kind of sense-experience of particulars; the second kind, which he calls “understanding,” involves the rational grasp of universals, and the third, in his words, “proceeds from an adequate idea of the formal (...) essence of some of the attributes of God to an adequate knowledge of the essence of things.” In this essay I will attempt to show, through an explication of Spinoza’s concept of intuition, how a prime example of intuition can be found in the art of poetry. More specifically, I will examine resonances between the work of the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–1889) and Baruch de Spinoza (1632–1677) by exploring the ways in which Hopkins’ poetry can work as both (1) an exemplar of poetry qua Spinozistic intuition, and (2) an intuition-based access to Spinoza’s thought. The upshot of this essay, then, is that there is a kind of knowledge, and by implication a kind of education (through which to acquire that knowledge) which—even for a philosopher as mathematically rigorous as Spinoza—may require recourse to the art of poetry. (shrink)

The paper addresses claims that Aristotle's notion of happiness is inconsistent given his expositions of happiness in Book I and Book X of NE. It argues that such claims are rooted in the erroneous conclusion that Aristotle defines happiness in Book I as living a "good life", and an unwarranted assumption that when Aristotle identifies happiness with contemplation, he has a professional philosopher in mind and contemplation as an activity one engages in leisurely and as a means of intellectual conditioning. (...) It further argues that happiness as Aristotle understands it is a reward for cultivating virtuous character and though everyone has the capacity for it, only few will attain happiness since it requires exertion and effort and many are unwilling to prioritize such acquisition. (shrink)

Two views continue to be defended today. One is that the account of eudaimonia in EN 10 is inconsistent with claims made about it in other books of the work. The other view is that the account in EN 10 is consistent with other claims made in the other books because Aristotle presents one account of perfect eudaimonia by portraying it as consisting solely in contemplative activity. I call this view the intellectualist interpretation. I then argue that neither view is (...) correct because although Aristotle’s position is consistent, he does not hold that the perfect eudaimonia for a human being involves nothing but excellent theoretical activity. His philosopher possesses and exercises the moral excellences and practical wisdom and so some portion of his happiness consists in these activities as well as contemplative activity. (shrink)

Virtue epistemology argues that knowledge is more valuable than Gettierized belief because knowledge is an achievement, but Gettierized belief is not. The key premise in the achievement argument is that achievement is apt (successful because competent) and Gettierized belief is inapt (successful because lucky). I first argue that the intuition behind the achievement argument is based wrongly on the fact that ‘being successful because lucky’ implicates ‘being not competent enough’. I then offer an argument from moral luck to (...) argue that virtue epistemologists should maintain that knowledge is no more valuable than Gettierized belief. (shrink)

Action, Contemplation, and Happiness (hereafter ACH) is a magisterial expo­sition of both central and obscure texts from throughout Aristotle's writings that aims to elucidate the terms in its title by showing their foundations in Aristotle's natural and metaphysical writings. Reeve assembles supportive texts from throughout the corpus in support of an interpretive holism, viz., one in which the various interpretations of a text are narrowed by drawing upon other texts in the corpus that shed light on the passage. Although holism (...) is not necessarily incon­sistent with developmental readings of Aristotle, Reeve at least initially claims that the texts he is concerned with provide little evidence of development. Reeve's current volume draws upon his previous books, Substantial Knowledge (Indianapolis: Hackett, 2000), a holistic study of the problem of primary sub­stance in the Metaphysics, and his Practices of Reason (Oxford: Clarendon Uni­versity Press, 1992), a study of the epistemological bases of happiness 'in the Nicomachean Ethics. (shrink)

The study deals with the matter of three of the most puzzling doctrines of Baruch Spinoza's system, the so-called 'final doctrines', which are intuitive knowledge, intellectual love of God, and the eternity of the (human) mind. Contrary to many commentators, but also in concordance with many others, this account strives to affirm the utmost importance of these doctrines to Spinoza's system as a whole, but mostly to his ethical theory. Focusing specifically on the cultivation of the human mind, (...) the paper offers partial analyses of the central notions of these doctrines and their conceptual contexts. It is argued that the cultivation of the human mind, i.e., its determination to its perfect activity, should be considered as Spinoza's ultimate ethical goal, and that the mind truly only advances to this goal by means of these cognitive, affective, and intellectual transformations of thinking. (shrink)

The revival of Aristotelian virtue ethics can be seen as a response to the modern problem of disenchantment, that is, the perceived loss of meaning in modernity. However, in Virtue and Meaning, David McPherson contends that the dominant approach still embraces an overly disenchanted view. In a wide-ranging discussion, McPherson argues for a more fully re-enchanted perspective that gives better recognition to the meanings by which we live and after which we seek, and to the fact that human beings are (...) the meaning-seeking animal. In doing so, he defends distinctive accounts of the relationship between virtue and happiness, other-regarding demands, and the significance of linking neo-Aristotelian virtue ethics with a view of the meaning of life and a spiritual life where contemplation has a central role. This book will be valuable for philosophers and other readers who are interested in virtue ethics and the perennial question of the meaning of life. (shrink)

**For my more recent views of the third kind of cognition, see my "Finding Oneself in God"** -/- Abstract: Cognition of the third kind, or scientia intuitiva, is supposed to secure beatitudo, or virtue itself (E5p42). But what is scientia intuitiva, and how is it different from (and superior to) reason? I suggest a new answer to this old and vexing question at the core of Spinoza’s project in the Ethics. On my view, Spinoza’s scientia intuitiva resembles Descartes’s scientia more (...) than has been appreciated. Although Spinoza’s God is not Descartes’s benevolent, transcendent God, Spinoza agrees with Descartes that the highest certainty requires that a cognizer correctly conceive of God and her causal relation to God; it is only with cognition of the third kind that a cognizer can be certain that her adequate (that is, clear and distinct) representations of extramental things agree with formally real, extramental ideata, and so are true. If this is right, a reading of Spinoza that has dominated scholarship since the Ethics’ publication is misguided: for Spinoza, it is not always the case that having (and recognizing that one has) a clear and distinct idea is sufficient for knowing that that idea is true. I end the chapter by suggesting why scientia is intuitive for Spinoza: Spinoza attempts to avoid Cartesian-Circle-style circularity by insisting that a cognizer must intuit the correct representation of God and God’s relation to things. (shrink)

I reject the traditional picture of philosophical withdrawal in the Hellenistic Age by showing how both Epicureans and Stoics oppose, in different ways, the Platonic and Aristotelian assumption that contemplative activity is the greatest good for a human being. Chrysippus the Stoic agrees with Plato and Aristotle that the greatest good for a human being is virtuous activity, but he denies that contemplation exercises virtue. Epicurus more thoroughly rejects the assumption that the greatest good for a human being is virtuous (...) activity. He maintains that the greatest good for a human being is the tranquility that virtuous activity always and contemplative activity sometimes brings about. (shrink)

From my ongoing "Metalogical Plato" project. The aim of the diagram is to make reasonably intuitive how the Socratic elenchos (the logic of refutation applied to candidate formulations of virtues or ruling knowledges) looks and works as a whole structure. This is my starting point in the project, in part because of its great familiarity and arguable claim to being the inauguration of western philosophy; getting this point less wrong would have broad and deep consequences, including for philosophy’s self-understanding. (...) -/- (i.) is the first pass at elenchos in which the Socratic interlocutor does not reflect on knowledge being the crux of the problem. (ii.) is the second, rarer, reflective pass in which they are, making the investigation explicitly about knowledge. Its centrality in the Charmides makes that neglected dialogue of superlative importance. This structure is also the gateway through which the discussion/dialectic crosses into the Agathology (discussion of the form of the good) at Republic 505. -/- The problem of elenchos, then, grasped as a whole structure, is that it seems that knowledge can neither satisfactorily be included in nor excluded from its own scope. The development of the ti esti (“what is ---?”) question leads to the introduction of knowledge into its own scope (i. implicitly, as goodness contrasted with blind rule-following ii. explicitly qua knowledge) while the development of the dual peri tinos (“----about what?) question leads to K’s elimination from its own scope. The introductions are motivated to avoid contradiction, but produce regress; the eliminations are motivated to avoid regress, but produce contradiction. In scholarship, and in the history of philosophy, the ti esti question is universally recognized, to the point of being identified with philosophy’s origin and essence; the peri tinos question is neglected textually and never recognized as the equal dual to the ti esti. This, I claim, has blocked the development of a nontrivial logical appreciation of what Plato's Socrates is up to. (One rather disastrous effect of this neglect is taking Aristotle as the beginning of the development of logic, rather than, correctly, for the beginning of logic’s fatal separation from mathematics and dialectic.) -/- Further, because of this monopticism of the ti esti, the function of consistency in the elenchos has not been understood, even with respect to the ti esti. The ti esti is actually in search of completeness, given a norm of consistency; the peri tinos is in search of consistency, given a norm of completeness. Only appreciating the two questions as dual allows space in the structure to clarify these different orientations relative to consistency. (And, dually, to completeness, whose function in the elenchos is generally entirely missed by scholars and relegated to discussions of eros; it's not out of place there, of course, but its significance is secured here.) Recognizing the duality of the ti esti and peri tinos questions is thus the royal road, in the Socratic-Platonic context, to catching sight of what we post-Cantorians can recognize as the metalogical duality of consistency and completeness. (The salutary disruptive effects of this Plato-Cantor proximity have, of course, been traced in complementary ways by Badiou.) -/- Note that the diagram is supposed to provide a relatively accessible orientation, not to stand on its own, and certainly not to be the last word on any subject. An important qualification (telegraphed in the previous paragraph) is that what elenchos shows is not finally circular or paradoxical, though the problem first presents as such (stubbornly, obdurately, as "difficult" Plato's Socrates always says with characteristic understatement). What is depicted here is meant, at a first pass, to be the shape of that first presentation, the form of the problem of elenchos, rather than of its solution. It's not an accident that this problem strongly resembles "Russell's paradox" (not Russell's not a paradox.) Problem is to solution as RP is to the diagonal theorems. (shrink)

This book is an anthology with the following themes. Non-European Tradition: Bussanich interprets main themes of Hindu ethics, including its roots in ritual sacrifice, its relationship to religious duty, society, individual human well-being, and psychic liberation. To best assess the truth of Hindu ethics, he argues for dialogue with premodern Western thought. Pfister takes up the question of human nature as a case study in Chinese ethics. Is our nature inherently good (as Mengzi argued) or bad (Xunzi’s view)? Pfister ob- (...) serves their underlying agreement, that human beings are capable of becoming good, and makes precise the disagreement: whether we achieve goodness by cultivating autonomous feelings or by accepting external precepts. There are political consequences: whether government should aim to respect and em- power individual choices or to be a controlling authority. Early Greek Thinking: Collobert examines the bases of Homeric ethics in fame, prudence, and shame, and how these guide the deliberations of heroes. She observes how, by depending upon the poet’s words, the hero gains a quasi- immortality, although in truth there is no consolation for each person’s inevi- table death. Plato: Santas examines Socratic Method and ethics in Republic 1. There Socrates examines definitions of justice and tests them by comparison to the arts and sciences. Santas shows the similarities of Socrates’ method to John Rawls’ method of considered judgments in reflective equilibrium. McPherran interprets Plato’s religious dimension as like that of his teacher Socrates. McPherran shows how Plato appropriates, reshapes, and extends the religious conventions of his own time in the service of establishing the new enterprise of philosophy. Ac- cording to Taylor, Socrates believes that humans in general have the task of helping the gods by making their own souls as good as possible, and Socrates’ unique ability to cross-examine imposes on him the special task of helping others to become as good as possible. This conception of Socrates’ mission is Plato’s own, consisting in an extension of the traditional conception of piety as helping the gods. Brickhouse and Smith propose a new understanding of Socratic moral psychology—one that retains the standard view of Socrates as an intellectualist, but also recognizes roles in human agency for appetites and passions. They compare and contrast the Socratic view to the picture of moral psychology we get in other dialogues of Plato. Hardy also proposes a new, non-reductive understanding of Socratic eudaimonism—he argues that Socrates invokes a very rich and complex notion of the “Knowledge of the Good and Bad”, which is associated with the motivating forces of the virtues. Rudebusch defends Socrates’ argument that knowledge can never be impotent in the face of psychic passions. He considers the standard objections: that knowledge cannot weigh incom- mensurable human values, and that brute desire, all by itself, is capable of moving the soul to action. Aristotle: Anagnostopoulos interprets Aristotle on the nature and acquisition of virtue. Though virtue of character, aiming at human happiness, requires a complex awareness of multiple dimensions of one’s experience, it is not properly a cognitive capacity. Thus it requires habituation, not education, according to Aristotle, in order to align the unruly elements of the soul with reason’s knowledge of what promotes happiness. Shields explains Aristotle’s doctrine that goodness is meant in many ways as the doctrine that there are different analyses of goodness for different types of circumstance, just as for being. He finds Aristotle to argue for this conclusion, against Plato’s doctrine of the unity of the Good, by applying the tests for homonymy and as an immediate cons- equence of the doctrine of categories. Shields evaluates the issue as unresolved at present. Russell discusses Aristotle’s account of practical deliberation and its virtue, intelligence (phronesis). He relates the account to contemporary philo- sophical controversies surrounding Aristotle’s view that intelligence is neces- sary for moral virtue, including the objections that in some cases it is unnecessary or even impedes human goodness. Frede examines the advantages and disadvantages of Aristotle’s virtue ethics. She explains the general Greek con- ceptions of happiness and virtue, Aristotle’s conception of phronesis and compares the Aristotle’s ethics with modern accounts. Liske discusses the question of whether the Aristotelian account of virtue entails an ethical-psy- chological determinism. He argues that Aristotle’s understanding of hexis allows for free action and ethical responsibility : By making decisions for good actions we are able to stabilize our character (hexis). Hellenistic and Roman: Annas defends an account of stoic ethics, according to which the three parts of Stoicism—logic, physics, and ethics—are integrated as the parts of an egg, not as the parts of a building. Since by this analogy no one part is a foundation for the rest, pedagogical decisions may govern the choice of numerous, equally valid, presentations of Stoic ethics. Piering interprets the Cynic way of life as a distinctive philosophy. In their ethics, Cynics value neither pleasure nor tradition but personal liberty, which they achieve by self-suffi- ciency and display in speech that is frank to the point of insult. Plotinus and Neoplatonism: Gerson outlines the place of ordinary civic virtue as well as philosophically contemplative excellence in Neoplatonism. In doing so he attempts to show how one and the same good can be both action-guiding in human life and be the absolute simple One that grounds the explanation of everything in the universe. Delcomminette follows Plotinus’s path to the Good as the foundation of free will, first in the freedom of Intellect and then in the “more than freedom” of the One. Plotinus postulates these divinities as not outside but within each self, saving him from the contradiction of an external foundation for a truly free will. General Topics: Halbig discusses the thesis on the unity of virtues. He dis- tinguishes the thesis of the identity of virtues and the thesis of a reciprocity of virtues and argues that the various virtues form a unity (in terms of reciprocity) since virtues cannot bring about any bad action. Detel examines Plato’s and Aristotle’s conceptions of normativity : Plato and Aristotle (i) entertained hybrid theories of normativity by distinguishing functional, semantic and ethical normativity, (ii) located the ultimate source of normativity in standards of a good life, and thus (iii) took semantic normativity to be a derived form of normativity. Detel argues that hybrid theories of normativity are—from a mo- dern point of view—still promising. Ho ̈ffe defends the Ancient conception of an art of living against Modern objections. Whereas many Modern philosophers think that we have to replace Ancient eudaimonism by the idea of moral obligation (Pflicht), Ho ̈ffe argues that Eudaimonism and autonomy-based ethics can be reconciled and integrated into a comprehensive and promising theory of a good life, if we enrich the idea of autonomy by the central elements of Ancient eudaimonism. Some common themes: The topics in Chinese and Hindu ethics are perhaps more familiar to modern western sensibilities than Homeric and even Socratic. Anagnostopoulos, Brickhouse and Smith, Frede, Liske, Rudebusch, and Russell all consider in contrasting ways the role of moral character, apart from intellect, in ethics. Brickhouse / Smith, Hardy, and Rudebusch discuss the Socratic con- ception of moral knowledge. Brickhouse / Smith and Hardy retain the standard view of the so called Socratic Intellectualism. Shields and Gerson both consider the question whether there is a single genus of goodness, or if the term is a homonym. Bussanich, McPherran, Taylor, and Delcomminette all consider the relation between religion and ethics. Pfister, Piering, Delcomminette, and Liske all consider what sort of freedom is appropriate to human well-being. Halbig, Detel, and Ho ̈ffe propose interpretations of main themes of Ancient ethics. (shrink)

There are a number of well-established concepts explaining decision-making. The sociology of wise practice suggests that thinking preferences like the use of intuition form a cornerstone of administrators’ virtuous practice and phronesis is a likely candidate to explain this behaviour. This contribution uses conceptual and theoretical resources from the behavioural sciences, administration as well as philosophy to account for individual level differences of employees regarding thinking preferences in administrative professions. The analysis empirically investigates the behavioural dimension preference for intuition/preference for (...) deliberation to cast empirical evidence on three different intuitive markers present among individuals who also prefer to use deliberation. We explore possible explanations for the differences and similarities of our global sample of 2227 workplace respondents who conceptually represent phronetic practitioners. The results show that many phronetic practitioners prefer the intuitive marker of unconscious thought, besides using deliberation. (shrink)

I am not going to solve in this paper the plethora of problems and riddles surrounding Spinoza’s scientia intuitiva, but I do hope to break some new ground and help make this key doctrine more readily understandable. I will proceed in the following order (keep in mind the word ‘proceed’). I will first provide a close preliminary analysis of the content and development of Spinoza’s discussion of scientia intuitiva in the Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect and the Ethics. (...) In the second part, I will address two closely related questions which have drawn the attention of many readers: (i) Is scientia intuitiva a cognition that is inferential? and (ii) Is scientia intuitiva a kind of cognition that is closely tied to causation? To the surprise of many, I will argue that Spinoza’s intuitive knowledge is both inferential and causal (in a certain rigid sense of ‘inferential’ and ‘causal’ to be explained below). In the third and final part, I will explain Spinoza’s preference for scientia intuitiva and his frequent use of mathematical examples, and then attempt to map the major remaining questions and problems surrounding the doctrine. (shrink)

The closing chapters of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics x are regularly described as “puzzling,” “extremely abrupt,” “awkward,” or “surprising” to readers. Whereas the previous nine books described—sometimes in lavish detail—the multifold ethical virtues of an embodied person situated within communities of family, friends, and fellow-citizens, NE x 6-8 extol the rarified, god-like and solitary existence of a sophos or sage (1179a32). The ethical virtues that take up approximately the first half of the Ethics describe moral exempla who experience fear fighting for (...) their communities, are sensitive to the esteem and recognition of others, and feel love for a desire to live together with a wide variety of kinds of friends. Such good people take pleasure in prudently expending sums to improve their communities—communities in which they exchange goods and participate in ruling and being ruled in a cooperative fashion. The exemplum of x 7-8, by contrast, is a person whose activity consists almost entirely in exercising his or her mind (nous)—a part of one’s soul that Aristotle explicitly notes is disconnected from human emotions and that can be exercised, insofar as one as wise, in a wholly solitary fashion (1178a15-16, a19-20; 1177a33-34). Although Aristotle’s claim that a “life in accord with the mind” is best and most pleasant (1178a6-7) may jar the intuitions of many people—he himself endorses Anaxagoras’ claim that the happy person will appear as “someone who is absurd” (atopos, 1179a15) to most people—it is false to claim that his conclusions in NE x 6-8 are unexpected or unanticipated, or that the text is in any way discontinuous with what precedes it. The Nicomachean Ethics exhibits aspects of ring-composition both within the work as a whole and within book 10. In NE i 5 Aristotle introduces his rendition of a trope that he inherits (most immediately) from Plato, viz. that the problem of the good can be considered like a contest between three different kinds of life—the life of enjoyment (apolaustikos), the life of politics (politikos), and the life of contemplation (theôrêtikos). NE x 6-8 returns to that contest, rendering a verdict about which life takes first, second, and third place. As the opening lines of NE x 6 note, that verdict presupposes central claims articulated between the first and last books of the Ethics, specifically about the nature of the virtues, the nature of friendship, and the nature of pleasure. NE i 5 and x 6-8 thus serve as “bookends” which encase arguments and proposition located between them. Book 10 exhibits a similar ring-composition. NE x opens with methodological reflection on the gap between the theoretical positions that thinkers articulate and the way they live their lives (especially in the case of scolds who simultaneously criticize pleasure on a scientific level but seek it on a practical level [1172a33-b8]). Chapter 8 concludes with an explicit reiteration of the methodological point, a reiteration that underscores how Aristotle’s treatment of the contest of lives incorporates central aspects of the discussion of pleasure in NE x 1-5. Aristotle’s reiteration of the problem of a gap between theory and practice also draws attention to the centrality of his treatment of pleasure in his adjudication of the three lives. Although the life of pleasure takes a distant third in the contest of lives, the contemplative life wins the contest in part because it itself is the most pleasant form of life. The central philosophical problem looming behind Aristotle’s treatment of the contest of lives concerns the relationship between the notion of activity (energeia) and the notion of a way of life (bios). In the last four decades, much of the scholarship on NE x 6-8 has sought to address the question of what activities a certain way of life includes or excludes. “Monistic” or “dominant” end interpretations of the best life have viewed it as including only contemplative activities whereas “inclusivist” end interpretations of the best life have viewed it as including non-contemplative activities. Although this chapter largely side-steps this debate—partially because there are ample recent first-rate introductory treatments of the debate, partially because I have addressed the question elsewhere in my own writing —I argue that focusing solely on the contest between the two best ways of life overshadows the way that Aristotle incorporates insights from the third way of life into the best way of life. Although the notion of a contest among different kinds of lives presupposes that the lives are mutually exclusive, Aristotle has no problem saying that the contemplative life trumps the life of pleasure because the contemplative life is more pleasant. I proceed in two parts. In the first part I examine what I will call the “outer” ring of the Ethics, namely the relationship between the contest of lives proposed in NE i 5 and its overall resolution in x 6-8. I show how i 5 and x 6 establish the framework for the contest, how x 7 adjudicates that contest in large part by relying upon premises articulated in the interim between books 1 and 10, and how x 6 and x 8 determine the second and third place positions in the contest. In the second part I focus on what I will call the “inner” ring of NE x. More than half of NE x struggles with the nature of pleasure, its role in a happy life, and the methodological problems of examining pleasure within a practical science. I show how x 1 and x 8 are “bookends” that underscore the methodological problem of examining pleasure and how the contest of lives draws upon the proximate conclusions concerning the nature of pleasure in NE x 1-5. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Spinoza: Une Lecture d'AristoteYitzhak MelamedFrédéric Manzini. Spinoza: Une Lecture d'Aristote. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2009. Pp. 334. Paper, $39.95.The occasion that prompted the current study was the discovery of a tiny typo in the text of Spinoza's Cogitata Metaphysica—the appendix to his 1663 book, Descartes' Principle of Philosophy. As it turned out, this typo, a reference to Book XI instead of Book XII of Aristotle's Metaphysics, was (...) inadvertently reproduced by Spinoza from a contemporary edition of Aristotle's works, allowing Manzini to identify precisely the edition used by Spinoza as the 1548 edition of Aristotle's works printed in Basel by Johannes Oporinus. It also led him to conclude that, contrary to the belief of many, Spinoza read Aristotle's text very closely, and convinced him of the importance of studying the dialogue between the two great philosophers.The book is comprised of three parts, reversing the order of Spinoza's presentation of his philosophy in the Ethics. The first part discusses Spinoza's ethical and political theories—where, the author claims, the influence of Aristotle is most manifest—against the background of the Nicomachean Ethics and the Politics. Here, much attention is given to the notions of the summum bonum and beatitude. The second part discusses Aristotelian and Spinozistic theories of knowledge. In the third and final part, dedicated to metaphysics and first philosophy, the author compares the philosophers' absolutely impersonal conceptions of God, examines their conceptions of substance, and develops a reading of what he calls Spinoza's "ousio-theology" (305).According to Manzini, Aristotle was one of Spinoza's first major philosophical interlocutors, and there is no doubt he is right about this. This conclusion, however, is unsurprising, [End Page 126] since seventeenth-century philosophers, whether devoted Aristotelians or determined anti-Aristotelians, conversed in an Aristotelian philosophical language. Manzini shows that Spinoza engaged directly with Aristotle's text, but also tries to substantiate an even stronger claim by stressing the agreements between the two philosophers.There are two reasons that make it difficult to see Spinoza as being consciously and positively influenced by Aristotle, however. First, Spinoza's dialogue with his philosophical predecessors is, without exception, highly critical and polemical. He does not usually mention philosophers with whom he agrees (e.g. Crescas and Machiavelli). Secondly, several of Spinoza's explicit references to Aristotle are highly critical. Consider, for example, Spinoza's claim, in a letter to Hugo Boxel, that "the authority of Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates carries little weight with me" (Letter 56), or his mockery of the "delusions of the Aristotelians and Platonists" (Theological Political Treatise [TTP], Pref.; cf. ch. 13). Manzini suggests that in these passages Spinoza is not so much addressing Aristotle, but rather using him as a foil to target medieval Aristotelianism (13). Looking closely at the context, my impression is that he is right about the passages in the TTP, but not about the quote from Letter 56. More importantly, the claim that Spinoza uses Aristotle's name as a foil is a double-edged sword that may also serve to undermine Manzini's argument. Throughout the book, Manzini points out interesting and significant similarities between Spinoza's and Aristotle's texts, but to establish direct positive influence one must consider and rule out mediating agents. In the present case there is plenty of evidence that Spinoza read medieval Hebrew Aristotelians closely. Unfortunately, most of the Hebrew authors mentioned by Spinoza were never translated into modern European languages, and there are very few, if any, good studies of Spinoza's dialogue with these texts; in the absence of such translations and studies, some of Manzini's conclusions must remain tentative.Manzini's erudition and analysis of the text are impressive. For example, near the end of his celebrated Letter on the Infinite, Spinoza criticizes "recent Peripatetics" for misunderstanding the ancient method of proving God's existence, citing Crescas's correct formulation of the ancient proof. Manzini rightly points out that the proof Spinoza ascribes to the "recent Peripatetics" was in fact Aristotle's, while the alleged "ancient" proof (which allows for actual infinity and relies on Avicennian... (shrink)

Aristotle's primary perspective on the concept of justice is founded on knowledge of the good, which is related to the ethical virtues in Nicomachean Ethics and is separated into two parts: universal justice and specialized justice. In Politics, on the other hand, Aristotle identifies justice as the intrinsic nature of just citizens, noting in both Nicomachean Ethics and Politics, "The political good is justice, and this is a common advantage.".

Aristotle is a political scientist and a student of biology. Political science, in his view, is concerned with the human good and thus it includes the study of ethics. He approaches many subjects from the perspective of both political science and biology: the virtues, the function of humans, and the political nature of humans. In light of the overlap between the two disciplines, I look at whether or not Aristotle’s views in biology influence or explain some of his theses in (...) political science. I show that we should not seek a unified answer to this question, for the relationship between the two disciplines varies depending on the topic. In some cases, e.g. the nature of the human function, the biological background is likely to be endorsed as one of the presuppositions of the ethical enquiry. In other cases, e.g. the study of social hierarchies, even though the ethical works and the biological works come to similar conclusions, it is hard to establish that the biological approach is intended to provide support to the ethico-political approach. In conclusion, I show that Aristotle’s political science and his biology are in conflict at least in two important cases: his account of justice towards non-human animals and his exhortation to contemplate. (shrink)

Aristotle classifies opposition (ἀντικεῖσθαι) into four groups: relatives (τὰ πρός τι), contraries (τὰ ἐναντία), privation and possession (στρέσις καὶ ἓξις) and affirmation and negation (κατάφασις καὶ ἀπόφασις). (Cat. , 10, 11b15-23) His example of relatives are the double and the half. Aristotle’s description of relatives as a kind of opposition is as such: ‘Things opposed as relatives are called just what they are, of their opposites (αὐτὰ ἃπερ ἐστι τῶν ἀντικειμένων λέγεται) or in some other way in relation to them. (...) For example, the double is called just what it is double of the other (οἷον τὸ διπλάσιον, αὐτὸ ὃπερ ἐστίν, ἑτέρου διπλάσιον λέγεται). Again, knowledge and the knowable are opposed as relatives, and knowledge is called just what it is, of the knowable, and the knowable too is called just what it is, in relation to its opposite, knowledge; for the knowable is called knowable by something-by knowledge.’ (Cat., 10, 11b24-30) 2) Senses of relatives In Met., Δ, 1020b26-32 Aristotle distinguishes three senses of relatives: i) That which contains something else many times to that which is contained many times in something else, and that which exceeds to that which is exceeded. E.g. double to half ii) The active to the passive; e.g. that which can heat to that which can be heated iii) The measurable to the measure, e.g. the knowable to knowledge and the perceptible to perception. 3) Relatives and contraries Aristotle’s discussion of relatives is unbelievably ambiguous. While he enumerates relatives besides contraries, privation-possession and affirmation-negation as four types of opposition (Cat., 10, 11b15-23), not only does not he restrict relatives to oppositions but he also does not totally differentiate it from contraries. Aristotle distinguishes between two senses of relatives one of which is contraries: ‘We have distinguished elsewhere the two senses in which relatives are so called-some as contraries (ὡς ἐναντία), others as knowledge to things known, a term being called relative because what is said one to the other is said by the other to itself (τῷ λέγεσθαί τι ἄλλο πρὸς αὐτό). (Met., I, 1056b34-1057a1) It seems that this differentiation is the same as, and maybe the one he himself refers to, the differentiation between the second and the third senses of relatives in Met., Δ, 1021a27-32: ‘Relative terms which imply number or capacity, therefore, are all relative because their very essence includes in its nature a reference to something else, not because something else is related to it (πρός τι πὰντα ἐστὶ πρός τι τῷ ὃπερ ἐστὶν ἄλλου λέγεσθαι αὐτὸ ὃ ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ μὴ τῷ ἄλλο πρὸς ἐκεινο); but that which is measurable or knowable or thinkable is called relative because something else is related to it. For the thinkable implies that there is thought of it, but the thought is not relative to that of which it is the thought; for we should then have said the same thing twice.’ Although Aristotle confirms contrariety in relatives (e.g. virtue to vice and knowledge to ignorance), he denies that there is a contrary ‘to every relative’ as there can be no contrary to what is double or treble. (Cat., 7, 6b15-19) The fact that Aristotle dedicates one sense of relatives to contraries means that the fourfold division of oppositions is not such a strict division without any kind of community between them. In his example of the first sense, however, Aristotle says: ‘One and number are in a sense opposed, not as contrary, but as we have said some relative terms are opposed; for inasmuch as one is measure and the other measurable, they are opposed.’ (Met., I, 1057a4-6) Now, the question is: Is Aristotle’s first sense of relative a contrary or not? Aristotle tells us that the opposition in this sense of relatives is the opposition of measure and measurable. The second sense has two differences with the first one: i) it is not a contrary and ii) what is said by one of the relatives to the other is also said by the latter to the former. To differentiate it from the first sense, when the one is the measure of the other, the latter will be the measure of the former as well: ‘But though knowledge is similarly spoken of as related to the knowable, the relation does not work out similarly for while knowledge might be thought to be the measure, and the knowable the thing measured, the fact is that all knowledge is knowable, but not all that is knowable is knowledge, because in a sense knowledge is measured by the knowable.’ (Met., I, 1057a7-12) Aristotle’s assertion at Met., I, 1057a36-37 that ‘of relative terms, those which are not contrary have no intermediate’ ensures us that we must take the first sense as contraries. Here he mentions a criterion of differentiation between two senses: while the first sense accepts intermediates (as, for example, great and small do), the second one does not. (Met., I, 1057a37-b1) It seems, however, that it is only the second sense that is the essential sense of relatives because the first sense, Aristotle says, is an accidental sense: ‘The one is opposed then to the many in numbers as measure to things measureable; and these are opposed as relatives which are not from their very nature relatives.’ (Met., I, 1056b32-34) 4) Definition of relative Aristotle’s first definition of the category of relative (πρός τι) is as such: ‘We call relative all such things as are said to be just what they are, of or than other things, or in some other way in relation to something else (Πρός τι δὲ τὰ τοιαῦτα λέγεται, ὃσα αὐτὰ ἃπερ ἐστὶν ἓτερων εἶναι λέγεται, ἢ ὁπωσοῦν ἄλλως πρὸς ἓτερον). (Cat., 7, 6a36-37; repeated almost without any change in: Cat., 7, 6b6-8) Aristotle’s examples are larger (because it is what it is than something else (τοῦθ᾿ ὃπερ ἐστὶν ἑτέρου λέγεται) that means it is called larger than something) and double. (Cat., 7, 6a37-b1) Aristotle’s aporia regarding relative is about their relation with substances: whether no substance is spoken of as a relative, or whether this is possible with regard to some secondary substances. (Cat., 7, 8a13-15) In the case of primary substances, it seems that he is confident, at least at first, that neither themselves nor their parts are spoken of in relation to anything: neither an individual man is called someone’s individual man nor an individual hand is called someone’s individual hand (but someone’s hand). (Cat., 7, 8a15-21) Although it is obvious that most of secondary substances are not spoken of as relatives (a man is not called someone’s man) (Cat., 7, 8a21-25), there are some with them there is room for dispute: a head is someone’s head and a hand is called someone’s hand, which seem to be relatives. (Cat., 7, 8a25-28) Aristotle thinks this must be due to the previous definition’s being problematic: with that definition ‘it is either exceedingly difficult or impossible to reach the solution that no substance is spoken of as a relative.’ (Cat., 7, 8a28-32) Thus, Aristotle changes his previous definition to a new one: ‘Those things are relatives for which being is the same as being somehow related to something’ (ἔστι τὰ πρός τι οἷς τὸ εἶναι ταὐτόν ἐστι τῷ πρός τί). (Cat., 7, 8a32-34) Although the first definition does indeed apply to all relations, its problem is that it does not take ‘their own being relative’ (τῷ πρός τι αὐτοῖς εἶναι) the same as ‘their being what they are of other things’ (ἃπερ ἐστὶν ἑτέρων λέγεσθαι). (Cat., 7, 8a34-37) Although this change of definition is to exclude all substances from being relative, what Aristotle says in Topics (To., Z, 8, 146a39- ), seems to ignore this: ‘For of everything relative the substance is relative to something else, seeing that the being of every relative term is identical with being in a certain relation to something.’ 5) Necessary knowledge of the related Knowledge of that in relation to which a relative is spoken of is necessary when one knows the relative: it is impossible to know a relative and at the same time not to know that in relation to which it is spoken of. (Cat., 7, 8a37-b3) To prove this, Aristotle adheres to the definition of relatives: ‘If someone knows of a certain ‘this’ that it is a relative, and being for relatives is the same as being somehow related to something, he knows that also to which this is somehow related.’ (Cat., 7, 8a37-b3; cf. 7, 8b3-15 for Aristotle’s examples) This necessary knowledge of the related, if we call it so, dedicates Aristotle an epistemological reason, besides the ontological one mentioned in his definition, for the exclusion of substances. As we noted in our discussion of Aristotle’s definition of relatives, he changed his first definition to exclude all substances from being relatives. Therefore, it is evident that for him relatives must not include substances, either primary or secondary. Aristotle does have no problem with primary substances simply because it is evident for him that they cannot be relatives. The same can be said about most of the secondary substances as well. The problem for which he changed the definition of substances was about some secondary substances like ‘head’ or ‘hand’: the fact that it is possible to know a hand or head without necessarily knowing definitely that in relation to which it is spoken of proves that they are not relatives. (Cat., 7, 8b15-21) 6) Reciprocation Aristotle regards reciprocation (ἀντιστρέφειν) necessary in all relations: ‘All relatives are spoken of in relation to correlatives that reciprocate.’ (Cat., 7, 6b28-29; cf. Cat., 10, 12b21-24) The sense of reciprocation is clear by his own examples: ‘The slave is called slave of a master and the master is called master of a slave; the double double of a half, and the half half of a double.’ (Cat., 7, 6b29-31) Reciprocation of relatives is so necessary that if there seems that we do not have reciprocation, it must necessarily be due to a mistake and that in relation to which something is spoken of must have not been given properly. (Cat., 7, 6b36-7a1) Aristotle’s example is this: If a wing is given as of a bird, ‘bird of a wing’ does not reciprocate because it has not been given properly: a wing is of a winged and not of a bird; a wing is wing of a winged and a winged is winged with a wing. (Cat., 7, 7a1-5) Even if we do not have a proper name to have a proper reciprocation, Aristotle points, we must invent names. (Cat., 7, 7a5-15 and 7b10-14) Thus, having proper names is the condition of necessary reciprocation: ‘All relatives are spoken of in relation to correlatives that reciprocate, provided they are properly given.’ (Cat., 7, 7a22-23) This condition is also said in another way: there is no reciprocation if a relation is given as related to some chance thing or to something that is accidentally the related thing like when, for example, a slave is given as of a man or a biped instead of being given as of a master. (Cat., 7, 7a25-31) 7) Simultaneity of relatives Aristotle believes that in most cases relatives are simultaneous: double and half or master and slave must exist at the same time: when there is a half, there is a double and when there is a slave, there is a master. (Cat., 7, 7b10-14) However, this receives some exceptions like knowable, which is prior and can, thus, exist before and without knowledge. (Cat., 7, 7b22-27) What approves this non-simultaneousness for Aristotle is that the destruction of knowledge does not carry the knowable to destruction. (Cat., 7, 7b27-31) The same is said about perception and perceptible. (Cat., 7, 7b35-8a9) Aristotle attaches simultaneity to reciprocation. This reciprocation, however, is not a simple reciprocation but ‘reciprocation as to implication of existence’ (ἀντιστρέφει μὲν κατὰ τὴν τοῦ εἶναι) with the condition that neither be in any way the cause of the other’s existence. (Cat., 13, 14b27-29; the same is said also at: Cat., 13, 15a4-11) Aristotle’s examples are the double and the half because when there is a double there is a half and when there is a half there is a double but neither is the cause of the other’s existence. (Cat., 13, 14b29-32) (We have ‘reciprocation as to implication of existence’ also in relation between genus and species but it seems that this has a totally different sense there. 8) Having no independent reality That a relative cannot be a substance, either a primary or a secondary substance, is discussed in our review of both the definition of relatives and their reciprocation. The differentiation of relatives and substances are so deep for Aristotle that after questioning the possibility of any common element or principle for substances and relatives (Met., Λ, 1070a33-36), he asserts that no substance, on the one hand, is the element of relatives and none of the relatives, on the other hand, is the element of substances. (Met., Λ, 1070b3-4) Aristotle does not, however, suffice to this. For him, relatives have the least substantiality, which is, for him, almost the same as reality: ‘The relative is least of all categories a real thing (φύσις τις) or substance, and less than quality and quantity; and the relative is an affection of quantity.’ (Met., M, 1088a22-25) Aristotle believes that an evidence of this least reality (ὄν) and substantiality is that relatives have no proper generation, destruction or movement while each of substance, quality and quantity have them. (Met., M, 1088a29-35) Moreover, neither motion (Phy., E, 1) nor any kind of change is applicable to relatives so that relatives are neither themselves alterations nor the subject of alterations (Phy., Z, 3) and the process of losing and acquiring states cannot be considered as alterations because these are the result of the alterations of non-relative things of which they are states. (Phy., Z, 3) Relative is not even matter but is something different. (Met., M, 1088a24-25) The reason is that the matter is potentially of a nature but relative is neither potentially nor actually of a nature. (Met., M, 1088b1-2) To understand the status of relatives in Aristotle’s world, we have to make a tripartite classification; a classification that though Aristotle himself did not make, his assertions approve it. Based on this division, there are three kinds of being in the world: i) Independent beings: This class includes only substances. ii) Dependent beings: This class includes qualities and quantities. Although they are real, they are ‘in’ substances and cannot exist without them. iii) Super dependent beings: This class includes at least relatives. The fact that relatives must be considered in a third class different from substances, on the one hand, and qualities and quantities, on the other hand, is obvious not only from the previously mentioned texts (Met., M, 1088a22-25, 29-35 and b1-2) in which relatives’ reality is considered less than all substances, qualities and quantities and different from matters but from this text: ‘For there is nothing either great or small, many or few, or, in general, relative which is not something (τι ὄν) different (ἓτερον) [that is also] many or few or great or small’. (Met, N, 1088a27-30) Therefore, super dependent beings are those beings that must necessarily be also something else, i.e. an independent or dependent being. Ackrill (1963, 99) points that some of the words used by Aristotle to exemplify relational entities, e.g. slave, are endowed with a complete sense and do not need to be supplemented by a correlate. (Thus, the linguist criterion of incompleteness would be deficient. Some other instances of relative entities like ‘state,’ ‘knowledge’ and perception are not necessarily followed by the genitive case. 9) Extent of relatives What is the extent of relatives? What are or are not included in relatives either among categories or among other concepts? Which concepts or things Aristotle regard as relative? i) Aristotle includes state (ἓξις) and position (θέσις) among relatives. (Cat., 7, 6b2-6; Cat., 7, 6b11-14; Cat., 8, 11a20-24) ii) Although relative is not matter but is something different (Met., M, 1088a24-25), matter is ‘non-being’ only in virtue of an attribute (Phy., A, 9) and is, thus, a relative term. (Phy., B, 2, 194b9) 10) Property and relativity Aristotle draws a contrast between two types of giving a property, absolute and relative: ‘A property is given either in its own right and for always or relative to something else and for a time.’ (To., E, 1, ^128b15-18) Being a civilized man, for example, is an absolute property for man while to command is a relative property for the soul. The absolute property, however, is considered not only potential to be discussed or observed in relation to many things or periods of time, it in fact ‘belongs to its subject relatively to every single thing that there is, so that if the subject is not distinguished relatively to everything else, the property will not have been given correctly.’ (To., E, 1, 129a18-20) Therefore, an absolute property is a property that ‘is ascribed to a thing in comparison with everything else and distinguishes it from everything else.’ (To., E, 1, 128b33- ) An absolute property is, then, absolutely relative and not conditionally relative, i.e. relative to a specific thing. This is what differentiates it from a relative property, which is relative to a certain thing: ‘A property relative to something else is one which separates its subject off not from everything else but from a particular definite thing.’ (To., E, 1, 128b33- ) One important difference between absolute and relative properties is that while an accident can be a relative property, it can never be an absolute property. (To., I, 5, ^102b20-36) For example, sitting, which is an accident, is also a property relatively to those who are not sitting. (To., I, 5, ^102b20-36) 11) Platonic theories as relatives At least three of Platonic theories Aristotle attaches to relatives: i) Forms ‘It seems that a Form is always spoken of in relation to a Form-this desire itself is for the pleasure itself, and wishing itself is for the good itself.’ (To., Z, 8, 147a^10) Moreover, the theory of Forms takes the relative prior to the absolute as, for example, it takes not the dyad but the number as first. (Met., A, 990b15-17) Aristotle believes that this is against not only the necessities of the case but only the Platonists’ opinion because Forms must be substances only, if they can be shared. (Met., A, 990b27-29) There are, however, things like ‘equal’ which are only relative: they are only in relation to something else. Now the theory that ideas are supposed to be substances only should entail the substantiality of merely relatives. The reason being that Forms are not shared incidentally but each thing shares in that which is not predicated of a subject. (Met., A, 990b29-31) ii) Unequal The Platonic theory of great and small or unequal, which we know more from Aristotle and has, in Platonic philosophy, a role like that of matter in Aristotelian philosophy, is also called relative by Aristole. (Met., M, 1089b4-15) iii) Potentiality Aristotle says that Platonists take what potentially is a ‘this’ and a substance but not actually so a relative because it is ‘neither potentially the one or being, nor the contradictory of the one nor of being, but one among beings.’ (Met., N, 1089b15-20) 12) All things as relative Aristotle attaches the theory that ‘everything is true’ to relativity and thinks the consequence of believing in this theory is that everything is true: ‘He who says all things that appear are true, makes all things relative.’ (Met., Γ, 1011a17-20) 13) Genera and species of relatives There are some genera, Aristotle hints, that are relative but their species are not relative. In such cases, the genera are spoken of in relation to something, but none of the particular cases are so spoken. (Cat., 8, 11a20-36) Aristole’s examples are knowledge and grammar of which the former is a relative but the latter is a quality. The consequence of this is that there is nothing absurd for a thing to be in both genera of relative and quality. (Cat., 8, 11a37- ) However, when the species is a relative, the genera will be a relative too. (To., Δ, 4, 124b15- ) Moreover, Aristotle asserts that ‘the differentiae of relative terms are themselves relative.’ (To., Z, 6, 145a14-16) Things that are called relative are called so, Aristotle says, ‘because the classes that include them are of this sort, e.g. medicine is thought to be relative bcs its genus, knowledge, is thought to be relative,’ (Met., Δ, 1021b4-6) 14) Relatives as indefinite? Fabio Morales takes 1088a29-b1 as a textual evidence supporting the assumption that Aristotle regarded relational terms as indefinite. (shrink)

This article traces a growing interest among epistemologists in the intellectuals of epistemic virtues. These are cognitive dispositions exercised in the formation of beliefs. Attempts to give intellectual virtues a central normative and/or explanatory role in epistemology occur together with renewed interest in the ethics/epistemology analogy, and in the role of intellectual virtue in Aristotle's epistemology. The central distinction drawn here is between two opposed forms of virtue epistemology, virtue reliabilism and virtue responsibilism. The article develops the shared and distinctive (...) claims made by contemporary proponents of each form, in their respective treatments of knowledge and justification. (shrink)

Thought (νοῦς) for Aristotle is ‘that whereby the soul thinks and judges.’ This identity, however, ‘is not actually any real thing before thinking’ (ἐνεργείᾳ τῶν ὄντων πρὶν νοεῖν) and, thus, cannot reasonably be regarded as blended with the body and cannot acquire any quality or have any organ. (So., Γ, 4, 429a22-27) In fact, Aristotle defines thought more with a capability: ‘That which is capable of receiving the object of thought, i.e. the substance, is thought.’ (Met., Λ, 1072b22-23) Thought is (...) not blended with and, thus, is separable from body. (So., Γ, 4, 429b4-5) This separability, however, belongs only to the active thought. (So., Γ, 5, 430a17-19) A. Nature of thought ‘Since everything is a possible object of thought,’ Aristotle believes, as Anaxagoras believed before him, in order to know things, mind ‘must be pure from all admixtures.’ The reason for this being that ‘the co-presence of what is alien to its nature is a hindrance and a block.’ Therefore, thought ‘can have no nature of its own other than that of having a certain capacity.’ (So., Γ, 4, 429a18-22) B. Thought elements A thought element, i.e. an element/object in thought or a concept (νόημα) has the following features: 1. Every thought element or concept (νόημα) is single (ἓν). This singularity is not restricted to substances because the concept of any other thing is single as well. (Met., A, 990b22-27) 2. Concepts (νόηματα) of thought are either simple or complex. Simple concepts do not involve truth or falsity but complex ones do. Aristotle speaks of ‘thoughts without co-positing and positing away’ (ἄνευ συνθέσεως καὶ διαίρέσεως νοήματι) to which nouns and verbs are similar. (OI., I, 1, 16a13-14) In OI., I, 1, 16a9-11 Aristotle does not use the words simple or complex but his assertion implies them: ‘As there are in the mind thoughts (νόημα) which do not involve truth or falsity, and also those which must be either true or false, so it is in speech.’ 3. The copula-is has no corresponding concept in thought: ‘For neither are ‘to be’ and ‘not to be’ the participle ‘being’ significant of any fact, unless something is added; for they do not themselves indicate anything, but imply a copulation, of which we cannot form a conception apart from the things coupled.’ (OI., I, 3, 16b22-25) C. Thought and its objects To understand Aristotle’s theory of thought, we have two differentiations, one between objects of thought and one in thought itself. Everything that might be posited in front of our thought and be thought as a possible object of thought we call object I (to distinguish it from what we call object II). Therefore, everything in the world is an object I of thought. These objects are in the sensible forms, viz. both the abstract objects and all the states and affections of sensible things. (So., Γ, 8, 432a3-6) These objects might be either composite, containing matter and form, or simple and matterless. When they are thought, we will have them in thought but not necessarily as they are in the world, i.e. as object I, but as something else, which we call object II. This is supposed to make the difference between object I and object II clear: object I is in the world and object II is its corresponding object in our thought. These two kinds of objects are neither necessarily the same nor necessarily different. Objects I are of two kinds: matterful and matterless. Whereas a matterful object I is necessarily different from its corresponding object II (So., Γ, 4, 430a6-9), a matterless object I is not different from its corresponding object II. (So., Γ, 4, 430a2-5; Met., Λ, 1075a3-4) Object II must thus be understood as the form of object I: ‘The thinking part of the soul must therefore be, while impassible, capable of receiving the form of an object; that is, must be potentially identical in character with its object without being the object.’ (So., Γ, 4, 429a13-16) Thought has no nature by its own and is all potentiality before thinking. (cf. So., Γ, 4, 429b6-10) Let’s call this the first potentiality of thought. This potentiality is the potentiality of a tabula rasa: ‘Thought is in a sense potentially whatever is thinkable, though actually it is nothing until it has thought? What it thinks must be in it just as characters may be said to be on a writing-table on which as yet nothing actually stands written: this is exactly what happens with thought.’ (So., Γ, 4, 429b29-430a2) Thought is then all dependent on its objects. By thinking on objects I, objects II are formed in thought. Now thought is nothing but its objects II which are necessarily matterless objects (Met., Λ, 1075a5-7): ‘In every case the thought which is actively thinking is the objects which it thinks.’ (So., Γ, 7, 431b16-17) Thought is the same as its objects II and in the case of matterless objects I, it is the same as its objects I. (Met., Λ, 1075a3-5) This thought is actual compared to its first potentiality: while it was all potentiality in its first potentiality, it now contains some objects II and is then actual. It seems we must interpret Aristotle based on this sense of actuality when he calls a thought possessing object as active: ‘For that which is capable of receiving the objects of thought, i.e. the substance, is thought. And it is active when it possesses this object.’ (Met., Λ, 1072b22-23) This thought, however, is called passive thought due to a second potentiality: ‘When thought has become each thing in the way in which a man who actually knows is said to do so (this happens when he is now able to exercise the power on his own initiatives). Its condition is still one of potentiality, but in a different sense from the potentiality which preceded the acquisition of knowledge by learning or discovery; and thought is then able to think of itself.’ (So., Γ, 4, 429b6-10) It is this thought in its second potentiality that Aristotle calls passive thought distinguishing it from active thought: ‘And in fact thought … is what it is by virtue of becoming all things, while there is another which what it is by virtue of making all things: this is a sort of positive state like light; for in a sense light makes potential colors into actual colors.’ (So., Γ, 5, 530a14-17) These two thoughts have a relationship like the relationship between matter and productive cause: ‘Since in every class of things, as in nature as a whole, we find two factors involved, a matter which is potentially all the particulars included in the class, a cause which is productive in the sense that it makes them all (the latter standing to the former, as e.g. an art to its material), these elements must likewise be found within the soul.’ (So., Γ, 5, 430a10-14) To understand Aristotle’s sense of active thought we must consider his theory of thinking. 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In recent decades "virtue ethics" has become an accepted theoretical structure for thinking about normative ethical principles. However, few contemporary virtue ethicists endorse the commitments of the first virtue theorists---the ancient Greeks, who developed their virtue theories within a commitment to eudaimonism. Why? I believe the objections of modern theorists boil down to concerns that eudaimonist theories cannot properly account for two prominent moral requirements on our treatment of others. ;First, we think that the interests and welfare of at least (...) some others ought to give us non-instrumental reason for acting---that is, reason independent of consideration of our own welfare. Second, we think others are entitled to what we might call respect, just in virtue of their being persons. Eudaimonist accounts either cannot account for these intuitions at all, or they give the wrong sort of account. ;My dissertation assesses the resources of eudaimonism to meet these lines of criticism. Chapter 2, 3, and 4 survey the views of Plato, Aristotle, and the Stoics, to discover insights that are important for a successful response. In Chapters 5 and 6, I offer my own account, based on what I call empathic identification. This is the habit or disposition of seeing things, in effect, through the eyes of others. Empathic identification is a process through which the interpersonal transmission of reasons for actions between persons becomes possible. I argue first that our interest in our own eudaimonia justifies us in identifying empathically with others as a general habit or disposition. Second, I argue that empathic identification explains our intuitions about the respect others are due. So empathic identification generates the right sort of explanation of our intuitions about the constraints others and their interests impose upon us after all, and renders eudaimonist virtue ethics a viable form of ethical theory. (shrink)

Because wars are fought by human beings and not merely machines, a strong virtue ethic is an essential prerequisite for those engaged in combat. From a philosophical perspective, war has historically been seen as separate and outside of the commonly accepted forms of morality. Yet there remains a general, though not well-thought out, sense that those human beings who fight wars should act ethically. Since warfighters are often called upon to contemplate and complete tasks during war that are not normally (...) required of non-warfighters (civilians), and it is believed these warfighters should act ethically, it becomes necessary to ask: What does soldierly virtue look like? In order to answer this question, I will examine essential elements of moral responsibility and military authority. Once complete, I will propose an Aristotelian-based virtue ethics system, one that is equally valuable to warfighter and civilian. To do this, I will examine the conversation in academia regarding virtue ethics and the foundations of virtue. I will provide both a cursory and deep reading of elements of Aristotle’s conception of virtue, but ultimately I will provide a slightly more rigorous reading and reinterpretation of an Aristotelian-based virtue ethic, with a definitive final recommendation for this interpretation being best for everyone, in war or walking down the street. Upon completing a study of this work, one will walk away with a next-generation interpretation of Aristotelian-based Virtue Ethics that denies eudaimonia as the central principle, relying instead on phronesis as its central theme. Phronesis, when properly developed in the warfighter will lead to moral responsibility, better decision-making, and a seamless re-integration into civilian life once has returned from the horrors of war. (shrink)

In this article I compare and, especially, contrast Aristotle’s conception of virtue with one typical of sub-Saharan philosophers. I point out that the latter is strictly other-regarding, and specifically communitarian, and contend that the former, while including such elements, also includes some self-regarding or individualist virtues, such as temperance and knowledge. I also argue that Aristotle’s conception of human excellence is more attractive than the sub-Saharan view as a complete account of how to live, but that the African conception (...) is a strong contender for a limited group of the most important virtues related to morality qua rightness. (shrink)

Aristotle tells us that in order to develop virtue, one needs to come to love and hate the right sorts of things. However, his description of the virtuous person clearly privileges love to hate. It is love rather than hate that is the main driving force of a good life. It is because of her love of knowledge, truth and beauty that the virtuous person organizes her life in a certain way and pursues these rather than other things (such (...) as pleasure). When hate comes into the picture, it is merely an unavoidable consequence of loving those noble and beautiful things. The virtuous person hates things that are contrary to her values, but does not concentrate on them, much less constructs her life in the pursuit of their destruction. But why privilege love over hate in this way? Why could not a good (happy) and virtuous life be a life driven primarily by hate (in particular, one aimed at eradicating what one (correctly) considers shameful and evil)? Without appealing to any consequences or harmful effects that hate might have on other People, the paper gives two answers to this question. First, allowing hate (rather than love) to dominate one’s life would undermine the right relationship between the two parts of the soul (the rational and the non-rational one) that Aristotle recognizes. Virtue involves establishing the right kind of internal ordering of one’s soul and this cannot be done if one’s soul is dominated by hate. Second, hate has negative cognitive effects insofar as it renders one insensitive to the beauty of human nature and behavior and actively precludes one from acquiring knowledge and understanding. Accordingly, if a good life is a life that involves virtue and knowledge, a life fueled by hate cannot but fall short of that ideal. (shrink)

According to the standard and largely traditional interpretation, Aristotle’s conception of nous, at least as it occurs in the Posterior Analytics, is geared against a certain set of skeptical worries about the possibility of scientific knowledge, and ultimately of the knowledge of Aristotelian first principles. On this view, Aristotle introduces nous as an intuitive faculty that grasps the first principles once and for all as true in such a way that it does not leave any room for (...) the skeptic to press his skeptical point any further. Thus the tradi- tional interpretation views Aristotelian nous as having an internalist justificatory role in Aristotelian epistemology. In contrast, a minority (empiricist) view that has emerged recently holds the same internalist justificatory view of nous but rejects its internally certifiable infallibility by stressing the connection between nous and Aristotelian induction. I argue that both approaches are flawed in that Aristotle’s project in the Posterior Analytics is not to answer the skeptic on internalist justificatory grounds, but rather lay out a largely externalist explication of scientific knowledge, i.e. what scientific knowledge consists in, without worrying as to whether we can ever show the skeptic to his satisfaction that we do ever possess knowledge so defined. (shrink)

In this paper, I respond to an objection raised by Duncan Pritchard and Jesper Kallestrup against virtue epistemology. In particular, they argue that the virtue epistemologist must either deny that S knows that p only if S believes that p because of S’s virtuous operation or deny that intuitive cases of testimonial knowledge. Their dilemma has roots in the apparent ease by which we obtain testimonial knowledge and, thus, how the virtue epistemologist can explain such knowledge (...) in a way that both preserves testimonial knowledge and grounds it in one’s virtues. I argue that the virtue epistemologist has a way to accomplish both tasks if we take epistemic trust to be an intellectual virtue. I briefly discuss what such trust must look like and then apply it to the dilemma at hand: showing that a key intellectual virtue plausibly operates in cases of testimonial knowledge and/or belief. (shrink)

At De Anima II 5, 417b17, Aristotle says, ‘The first transition (πρώτη μεταβολή) in that which can perceive is brought about by the parent, and when it is born it already has [the faculty of] sense-perception in the same way as it has knowledge. Actual sense-perception is so spoken of in the same way as contemplation.’ The purpose of this paper is to determine the nature of first transitions.

Generosity is not best understood as an alliance of forces, necessary for mortal beings with limited time and skills. Sociability as generosity exceeds the realm of need and follows directly from our strength of character [fortitudo] because it expresses a positive power to overcome anti-social passions, such as hatred, envy, and the desire for revenge. Spinoza asserts that generous souls resist and overwhelm hostile forces and debilitating affects with wisdom, foresight, and love. The sociability yielded by generosity, then, is not (...) just a form of cooperation we need to survive and produce leisure for study and contemplation. Generosity is not a mere means but a positive expression of freedom, because it is the activity through which a strong soul (and body) transforms enemies into friends. It is not an expression of lack, but of an acquired power that infuses one’s social milieu with empowering love and joy, creating agreements in nature and power where they did not previously exist. Attention to generosity reveals not only that there are social virtues proper to Spinoza’s understanding of freedom but that freedom itself is, by necessity, social. (shrink)

If there is any consensus about knowledge in contemporary epistemology, it is that there is one primary kind: knowledge-that. I put forth a view, one I find in the works of Aristotle, on which knowledge-of – construed in a fairly demanding sense, as being well-acquainted with things – is the primary, fundamental kind of knowledge. As to knowledge-that, it is not distinct from knowledge-of, let alone more fundamental, but instead a species of it. To (...) know that such-and-such, just like to know a person or place, is to be well-acquainted with a portion of reality – in this case a fact. In part by comparing classic Gettier cases to cases in which one has true impressions of but fails to know a person, I argue that this account not only respects our intuitions about knowledge-that – in particular that it is or entails non-accidentally true justified belief – but also explains them, providing a compelling analysis. (shrink)

The statement everyone wants to live a fulfilled and happy life may seem simple, self-evident, and even trivial at first glance. However, upon closer philosophical analysis, can we unequivocally assert that people are truly focused on well-being? Assuming they are, the question becomes: what guidelines should be followed and how should one behave in order to achieve true well-being and attain their goals? One popular viewpoint is that cultivating moral virtues and personal qualities is essential for a life of "true" (...) well-being, rather than mere pleasure. This perspective is not particularly original, as it was advocated quite clearly by Aristotle. However, we must ask: what guarantees that virtue will lead to well-being? Can we really ignore the common-sense doubt that virtue (and moral life), as Kant points out, may not be rewarded with any form of well-being or "happiness" in the broadest sense during our earthly existence? How might we address this doubt? If questions about the relationship between happiness and virtue have been asked since ancient times, why don't we have definitive answers yet? Perhaps there is something wrong with the questions themselves, as is often the case in philosophy. Views on this relationship have influenced the modification of theories that philosophers have put forth in order to provide satisfactory answers. One such theory is the renewed and modernized ethics of virtue, which places the greatest emphasis on building an individual's moral character, assuming that Aristotelian character virtues such as courage, honesty, generosity, prudence, self-control, and compassion will enable us to lead a happy and fulfilling life. "Virtues" refer to a wide range of "excellences" or activities that individuals can use to perfect themselves. For example, an ordinary person might accept that courage can make their life more fulfilling, but it's important to recognize that virtues cannot be acquired overnight. Furthermore, many people believe that virtues are innate qualities that one either possesses or lacks. In contrast, ethics of virtue provides guidance and instructions for developing virtues over extended periods of time, as well as for continuously "practicing" the development of moral characteristics that will make us better individuals. The central and most significant concept in ethics of virtue is the golden mean, which can be interpreted in various ways. Essentially, ethics of virtue offers a path to a life filled with pleasure, harmony, and virtuous action. However, this collection of essays, Virtues and Vices: Between Ethics and Epistemology, is not exclusively concerned with virtues or ethics. Knowledge, as well as the processes of belief formation and justification of those beliefs, are also essential to ethics of virtue. Going back to the systematic Greek philosopher and his teacher, we can emphasize that virtues and knowledge are inseparable. Without the epistemology of virtues, even a thematic collection like this one would be incomplete. The Epistemology of Virtue is a relatively new branch of philosophy that has emerged as a response to questions about the value-neutrality of science. For a long time, the separation of values and scientific inquiry has been viewed as the correct methodological approach. However, it is clear that every scientist is also a human being with their own virtues and flaws. It is naive to assume that a scientist can leave their values and moral qualities outside the laboratory and treat their colleagues in the team differently than they would treat other people in their everyday life. Taking this into account, we can notice that Epistemology of Virtue is a theory that examines the influence of virtues on the processes of acquiring knowledge. Epistemic virtues refer to qualities that enable individuals to acquire knowledge and make reliable judgments. These virtues include traits such as openness to diverse testimonies and arguments, critical thinking, a tendency to question one's own assumptions, and the ability to identify errors in one's own thought processes. Just like in virtue ethics, the Epistemology of Virtue raises the question of how we can cultivate the necessary virtues and how these virtues can have a positive impact on both individuals and society. The field also explores how epistemic virtues can be put into practice, such as in educational settings, scientific research, and various social activities. Finally, we turn to a topic that is often overlooked in philosophy - human flaws. While ethics typically views flaws as the opposite of virtues, requiring correction both individually and socially, the Epistemology of Virtue questions what happens when flaws occur in knowledge-related qualities. Do these flaws also need to be eliminated, or are they an inherent part of the process of acquiring knowledge and making judgments? At first glance, prejudices, stereotypes, dogmatism, conformism, closed-mindedness towards arguments and evidence, as well as uncritical acceptance of authority, can all hinder our ability to acquire knowledge. Epistemologists view these qualities as vices, rather than flaws like ethicists do. The Epistemology of Vices is the newest of the three branches of philosophy covered in this thematic collection, and it examines the ways in which false and untrue beliefs develop and persist in society. This area of study seeks to answer questions about how people form delusions and whether it is possible to overcome them. On the other hand, the Epistemology of Virtue is like the "older brother" that supervises these vices. It contributes to the investigation and overcoming of vices by developing virtues that enable individuals to more accurately assess the truthfulness of their beliefs. However, even though vices can have a destructive impact on knowledge acquisition, the question remains: are vices always detrimental in every context? Conversely, can virtues be detrimental? For example, does a virtue like solidarity sometimes hinder the efficient formation of true beliefs in time-sensitive situations such as finding a vaccine to combat a virus pandemic? Can vices be useful? Can stubbornness and uncooperativeness sometimes help a research team by allowing two sides to reach the same goal through different paths? Within this collection, some of these questions will receive answers, some of which may confirm existing impressions, while others may surprise readers. The thematic collection, Virtues and Vices: Between Ethics and Epistemology, consists of four interesting chapters and 21 papers that cover the selected topic through the prism of philosophical disciplines such as ethics, epistemology, the history of philosophy, philosophy of mind, political philosophy, and philosophy of science. In this introduction, we will not discuss the contents of the articles so as not to disrupt the intended integral approach to reading the collection. A significant feature of this collection is the continuity that extends from one paper to another, from topic to topic, and from problem to problem. Lastly, we would like to express our gratitude to the Faculty of Philosophy at the University of Belgrade for their support in realizing this collection, as well as to our colleagues from the Department and Institute of Philosophy who have made this collection a relevant and significant achievement with their contributions. We are also thankful to the reviewers of the collection as a whole, as well as to the referees of individual articles, who have provided us with detailed comments and remarks that have made this collection clearer and more comprehensive. We owe a special thanks to our colleagues from Zagreb, Rijeka, and Maribor, whose exceptional papers have contributed to making this collection an unabashed international contribution to debates about the ethics and epistemology of virtues and vices. (shrink)

(Selection) Despite its contemplative, earnest, and, at times, disarmingly conversational tone, Spinoza's Religion is a rather provocative book. The epithets thrown at Spinoza throughout the early modern period—referring to the Theological-Political Treatise as that most "pestilential book," "forged in hell" by a godless rebel and atheist—are today badges of pride. Spinoza is celebrated among scholars and in popular culture for his uncompromising iconoclasm. He is admired for his refusal, following his ban from Judaism as a young man, to align with (...) any religious faith. Regarded as a staunch critic of religion, Spinoza is credited with paving the way for secular morality, guided by scientific and rational knowledge. With Spinoza's Religion, Carlisle urges us to understand the Ethics as a fundamentally religious text, which, at the same time, transforms our ideas of what religion is. (shrink)

A. Accident 1. We call an accident (συμβεβηκὸς) that which attaches to something and can be truly asserted, but neither of necessity nor usually.’ (Met. , Δ, 1025a14-16) 2. Whenever an accident attaches to a subject, it attaches to it not because it is that subject (μὴ διότι τοδὶ ἧν). (Met., Δ, 1025a21-24) 3. ‘There is no definite cause for an accident, but a chance cause, i.e. an indefinite one.’ (Met., Δ, 1025a24-25) 4. ‘The accident has happened or exists, -not (...) in virtue of itself, however, but of something else. (Met., Δ, 1025a28-29) 5. ‘What attaches to each thing in virtue of itself but is not in its substance is an accident.’ (Met., Δ, 1025a30-32) 6. ‘An accident is something which, though it is … neither a definition nor a property nor a genus, yet belongs to the thing.’ (To., I, 5, 102b4-) 7. An accident is ‘something which may either belong or not belong to any one and the self-same thing, as (e.g.) being seated may belong or not belong to some self-same thing.’ (To., I, 5, 102b4-) 8. ‘There is nothing to prevent an accident from becoming a temporary or relative property … [and] there is nothing to prevent an accident from becoming both a relative and a temporary property; but a property absolutely it will never be.’ Aristotle’s example is ‘being seated.’ That it is a temporary property is evident. It is also a relative property to those who are not seating when he is the only person sitting. Therefore, it is a temporary and also a relative property. 9. ‘In the case of accidents and in no other it is possible for something to be true in a certain respect and not universally’ and ‘there is nothing to prevent an attribute belonging in part’ so that it is open to dispute accidents e.g. being white or just about a man because he might be white or just in part only. Thus, ‘conversion is not a necessary process in the case of accidents.’ (To., B, 1, 109a9-) B. Essential versus accidental Aristotle distinguishes between two senses of being (τὸ ὄν): accidental sense (κατὰ συμβεβηκός) and essential sense (καθ᾿ αὑτό). The accidental sense happens when something is said to be another thing while there is in fact a third thing which is both of them. Thus, being the first thing is not by itself the second thing. a) Aristotle speaks of three ways in which one thing is said in an accidental sense to be another. (Met., Δ, 1017a8-22) i) When both the subject and the predicate are accidents of a third thing and it is in fact the third thing which ‘is’ by its own. Thus, when it is said e.g. that ‘The just is musical’ it is said accidentally because it is in fact a third thing, Socrates for example, which is just and musical. (Met., Δ, 1017a13-19) ii) When that to which the attribute belongs is. The example of this must be ‘the man is musical’ because it is in fact the man which is. iii) When the subject which has as an attribute that of which it is itself predicated, itself is. The example of this must be Aristotle’s third example: ‘The musical is man.’ b) Aristotle rejects the essential sense to categories: ‘Those things are said in their own right to be that are indicated by the figures of predication; for the senses of ‘being’ are just as many as these figures.’ (Met., Δ, 1017a22-24) Aristotle does not give us any example of the essential sense. Daniel W. Graham suggests that while essential predication is of the logical form of ‘S is P,’ the logical form of the accidental predication is ‘S has P.’ Although he concedes that the is/has contrast is not Aristotle’s, for which he thinks Aristotle prefers ‘said of’/’in’ terminology, he points to the discussion of ‘have’ in Cat. 15 as an evidence of its potential value for an analysis of predication. Kirwan analyses the distinction of essential and accidental predicate as such: while essential predicates ‘are identical with the subjects of which they are predicated; other predications are true in virtue of the fact that two distinct items, e.g. a substance and a quality, ‘coincide.’ Herman Weidemann believes ‘what divides a predicative statement which predicates essentially from a predicative statement which predicates accidentally is the fact that the former does- whereas the latter does not- answer the question what its subject cannot fail to be without ceasing to exist, as the somewhat its subject goes on existing, no matter what happens to be true of it during its existence, or, what kind of things its subject must be in order to be identifiable as one and the same object as long as it exists.’ C. Essential 1. Either the formula or the name of the subject of an essential attribute is involved in it. For example, animal is involved in female but not in white. (Met., Z, 1030b23-26) 2. Essential attributes, combined together, form a unity. Thus, e.g. animal and biped form a unity because they are both essential of man. (OI., II, 11, 21a14-16) 3. Aristotle distinguishes between two kinds of essential attributes (PsA., A, 4, 73a34-b3; 22, 84a12-17): a) Those attributes that belong to their subject as elements in its essential nature as e.g. line belongs to triangle or point to line. Here the very being of triangle is composed of line or that of line is composed of points: line is contained in the formula of triangle and point in that of line. b) Those attributes whose subjects are contained in their own defining formula as e.g. straight is an essential attribute of line because line is part of the defining formula of straight or odd belongs to number because number is part of the defining formula of odd. Every attribute that is related in neither of these two ways to its subject, it is not an essential but an accidental attribute. (PsA., A, 4, 73b3-5) 4. That attribute which is not predicated of a subject other than itself is an essential attribute. A substance cannot be predicated of anything but itself and is, thus, essential. (PsA., A, 4, 73b5-10) 5. A thing consequently co-stated with anything is essential. For example, if a beast dies when its throat is being cut, its death is also essentially connected with the cutting because the cutting was the cause of death, not death a coincidence of cutting. (PsA., A, 4, 73b10-15) 6. Essential attributes in both of this sense, either in the sense that their subjects are contained in them or in the sense that they are contained in their subjects, are necessary as well as consequently co-stated with their subjects. The reason is that it is impossible for them to inhere in their subjects either simply or in the qualified sense (that one or other of a pair of opposites must inhere in the subject as e.g. one of straight or curve must be necessarily predicable of a line or one of odd or even of number). (PsA., A, 4, 73b16-21; 6, 74b5-12; B, 96b1-5) 7. Only those attributes that are within a genus are essential and possessed by their respective subjects as such and, thus, are necessary. Thereupon, both the conclusion and the premises of demonstrations which produce scientific knowledge are essential. (PsA., A, 6, 75a28-31) Therefore, ‘the extreme and the middle terms must be drawn from the same genus; otherwise, as predicated, they will not be essential and will thus be accidents.’ (PsA., A, 6, 75b10-12) Also, the theorems of a science can be demonstrated by means of another science only when they are related as subordinate to superior. (PsA., A, 6, 75b13-) 8. Our knowledge of the connexion of an attribute with a subject is essential only when ‘we know that connexion through the middle term in virtue of which it inheres (καθ᾿ὃ ὑπἀρχει), and as an inference from basic premises essential and ‘appropriate’ to the subject.’ The essential belonging of the middle to the minor has a necessary connexion with its belonging to the same genus of the major and minor: ‘If that middle term also belongs essentially to the minor, the middle must belong to the same genus as the major and minor terms (ἀνάγκη τὸ μέσον ἐν τῇ αὐτῇ συγγενείᾳ εἶναι). (PsA., A, 9, 76a4-9) 9. In an essential predication, the predicate is signified of a subject identical with itself or with a species of itself. Since only predicates which signify substance signify that the subject is identical with the predicate or with a species of the predicate, predicates signifying substance are essentially predicated and any other predicate is accidental or coincidental. Thus, while animal is essentially predicated of man because man is identical with a species of animal, white is accidentally predicated of man because man is neither identical with white nor a species of it. (PsA., A, 22, 83a24-32) Weidemann discusses the confusion between essential predications and statements of identity. He warns that the expression ‘(to be) just what a man is’ (analogous to the Greek phrase ‘(εἶναι) ὃπερ ἀνθρώπον) ought not to be confused with the expression ‘just what it is for a man to be,’ which renders the phrase τὸ ὃπερ ἀνθρώπῳ εἶναι’ (1007a22, 23, 27-28); a confusion Kirwan discusses. 10. ‘Demonstration proves the inherence of essential attributes in things.’ (PsA., A, 22, 84a11-12) 11. ‘Nothing which does not happen to belong to the genus is essentially the genus; e.g. a white man is not essentially a color.’ Thus, while justice falls within the genus, a just man does not. (To., Γ, 1, ^116a24-) 12. There is no syllogism of essence (ti esti). Nevertheless, we come to know ti esti through a demonstration. (93b15-20; cf. 93b25-28) D. Accidental 1. An accidental attribute cannot be predicated of a subject universally. Thus, we cannot say ‘Every man is musical.’ The reason is that ‘universal attributes belong to things in virtue of their nature.’ Therefore, accidental predicates are predicated only of the individuals. (Met., Δ, 1017b33-1018a2) 2. An accidental is a mere name. (Met., E, 1026b13-) 3. An accidental is obviously akin to non-being. (Met., E, 1026b21) 4. ‘That which is neither always nor for the most part we call accidental.’ (Met., E, 1026b27-33) 5. The matter (ὕλη) is the cause of the accidental because it is matter which is capable of being otherwise than as it for the most part is. (Met., E, 1027a13-16) In fact, there is cause or principle of the incidental of the same kind as there are of the essential because if there were, everything would be of necessity. (Met., K, 1065a6-8) The causes of accidental are unordered and indefinite. (Met., K, 1065a25-26) 6. Since all science is either of that which is always or of that which is for the most part, there is no science of the accidental. (Met., E, 1027a19-24; K, 1064b30-1065a6) Therefore, since an accident may also not inhere and, thus, it is impossible to prove its inherence as a necessary conclusion, there is no demonstrative knowledge of accidents. (PsA., A, 6, 75a18-23) 7. The accidental is not necessary but indeterminate. (Met., K, 1065a24-26) 8. The co-positing of a subject and a predicate which are accidental either to the same subject or to one another, whiteness and being musical for instance, does not form a unity. (OI, II, 11, 21a7-14) 9. Negative predicates, i.e. predicates including a ‘not,’ are accidental predicates. Thus, if good be an essential predicate of a subject, ‘not bad’ cannot be essential but is accidental. (OI., II, 14, 23b15-20) 10. Every attribute which does not belong to its subject in either of two senses of essential attribute (cf. PsA., A, 4, 73a34-b3), namely, belonging to their subjects as an element of its formula or their subjects belonging to them as an element of them, is an accidental attribute. (PsA., A, 4, 73b3-5) 11. Those attributes that are predicated of a subject other than themselves are accidental attributes. Thus, everything except substance is an accidental in this sense. (PsA., A, 4, 73b5-10) 12. A thing not consequentially connected with anything is accidental. For example, in ‘while he was walking it lightened,’ the lightening was not due to his walking but was a coincidence. (PsA., A, 4, 73b10-15) 13. Those attributes that are not within a genus are accidental attributes. (PsA., A, 6, 75a28-31) Therefore, the extreme and middle terms that are not drawn from the same genus are accidents. (PsA., A, 6, 75b10-12) Moreover, to apply an attribute to subjects in different genera afford knowledge of the attribute, only as inhering accidentally, not as belonging to its subject as such.’ (PsA., A, 9, 75b38-76a3) . (shrink)

According to attributor virtue epistemology (the view defended by Ernest Sosa, John Greco, and others), S knows that p only if her true belief that p is attributable to some intellectual virtue, competence, or ability that she possesses. Attributor virtue epistemology captures a wide range of our intuitions about the nature and value of knowledge, and it has many able defenders. Unfortunately, it has an unrecognized consequence that many epistemologists will think is sufficient for rejecting it: namely, it makes (...) knowledge depend on factors that aren't truth-relevant, even in the broadest sense of this term, and it also makes knowledge depend in counterintuitive ways on factors that are truth-relevant in the more common narrow sense of this term. As I show in this paper, the primary objection to interest-relative views in the pragmatic encroachment debate can be raised even more effectively against attributor virtue epistemology. (shrink)

This paper intends to explain key differences between Aristotle’s understanding of the relationships between nous, epistêmê, and the art of syllogistic reasoning(both analytic and dialectical) and the corresponding modern conceptions of intuition, knowledge, and reason. By uncovering paradoxa that Aristotle’s understanding of syllogistic reasoning presents in relation to modern philosophical conceptions of logic and science, I highlight problems of a shift in modern philosophy—a shift that occurs most dramatically in the seventeenth century—toward a project of construction, a pervasive desire (...) for rational certainty, and a general insistence on the reducibility of the sciences. The major motivation of this analysis is my intention to show that modern attempts to reduce science/epistêmê to a single science/method of inquiry occlude dialectical and ethico-political dimensions of “reason” and, hence, also impoverish philosophy’s critical capacities. (shrink)

It seems that there is a general principle in Aristotle’s philosophy that ‘all things are referred to that which is primary (πὰντα πρὸς τὸ πρῶτον ἀναφέρεται).’ (Met., Γ, 1004a25-26) This referring relation, however, may be in a different way for each thing: ‘After distinguishing the various senses of each, we must then explain by reference to what is primary in each term, saying how they are related to it; some in the sense that they possess it, others in the sense (...) that they produce it…’ (Met., Γ, 1004a28-31) This general principle is asserted about: a) One: ‘All things which are one are referred to the primary one.’ (Met., Γ, 1004a26-27; 1005a6-7) As Aristotle always makes ‘one’ and ‘being’ close to each other subject of the same rules and attributes, he makes the subject of referring interchangeable as well: ‘It makes no difference whether that which is be referred to being or to unity. For even if they are not the same but different, they are convertible.’ (Met., K, 1061a15-18) b) The same. (Met., Γ, 1004a27) c) The contraries. (Met., Γ, 1004a28) d) Being, healthy and medical: It is a crucial thesis of Aristotle’s Metaphysics that being (τὸ ὄν) is said in referring to a primary being, that is substance. And to do this, he repeatedly takes ‘healthy’ and ‘medical’ as examples: ‘There are many ways in which a thing is said ‘being’ but they are referred to some one and unitary nature (πρὸς ἓν καὶ μίαν τινὰ φύσιν) but not homonymously. Everything which is healthy is related to health, one thing in the sense that it preserves health, another in the sense that it produces it, another in the sense that it is a symptom of health, another because it is capable of it. And that which is medical is relative to the medical art, one thing in the sense that it possesses it, another in the sense that it is naturally adopted to it, another in the sense that it is a function of medical art. So, too, there are many senses in which a thing is said to be, but all refer to one starting point; some things are said to be because they are substances, others because they are affections of substances, others because they are a process towards substances, or destructions or privations …’ (Met., Γ, 1003a33-b10; cf. K, 1060b36-1061a6; Z, 1030b2-3) Thus, all of the categories refer to the primary being, i.e. substance because ‘it is in virtue of the formation of substance that the others are said to be quantity and quality and the like; for all will be found to contain the formula of substance.’ (Met., Θ, 1045b27-30) Also, Aristotle speaks of becoming of all things referring to one common: ‘Everything that is may become referring to some one common nature.’ (Met., K, 1061a10-11) e) Contraries: all contraries refer to the primary differences and contraries: ‘Since everything that is may become referring to some one common nature, each of the contraries also may become referring to primary differences and contraries of being, whether the first differences of being are plurality any unity or likeness and unlikeness, or some other differences.’ (Met., K, 1061a10-15; cf Met., K, 1061b11-15; Met., Γ, 1005a6-8) f) Potentialities: ‘All potentialities that conform to the same type are starting points, and are called potentialities in reference to one primary kind. (Met., Θ, 1046a9-14) g) Soul and body refer to the same thing. (Met., H, 1043a35-37) 1) Referral unity versus universal unity Aristotle distinguishes referral (πρὸς ἓν) unity from the unity that is found in universal, which is the same in all of its instances: ‘If being or unity is not a universal and the same in every instance … the unity is in some cases that of referring to one (πρὸς ἓν), in some cases that of serial succession.’ (Met., Γ, 1005a8-11) Thus, we can say that the unity present in pros hen must be distinguished from the unity that is found in the instances of a universal: while in all of these instances the universal is the same, in those that are one by referring to the one, there is nothing which is the same in all. Aristotle says this also by using ‘based on one’ (καθ᾽ ἓν) and common: while in one the instances are one ‘based on one’ thing, they are one in the other by referring to one: ‘For not only in the case of things that are said based on one there is knowledge investigating one subject, but also in case of things that are said referring to one nature.’ Nonetheless, Aristotle thinks that ‘referring to one’ unity is somehow kind of ‘based on one’ unity: ‘For even that [i.e. being said ‘referring to one’] is a kind of being said based on one.’ (Met., Γ, 1003b12-15) In Nicomachean Ethics (1096b23-9) Aristotle opposes being derived from one thing to referring to one thing: ‘In what sense are different things called good? … Is it because they are all derivative of a single thing (ἀφ’ ἑνος εἶναι), or [i.e. equivalently] because they are all derived towards a single thing (πρὸς ἓν συντελεῖν) …? (See: EEt., H2, 1236a15-23) . (shrink)

The following are the characteristics of a genus: 1. Those to which the same figure of predication applies are one in genus. (Met. , Δ, 1016b32-35) 2. Things that are one in genus are all one by analogy while things that are one by analogy are not all one in genus. (Met, Δ, 1016b35-1017a3) 3. A genus includes contraries. (Met., Δ, 1018a25-31) 4. All the intermediates are in the same genus as one another and as the things they stand between. (...) (Met., I, 1057a18-30; 1057b31-34) 5. Not every predicate is a genus of what it is predicated on; for this would equate a genus with one of its own species. (PsA., A, 22, 83b7-10) 6. The opposite of the genus should always be the genus of the opposite. (To., Δ, 4, ^125a27-29) 7. A genus divides the object from other things. (To., Z, 3, 140a^24) 8. None of unity and being is a genus. (Met., B, 998b22-27; Met., K, 1059b31-34; PsA., B, 7, 92b12-14) 9. There is no necessity or even no possibility that things that are the same specifically or generically should be numerically the same. (To., H, I, 152b30-) 10. To be called one due to having one genus is in a way similar to be one due to having the same matter. (Met., Δ, 1016a24-28) 11. The substance of a thing involves its genus, and thereby all the higher genera are predicated of the lower. (To., Z, 5, 143a^20- ) 12. Being falls immediately into genera. (Met., Γ, 1004a4-6) A. Characteristics of relations between genera The characteristics of relations between genera, the relations between genera and species excluded, are as follows: 1. Genus is not an element in the composition of things. (Met., I, 1057b20-22) 2. Things resulting from the same division of the same genus are simultaneous by nature. (Cat., 13, 15a3-4) 3. Processes of proof cannot pass from one genus to another. (PsA., A, 23, 84b14-18) 4. It is not necessary for subordinate genera to have different accounts. (To., I, 15, ^107a19-) E.g. when we say a raven is a bird, we also say it is a certain kind of animal. 5. It is necessary for genera that are not subordinate one to the other to have different accounts. (To., I, 15, ^107a27-30) E.g. whenever we call a thing an engine, we do not call it an animal, nor vice versa. 6. If one of the genera is predicated in what it is, all of them, both higher and lower than this one, if predicated at all of the species, will be predicated of it in what it is; so that what has been given as genus is also predicated in what it is. (To., Δ, 2, ^122a10) 7. The same object cannot occur in two genera of which neither contains the other. (To., Z, 139b32-140a2) 8. Those to which the same figure (σχῆμα) of predication applies, are the same in genus. (Met., Δ, 1016b32-35) 9. Attributes that inhere always in each several things can be divided to two groups: those that are wider in extent but not wider than its genus and those wider than its genus. (PsA., B, 13, 96a24-27) 10. The relation between A and B must be extendable in respect of all the genera of A. Thus, if A is double of B, it must also be in excess, the genus of double, to B. Aristotle accepts, however, that this may be objectable in some cases: while knowledge is called knowledge of an object of knowledge, it cannot be called a state and disposition (which is the genus of knowledge) of an object of knowledge. In fact, it is a state and disposition of the soul. (To., Δ, 4, 124b28-34) B. Characteristics of species The following are the characteristics of species: 1. Things are said to be other in species if they are of the same genus but are not subordinate the one to the other. (Met., Δ, 1018a38-b2; Met., I, 1057b35-37) 2. Contraries are other than one another in species. (Met., Δ, 1018b5-7; Met., I, 1058b26-) 3. It is not sufficient for a difference to be the basis of distinguishing species in a genus because it belongs to the genus in virtue of its nature as, e.g., the difference between men and women belongs to animal in virtue of its nature. It must also be a modification peculiar to the genus (οἰκεῖα πάθη τοῦ γένους) in the strongest sense. (Met., I, 1058a29-37) Thus, contraries which are in the formula (ἐν τῷ λόγῳ) make a difference in species, but those which are in the compound material thing do not make one as e.g. being male and female is a difference in matter. (Met., I, 1058a37-b23) 4. Some things are peculiar to the species as distinct from genus: there are attributes peculiar to each distinct species. (PrA., A, 27, 43b27-29) 5. There is no necessity or even no possibility that things that are the same specifically should be the same numerically. (To., H, I, 155b30-) C. Characteristics of relations between genera and species The following are the characteristics of relations between genera and their species: 1. Although species predicated of individuals seem to be principles rather than the genera, it is hard to say, Aristotle asserts, in what sense species are to be taken as principles. (Met., B, 999a14-21) 2. Things that are one in species are all one in genus, while things that are one in genus are not all one in species. (Met., Δ, 1016b35a1) 3. The relation of a species to its genus is like the relation of primary substance to all others: the species is a subject for the genus (ὑπόκειται γὰρ τὸ εἴδος τῷ γένει) and the genera are predicated of the species but the species are not predicated of them. (Cat., 5, 2b17-22) 4. Of the species themselves- those which are not genera- one is no more a substance than another: a certain horse is no more a substance than another horse. (Cat., 5, 2b22-26) 5. Genera are prior to species since they do not reciprocate as to implication of existence (κατὰ τὴν τοῦ εἶναι ἀκολούθησιν). For example, if there is a fish there is an animal, but if there is an animal there is not necessarily a fish. (Cat., 13, 15a4-7) 6. What belongs both to a species and to its genus, it belongs to the species more properly indeed than to the genus. (PrA., A, 27, 43b29-32) 7. A predicate drawn from the genus is never ascribed to the species in a derived form and as its genus. Thus, e.g. coloured cannot be a genus of ‘white’ when we say ‘white is coloured.’ (To., B, I, ^109b1-5) 8. Genera are predicated of their species synonymously because the species take on both the name and the account of their genera. (To., B, I, ^109b3-6) 9. All the attributes that belong to the species belong to the genus as well but there is no necessity that all the attributes that belong to the genus should belong also to the species. (To., B, 4, 111a20-32) 10. Those things of which the genus is predicated must also of necessity have one of its species predicated of them. (To., B, 4, 111a33-) 11. The higher genus should be predicated of the species in what it is. (To., Δ, 2, ^122a6) 12. The species, or any of the things which are under the species, is not predicated of the genus because the genus is the term with the widest range of all. (To., Z, 6, 144a27f.) 13. The same species cannot be in two genera neither of which contains the other. (To., Z, 6, 144b14f.) 14. None of the species of a genus is prior or posterior to other species but they are thought to be simultaneous by nature. (Cat., 13, 14b38-15a1) 15. Daniel W. Graham points that sometimes Aristotle speaks of species as classes (Cat., 5, 2a14-17) and sometimes as properties or a certain character (ποιόν τι) of substances, which is difficult to be distinguished from the category of quality. (Cat., 3b13-22) D. Characteristics of differentia 1. The last differentia will be the substance, the definition and the form of the thing. (Met., Z, 1038a18-28) 2. If we divide according to accidental qualities, there will be as many differentiae as there are processes of division. (Met., Z, 1038a25-28) 3. The differentia divides the object from any of the things contained in the same genus. (To., Z, 3, 140a24-) 4. A. C. Lloyd argues that Aristotle’s logic of classification contains a vicious circle because: ‘For a genus to be predicated unequivocally and essentially of a species the specific differentiae have to be ‘appropriate’; but in order to know whether a proposed differentia is appropriate we have to know whether the genus is predicable essentially of the species thus defined.’ The predication of differentia on primary substance seems to make difficulties in Aristotle’s system, as Terence Irwin points out. It seems to violate the distinction of strong predication and inherence, a distinction between predication of count-nouns and predication of characterizing adjectives. Irwin says that this violation is only apparent because although the differentia-term is an adjective, its gender agrees with the gender of the understood genus-term and not with that of the subject term. ‘Man is biped’ is indeed ‘Man is a biped animal.’ This shows, Irwin asserts, ‘why Aristotle can still mention that strong predication is nominal and inherence is adjectival.’ Differentiae are not, however, secondary substances, as Aristotle himself insists. A differentia does not say what the thing is, as secondary substances do, but only what it is like or what sort it is. (ποιον: To., 122b12-17; 128a20-29; 139a28-31; 142b25-29) Nonetheless, differentiae are not qualities because they are not inherent. Thus, they cannot be regarded in any of the ten categories. Irwin thinks that this anomaly is unnecessary because Aristotle could give good reasons for taking differentiae to be second substances. E. Characteristics of relations between differentia and genera or species 1. It is not possible for the genus to be predicated of the differentia taken apart from the species. (Met., B, 998b23-25; Met., K, 1059b31-33; To., VI, 6, 144a32-b1) 2. It is not possible for the species of the genus to be predicated of the proper differentiae of the genus. (Met., B, 998b24-26) 3. Where the differentia is present, the genus accompanies it, but where the genus is, the differentia is not always present. (Met., Δ, 1014b12-14) 4. The number of species are equal to the number of differentiae. (Met., Z, 1038a15-18) 5. The differentiae of genera which are different and not subordinate one to the other are themselves different in kind. (Cat., 3, 1b16-20; To., I, 15, ^107b19-) 6. There is nothing to prevent genera subordinate one to the other from having the same differentia. (Cat., 3, 1b20-22) 7. Since the higher genera are predicated of the genera below them, all differentiae of the predicated genus will be differentia of the subject also. (Cat., 3, 1b21-24) 8. The definition of the differentia is predicated of that of which the differentia is said. (Cat., 5, 3a25-28) 9. In giving what a thing is it is more fitting to state the genus than the differentia. For example, anyone who says that man is an animal shows what man is better than who describes him as terrestrial. (To., Δ, 6, ^128a24-27) 10. The differentia always signifies a quality of the genus, but the genus does not do this of the differentia. (To., Δ, 6, 128a27-29; To., Z, 6, 144a20-23) 11. A specific differentia, along with the genus, always makes a species. (To., Z, 6, 143b^1-) 12. A genus is always divided by the differentiae that are co-ordinate with it in a division and the differentiae that are co-ordinate in a division are all true of the genus. (To., Z, 6, 143b^1-) 13. Differentia cannot be predicated of the genus because genus is the term with the wider range. (To., Z, 6, 144a27-) In fact, genus is predicated, not of the differentia, but of the object of which the differentia is predicated. (To., Z, 6, 144a^31-b3) 14. Neither species nor the objects under it can be predicated of the differentia because the differentia is a term with a wider range than the species. (To., Z, 6, 144b4-) 15. The differentia is posterior to genus but prior to the species. (To., Z, 6, 144b^9-) 16. The same differentia cannot be used of two genera neither of which contains the other and if they do not both fall under the same genus. Otherwise, the same species will be in two genera neither of which contains the other, which is impossible. (To., Z, 6, 144b14-) 17. Genus and differentia are prior to and more familiar than the species: ‘For annul the genus and the differentia; and the species too is annulled, so that they are prior to the species. They are also more familiar; for if the species is known, the genus and differentia must of necessity be known as well (for anyone who knows what a man is knows also what animal and terrestrial are), whereas if the genus or the differentia is known it does not follow of necessity that the species is known as well; thus the species is less intelligible.’ (To., Z, 4, 141b15-) F. Characteristics of relations in series of classes 1. Mutually exclusive series. If no term in the series ACD… is predicable of any term in the series BEF…, and if G- a term in the former series- is the genus of A, clearly G will not be the genus of B; since, if it were, the series would not be mutually exclusive. (PsA., A, 15, 79b6-11) 2. Atomic disconnection of series. Of two mutually exclusive series ACD and BEF, if neither A nor B has a genus and A does not inhere in B, this disconnection must be atomic. (PsA., A, 15, 79b6-14) G. Characteristics of relations of individuals 1. No individual in a species is more substance than another individual in another species. (Cat., 5, 2b26-28) An individual man, for instance, is no more a substance than an individual ox. 2. Each attribute is wider than every individual it is predicated on, though several attributes, collectively considered, might not be wider but exactly the substance of a thing. (PsA., B, 13, 96a32-b1) 3. Not distinguishing between class membership and class inclusion? Some commentators like Vlastos and Ackrill (1963, 76) criticized Aristotle because he, they believe, did not distinguish between class membership (between species and particulars) and class inclusion (between genera and their species). Having accepted this point, Daniel W. Graham believes it is ‘question-begging in a curious way.’ Phil Corkum thinks that Aristotle employs mereological notions. (This criticism seems so strange because all the Aristotle’s point in distinguishing species 2 from genera is strictly the distinction of class membership and class inclusion as they call them so. (shrink)

However, there are a few points about what we can call ‘relation’ in Aristotle’s works: 1. Sound is always of something in relation to something and in something and it is impossible for one body only to generate a sound. (So., B, 8, 419b9-10) 2. Corresponding relation: ‘Let then C be to D as A, white, is to B, black; it follows alternado that C:A :: D:B. if then C and A belong to one subject, the case will be the (...) same with them as with D and B…’ 3. ‘And the case is similar in regard to the states of the soul, all of which (like those of body) exist in virtue of particular relations… In the first place, it is much more true of the possession of knowledge that it depends upon a particular relation. And further, it is evident that there is no becoming of these states. For that which is potentially possessed of knowledge becomes actually possessed of it not by being set in motion at all itself but by reason of the presence of something else; i.e. it is when it meets with the particular object that it knows in a manner the particular through its knowledge of the universal.’ (Phy., Z, 3) 4. The negation of a relation must be the negation of that relation and not of its elements: ‘For the expression ‘it is true’ stands on a similar footing to ‘it is.’ For the negation of ‘it is true to call it white’ is not ‘it is true to call it not-white’ but ‘it is not true to call it white.’ (PsA., A, 46, 52a32-) 5. The fact that Aristotle does not have any word for relation is taken by some scholars (e.g. Fabio Morales ) as an evidence that Aristotle lays emphasis on the relata instead of the relation itself. 6. Knowledge and relation. Aristotle has a very interesting assertion about the relation between knowledge and relation: ‘It is much more true of the possession of knowledge that it depends upon a particular relation [instead of alteration]. And further, it is evident that there is no becoming of these states. For that which is potentially possessed of knowledge becomes actually possessed of it not by being set in motion at all itself but by reason of the presence of something else: it is when it meets with the particular object that it knows in a manner the particular through its knowledge of the universal.’ (Phy., Z, 3) . (shrink)