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AND THE EARLIER PERIPATETICS
 WORKS BY DR. E. ZELLER.
PRE-SOCRATIC SCHOOLS: a History of Greek
Philosophy from the Earliest Period to the time of Socrates,
Translated from the German by SARAH F, ALLEYNE, 2 vols.
Crown 8vo. 30s.

SOCRATES AND THE SOCRATIC SCHOOLS.

Translated from the German by O. J. ReicHEen, M.A,
Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d,

PLATO AND THE OLDER ACADEMY. Translated

from the German by SaraH F, ALLEYNE and A, GoopwIn.
Crown 8vo, 18s.

STOICS, EPICUREANS, AND SCEPTICS. Trans-

lated from the German by O. J. ReIcHEL, M.A. Crown
8vo. 15s. °

HISTORY OF ECLECTICISM IN GREEK PHILO-

SOPHY. Translated from the German by Saran F,
ALLEYNE, Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d.

OUTLINES OF THE HISTORY OF GREEK

PHILOSOPHY. Translated from the German by SARAH F,
ALLEYNE and EVELYN ABBOTT. Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d.

LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO.

39 Paternoster Row, London
New York and Bombay
 ARISTOTLE
THE EARLIER PERIPATETICS

BEING A TRANSLATION FROM

ZELLER’S ‘PHILOSOPHY OF THE GREEKS’

BY

B. F. 0. COSTELLOE, M.A.
AND

J. H. MUIRHEAD, M.A. ,.

i a
i : '

IN TWO VOLUMES —VOL. II.

¢ \

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND GO.

39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON

NEW YORK AND BOMBAY

1897

All rights reserved

 J
‘at

-.

n
e
ne

h
 s

i
oe

|
CONTENTS
OF

THE SECOND VOLUME

CHAPTER X

PHYSICS—continued
C. Living Creatwres
The Soul, 1. Its relation to the Body, 4. The Body as an Organic
Whole related to the Soul as Means to End, 10. Stages of Ani-
mate Existence, 21. The Evolution of Organic Life and the
Law of Analogy, 24. Indications of life in Inorganic Nature;
History of the Earth and Mankind, 29.
Plants, 33.
Animals, 37. Their Bodies and the homogeneous materials of which
they consist, 38. Organs and their Functions, 41. Generation
and difference of Sex, 48. Sensation, 58. The Five Senses, 62.
Sensus Communis, 68. Memory and Imagination, 70. Pleasure
and Pain, 75. Sleep and Waking, 75. Dreams, 76. Death, 77.
Scale of Value in animal creation, 78. Classification of animal
Species, 80.
CHAPTER XI
PHYsIcs—continued
Man
The Human Body, 90. Soul and Reason, 92. Active and Passive
Reason, 97. Immediate and mediate exercise of Reason, 105.
Desire and Volition, 108. Practical Reason and Rational Will,
112. Free Will, Voluntariness, Intention, 114. The question of
the Unity of the life of the Soul, 119. The Birth of the Soul,
120. The Union of the Parts of the Soul, 123. The Immortality
of the Soul, 129. Personality, 134. —
vi ARISTOTLE

CHAPTER XII

PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY

A. Ethics
The essential elements
The End of Human Activity: Happiness, 138.
of Happiness, 140. External Goods, 144. Pleasure, 146. Value
of Pleasure, 148.
the Will distinguished
Moral Virtue, 153. Virtue as a Quality of The
, 157.
from Natural Impulses, 155. Intellectual Insight the
Origin of Virtue, 160. The Consent of the virtuous Will:
, Self-control, &c.,
Proper Mean, 161. The Virtues, 163. Courage
167. Justice, 170. Distributive and Corrective Justice, 171.
other dis-
Complete and Incomplete, Natural and Legal Right;
tinctions, 175. ‘The Intellectual Virtues: Insight, 177. The
right relation to the Passions, 188.
Kinds of Friend-
Friendship: its moral Import, 191. Nature and
ship, 193. Further discussions, 198.

CHAPTER XIII

PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY—continued
B. Politics
Necessity, Nature, and Functions of the State; Aristotle’s Politics,
203. Ethical import of the State, 207. Aim of the State, 208.
The Household as element in the State, 213. Husband and Wife,
214. Parents and Children, 215. Master and Slave, 216. Pro-
duction and Possession, 220. Against Common Property in
Wives, Children, and Goods, 220.
The State and the Citizen, 222. Differences among citizens, 229.
Their political importance, 229.
Forms of Constitution, 233. Comparative Value and Justification
of leading forms, 244. Monarchy and Republic, 249.
The Best State, 258. Its natural conditions and economic basis,
258. Training of the Citizen, 261. Birth and Education, 262.
Music, 266. Unfinished state of this part of the Politics in
reference to Intellectual Training, Punishment, &c., 269. The
Constitution, 272.
Imperfect Forms, 274. Democracy, 274. Oligarchy, 277. Aristo-
cracy and Polity, 278. Tyranny, 282. The distribution of
Political Power, Changes in the Constitution, &c., 283.

CHAPTER XIV
RHETORIC

Problem of the Rhetoric, 289. Kinds of Proof, 2983. Demonstra-

tion, 294. Different species of Demonstration appropriate to
 CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME vii

different Kinds.of Discourse, 295. Remaining forms of Proof,

296. Style and Arrangement, 297.

CHAPTER XV
THEORY OF FINE ART

Beauty, 301. Art as Imitation, 303. The effect of Art: Catharsis,

307. The Arts, 318. Tragedy, 320.

CHAPTER XVI
RELIGIOUS ASPECT OF ARISTOTLE’S PHILOSOPHY

Aristotle’s attitude to Religion, 325. His Theology, 327. Signifi-

cance and Origin of Popular Religion, 330.

CHAPTER XVII
RETROSPECT
.
Aristotle’s point of view, 336. Development of the System, 338.
Gaps and Contradictions, 342. Tendency of the Peripatetic
School, 346
CHAPTER XVIII
THE PERIPATETIC SCHOOL : THEOPHRASTUS

His Life, 348. Writings, 351. Standpoint, 355. Logic, 358. Meta-
physics: Aporiz, 364. Theology, 369. Physics: Nature in
general; Inorganic Nature, 373. Structure and history of the
World, 379. Botanical Theory, 381. Nature of Vegetable life,
383. Parts of Plants, 384. Origin of Plants, 385. Classification,
388. Zoology, 389. Anthropology: the Soul as cause of move-
ment, 390. Reason, Active and Passive, 392. Higher and lower
parts of the Soul, 395. The Senses, 396. The Freedom of the
Will, 399. Ethics, 399. Happiness, 402. Views on other points
of ethical doctrine, 406. Politics, 410. Religious views, 412.
Rhetoric and Theory of Fine Art, 414.

CHAPTER XIX
EUDEMUS, ARISTOXENUS, DICH.ARCHUS, AND OTHERS
Eudemus, 417. Logic, 418. Physics, 419. Metaphysics, 421.
Ethics: Virtue as a divine gift, 422. Theology, 424. Uprightness,
426. Other peculiarities of Eudemian ethics, 427,
Aristoxenus, 429. Ethical views, 431. Theory of Music, 433. Of
the Soul, 436 ;
VOL. II. a

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tlle
——————EEEE
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viii ARISTOTLE

Dicearchus: Anthropology, 438. The practical and the theoretic

life, 440. Politics, 441.
Phanias, Clearchus, and others, 443.

CHAPTER XX
THE SCHOOL OF THEOPHRASTUS : STRATO

Demetrius of Phalerus and others, 447.

Strato, 450. Logic and Ontology, 454. Nature and Deity, 455,
Physical principles: Heat and Cold, 456. Gravity, Vacuum,
Time, Motion, 458. Cosmology, 464. Anthropology, 466.

CHAPTER XXI

THE PERIPATETIC SCHOOL AFTER STRATO TILL TOWARDS THE

END OF THE SECOND CENTURY

Lyco, 474. Hieronymus, 475. Aristo, 477. Critolaus, 479. Phor-

mio, Sotion, &c., 483.
Pseudo- Aristotelian Literature, 494. Logical, Metaphysical, Physical
Writings, 495. The Magna Moralia, 498. The Hconomics, 498.
The Rhetoric addressed to Alexander, 499. Conclusion, 499.

APPENDIX

ON THE FORM OF THE ‘ POLITICS’ ‘ ‘ : . . 5Ol

INDEX . F P ; ; ‘ ; : j ; . 509
 Addenda and Corrigenda.
Page
5, n. 2, col. 2, 1. 10, for cut read cut in pieces
»6,1. 8,for alien read allied
»61,1. 5, for force read faculty
»90, n. col. 1, 1. 19, for whole read whale
»111, n. 3, col. 2, ll. 2, 7, for cylinders read springs
»147, n. col. 1, 1.16, for these last, however, are merely causes read the satisfaction
of a want, moreover, is merely the cause
s 152, n.1, col. 1, 1. 3, omit wrong
» 171,1.7, for quality read equality
» 172, n. 2, col. 2,1. 3 from bottom, after things read that
» 178,1. 4,for moral insight read moral virtue
» 182, n. col. 1,1. 6, for p. 182 read p. 183
» 184, n. col. 2,1. 10 from bottom, for picture read future
» 195, n. 4, col. 1, 1. 4 from bottom, for 3 on preceding page read 2 supra
» 196, n. 1, col. 1,1. 3,for pupil read audience
» 204, n. 2, col. 2,1. 5 from bottom, forp. 203 supra, read Appendix, p. 507.
» 231, n.1, col. 1, 1 9, for finds itself more at home read exercises more influence
» 242, 1.10, for indispensable read indisputable
» 243, n.1, col. 1,1. 6, for chiefly read nearly
» 245,11, for But even any one of such advantages as these confers read But even
such advantages as these confer of themselves no title to rule in the State.
» 259, n. 1, col. 1, 1. 8, for size read greatness
» 267, n. col. 1, L. 9, omit or
» 274, 1. 8, for or form, differing read or from differing
» 292, 1.9, for But as he regards...sense read Since, however, proof is the chief
end in view
» 322,n, col. 1,1. 8 from bottom, for added read not added
» 9324, n. 5, col. 1, 1. 11, omit vol. i.
3 825, ll. 1, 3, for section read chapter
» n..2, col, 2,1. 5, before p. 291 read vol. ii.
327, 1. 6, for scientific read theoretic
» last line, omit and
331, n. 2, col. 1, 1. 2 from bottom, for paveiq read pavreta
335, n. 1, col. 1, 1. 10, for in chap. i. read vol. i. pp. 5, n. 7; 20, n. 2; 38, n.
339, 1. 9,for motion read matter
» 1.10, for relation read relationship
375, n. 1, col. 1, 1. 9,fo7, Melinus read Melissus
8
33
3 382, 1. 6 from bottom, for geological read zoological
sssss

References.
The following references are to Vol. i. :—Vol. ii. p. 159, n. 2, col. 1, 1. 8; 180, n. 2,
col. 2, 1. 2; 181, n. col. 2, 1. 1, and 1. 11 from bottom; 182, n. 1, col. 1,1. 6 from
bottom ; 204, n. 2, col. 1, ll. 3 and 10, and 1. 2 from bottom ; 206, n. 4, col, 2, 1. 3 from
bottom ; 219, n. 3, col. 1, 1. 4 from bottom; 236, n. col. 1,1. 10 from bottom ; 267,
n. col. 1, 1.10; 292, n, 1, col.1, 1.10; 302, n.1, col. 1, Il. 6,12; 331, n. 1, col. 1,11;
332, n. 1, col. 1, 1. 1; 343, n. 2, col. 2, 1.1; 349, n. 3, eol. 2, 1. 1 from bottom.
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 ARISTOTLE
AND THE

EARLIER PERIPATETICS

CHAPTER X
[CHAP, IX. C. OF GERMAN TEXT]
Living Creatures

1. The Soul and Life

Wuart distinguishes living creatures from all others is
the Soul.' All life, in fact, consists in the power of self-
movement,’ that is, in a capacity inherent in a being of
effecting changes in itself: the simplest form of which
is confined, as in the case of plants, to nutrition, growth,
and decay.? But every movement implies two elements
! De An. i. 1, 407, a, 4: the évuTapxn povov, Civ avrd paper,
investigation into the nature of oloy vovs, atoOnos, xlynots Kar
the soul is of the highest value ordois ) Kara Témov, ert Klynots
for science, pdAtora 5¢ mpds thy kata tpophy Kal pOlois re Kab
giow* Fort yap olov apxh trav abinots, 3 kal ra pudueva wdvta
(pov [%) Wyn). Soxet Civ" palvera: yap éy adrois
2 Thid. ii. 1, 412, b, 16, ef. a, Exovta Sivauiw Kal apxhy ro.abrny,
27, and see infra. 5: js abinoly te kal POlow Aau-
* Tbid. ii, 2, 413, a, 20: A€yo- Bdvovot . . . od8eula yap aibrois
bev obv . . . BiwploOa Td EuWvxov brdpxer Sivauis BAAN Woxijs. As
Tov abixou TE Cv. wAcovaxas 5é this lowest form of life presents
Tov (hv Aeyoucvou, kby Ev Tt TOUTwY itself wherever the higher is (sce
VOL. II.

~h
~“
2 ARISTOTLE

—something that moves, and something that is moved:

form and matter; and if a thing moves itself, it must
contain this duality within itself.' Hence every being
that has life must be a compound being; and if we call
the material part, which is subject to motion, the body,
it will follow that the form, which is the cause of
motion, has a being separate from and independent of
the body.2. And as the form in general is identified with
the efficient and the final cause, this being may also be
said to be the final aim or end of the body.’ The form
thus considered as motive or efficient force is called by
Aristotle ‘ Entelechy ’; ‘and hence he defines the Soul as

infra) it may be treated as the Metaph. viii. 3, 1043, a, 35. Ari-

universal mark of a living thing ; stotle had already described the
ibid. c. 1, 412, a, 13: ray de soul in the Hudemus as etdés 71;
gvoikav [sc. cwudrwv] Ta mev exer see i. 383 sq., supra.
Cwhv Ta 8 ovn Exer* (why 5& A€yo- 3 De An. ii. 4,415, b, 7, where
pev Thy 8 abtov [abtod] tpophy after the passage quoted,i,356, n.
Tre kal avtinow Kal Plow. On the 1, sup., he goes on, 1.12: rt wer ody
other hand, De An. i. 2, 403, b, ws ovaia[sc. aitla early h Wuxh])
25 (7d eupuxov 8h Tod abdxov SjAov’ 7d yap altiov Tov elvat
dvoty =pddwcra Siapépew Soxei, raow ) ovola, To bE Civ Tots Gaot
Kiwhoet Te Kal TE alcOdved Bat), ex- To elval éoriv, aitia 5€ Kal apxh
presses merely the popular view, TOUTwY 7] WuxXh. ert ToD Suydpe
not the technical definition, of bvTos Adyos 7) evTEeAexela. pavepoy
life. 8 &s kal ob Evexey H Wuxh airia*
' See p. 4, n. 1, infra. domep yap 6 vots Evekd Tov Trotet,
2 De An. ii. 1, 412, a, 15: Toy avToy Tpdmov piots, Kal TOUT’
bore way cua pvoikdy peréxov éotw auth TEéAOS. To.wovToy 8 ev
(wis ova.a dy efn, ovola 8 ott ws ws Tois (gos ) Wuxy Kot [2] Kara
auv0ern* érel § éori copa Tasvde" pvow’ mavTa yap TA puvolKa ow-
[TRENDELENBURG: gc@pa kal para THS Wuxns Upyava .. . ws
Toovel; TORSTRIK: kai a. roidvde], evexa THS Wux7s bvTra. He then —
(why yip €xov, obk by etn Td capa goes on to show, what is a matter
Wuxh. ob ydp éott TaY Kad’ bro- of course, that the soul is an
Kemevov TO aaua, wadrdAoy 8 ws efficient cause. Part. An. i. 1,
troxelucvoy Kal An. avayKatoy &pa 641, a, 25: the ovcia is both effi-
Thy Wuxhv ovctay eivar ws eldos cient and final cause; rotovroy dé
owpuatos gvoiov Suvduer (why 700 (gov rot aca H Wx} 7} mépos
éxovtos. Part. An. i. 1, 641, a, TL QUTHS.
14-32; Gen. An. ii. 4, 738, b, 26; 4 Cf, i. 379, supra,
 PHYSICS 8

the Entelechy, or more accurately as the lirst Entelechy,

of a natural body endowed with the capacity of life.'
This again applies to none but organic bodies, the
members of which are designed for some definite pur-
pose and serve as instruments
special functions.? The Soul accordingly is the First
' De An, ii. 1, Aristotle pro-
ceeds: 7 8 ovala évreAdéxera [the
form is the efficient force].
rowvrov tpa oéuaros évred€exeia.
The expression ‘entelecheia’ has,
however, a double sense: at one
time it is the power of action
that is understood by it; at
another, the activity itself (the
standing example of the former
meaning is émorjun, of the latter,
Oewpeiv; seeibid., and cf. Metaph.
ix. 6, 1048, a, 34 ; Phys. viii. 4, 255,
a, 833; De Sensu, 4, 441, b, 22;
Gen. An. ii. 1, 735, a, 9; TREN-
DELENBURG, De An. 314 sq.;
Bonirz, Arist. Metaph. ii. 394).
The soul can be called entele-
cheia only in the former sense
(that of the power), seeing that
it is present even in sleep; this
is what is meant by the addition
mpwrn, When in 1. 27 it is said:
Wuxh eotw evredéxeia 7 MpaeT
cdparos pvaoikod duvdue: (why Exov-
vos, for the power always pre-
cedes the activity.
* Aristotle proceeds, 1. 28:
rowiro bt [sc. durvduer (why Exor],
&y # dpyaviKdy, adding that the
parts of plants also are organs,
though very simple ones (cf.
Part. An. ii. 10, 655, b, 37). On
the definition of organic life cf.
the passage quoted by TRENDE-
LENBURG in loco; Part. An. i. 1,
642, a, 9: as the axe to fulfil
its purpose must be hard, obrws
kat drmel 7d caua vpyavoy (evend
for the fulfilment of
Tos ‘yap €xaorovy Tay poplwy,
duolws 5& Kal rd bAov) avdyKn Upa
Towovdt elvat kal ex Towyvdl, ei éxeivo
éorar. Ibid. i. 5, 645, b, 14: eel
dé 7d wey bpyavoy way Everd Tov, Td
5 of Evena mpatls tis, pavepdy Sri
kal rd civoAov cama ouvéornKe
mpatews Twos €vexa mAhpovs. As
the saw exists for the sake of
sawing, so Td aud mws THs WuxIs
Evexev, Kal Ta popia T@V Epywy mpds
& wéguxev Exacrov. Ibid. ii. 1,
646, b, 10 sqq.: of the constitu-
ent parts of living things some
are homogeneous, others hetero-
geneous (see i. 517, n. 6, supra) ;
the former, however, exist for the
sake of the latter; éxelywy [sc.
TaY Gyouotomep@y] yap Epya Kal
mpaters eiciv . . . Sidmep CE doTav
kal veipwy &C. guverThKact Te
dpyavika Tov popiwy. Tbid. ii. 10,
655, b, 387: plants have only a
few heterogeneous parts; mpds
yap oAlyas mpdtes dAlywy dpydvev
n xpnots. the ‘organic’ parts of
the body, therefore, are those
which serve a definite purpose;
for this use of the word see, e.g.
Gien. An. ii. 4, 739, b, 14: rots
dpyavikois mpos Thy guvovoiay
peoplois, TIngr, An. 4, 705, b, 22:
boa pey yap dpyavikois mépeot xpa-
neva. (Aéyw 8 oloy wooly i) mréputw
Tit GAAw ToLOdT@P) Thy cipnuevny
peraBordy [locomotion] moeira
boa 5€ wh To1wvTaLs poplas,
ait@ 5€ TH owpart Fiadrppes
roiovmeva mpucpxetat. All the
B2
4 ARISTOTLE

Entelechy of a Natural Organic Body.! This definition

does not, indeed, apply to the higher portion of the
Soul, which in the human spirit is added to its other
parts. With this, however, Natural Philosophy has
nothing to do: it is rather the subject-matter of the
‘First Philosophy.’ ?
The soul, considered as the form and moving prin-
ciple of the body, must itself be incorporeal ;* and here
Aristotle contradicts the interpreters of his theory who
represent it as being material in nature. It does not
move itself, as Plato thought, for then it would be a
motum as well as a movens, and every motum exists in
space. Nor is it a harmony of its own body ;° for such
a harmony would be either a union or a proportionate
mixture of different materials, and the soul is neither
one nor the other: the notion of harmony is better
suited to physical conditions, such as health, than to
the soul.6 Again, it is not a number that moves itself,
parts of a living body, however, pavepdv.
serve some active purpose. 4 De An. i. 3, 404, a, 21, c: 4,
1 De An. ii. 1, 412, b, 4: € 408, a, 30 sqq. The further
34 Te Kowdy éeml maons Puxis det reasons that are urged against
Aéyew, ein dy evTeAéxera 7] WPOTY this view we must here pass over.
cdpatros puotkod dpyavikov, and a On the Platonic conception of a
similar definition is given, l. 9 world-soul see i. 459, n. 5, supra.
sqq.: it is the Adyos [or the ovata 5 On this assumption, cf.
Kata Tov Adyov| THuaTOS PuatKo ZELLER, Ph. d. Gr. i. 413.
rowovdl ExovTos apxny KwiTews Kar 5 De An. i. 4 init. 408, a, 30,
OTAMEWS EV EAUTH. where this conclusion is sup-
2 See on this subject Part. ported with further arguments, cf.
An. ti, 1, 641, - a,: 172) 10% PHILOP. De An. EK, 2,m, (Ar. Fr.
cf. De An. i. 1, 403, a, 27, b,¥ 41): Kéxpnra 5€ kal ards 6
sqq., li. 2, 413, b, 24. *AptororéAns .. . €v TE EvVOHpwp
®§ See p. 2, n. 2, supra. De TG diarsyw Sto emixeiphoeor Tav-
Juvent. 1, 467, b, 14: dHAev brt TOS. MiG bev otTwS* TH Gpuoria,
obx oldy 7° civat oGua Thy ovoiav gnoly, €orl te evaytiov, 7 avap-
avis [THs WuxIs|, GAA’ Buws Bri *y’ pootia* TH dt Wuxi ovdéy évaytior *
éy Ti TOU TmuaTos brdpxe popig, ovk apa 7 WuxH apuov’a eorly’..,
 PHYSICS 5

for it does not move itself, and if it were a number it

certainly could not do so.' It is not some one sort of
material, as Democritus thought, nor a mixture of all
materials, as Empedocles held :? for if it were a mate-
rial it could not spread through all parts of the body,*
since two bodies cannot coexist in the same space ; and
if the soul must contain all materials, in order that it
may be able to perceive them all, the same argument
would oblige us to ascribe to it all combinations of
materials in order that it may know all. We cannot
identify it with the air we breathe, since all living crea-
tures do not breathe.‘ Nor is it diffused through all sorts
of matter,’ since simple bodies are not living creatures.
The soul, then, is not in any sense corporeal,

Seurépg 5é* tH apuovia, pol, rod
Téparos évaytioy early 7 dvapnootla
Tov odéparos* dvapuoorla b& Tod
éuixou c@uaros vocos Ka dobévera
kal aloxos. dv 7d wey dovumerpla
éotl tay croixelwy 7 vdoos, Td BE
Tav Suoiopepay 7 aobévera, Td Se
Tay dpyaviKxay Td aloxos, [On this,
however, see i. 517, n. 6, eupra-}
ei tolvuy % dvapuoorla vécos K
dobévera cal aloxos, ) dpuovla kpa
byela Kal icxds Kal KdAAOS. Wx}
Be obdéy eat ToiTwy, ore iyela
onl obre irxds obre KaAAOS* WuxXhy
yap elxev wal 6 @epoitns alaoxioros
dv. ov kpa éorly } Wuxh apuovla,
kal radra wey ev éxelvos. THEMIST.
De An. 44 sp.; Simei. De An.
14, a, 0, and OLYMPIODURUS in
Phed, p. 142, also mention this
argument from the Ludemus.
' Ibid. 408, b, 32 sqq.; cf.
ZELL. Ph. d. Gr. i. 871, 2.
* On the former of these
views see De An. i. 5 init. c. 3,
406, b, 15 sqq, c. 2, 403, b, 28, and
Ph. d.G@r.i. 807 sq.;on the latter,
De An. i. 5, 409, b, 23 sqq. c. 2,
404, b, 8, Ph.d. Gr.i. 725. Only
one of Aristotle’s many objections
to the theory of Empedocles is
here given.
* As it is obvious that the
nutritive and sensitive soul at
least does, from the fact that
when a plant or an animal is cut,
life remains in all parts alike so
long as its organic conditions are
present; De An. i. 5, 411, b. 19,
ii, 2, 413, b, 13; cf. i. 4, 409, a,
9; Longit. V. 6, 467, a, 18; Jur.
et Sen. 2, 468, b, 2 sqq. 483.
* De An. i. 5, 410, b, 27.
5 Aristotle attributes this
view first to Thales, but identifies
it specially with Diogenes of
Apollonia and Heraclitus; cf.
De An. i. 5, 411,a, 7 sqq.; also
c. 2, 405, a, 19 sqq. and ZELL.
Ph. d.Gr.i. pp. 178, 2; 238; 240;
587, 2; 642 sy.
6 ARISTOTLE

and none of the attributes peculiar to corporeal sub-

stances can be ascribed to it. On the other hand, it
cannot exist without a body.! Aristotle is even anxious
to indicate the particular matter in which it resides,
and which it carries with it as it passes from one being
to another in the process of procreation. This he
describes at one time as Caloric (@zppov), at another as
Pneuma, regarding it as alien to the ether, and of a
higher nature than the four elements; but he is wholly
unable to give any clear account of its qualities, or
to harmonise this conception with the general teaching
of the Physics.” The only right view is that the soul is
1 De An. ii. 1, 418, a, 4: dre Mev xwpicrdy by céuaros, Sols
bev ovv ovK oT 7] WUXH XwpioTH eumepiAauBdavetar Td Oeiov (ToL10vTOS
TOU THmaToS, 7) Mepn Ta adTHs, él 5° éorly 6 Kkadrovmevos vovs), Td 8
Mepiorh mwépuKey, ovk &SndAov . . . axwpirrov, TovTe Th omépua [with
ov phy GAN’ Enid ye odvOeyv KwAdvet, WIMMER read o@pa] tis yovijs
dia TH NOevds elves Tdmaros eyTe- Siadverar xal mvevpatovra: pvdoww
Aexelas. Cf. Gen. An. ii. 3, 736, éxov bypay Kal mvevuarwdn, As
b, 22 sqq. 737, a, 7 sqq. and p. the material in which the soul
4, n. 3, supra, and p. 8, n. 1, infra. resides is here expressly distin-
* The principal passage upon guished from the elements, it is
the subject is Gen. An. ii. 3, 736, naturally thought of as ether,
b, 29: wdons pév ody Wuxis Sivauis which elsewhere (see i. 476, n. 2,
ET EpOU THUATOS COLKE KEKOLYWYNKEVAL and 477, n. 1, swp7a) is described in
Kal @Qeorépov Tay Kadoumévwv almost identical terms. Buton the
oroxelwy: as 5é Siapépovar Timid- other hand the ether is neither
TnT. ab Yuxal Kal ariuia dAAHAwYr, hot nor cold, nor as the element
oftw Kal 7 To.adTn Siapéper pvots. of the immutable spheres can it
mdvTwy pey yap ev TE owépuare ever enter the region of the
évuTapxelt, Sep more? yovisa eivar earthly changes of birth -and
Ta TTWEpuata, T KaAOUpEVOY DEpudr. death (see i. 473 sq. supra, and
Toute 8 ov wip ode To1adry Sivauts the admirable discussion in
€oTW, GAAG Td CurrepiAauBayduevoy MEYER'S Arist. Thierk. 409 sqq.).
€v TH omwepuatt kal ev TE abpwder Even if, relying upon De Calo,
mvevpa kal ) ev TE mvedmaTi vais, i. 2, 269,a,7 (on which, however,
dvddoyov otaa Te Tay oTpwr see i. 474, n. 1, supra), we suppose
aro.xelw. It is not fire but heat, (with KAMPE, Hrkenntnissth, d.
whether of the sun orof animals, Ar, 23) that it is forcibly injected
that generates life. 7d 5€ ris into the organic germ, the ques-
yoviis THua, ev @ ocvvaméepxerat Td tion would still remain how we
om epua To Tis Yuxikhs apxis, Td are to explain such a process
 PHYSICS
the form of its body, since the form cannot exist with-
out the matter to which it belongs, and yet it is not
and how the evolution which
we must ascribe to the omépua
Tis WuxiKhs apxis, whether we
take diadveo@a as referring to
the germ itself or only to the
yovh, is consistent with the
immutability of the zther (i. 476,
supra). The material in question,
moreover, is never described as
wether. It is merely compared
with it. Nor, indeed, does Ari-
stotle ever speak of an zthereal
matter, but only of vital heat
and vital breath, as residing in
the body. Similarly De Vita,
4, 469, b, 6: mdvta 5t Ta pdpia
kal way 7d cGua trav (dwy txe
Twa ciupuToy Oepudrnta puoikiy* cooling da thy év tH Kapdia rijs
whence the heat of the living, Wuxiis eumripwow. c. 21 wmit.:
the coldness of the dead, body.
dvarykaiov 8) rabrns thy dpxhy Tis
Oepudrntros ev Th Kapd'q ois
évaiwois elvat, trois 5’ dvaluos ev
T®@ dvddoyov’ épyd(era: yap Kal
WETTEL THE HPvtTiKe@ Oepug Thy Tpophy
mwdvra, udAwora bE Td KUpimTaTor.
With the heat of the heart life
too becomes extinct, 5a 7d Thy
apxhv evredOey rijs Oepudrntos
hpticba wact, kal ris puxis domwep
eumemupeupévns ey Tois moplois
rovros [the heart is as it were
the hearth on which the soul's
fire burns] . . . dvdy«n rolvuy
Gua 76 Te Civ iwdpxew Kal Thy ToD
Bepuovd tovTov owrnp'ay, Kal Toy
Kadovmevoy Odvarov elvat Thy TébTOV
pbopdy. Part. An. ii. 3, 650, a,
2: as it is only by heat that food
can be digested, all plants and
animals require an a&px? Gepuod
gvonh. c. 7, 652, a, 7 sqq.: the
soul is not fire but resides in a
fiery body, heat being its chief
instrument in the performance
of its functions of nourishment
7
and motion. iii. 5, 667, b, 26:
Thy Tov Oepuod apxhy avaryKaiov ev
TG a’t@ térw [as the sensitive
soul] elva. De Respir. c. 8, 474,
a, 25, b, 10: 7d Gv Kal H Tis
Wuxiis ekis peta Oepudrnrds tivds
éoTw ... mupl yap épyd (era: mdyra.
This heat resides in the heart.
The other faculties of the soul
cannot exist without the nutri-
tive, nor the nutritive dvev 700 ov-
oikod mupds* ev TolT@ yap h pivots
éumemipevkey avThy. c. 13, 477,
a, 16: the higher animals have
more heat; Gua yap dvayen Kal
Wuxiis TeTuXNKEvaL Timiwrépas. C.
16,478, a, 28: all animals require
Tov Oepuov, ev @ H apxh 7H Operrinh
(which, 480, b, 1, is also called
mip). Ibid. c. 17, 479, a, 7 sqq.:
the apxh Tis (wis gives out bray
bh Karapixynta Td Oepudy td
Koivwvouv abris. When, there-
fore, through old age the lungs
(correspondingly the gills) grow
dry and stiff, the fire (i.e. the
vital heat) gradually dies away
and is easily put out altogether.
5d yap 7d OAlyov elvas Td Oepudy, -
Gre rov wAelorov diamemvevedtos
ey TG TWANVE THS Cwis,... TaXéws
amrocBévvura. De An. ii, 4 fin.:
epyacera 3 thy wépw 7d Oepudr:
5d wav Fupuxoy Exe Oepudryra.
Gen. An, ii. 1, 732, a, 18: the
higher animals are larger ; roto
5 obk advev Oepudtnros Wuxixijs.
c. 6, 743, a, 26: H 88 Oepudrns
evumdpxe: ev TH TWEPMATIKG TWepiT-
tépmart, 744, a, 29: man has the
purest @Oeppdrns ev Ti Kapdig.
Cf. Gen. An. ii. 4, 740, b, 29:
the nutritive power of the soul
forms and feeds plants and ani-
 8 ; ARISTOTLE
itself material.' This enables us to answer the question
about the unity of soul and body. heir relation to
one another is just the same as that which subsists
mals, xpwuevn oiov dpydvois Bepud-
TnT. Kal WuxpéTrnrt. According to
Gen. An. iii. 11 (see i. 460, n. 3,
supra) the vital heat resides in
the mvevdua, the apyy Tov mvevuaros
(De Somno, 2, 456, a, 7) in the
heart, from which all animal
heat proceeds; in those animals
which have no heart, & Té
avddoyov To aiupuToy mvedua
dvapvodmevoy Kal aovvidvoy ai-
vera (ibid. 1. 11). This mvedua
stupuroy, which is a natural and
inherent property, not an external
adjunct, of animals, is frequently
mentioned, as in Gen. An. ii. 6,
744, a, 3, v. 2, 781, a, 23 (ZELLER,
Ph. d. Gr.i. 16, 659, b,17), where
we are told that it pervades the
channels of hearing andsmell, and
is the medium by which sounds
and smells are conveyed to their
respective senses ; Part. An. iii.
6, 669, a, 1, where it is said that
in the case of bloodless animals,
which have less internal heat
and do not require to breathe,
the mvevua ciuurov is sufficient
for purposes of cooling. As, how-
ever, according to the above, it
is also the seat of animal heat,
the phrase must be understood in
the sense explained in Respir. 9,
474, b, 31 sqq., to mean that
cooling, in the case of such non-
respirating animals as require
more than that caused by the air
or water that surrounds them, is
produced by the expansion and
contraction of the mvedua Euguroy,
which in turn, by setting in
motion the abdominal membrane
which produces, e.g., the chirp of
the cricket, causes it to act asa
fan (for this is the sense in
which we must understand 475,
a, 11, 669, b, 1). Beside these
passages, the statement in Gen.
An. ii. 3, stands rather isolated.
Granting that the céua deidrepov
tav oroixelwy there spoken of is
distinguished from the mvedyua in
which it resides (4 év r@ mvebmari
pvois), it is yet hardly possible
to attribute to it an zthereal
nature. The truth seems rather
to be that Aristotle here feels a
want which his philosophy as a
whole does not enable him to
supply.— The writer of the
spurious treatise m. Myveduaros
discusses the nature of the
mvevua Euputov, though he by no
means confines himself to this
subject. He gives no indication,
however, of the view he held of
its material character.—The ques-
tion of the relation of Aristotle’s
assumptions with regard to the
mvevua to his doctrine of the
Nous is for later discussion (see
Ch. XI. on the Reason, infra).
1 See p. 2, n. 2, supra, and
Metaph. vii. 10, 1035, b, 14: émel
de TeV Cdwv Yuxh (TOdTO yap
ovala Tov eubdxov) 7) Kara Tov
Adyov ovala Kat Td eldos Kal Tori
hv elvar TE Togde cduartt. c. 11,
1037, a, 5: the body is the #An,
the soul the otela » mpérn. viii. 3,
1043, a, 35. De An. ii. 2, 414, a,
12: as the form is everywhere
distinguished from the matter
which receives it, so is the soul
TovTo @ (Guev Kal aicbavdueba Kat
diavoobmeda mpdrws, Sorte Adyos Tis
dv ef Kal eldos, GAA’ ovx BAN Kal
To wtmokeluevov* tpixas yap Ae-
 PHYSICS 9

between form and matter.' To ask whether soul and

body are one, is just as ridiculous as to ask whether
the wax and the form impressed upon it are one. They
are and they are not: they are separable in thought,
inseparable in reality.? Life is not a combination of
soul and body,’ and the living being is not some-
thing joined together of these two parts;* but the
soul is the active force that operates in the body, or, if
you will, the body is the natural organ of the soul. We
cannot separate them any more than we can separate
the eye and eyesight.’ None but a living body deserves
the name of body,® and a particular soul can only exist
inits own particular body.’ Therefore the Pythagorean
youevns Tijs ovalas, Kabdmep etrouer, % As perhaps the Platonists
ay Td wev eldos, Td SE HAn, Td 5E CF defined it, consistently with the
dupoiv* rovtwy 3 % wey bAn diva- account of death in Phedo, 64, ©.
pus, Td 5 eldos evreddxeia* eel 5t * Metaph. viii. 6, 1045, b, 11.
To & duoiv Eupuxoy, od 7d cand Top. vi. 14 init.: Gv and the (Gor
eat evTedéxeia Wuxis, GAA’ airy are not a ovyveots } cbvderuos of
odéparés twos. Kat $1 ToUTO KaAGs soul and body.
brodapBdvovow, ois doxet wht’ tvev 5 De An. ii. 1,413, a,1: as 3’
odparos elva: pire caud Te 7 H bWis kal 7) Sbvauts Tod dpydvou 7H
Wxh. cGua pev yap otk eon, Wuxh [sc. evredéxerd eorw]* 7d
odparos 5€ rt. De An. ii. 1, 412, 5 cGma Td Suvduer bv* GAA’ Gowep
b, 11 sqq. thus illustrates: if the 5 dpOadrpds H Kdpn Kal H dis, Kane
axe were a creature, its nature as nH Wuxh Kal rd copa Td CGor.
an axe would be its soul; if the 6 Ibid. 412, b, 11, 20, 25.
eye were a separate being, its Part. An. i. 1, 640, b, 33 sqq. 641,
eyesight (dys) would be its soul, a, 18. Gen. An. ii. 5, 741, a, 10.
airn yap oicia bpbaduod H Kara Meteor. iv. 12, 389, b, 31, 390, a,
tov Adyov. 5 8 dpOadruds GAH 10. Metaph. vii. 10, 1035, b, 24.
bWews, hs amrodcrrovans oi Forw 7 De An. ii. 2, 414, a, 21 (fol-
bpParyuds. The soul is to the body lowing on the passage quoted p. 8,
as sight is to the eye. n.1, supra): kal 51 rovTo év touart
' See i. 351, n. 1, supra. brdpxet, kal év od@pati Towvry, Kal
2 De An. ii. 1, 412, b, 6: the ovx domep oi mpérepovy eis tama
soul is the entelecheia of an evipunotovy abrhy, od8ev mpoadiopl-
organic body. 8: Kal od de? (yreiv Covres év rivt Kal mol, Kalrep ovde
ei &y % Wux? Kal 7d cama, borep pawouevov tod truxdvros béxerOa
ob’ roy Knpdy Kal 7d oxua, ovd’ 7) tuxdv. orw Be yiverat Kal Kara
bAws Thy Exdorou bAnv Kal 7d 0b BAN. Adyov: éxdorou yap H evTedéxera
10 5; ARISTOTLE

notion of one soul passing through bodies of the most

various sorts is just as absurd as if one should imagine
that one and the same art could use tools of the most
various kinds indifferently—that a flute, for example,
could be of the same use to a carpenter as an axe.!
The true essence of everything is its form, and the
essence of everything that comes into being is its
purpose or end.’ Living creatures are no exception to
this law. Every living creature isa little world,'a whole,
the parts of which subserve as instruments the purpose
of the whole.* But every instrument depends upon the
nature of the work for which it is designed; so the
body exists for the soul, and the qualities of every body
are determined by those of its soul.! Nature, like a

ev T@ Suvdper brapxovti kal TH oiKela bev réxvnv xphoba rots dpydvas,

vAn wépucey eyyiverOa. Cf. the
passages quoted, i.221,n.1, supra,
from Phys. ii.9, and elsewhere.
' De An. i. 3, 407, b, 13: most
writers (Aristotle is thinking
principally of Plato) make the
mistake of speaking of the union
of soul and body, ov@éy apoodiopt-
cavtes, bia tiv’ aitiay Kal mas
ExovTos TOU Témaros, Kaito. Sdzerev
dy tovT’ dvarykaiov elyar* Sid yap
Thy Kowwvlay To wey mores TH BE
mdoxer Kal Td wey Kivertar To BE
kwel, TovTwy 8 ov0ey imdpyer mpds
&AANAG Tois TvxXodoW, of SE udvor
€miXElpota A€yewv Toidv Tt 7) WUXh,
mept d€ Tov Setouevov cHuatos ovbey
Ett mpoodiopiCovoww, dowep évdexd-
Mevov Kata Tods Tv@ayopiKo’s
BvGous Thy Trvxodcay Wuxhy els Td
tuxdy évitecOa caua* doxel yap
exactov Siuov exew cidos kal
Mophiv, TapamAhcwv 5 Aێyovow
omep ef tis pain thy rexroviKhy
eis avAods evdverOar: Set yap Thy
Thy 5& Wuoxhy TE cHpam (cf. p.
8,n. 1, supra, ad fin.)
* See i. 375, n. 1, and i. 459,
sqq. supra. Theexpression, Part.
An. i. 1, 640, b, 28, % yap Kara
Thv moppiv tots Kupiwrépa Tis
bAiKIs picews, is used with refer-
ence to the above question of the
relation of soul and body.
% See p. 3, n. 2, supra, and
Phys, viii. 2, 252, b, 24: €i 8 év (do
tTovto Suvardv yevéoOa,Ti KwAvEL
TO avTd cuuBijva Kal Kata Td Tay ;
ei yap év uixp@ Kéoum yiverat, Kal
ev meydAw.
* Part. An. i. 1, 640, b, 22
sqq. concluding (641, a, 29):
ore Kat obtws dy Aexréov etn TE
mepl picews Oewpnrin@ wep) Wuxi
MGAAov 7) wept ris bAns, bow MaAAOV
h bAn Be exetvny pias éeorly }
avdmadiv, c. 5, 645, b, 14: eel 5é
Td wey ipyavoy way Evekd Tov, Ta
5é Tov owuatos poplwy Exacrov
evekd Tov, Td 5’ ov Evena mpat's ris,

“
e
 PHYSICS 11

judicious manager, gives to each the instrument it can

use.! Instead, therefore, of deducing the spiritual from
the corporeal, as the elder physicists had done, Ari-
stotle takes the opposite path, describing the soul’s life
_as the end and the body’s life as the means. While
Anaxagoras had said that man was the most rational
being because he had hands, Aristotle denies any truth
to this dictum unless it be reversed—man has hands
because he is the most rational being; for the instru-
ment must be fitted to its work, not the work to its
instrument.2 .The nature of the instrument is not,
indeed, a matter of indifference in respect to the result :
anything cannot be made out of any substance or by
any means;* but this does not negative the fact that
the choice of the instrument depends upon the purpose
in view.’ It is perfectly obvious that it does in the case

gavepoy bt: Kal td obvodAor capua * Part, An. iv. 10, 687,a, 7-23,
auvéotnke mpdteds Tivos €Evexa especially the words just after
mAhpous.... doT€ kal 7) caud rws the passage quoted above :' rpec-
Tis Wuxis Everev, kal TA udpia TOY ine yap Te byte abaAnrh dSovva
Epywv mpds & wépuKey Exacror. MGAAov abdAods 2) TE abdAods ExyorTs
Metaph. vii. 10, 1035, b, 14 sqq. mpocbeivat aAnriKhy’ Te yap pel-
De An. ii. 4; see p. 2, n. 3, supra. (ov. kal kupiwtépw mpoodeOnke Tod-
' Part. An. iv. 10, 687, a, 10: Aatrov, GAA’ ov TE eAdrrom Td
q 8t piois del Siavéuer, Kxabdrep Timim@repoy Kal meiCov....7T@ obv
GvOpwros ppdvmos, Exaoroy Te mwAeloras Suvapevp Sé~aoOa Téxvas
Suvapéevy xpiaba. Jhid. c.8, 684, 70 émt wAciorov Tay dpydvev xpii-
a, 28: h 8& picts arodldwow ae Tov Thy xEipa awodédwKev fh pvors.
Tois xpjvOa Svvauévois Exaorov 7) * See pp. 9, n. 7, and 10, n. 1,
uévws 7) wGAdror. iii. 1, 661, b, 26 supra.
sqq.: of those organs which serve ‘ There is, therefore, no real
for purposes of defence or are inconsistency between the doc-
indispensable to the support of trine previously laid down and
life, Exacta amodiiwaw ip pais the statements, Gen. An. ii. 6,
Tois Suvauévois xpicla pdvus 7) 744, a, 30, that man’s intelligence
MaAAoy, wdAwra 5 re wdALoTa. affords proof of the edxpacia of
Hence the female is usually the central organ of his life;
either wholly or in part unpro- Part. An. ii. 2, 648, a, 2 sqq. c. 4,
vided with defensive organs, 651, a, 12, that greater intelli-
12 ARISTOTLE

of organic beings. ‘The adjustment of means to end

which prevails in nature here displays itself in its fullest
perfection.’ ‘To them we may with most propriety
apply the axiom that Nature always produces the best
that was possible under the given circumstances.?
This working towards fixed ends begins to show itself
in the nutrition and development of organisms. Nutri-
tion is not a mere operation of warmth, as was supposed;
warmth may be important in the process, but it is
always the soul that regulates it and directs it to
a certain definite result.’ Nor can we adopt the theory
suggested by Empedocles for explaining the growth of
plants by saying that the fiery element tends upwards
and the earthy downwards in their composition ; if so,
gence is aconsequence of thinner conditioned result ; cf. Part. An.
and cooler blood; ibid. iv. 10, li. i, 646, a, 24. Further con-
686, b, 22, that the meaner in- sideration, however, reveals the
telligence of animals, children, logical difficulties in which we
and dwarfs is to be explained on are thus involved. The soul’s
the ground of the earthliness and development is said on the one
immobility of the organ which hand te be conditioned by the
their souls must employ; De capabilites of its body, the
Respir.13, 477, a 16, that warmer character of the body on the
animals have nobler souls, and other hand is conditioned by
De An. ii. 9, 421, a, 22, that man the requirements of the soul—
excels all other creatures in the which, then, is primary and con-
fineness of his sense of touch 6:0 ditioning ? If the soul, why has it
kal ppovinétaréy éeortt Tov Cow, not a body which permits a
and that among men those who higher development of its
are white, and therefore have a powers? If the body, how can it
more delicate sensibility, are be itself treated as though it
mentally more highly endowed were the mere tool of the soul ?
(cf. also Metaph. i. 1, 980, b, 23). 1 Meteor. iv. 12; see i, 468,
Mental activity may be pheno- n. 5, supra.
menally dependent upon certain * See the discussion, supra, i.
conditions which in turn exist p. 459 sqq. The statements there
only for its sake: that which in made refer forthe most part prin-
reality is the primary and con- cipally to the organic nature.
ditioning principle may appear 3 De An.ii. 4,416, a, 9: Soxe?
to follow in time as a later and dé Tig H TOD wupds Pdots amrAas
 PHYSICS 13

what keeps the two together and prevents their sepa-

ration?! The same applies to the structure of the
organism. It is impossible to explain even the origin
of organic creatures? on the supposition that their
separate parts are formed and brought together by a
blind and purposeless necessity, only those combinations
surviving which succeed in producing from an aimless
stream of matter a being adapted to an end and capable
of life.’ For chance produces only isolated and ab-
normal results. When, on the other hand, we are
dealing with the normal adaptations of Nature we are
forced to regard them as purposely designed by her
from the beginning.‘ But this is precisely what we
aitia tis Tpopis Kal rijs abgjoews mépn Exew ev TH pices, olov ros
elvat....70 d¢€ouvairtiov méev mas dddvras €& avdyKns dvareiAa Tovs
eo, ov phy amrAGs ye altiov, GAAG Mev €umpoobiouvs dteis, emitndelous
MaAAov H WexXh. wey yap Tov mpos Td Siapetv, rods 5 youdlous
mupds abimots eis &mreipov, ews by 7 mwAareis Kal xpnoiuous mpds Td Acai-
Td kavotoy, Tav Bt pice cuvicTa- vew Thy Tpophy, érel ov Tovrov
bévwy mdvtwy éo7) mépas Kal Adyos Evexa yevéoOat, GAARA oupmeceiy,
meyéOous Te kal abtjoews* Tavra duolws 5€ Kai wep) Tay LAAwY mepar,
bt Wuxiis, GAA’ od mupds, Kal Adyou év bcos Soxet imdpxew Td Everd
maAAor 4h bAns. Cf. p. 14, n, 2, inf; tov. Smov peéev oby &mayta ouvéBn
and upon afriov and ovvairior, su- domwep koy e€i Evexd tov éyivero,
vra, i. p. 360, n. 1, and p. 463, n.1, TAavUTA Mev €owON amd TOD abToudTou
1 Ibid, 415, b, 28 sqq. ovotdvTa émirndelws: boa be wh
2 As Empedocles tries to odtws, am@dAeTo Kai amddAuTaL,
do; see following note. We Kabdrep "EuwedoxAfs Aéyer Ta
cannot suppose, however, that Bovyevi) avipdmpwpa.
Empedocles (or any other of the ‘ *Addvaroy 5é [Aristotle an-
pre-Aristotelian philosophers) ex- swers, ibid. 198, b, 34] rodroy exe
pressed the theories of which he Tov TpdToY, TATA wey yap Kal mavTa
is chosen by Aristotle as therepre- 7a puoel i det ottw yivera }) ds
sentative, in so general a sense as emt Td word, Tv BF ard réxns Kal
is here attributed to him. Tov avToudrouv ovdéy. . . . ef ovv
* Phys. ii. 8, 198, b, 16, Ari- h ws amd cuprrduaros done F
Stotle starts the question: ti Evend Tov elvat, ef uh oldy Te TadT’
k@Ate: thy gdtow ph everd tov elvas phte amd ouprtdparos mht’
mo.eiy und’ St, BéAtiov, GAA’ Sowrep and Tabtoudrov, évexd tov by ey,
ter 6 Zeds Ke. [see i. 471, supra] In farther proof of design in
«.. ote ti kwddver otw kal Ta nature, he adds: é@r: évy bois
 14 ARISTOTLE

are doingin the case of a living being. What makes

a living body is not the separate material elements, but
their special and peculiar combination, the form of the
whole to which they pertain.' We cannot explain its
structure by the mere operation of elementary forces
working in matter, but only by the operation of the
soul, which employs these forces as instruments in giving
form to matter.? Nature makes only those organs that
are fitted for the purpose of each organism, and creates
them in order, according to their several uses.’ First
she forms the parts on which the life and growth of the
being depend ; * then the remaining most important parts
Tédos €or TL, TobTOU Eveka mpdr- Toovrdv eat olov pice Td (Gor,
TeTat To mpdtepoy Kal Td epetijs. kal Evert Suvdmer ta udpia evepyela
ovKOUY ws TpaTTETaL, OUTw TépuKeE, 3 ovév, . . wal Bri 7d woinridy
kal as mépuxey, oftw mpdrrerat Kol Td mwadntixdy, bray Olywow,
Exaorov by wh TL eumodi(n. mpdrre- . evO0S TO wey mote? TH DE Wao KXEL.
Tat 3° Everd tov: Kal népucey apa . domep 5& Ta brd THs TéxVNS
tovtTov évexa, Of. i. 462, n. 2, ywopmeva yiverat 5 TdY dpydver,
supra. éort 5 aAnbéorepoy eimeiy Sid THs
1 Part. An. i. 5, 645, a, 30: kwhoews abtav, airy 8 early 4
just as when we speak of a house evepyera THs Téxvns, H Se Téxv
or furniture, we mean, not the opp TaV yryvomevwy ev KAA, OU TWS
material of which it is made, H THs Opertixis Wuxjs dSvdvays,
but the Ay wopp}, so in the in- homwep kal ev abrois rots (dois Kar
vestigation of nature we speak tols putois torepoy ex THS Tpopis
rept THs cuvOécews Kal THs BANS mol tiv abigow, xpwuevn oiov
ovolas, AAAG wh wep) TovTaV & ph opydvots Oepudrnri: Kal Wuxpdrntt
ounBaiver xwpiCduevd more Tis (ev yap Tovrots H Klynots exelyns Kal
ovolas avTay. Ady tivl Exactov viverra) obtw Kal
2 Gen. An. ii. 4, 740, b, 12: ef apxijis cuvioryat Td pio yLyvd-
n Se Sidkpiows yiyveta Tov moplwy evov.
[in the formation of the foetus] 3 Thid. ii. 6, 744, a, 36: éme
ovX &s Tives brodauBdvovoat, dia Td 5 otPey moet meplepyor ovde wdrny 7
mepukevat pépecOa Td Buoroy mpos pvats, djAov ws 0d8’ Borepoy ovdE
Tb Guowv (and therefore as in mporepov. tata: yap Td ‘yeyovds
elementary processes); for in Marny 3} wepiepyov.
that case homogeneous parts, * In the lower animals the
flesh, bones, &c., would unite in heart or the organ that corre-
separate masses; GAA’ bri 7d sponds toit; Gen. An. ii. 1, 735,
mepittapma TO TOD OhAews Suvduer a, 23.
 PHYSICS 15

of the organism; and lastly the instruments which it

employs for special purposes.' The nutritive soul- is
developed first, as forming the common basis of all life ;
and next the several functions of the soul by which
each higher organism raises itself above that which
precedes it in the scale of being. First comes a living
_being, and next some special sort of being.? In
obedience to the same law the organism is dissolved in
the reverse order. That which life can least dispense
with dies last, the less vital organs first ; so that Nature
works round in a circle to her starting point.’ All parts
and functions of the living creature exhibit the same
proofs of contrivance, and can only be’ explained as
the product of design. Accordingly all Aristotle’s
researches into the corporeal nature of animals are
governed by this view. The essential and decisive
causes are always final causes,‘ and whatever leads in
the ordinary course of nature to a definite end must
have existed for that end.° He tries to prove that every
organ is just what it must have been in order to fulfil
its purpose in the best possible way according to the -
! Gen. An. ii. 6, 742, a, 16-h, 3 Thid. c. 5, 741, b, 18: that
6, c. 1, 734, a, 12, 26. the heart is the central organ is
2 Gen. An. ii. 3, 736, a, 27-b, seen at death ; awodciwe: yap 70d
14 (cf. 737, b, 17, c. 1, 735, a, 4 Civ evrevOey TeAevTaioy, cupBa‘ver
sqq.). As the inhabitant of a 5° éml wdvtwy 7d TEAcvTAioy yw-
material body, the soul may be Mevov mp@tov amodclrev, Td dé
said to exist potentially in the mpwrov TeAEuTaiov, omep Tis
seed. In the evolution of the picews Siavrdo0dpouotons kal dveAcr-
living being the nutritive soul Touevns emi Thy apxhy Bbev FAGev,
comes first, next the sensitive and tort yap mkv yéveots ek Tod ph
rational : first comes'a (gor, then bvros eis TH by, H BE POopa ex rod
a definite (gov, e.g.a horse ora ivros wiAw eis Td hy by.
man. borepoy yap ylverat 7d TéA0s, * CE. i. 459, sqq. supra,
TO 8 Yedv dors 7d Exdorov Tijs ® Cf. p. 17, infra,
yevéoews TéAos,
 16 ARISTOTLE

means at hand.! He points out how every animal is

provided with organs adapted to its mode of life, or
how the common organs of a tribe are modified to meet
its special needs.? Nor does he neglect the inter-
dependence of the different members: distinguishing
the principal organs which directly serve to fulfil the
end of life, from those which are added for their pro-
tection and maintenance ;* and remarking that Nature
always affords the strongest protection to the noblest
and the weakest parts,‘ that, where one organ is not
equal to its task, she makes or modifies another for the
purpose,® and that she places organs of opposite
character near one another, in order that each may
temper and supplement the action of the other.’ He
sees in the artistic instincts of animals an obvious

1 Proofs of this, the most im- bodies to enable other animals to

portant of which will call for
future discussion, are given
throughout the whole work De
Fart. An., and in many passages
of Aristotle’s other zoological and
anthropological works.
? Thus the elephant, being not
only a land-animal, but leading
also an amphibious life in mor-
asses, is provided with a proboscis
- that it may breathe more easily
under water; Part. An. li. 16,
658, b, 33 sqq. In like manner the
form of birds’ beaks depends
upon the nature of their food,
as is shown (bid. iii. 1, 662, b, 1,
sqq. iv. 12, 693, a, 10sqq.) in the
case of birds of prey, the wood-
pecker, the raven, grain- and
insect-eaters, water- and moor-
fowl. Dolphins, again, and sharks
(ibid. iv. 13, 696, b, 24) have the
mouth in the upper part of their
escape from them more easily, and
to prevent them from doing injury
to themselves by their voracity.
3 The flesh, for example, is
the principle organ of sense-
perception ; bones, on the other
hand, nerves, veins, skin, hair,
nails, &¢c., exist merely for its
sake, as is shown Part. An. ii. 8.
4 ZELLER, Ph. d. Gr. ii. 14,
658, b, 2 sqq., iii. 11. 673, b, 8,
iv. 10, 690, b, 9.
5 Thid. iv. 9, 685, a, 30.
6 Thid. ii. 7, 652, a, 31: aet
yap pio pnxavarat mpds Thy
Exdorou brepBoAhy BoyPeay Thy TOU
évavtiov mapedpiay, tva avicd(n Th
Oarépov imepBodAjy Cdrepoy, b, 16:
érel 8 Grayta Seira: ris évaytias
porhs, va tuyxdvn TOU peTplov Kal
Tov weoov: thus the head counter-
balances the heart.
 PHYSICS 17

example of unconscious contrivance in Nature.'| Nor

does he forget the influence of necessity, which here, as
elsewhere, cooperates with Nature in the realisation of
her designs.? Indeed, he expressly requires observers
of nature to make use of both causes in their explana-
tions.’ Still he holds fast to the belief that physical
causes are only means employed by Nature for her ends,
and that their necessity is only conditional; * nor does
he cease to marvel at the wisdom with which Nature
makes use of the materials suited to her purposes, and
overcomes the opposition of such as are antagonistic.
Like a good housewife, she employs the dregs and
refuse of animal life for beneficial purposes, and suffers
nothing to-be wasted.° She turns everything to the
best possible account;® if she can make one organ

1 Phys. ii. 8, 199, a, 20: 46, C; Div. i. 642, 6). In dis-

pdrwora St pavepdy em Trav (gov cussing individual parts of the
Tav tAdwy, & obre Téxvn ode body he frequently gives both
(nticavta = obre «=BovAevodueva sides in succession, e.g. Part. ii.
mover. S0ev Siamopoval tives WoT Epo 14, 658, b, 2: man has thicker
v@ h Tin BAA epydCovTa: of 7’ hair than any other animal, é
apdxva: kal of mipunkes Kal Ta ToOL- aydaynns wiv bia Thy bypdétyTa Tov
aita, Kata uixpoy 5’ ofrw mpoidyrs eykepddrov Kal dia Tas padas, .
kal éy trois puTois palverata cuue- évexey 5 Bonbelas, imws cxemd (wot,
povra ywdueva mpds Td TéAOS, olov &e.
Ta piAAa THS TOU KapwoU EveKa ‘The proofs have already
oxémns. bor ei pice: Te moe? Kal been given, i. 360, n. 1, supra,
vend Tov h XeAWav Thy veorTiay Kal 5 See i. 465, n. 2, supra.
bdpdxvns 76 apdxviov, kal Ta puTa ® Thus, forexample( Part. An.
Ta pidrAa Evexa TaV KapTay Kal Tas iii. 14, 675, b, 17 sqq.), the intes-
piGas ob tvw GAAE Kdtw Eveka Tijs tines are coiled tightly together,
Tpopijs, pavepdy bri early 7 aitla 7 brws tamedvnra ) pvois Kal wh
ToaiTn ev Tois pice: yivopévas Kal &Opdos 7} H Ekob0s TOU wepitTéparos,
otow, Of. i. 463, n. 1. especially in those animals which
2 See i. 360, n. 1, supra. are destined for a frugal manner
% Ibid, and Part. An, i. 1, of life. The same thought had
643, a, 14: d00 rpdro Tijs airias already been expressed in PLATO,
wal det Adyorras ruyxdvew udAora Tim. 72, E.
uty duo, &c, (Cf, PLATO, Tim.
VOL. Il,
 18 ARISTOTLE

serve, she does not give an animal several for the same
function ;' if she needs materials for strengthening one
member, she despoils another which appears less indis-
pensable ;* if she can achieve several objects by one
' Thus Aristotle explains without the latter as oddéy tvras
(Part: An. iii. 2) that different mpovpyou.
animals are provided with differ- 2 Gen. An. iii. 1, 749, b, 34:
ent means of defence, some with thin animals have a greater
horns, others with claws, some power of procreation; 7 yap eis
with size, others with fleetness, TA K@AG Tpoph TpeémeTat Tors
others again with repulsive TowovTos eis meplrtwua omeppa-
excrement; Gua 8 ixavas kal Tikdv' & yap éxeiey apaiper 7
mAelous Bonbeias ov Sédwkev 7 piots, mpootidnow évrava. Part.
vats Tots abrois. Again, ibid. iv. An. ii. 14, 658, a, 31: in long-
12, 694, a, 12, he remarks that tailed animals, the hairs of the
birds which have a spur are not tail are shorter, in short-tailed,
endowed with bent talons also; longer,’ and the same is true of
airiov & bri ovdty H pdais ore? the other parts of the body;
mweplepyov. Again, Respir. 10, mavtaxod yap amrodliwor [7 piois|
476, a, 6 sqq.: gills and lungs AaBovoa ErEpwHev mpds %AAO udpiov,
never exist together, éwel pwarny cf. ibid. c. 9, 655, a, 27: Gua be
ovbey ép@uev Towotcay Thy iow, Thy avThy dbrepoxhv eis mwoAAovs
duvoty 8 bvrow Odrepoy by hy warn ténous aduvaret Siaveuew H pvots.
(just before he says: ey 8’ ép’ &y For further explanations v.
ipyavov xphomoy). And again, Meyer (to whom I gratefully
Part. iii. 14, 674, a, 19 sqq.: ani- acknowledge my obligations for
mals which have more perfect much of this section), Arist.
masticating organs (i.e. aupe- Thierk. 468: ‘Nature employs
dovra) are supplied with a simpler the earthy refuse either for
digestive apparatus: those which horns or double rows of teeth’ -
are defective in the former (see Part, An. iii. 2, 663, b, 31,
respect, on the other hand, have 664, a, 8—or, as in the case of
several stomachs; after enume- the camel, for a hard palate,
rating several species of animals ibid. c. 14, 674, b, 2). ‘The
which belong to the former class, bear, which has a hairy body,
he proceeds, 674, a, 28: those must be content with a stunted
animals which, like the camel, tail (ibid. ii. 14, 658, a, 36). In
require more than one stomach the case of mammals, the earthy
on account of their great size material has been employed for
and the coarseness of their food, their tails, and accordingly, un-
form an exception to the rule; like man, they have no flesh upon
the teeth and stomach of the their legs (ibid. iv. 10, 689, b,
camel resemble those of horned 21). Sharks, again, require this
animals 6. 7d dvayKaidrepoy elvat earthy material to give their
a’Th Thy Kowrlav éxew roadbryny } skins the proper thickness, and
Tovs mpoobioys dddvras, it can do accordingly have mere gristle for
a

A
 PHYSICS 19
organ, she makes it do the work ;! although, when this
arrangement will not serve, she is no niggard in her
contrivances: * of the different materials which she has
at her disposal she employs the best upon the nobler
and the worse upon the less important members.* Even
in the cases where one cannot attribute any definite
utility to certain structures, they are not without a
design; for Aristotle thinks that their end may be

their skeletons (ibid. ii. 9, 655, bowep i} Xadkevtixh mpds ebréAciav

a, 23).’ Meyer quotes further dBeAtoKoAlyvioy* (on this GOrT-
examples from Part. An. ii. 13, LING, De Machera Delphica, Ind.
657, b, 7, iv. 9, 685, a, 24. Cf. lect. Jen. 1856, p. 8); GAA’ darov
also Part. An. iii. 2, 663, a, 31. Mh evdéxerat Kataxpirat TH ate
' Thus the mouth, besides éml mrelw Epya. Polit. i. 2, 1252,
the common purpose of eating, b, 1: od0éy yap H pdots more? ToL0d-
serves various other ends in the Tov olov xadKoTimo: Thy AcApuchy
various animals, and is thus Mdxapay [GOTTLING, ibid.;
variously formed ; 7 yap pvois . . . ONCKEN, Staatsl. d. Ar. ii. 25,
Tois Kowois mdvTwy woplos eis TOAAG who both fail, however, to give
tav idiwy Karaxpita... h 8 a complete account of the matter]
giois mdvra ouvtyayev eis by, mevixp@s, GAA’ Ev mpds Ev: oftw
mwowtoa Siapopay ab’tov rod popiou yap by amoreAoiTo KdAAoTa Tay
mpos tas tis épyaclas diaopds. dpydvwv Exacroyv, uh modrdois Epyors
(Part. An. iii. 1, 662, a, 18, cf. GAN’ év) SovActov. MEYER, Arist.
Respir. c. 11 init.) Likewise Thierk. 470, rightly remarks that
thetongue (Respir.ibid.; Part. ii. these statements are inconsistent
17). Thehand (Part. iv. 10, 687, with the principles of the parsi-
a, 19) is obx tv dpyavoy aAdrAa mony of nature as previously
TOAAG* Eat: yap wowepel Ypyavov laid down, and even although
mpd dpydvev (cf. De An. iii. 8, we grant that it is possible to
432,a,1); it is (b, 2) nal byvt Kal find, with Aristotle, a basis of
xnAh Kal Képas Kal Sdépv Kal Elpos reconciliation in the phrase Sov
Kal &AAo drovovoiy SrAov Kal bpyavov, évdéxerat, we cannot deny that
&c.; and similarly the breasts of there is a certain arbitrariness in
women, Part. An. iv. 10, 688, a, the way in which it is applied.
19 sqq., the trunk of the ele- * Gen. An. ii. 6,744, b, 11sqq.,
phant, ibid. ii. 16, 659, a, 20, and where Nature’s management is
the tails of animals, ibid. iv. 10, compared in this respect with
690,a, 1 (among other passages). that of a household in which the
? Part. An. iv. 6, 683, a, 22: free members receive the best
bmrov yap évdéxerar xpioOa dvoly food, the servantsa coarse quality,
ém 50’ Epya wal uh eumodiCew mpds and the domestic animals the
Erepov, oddiy H pics elwhe moreiv worst, ,
c2
 20 ARISTOTLE

fulfilled in the very symmetry and perfection of their

form,' and that this explains why many animals have
organs, or at least the indications of them, which they
do not use.? It is only where he cannot discover the
least trace of purpose that our philosopher can bring
himself to explain a phenomenon by chance or blind
necessity.*

1 He treats it, for example, where the hairs of the tail of

as a universal law that all the
organs should be in pairs (d:pv7),
seeing that the body has a right
and a left, a front and a back,
an upper and a lower (Part. An.
iii. 7 init. c. 5, 667, b, 31 sqq.).
Even where to all appearance
there is only a single organ, he
exerts himself to prove that it is
double (ibid. 669, b, 21: Sidmep
kal 5 éyxépados BovAcrar Simepis
elvat mact kal Tay aicOnrnpiwy
txacrov. Kara Toy abrdy dé Adyor
h Kapdia rais KoAlus. Likewise
the lungs). Another typical law developed in these, is yet found
is that the nobler parts, where it to exist in all (mdéupixpoy dSomep
is possible, should be in the upper onuciov xdpv) as a kind of
part, in front and on the right as
the better position (Part. An. iii.
3, 665, a, 23, b, 20, c. 5, 667, b,
34, cf. c. 7, 670, b, 30, c. 9, 672,
a, 24, c. 10, 672, b, 19 sqq.); so,
likewise, that the locomotive
impulse (the a&px?) should pro-
ceed for the same reason from
this quarter (Jng7. An. 5, 706, b,
11); cf. Ch. X. on Animals. The
same esthetic conception of
Nature’s contrivances is expressed
in the observation, Part. An. ii.
14, 658, a, 15 sqq., that men are
better protected in front than
‘behind, the front being the nobler
(riuwrépa) side, and therefore
demanding stronger defences;
and in 1. 30 of the same paasage,
the horse and other animals are
described as merely ornamental.
* The hind, while it has no
horns, has teeth like the stag,
because it belongs to a horned
class; and similarly in certain
species of crabs the female has
claws which belong properly
only to the male, 8m: év 7@ yéver
eiot TH ExovtTt xnAds (Part. An.
ili, 2, 664, a, 3, iv. 8, 684, a, 33).
Again, spleen, which is a neces-
sity only to viviparous animals,
and is therefore more strongly
counterpoise to the liver, which
is on the right side of the body
and therefore requires something
to correspond to it on the left,
bor’ avayratov pév ws, wh Alay 3
elvai maot Tots (pois ( Part. An. iii.
7, 669, b, 26 sqq. c 4, 666, a, 27,
cf. H, An. ii. 15, 506, a, 12).
Similarly the monkey, belonging
as it does to the four-footed
races, is endowed with a tail
bcov onuelov xapiv, H. An, ii. 8,
502, b, 22, c. 1, 498, b, 13. Cf.
MEYER, p. 464 sq.; EUCKEN,
Meth. d. arist. Forsch. 104 sqq.,
Si.
3 A purposeless creation of
this kind (repitrwua) he finds in
the gall (Part, An. iv. 2, 677, a,

Cha
S-
e
 PHYSICS 21

This prevalence of design in nature shows itself, as

we have seen before (i. 466 sqq.), in a gradual pro-
gression, a continual process of development. The
various functions of the soul and life are not shared by
all living creatures in equal perfection, but different
forms of animation, and different parts of the soul, may
be distinguished, which determine the gradations of
animate life. Plants are confined to nutrition and pro-
pagation ; the nutritive soul alone is active in them.'
Beasts add to this the sensitive soul, for sensation is the
most universal mark of distinction between beasts and
plants.2 The lowest form of sensation, common to all
animals, is the sense of touch; here begins the feeling
of pain and pleasure, and the appetites, among which

11 sqq.; see i. 361, n. 1, supra). same living energy which first

Upon necessity and chance, p.
359 sqq. supra.
1 De An.ii.2 (see i. 511, n. 2,
supra). Ibid. 413,b, 7: Operrindy
5 Aéyouey Td TowvTov pudpiov Tis
Wuxiis ob Kal ra puta peréxet. C.3
init. c. 4,415, a, 23; 7 yap Oper-
Tikh Wuxh Kal Trois &AAos bwdpyxei,
kal mpaérn kal Kowotdrn Bdvvauls
éort Wuxis, Kad’ hy bwdpxer Td Civ
draow. hs early tpya yevyjoa Kal
tpopn xpnoOu. Hist. An. viii. 1,
588, b, 24; Gen. An. i. 23, 731,
a, 24, procreation alone is men-
tioned as the peculiar function
of the vegetable sense; and De
An. ii. 4, 416, b. 23, it is said:
éwel 5¢ aed Tov téAovs Grayta
mpocaryopevew Sixaov, TéAoS BE rd
yevvijoa olov ard, efn by ) mpdty
Wuxh yeryntixh oloy até. On the
other hand, Gen. An. ii. 4, 740,
b, 34 sqq. (cf. c. 1, 735, a, 16),
shows that it is one and the
forms and afterwards. nourishes
the body, but that the former is
the more important function;
ei obv airn early n Operrixh Puxn,
aitn éot) Kal 7 yevy@oa* Kal TovT’
early 7 puows 7 Exdorov, evuTdpyx-
ovoa Kal év utois Kal ev (yous
waco.
2 De An.iti. 2, 418, b, 1: 7d
bey obv Chy bia Thy apxhy TavTHy
imdpxet Tois (aot, Td BE GGov bia
thy atcOnow mpwtws' Kal yap Ta
Ly Kiwovpeva und GAAdTTOvTa Témov
éxovta 8 aloOnow (pa Aéyouev
kai ob (hv udvov. De Sensu, c. 1,
436, b, 10; De Jurent. c.-1, 467,
b, 18, 27; Part. An. ii. 10, 6655,
a, 32, 656, b, 3; iv. 5, 681, a, 12;
Ingr. An. c. 4, 705, a, 26 sqq. b,
8; Gen. An. i. 23, 731, a, 30;
ii. 1, 732, a, 11. Most of these
passages expressly notice the dis-
tinction between the (@v and the
(or,
 22 ARISTOTLE

the appetite for food appears first.! One division of

_living creatures combines with sensation the power of
locomotion, which also belongs to the bestial soul.?
Lastly, besides nutritive and sensitive life, man pos-
sesses Reason, the third and higbest faculty of the
soul. The soul exists in no other form than those
which we have just described.‘ These themselves,
however, are so related to each other that the higher
cannot exist without the lower.° Animal life exhibits
1 De An. ii. 2, 413, b, 4 sqq. of the uxai mentioned.
21 sqq. c. 3, 414, b, 1-16, 415, a, ® Ibid. 414, b, 28: mapamdAn-
3 sqq. ili. 12, 434, b, 11 sqq. c alws 8 &xer re wepl trav oxnudtwv
13, 435, b, 17 sqq.; De Sensu, 1, kal Ta Kata Wuxiy: del yap ev Te
436, b, 10-18; Part. An. ii. 17, epetns imdpxe: Suvduer Td mpdtepov
661, a,6; H. An. i. 3, 489, a, 17; emi Te TOV oXnUdTwY Kal éml Tov
De Somno, 1, 454, b, 29, c. 2 init. eupixwv, oiov ev retpayove pty
In these passages Aristotle some- tpiywvov ev aig@nting 5& Td Oper-
times mentions ap} alone, some- Tidy . . . dvev wey yap Tod Oper-
times ap) xa yedou, as the TiKOv Td aicOnrikdy ovK tot’ TOD
property of all animals, but the 5’ aigOnrikod xwpl(era Td Opemtixdy
apparent inconsistency is ex- €v trois putois, mdAw 3 tvev mev
plained by the fact that Aristotle TOU anTiKod TeV HAAwY aicOhoewy
regarded the sense taste as a ovdeuia brdpxel, ap) 3° kvev Tay
form of touch; De Sensu, 2, 438, &AAwy tmdpxet kal Trav
b, 30. De An. ii. 9, 421, a, 19; aigOnrikav be To ev exer Td KaTa
ii. 10 init. iii. 12, 434, b, 18. témov Kiwnytikoy, Ta 8 odK exeL.
2 De An. ii. 3, 414, b, 16. TeAeuTatoy 5€ Kal €Adxiora Aoyiopov
3 Ibid. ii. 3, 414, b, 18 (cf. iii. kal didvoiay' ois wey yap tmdpxer
3, 427, b, 6; Gen. An. i. 23, 731, Aoyicuds TY HPOapray [to the (a
a, 30 sqq.): érépos 5€ [Tov (dor &pbapra, i.e. the stars, a pure vods
bmdpxer] Kal 7d diavontindy Te Kal belongs], rovrois nal ta Aowa
vos, otov avOpémos Kal ef Tt TOLOd- wd-Ta, ois 8 éxelywy Exacrov, od
Tov erepdv éotiv } Kal Tiidrepor, maot Aoyiou“os, GAAX Tois mev ovdE
On the latter part of this obser- pavtacla, Ta 5€ tTaitn udvn Coow.
vation see the discussion upon wep. 5€ Tod Oewpyntixod vov Erepos
the different kinds of living Adyos (on this see infra). Ibid.
beings infra. c. 2, 413, a, 31, with regard to
4 Dé An, ii. 3, 414, b, 19% the Operrixdv: xwpl(ecOa dé rotTo
just as there is no figure which bev TOV HAAwY duvaTdy, Ta 8’ BAAa
is not either triangular, quad- tovtov adbvarov év Trois Ovyrois.
rangular, or with some other Cf. i. 5 fin. De Somno, 1, 454, a,
number of angles, so there is no 11, De Juvent. 1, 467, b, 18 sqq.
soul which is not one or other
 PHYSICS 28

a developing scale, in which each successive step in-

cludes all that went before.
parts of the soul is thus applied to all animate exist-
ence, without violence to the general conception of its
originator, though with important modifications of de-
tail,! and we are enabled to embrace all natural species
! Aristotle objects, indeed (De
An, iii. 9, 10, 432, a, 22 sqa. 433,
a, 31 sqq.), to Plato’s threefold
division, on the ground that if
we make the functions and facul-
ties of the soul our principle of
division we have far more than
three parts, for the difference
between the @perrixdy, aicOnrixdy,
pavractixdy, vontiKoy, BovAeuTixdy,
opextixdy is wider than between
the éwiuynriucdy and dupixdy, and
asks, De An. i. 5, 411, b, 5, in
view of it: rl oty mote ouvvéxes
thy Wexhv ei pepiorh wépuner; it
cannot be the body, for it is
rather the soul which holds the
body together; if, on the other
hand, it be said that it is an in-
corporeal force, then this is the
proper soul. But the question
immediately recurs, is this simple
or manifold? If the former,
why cannot the soul itself be so
just as well? [f the latter, then
for the parts of the ovvéxor
another ovvéxovy must be sought,
and so on ad infinitum. We
should thus finally be forced to
suppose that each part of the
soul resides in a particular part
of the body, which is obviously
not the case either with respect
to the reason, which has no bodily
organ corresponding to it at all,
nor in t of the lower prin-
ci of life, which, in the case
those animals and plants which
survive being cut in pieces, lives
Plato’s doctrine of the
on in each of the parts. Never-
theless, Aristotle himself speaks
of parts of the soul (see p. 21, n. 1,
supra; De Vita, i. 467, b, 16),
and although he tries more fully
to preserve the unity of its life
amid the multiplicity of parts, he
cannot be said to have been any
more successful than Plato in
this endeavour, nor does vows bear
any closer relation in his theory
to the lower elements of the soul
than does the immortal part in
Plato’s. His departure from
Plato, accordingly, does not seem
to be so important in principle.
He differs from him partly in
his account of different forms of
animal life, but Plato, no less
than he, assigns the lowest of the
three parts into which he divides
the soul to plants, the middle
one to beasts, and holds that the
higher part presupposes the lower
but not vice versa; see Div. i. p.
714. The chief difference be-
tween the philosophers is in their
respective starting points: while
Plato begins his investigation
into the nature and of the
soul from the ethical side, Ari-
stotle approaches it from the side.
of natural science. On the other
hand, STRUMPELL (Gesch. d.
theor. Phil. 324 sqq.),as BRANDIS
has pointed out, ii. b, 1168 sq.,
goes too far in saying that Ari-
stotle attributes to one and the
same being not only different
 24 ARISTOTLE

from the lowest to the highest in one comprehensive

view as concentrated and progressive manifestations of
the same life.
This progressive development of animal life corre-
sponds to the actual fact, which Aristotle had no doubt
observed, and which had led him in the first instance
to his theory, that all organic nature exhibits a
steady progress from more imperfect and defective
productions to richer and fuller forms of life. ‘ N ature,’
he says, ‘makes so gradual a transition from the inani-
mate to the animate kingdom, that the boundary lines
which separate them and the position of the inter-
mediate are rendered indistinct and doubtful. Next to
the inanimate kingdom comes that of Plants ; and here
we not only distinguish greater and less degrees of
vitality subsisting among individuals, but the whole
tribe seems animate when compared with inorganic
substances, inanimate when compared with animals.
Again, the transition from plants to animals is so
gradual that many marine creatures leave us in doubt
whether they are animals or vegetables, since they
faculties or parts of the soul but the nutritive soul being contained
different souls, to man four, to in the sensitive, and the sensitive
beasts three (counting the sensi- in the rational, just as the tri-
tive and the motive principles as angle is contained in the quad-
two). Aristotle speaks, indeed, of rangle (see preceding note), so
a Wuxh Operrich, aicOnrikh, AoyuKh, that an animal, for instance, can
and of different puxat (see e.g. pre- no more be said to contain two
ceding page; De Vita, 3, 469, souls than a quadrangle can be
a, 24), but he does not mean that said to contain two kinds of
several souls exist together in an figures. If he fails, as a matter
individual as so many separate of fact, perfectly to preserve the
beings; he even defines the rela- unity of the soul throughout (see
tion of these. so-called qWuya) to end of Ch. XII.), weare not on this
one another in the distinctest account justified in denying that
manner as one of comprehension, he attempted to do so,
 PHYSICS 25

adhere to the ground, and cannot live when separated

from it. Indeed, the whole tribe of Ostreacee, when
compared with locomotive animals, resemble vege-
tables.’ ‘The same may be said about sensation, phy-
sical structure, mode of life, propagation, the rearing of
their young, &c.: in all of these respects we notice a
gradual progression of development.' The continuity
of this order brings into play the law of Analogy, the
presence of which Aristotle takes some trouble to
demonstrate in the sphere of organic structures and
their vital functions. Analogy, as we have shown
before,? is the bond which unites different genera;
in organic nature, as elsewhere, it transcends generic
differences, and where no real similarity of kind is
possible, produces resemblance.* This analogy may be
' Hist. An. viii. 1, 588, b, 4 avddoyov xwpls. Two kinds of
sqq.where detailed proof is given ; birds differ from one another by
Part. An. iv. 5,681, a, 12, where, the size, for instance, of their
in speaking of zoophytes and the wings ; birds and fish, on the other
differences which are to be ob- hand, T@ dvdAoyov: yap éxelum
served amongst them, he remarks: mwrepov, Oatép» Aenls. Analogies
h yap piots weraBalve: cvvex@s ard of this kind are found in almost
Tay avixwyr eis TH (Ga did TOY Cdv- all animals: Ta yap moAAa (oa
Tov wey ovk bvtwy BE Cow obtws dvddoyov tavT> mémrovOey. Simi-
bore doxeiy wauray pixpdy Biapépery larly in the following passage,
Oarépov Odrepory TH abyveyyus GA- 644, b, 7 sqq. a contrast is drawn
AfAas. between ditferences which exist
21. 272, n. 2, supra. With within the same genus, e.g. be-
what follows cf. MnyuR, Arist. tween large and small, soft and
Thierk. 334 sqq. 103 sq. hard, smooth and rough animals,
* Part. An. i. 4, 644, a, 14. and those which permit us to
Why are not water and winged trace only general analogies. To
animals included under one the same effect, c. 5, 645, b, 4:
name? éo7: yap Evia wdOn Kowde WOAAG Kowva TWoAAOIsS bmdpxet TAY
kal rovrois Kal rots &AAos (dois (dwv, Ta wey GrA@s, olov mwddes
Gmagw. GAA’ Suws dp0as Sidpiora mrepa Aewldes, wal dn 35h Tov
Tovrov tov mpémrov. boa mey yap avroy tpéwoy tovrois, Ta 8 dva-
diapépe: tav yevar Kal’ iwepoxhyv Aoyor. Aéyw 8° dvddAoyorv, bri Tois
kal Td maAAov Kal Td HrTov, TadTa bev bwdpyet WAeipwr, Tois 5€ wAev-
bwéCeverat ev yéver, boa F exer 7d pov wey od, & 5€ Trois Exovar WAEV-
 26 ARISTOTLE
observed in the most different quarters, In place of
blood, bloodless animals have certain humours which
correspond to it ;! and this is also the case with flesh.2
Molluses, being without fat, are provided with an
analogous substance.’ Cartilage and gristle correspond
to bones in snakes and fish, and in the lower animals
their place is supplied by shells, &c., which serve the
same purpose of supporting the body. The hair of
quadrupeds answers to the feathers of birds, the scales
of fishes, and the mail of oviparous land animals>—
the teeth of beasts to the bills of birds.6 Instead of a
heart, bloodless animals have a similar central organ,’
and instead of a brain, something like one.’ Gills take
the place of lungs in fishes, and they inhale water
instead of air. Roots perform the same office for
vegetables as heads, or rather mouths, for animals, and

Mova, éKelvots Erepoy ayTi TovToOU* 517, a, 1, i. 1,486, b, 19.

kal Tots mev aiua, tots 5€ Td dvd-
Avyou Thy abthy Exov divauw Hvrep
tots évalwos Td aiua. Thid. 20
sqq.; Hist. An. i. 1, 486, b, 17
sqq., 487, a, 9, c. 7, 491, al4sqq.;
ii. 1, 497, b, 9; viii. 1 (see infra).
1 Hist. An. i. 4, 489, a, 21;
Part. An. i. 5, 645, b, 8, ii. 3,
650, a, 34, iii. 5, 668, a 4, 25,
Gen. An, ii. 4, 740, a, 21. De
Somno, c. 3, 456, a, 35, and other
passages.
* Part. An. ii. 8 init. iii. 5,
668, a, 25, ii. 1, 647, a, 19; Hist.
An, i. 3, 4, 489, a, 18, 23; De An.
ii. 11, 422, b, 21, 423, a, 14.
* Gen.-An. i. 19, 727, b, 3;
Part. ii. 3, 650, a, 34.
* Part. ii. 8, 653, b, 33- fin. c.
9, 655, a, 17 sqq. c. 6, 652, a, 2;
fist, iii. 7, 516,-b, 12 sqq. c. 8,
° Part. iv. 11, 691, a, 15, i. 4,
644, a, 21. Hist. iii. 10 init. i.
1, 486, b, 21.
® Part. iv. 12, 692, b, 15.
” Part. ii. 1, 647, a, 30, iv. 5,
678, b, 1, 681, b, 14, 28, a, 34;
Gen. An. ii. 1, 735, a, 23 sqq. c.
4, 738, b, 16. c. 5, 741,b,15. De
Respir. c. 17, 478, b, 31 sqq. De
Motu An. c. 10, 703, a,14. On
the parts which Aristotleregarded
as analogous to the heart see
MEYER, p. 429,
8 Part. ii. 7, 652, b, 23, 653, a,
11; De Somno, 3, 457; b, 29.
® Part. i. 5, 645, b, 6, iii. 6
init. iv. 1, 676, a, 27; Hist. An.
viii. 2, 589, b, 18, ii. 18, 504, b,
28; De Resp. c. 10 sq. 475, b, 15,
476, a, 1, 22.
—
 PHYSICS 27

take up food into their systems.' Sume animals which

have no tongues are provided with an enalogous organ.”
The arms of men, the fore feet of quadrupeds, the wings
of birds, the claws of crabs, are all analogous,’ while
the elephant has a trunk instead of hands.‘ Oviparous
animals are born from eggs; correspondingly, the
embryo of mammals is surrounded with a skin like that
of an egg, and in the chrysalis insects assume an oval
form. Reversely, the earliest germs of higher animal
life corresponds to the worms from which insects are
bred.> The habits, occupations, tempers, and reason of
animals can be compared with those of men; while the
human soul in childhood can scarcely be distinguished
from that of beasts.° ‘Thus does one inner bond of
union permeate all departments of organic nature—one
life unfolds itself from the same fundamental forms in
continually ascending degrees of perfection. And as
organic nature is the sphere of contrivance and design,

1 De An, ii. 4, 416, a, 4: as After illustrating this with

N KEepady Tav Cdwr, obrws ai pita
TaV puT@y, ei xph TA bpyava Aێyely
TavTa Kal €repa trois Epyos. De
Juvent. c. 1, 468, a, 9; Ingr. An.
c. 4, 708, a, 6.
* Part. iv. 5, 678, b, 6-10.
% Part. iv. 12, 693, a, 26, b,
10, ¢c. 11, 691, b, 17; Hist. i. 1.
486, b, 19, c. 4, 489, a, 28, ii. 1,
497, b, 18.
‘ Part. iv. 12, 692, b, 15.
5 Hist. vii. 7, 586, a, 19: Gen.
An. iii. 9. See i. 467, n. 1, supra.
® Hist. An. viii. 1, 588, a, 18:
Everri yap ev Tois mAcloros Kal Tov
trAAwy (gov Ixyvn Tav mepl Thy
Wuxhy tpdrwy, Grep él tev dyOpa-
mov Exe: pavepwrépas Tas Siapopds,
examples he proceeds: ra péy
yap TG maddAov Kal Arrov diapéper
mpos toy tvOpwrov. . . Ta BE Ta
dvddroyoy Siapeper* ws yap ev aw-
Opin téxvn Kal copia Kai cdvects,
obtws ev'ois Tay Cowv dori Tis Erépa
To.avTn gvoikh Sivas. pavepw-
tarov & éotl td rowirov em thr
tav maldwy nAikiay BrAdpacw’ ev
TovTos yao Tav wey borepoy Ekewy
écouevwr tory ideiv oloy txvn Kat
onépuara, Siapéper 8° odfey ws
eimeiv ) Wux? THs Tav Onplwy Puxis
Kara Tov xpdvov TodTov, Sor’ oddéiv
&Aoyoyr, ei Ta wey Ta’Ta Ta bE wapa-
rAfow Ta 8 avddoyor brdpxet rots
hAAos (gious.
28 ARISTOTLE

it is itself in turn the object which all the inorganic

universe must serve. ‘The elements exist for the sake
of homogeneous substance, and this for the sake of
organic structures. Here, therefore, the order of
existence is reversed: that which is last in origin is
first in essence and value.! Nature, after displaying a
continual decrease of perfection from the highest sphere
of heaven to earth, there reaches her turning point, and
the descending scale of being begins to reascend.? The
elements by their mixture prepare the conditions neces-
sary for the development of living creatures, and we
see Life expanding itself from its first weak germs to
its highest manifestation in humanity.®
1 Part. An. ii. 1, 646, a, 12: yevéoel, TOUTwY 5E TA GvomoLoMeph
tpiav 8 vvcav Tay cuv0écewr [on [i.e. organic nature]. tavra yap
which see i. 517, n. 6, sup.|]mpornv Hdn 7d TéAOS Exe Kal Td Wépas...
pev &y tis Oeln Thy ek TOV KadouME- ef Gupotépwy ev oty Ta (Ga ouv-
vev bd TeV oTotxelwy.... Sev- éoTnke TOV mopiwy To’TwY, GAAG Ta
Tépa 5€ ctoTacis ek TaY TPOTwY 7 GMOoLomEph T@Y GvomolomEepav EveKev
Tav duoiomepoy pias ev Tots Coots eo * éxelvwv yap Epya Kat mpd-
éotiv, olov dcTod Kal capkds Kal Eeis eioly, oloy opOaAuod, Kc.
Tav tAAwy TY TOLOUTwY. TpiTn BE * Cf. what is saidin Gen. An.
kat TeAevTala Tov apiOudy 7 TOV ii. 1,.731, b, 24: eel ydp éort 7a
Gvomoimep@v, ofov mpoommov Kal bev aldia Kal Oeta Tay bvTwY Ta 3’
xeipds Kal tay TowtTwy poplwy. évdexdueva Kat eivat cad uh elvat, Td
érel 5 éevayvtiws em) tis yeverews d€ Kaddv Kal Td Oeiov alrioy del Kare
éxet kal THs ovclas* Ta yap torepa Thy aitod picw Tod BeAriovos év
TH yeveoe: mpdtepa Thy pvow éotl Tois evdexouevols, TO SE pH Gtd.ov
Kal mp@Tov To TH yeveoet TEAEV- evdexouevdv éott Kal elva Kal
tatov, for the house does not exist meTarauBdvew Kal Tod xeElpovos Kal
for the sake of the stones and the Tov BeAtiovos, BéATiov 5€ Wuxh mev
bricks, but these for the sake of oapatos, ToS Euvyxov Tov abvxou
the house, and generally the dia THY WuxHv, Kal 7d Elva TOU MH
material for the sake of the form eivat Kal TO (hv rod wn Civ,
and the final product: 7@ wey obv dia Tavtas Tas aitias yéveois (wv
xpdév@ mporépay Thy BAnV avaryKatov éoriy.
civat Kal Thy yeveow, TE Adyp dE ’ That Aristotle conceives of
Thy ovolay Kal Thy Exdorov popphy. such a process of development
...@oTe Thy pey t&v oToxelwr from lower to higher forms, and
BAnv avarykatoy elvat Tay duoomepav of man as the highest step in
evekev, batepa yap exelvar TatTa TH the scale of evolution, by refer-
 PHYSICS 29

Aristotle finds the first indications of this Life in

inorganic nature. Movement in general may be re-
ence to which we may test the An. i. 6, 491, a, 19) should begin
degree of perfection attained by with man as being best known
lower forms of being, is obvious to us. Nor can we with FRANT-
from the passages referred to, zwzius (Arist. tb. die Theile d.
pp. 21 sq., 25 sq., and i, 465 Thiere, p.315,77;contrast MEYER,
sq., supra, as well as from those Arist. Thierk. 481 sqq.) conclude
which immediately follow. Cf. from these passages that Aristotle
further Part. An. ii. 10, 655, b, . regards nature under the form of
37 sqq., Gen. An. i. 23, 731, a, a retrogressive rather than a pro-
24. In the former of these gressive development, and con-
passages Aristotle says: plants ceives of its history as that of
have few and simple organs, an ideal animal assuming a
7a St aps TE Civ alaOnow Exovra succession of degenerate shapes
modupoppotépay exer Thy idéav, Kat as it descends from the human
TovTwy €repa mpd érépwv marddroy, to the vegetable form. For, in
Kal wodAvxovorépay, bawv wh wdvov the first place, he does not always
row Civ GAAG Kal Tov ed Civ 7 pits begin with man, but only when
mereiAnpev. rowiro 3’ €or) 7d Ta he is treating of the external
avOpdrwv yévos* ‘yap pdvoy organs; when, on the other
=
--_
EOE
EO
peréxer Tov Belov Tav Huiv yvwpl-
(OOOO
hand, he is dealing with the
pov Cowy,} wdAwra rdvrwv. In internal organisation, a field in
the latter: ris wey yap Tay puTay which more is known of the
ovalas ov0év éorw AAO Epyoy ov5e lower animals than of men, he
mpagis ovdeula Ay 7 TOU orepuatos takes the opposite course (Hist.
yeveris . . . TOD BE Cov od udvory An. i. 16 init., cf. Part. ii. 10, 656,
To yevvijoa Epyoy (TovTo wey yap a, 8). But, in the second place,
kowdy Tav (éyTwy mdyTwv), GAG it does not at all follow that that
kal yvooeds Twos TavTa meTéxXoval, which is more known to us must
7rd ev wAclovos, Ta 5° CAdrTovos, Ta in itself be the first either in
bt wduray wixpas, alabyow yap point of value or of time, or
txovow, ) 8° alaOnois yvaois ts. that because Aristotle, in treating
Taurns St Td Tipioy Kal &riwoy worAd of the forms of organic life,
Biapéper ckowoic. mpds ppdvnaow begins with the more perfect and
kal mpds 7d Tay aixwy yévos, proceeds to the more imperfect,
mpds piv yap rd ppoveiy dowep therefore nature follows the
obdév elvar Sone? rd Kowwveiv apijs same course in producing them.
kal yedoews udvoy, mpds 5é avaic- On the contrary, he states as
Onclay BéATioroy. It isnot incon- definitely as possible that nature
sistent with this view that, proceeds in the reverse order;
starting’ from man, Aristotle see, besides other passages, the
(Part. An. iv. 10, 686, b, 20 sqq.) preceding note, There is here
should attribute to the different no question of a metamorphosis
animal tribes a continually di- such as that described, either
minishing degree of perfection retrogressive or progressive.
as compared with him, and ( Hist. Aristotle does not conceive of an
30 ARISTOTLE

garded as a sort of life. In a certain sense we attribute

animation to everything: we talk of the life of the air
and the wind, and find analogies to the phenomena of
the organic life of animals in the sea." Again, the
world has its youth and age like plants and animals,
except that they do not succeed each other as conditions
of the whole, but are present simultaneously as alter-
nating states of its parts. A well-watered region may
dry up and grow old, while an arid tract may spring
into fresh life by timely moisture. When streams
increase, the land about their mouths is gradually
changed to sea; when they dry up, the sea becomes
land.2. When these changes take place slowly, length
ideal individual either developing akuacew Kal pOlvew dvarykatov’ TH
or degenerating into various 5t yi TovTO yiverat Kara mépos Bid
forms. The organic forms do wotw Kal Oepudrnta. As these
not themselves pass into one increase or diminish, portions of
another; the transition is effected the earth change their character,
by nature as she rises to the bore méexpe tivds Evvdpa dbvarat
fuller exercise of her creative diamevery, elra Enpalverar Kad ynpd-
power. Cf. p. 25, supra. oKelmdAw * Erepot 5¢ rdé701 BidoKor-
1 See i. 459,n.5, 460,n.1, sup., Tat Kal €yvdpo yiyvorvrat Kata mépos.
and Gen. An. iv. 10, 778, a, 2: Where a region dries up, the rivers
Bios yap Tis xal mvedpards ort Kal decrease and finally disappear,
yéveois kal p8icis. Upon the sea the sea retreats, and land is
v. Meteor. ii. 2, 355, b, 4 sqq. formed where the sea was before ;
356, a, 33 sqq. the opposite happens when the
2 Cf. on this the full and moisture of a district increases.
remarkable exposition, Meteor. i. As examples of the former pro-
14. The same regions, Aristotle cess, Aristotle in the following
there says, are not always wet passage (351, b, 28 sqq., 352, b,
or dry, but according as rivers 19 sqq.) names Egypt, which is
arise or disappear, the land unmistakably a mpécxwois Tod
retreats before the sea or the sea NeiAou, an por Tov Tor amov (SGpov
before the land. This happens, Tov wotauov, HEROD. ii. 5), and
however, kara tid Tagw Kal repl- the region surrounding the oracle
odov. apxn dt rovTwy Kat atriov drt of Ammon, which, like Egypt,
Kal THS yas Ta evTds, bowep 7H lies below the level of the sea
gdépara Ta Tov puT@y Kal (dor, and must therefore once have
axuhv exer kal yipas. In regard been the sea bottom; Argolis
to the latter, however, Gua way and the neighbourhood of My-
 PHYSICS 31

of time and the gradual character of the transformation

cause the memory of them to be usually forgotten; !
when they happen suddenly they belong to that class
of devastating inundations ” to which Aristotle, following
Plato,’ attributed those relapses into primitive barbarism
which, coeternal though the human race is assumed to be

-cenz in Greece; the Bosphorus, témous irypovs 7’ elvat Oaddrry Kal

the shore of which is cuntinually
changing. Some, he says (352,
a, 17 sqq.; according to ii. 3,
356, b, 9 sqq., he is thinking here
of Democritus, but the same view
is ascribed to Anaximander and
Diogenes; cf. ZELLER, Ph. d. Gr.
i. 205, 2, 799, 4), attribute these
changes to a change in the world
‘asa whole, as yivomeévou Tov odpavod,
- holding that the collective mass
of the sea is diminished by
gradual evaporation (contrast
Meteor. ii. 3). But if in many
places the sea changes into land
and contrariwise land into sea,
we cannot explain this upon the
ground of a yéveois Tov Kéopov’
"yeAotov yap 51d wixpas Kal drapialas
meraBoArds Kweivy To wav, 6 5t Tijs
vis bryos Kal Td wéyeOos ovOév ear:
dhmov mpds Toy bAov oipavdy, GAA
wdytwy tovtwy altioy bmoAnnréov
bri ylyverat 51a xpdvev ciuapuéevwr,
oloyv év rais Kar’ éviavrdy Spas
Xeiudv, oOFrw mepiddou Twds weydAns
méyas xemuwrv Kal drepBodrdh buBpwr.
airy 8 ob del Kara robs abrots
témovs. Deucalion’s flood was
chiefly confined to ancient Hellas
or the country watered by the
Achelous. Cf. 352, b, 16: ére)
5° dydyxn tov bdov [the whole
globe] ylyver@a: wév ria mera-
Borhy, ph perro yéveow kal
POopay, etrep péver [uevel] rd wav,
avdynn . . . wh Tods avtods del
mwotapois Kat Enpots. The Tanais,
consequently, and the Nile will
one day cease to flow, and the
Palus Meeotis will be dried up:
Td yap Epyov abray exer wépas 5 dé
Xpdvos ovK Exe.
' Thid, 351, b, 8 sqq , which
also refers to Egypt.
* The other possibility, of a
sudden destroying heat, is even
more completely neglected by
Aristotle than by Plato.
* Plato introduces the story
of the Atlantides in the Zimaus
with the remark that devastating
tempests, at one time of fire, as
in the time of Phaéthon, at
another of flood, overtake man-
kind at intervals. When cities,
with all their attendant civilisa-
tion, become overwhelmed in the
latter, the survivors, who are for
the most part semi-barbarous
mountaineers, must in again
from the beginning. Hence we
have a youthful Hellenic culture
side by side with an effete
Egyptian civilisation. The same
conception recurs in the account
of the gradual rise of civilised
states out of primitive barbarism,
in the Lams, iii. 676, B sqq.—the
question whether the human race
has existed from all eternity or
only for an indefinitely long
time (vi. 781, E) being left
undecided,
Another random document with
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along decently. But now times were bad, and it was pits like New
London that got left.
"There's a lot of Tevershall men left and gone to Stacks Gate and
Whiteover," said Mrs. Bolton. "You've not seen the new works at
Stacks Gate, opened after the War, have you Sir Clifford? Oh you
must go one day, they're something quite new: great big chemical
works at the pit-head, doesn't look a bit like a colliery. They say they
get more money out of the chemical by-products than out of the coal
—I forget what it is. And the grand new houses for the men, fair
mansions! Of course it's brought a lot of riff-raff from all over the
country. But a lot of Tevershall men got on there, and doin' well, a lot
better than our own men. They say Tevershall's done, finished: only
a question of a few more years, and it'll have to shut down. And New
London'll go first. My word, won't it be funny, when there's no
Tevershall pit working. It's bad enough during a strike, but my word,
if it closes for good, it'll be like the end of the world. Even when I was
a girl it was the best pit in the country, and a man counted himself
lucky if he could get on here. Oh, there's been some money made in
Tevershall. And now the men say it's a sinking ship, and it's time they
all got out. Doesn't it sound awful! But of course there's a lot as'll
never go till they have to. They don't like these new fangled mines,
such a depth, and all machinery to work them. Some of them simply
dreads those iron men, as they call them, those machines for hewing
the coal, where men always did it before. And they say it's wasteful
as well. But what goes in waste is saved in wages, and a lot more. It
seems soon there'll be no use for men on the face of the earth, it'll
be all machines. But they say that's what folks said when they had to
give up the old stocking frames. I can remember one or two. But my
word, the more machines, the more people, that's what it looks like!
They say you can't get the same chemicals out of Tevershall coal as
you can out of Stacks Gate, and that's funny, they're not three miles
apart. But they say so. But everybody says it's a shame something
can't be started, to keep the men going a bit better, and employ the
girls. All the girls traipsing off to Sheffield every day! My word, it
would be something to talk about if Tevershall Collieries took a new
lease on life, after everybody saying they're finished, and a sinking
ship, and the men ought to leave them like rats leave a sinking ship.
But folks talk so much. Of course there was a boom during the war.
When Sir Geoffrey made a trust of himself and got the money safe
for ever, somehow. So they say! But they say even the masters and
the owners don't get much out of it now. You can hardly believe it,
can you! Why I always thought the Pits would go on for ever and
ever. Who'd have thought, when I was a girl! But New England's shut
down, so is Colwick Wood: yes, it's fair haunting to go through that
coppy and see Colwick Wood standing there deserted among the
trees, and bushes growing up all over the pit-head, and the lines red
rusty. It's like death itself, a dead colliery. Why whatever we should
do if Tevershall shut down—? it doesn't bear thinking of. Always that
throng it's been, except at strikes, and even then the fanwheels
didn't stand, except when they fetched the ponies up. I'm sure it's a
funny world, you don't know where you are from year to year, you
really don't."
It was Mrs. Bolton's talk that really put a new fight into Clifford. His
income, as she pointed out to him, was secure, from his father's
trust, even though it was not large. The pits did not really concern
him. It was the other world he wanted to capture, the world of
literature and fame; the popular world, not the working world.
Now he realised the distinction between popular success and
working success: the populace of pleasure and the populace of
work. He, as a private individual, had been catering with his stories
for the populace of pleasure. And he had caught on. But beneath the
populace of pleasure lay the populace of work, grim, grimey, and
rather terrible. They too had to have their providers. And it was a
much grimmer business, providing for the populace of work, than for
the populace of pleasure. While he was doing his stories, and
"getting on" in the world, Tevershall was going to the wall.
He realised now that the bitch-goddess of success had two main
appetites: one for flattery, adulation, stroking and tickling such as
writers and artists gave her; but the other a grimmer appetite for
meat and bones. And the meat and bones for the bitch-goddess
were provided by the men who made money in industry.
Yes, there were two great groups of dogs wrangling for the bitch-
goddess: the group of the flatterers, those who offered her
amusement, stories, films, plays: and the other, much less showy,
much more savage breed, those who gave her meat, the real
substance of money. The well-groomed showy dogs of amusement
wrangled and snarled among themselves for the favours of the bitch-
goddess. But it was nothing to the silent fight-to-the-death that went
on among the indispensables, the bone-bringers.
But under Mrs. Bolton's influence, Clifford was tempted to enter this
other fight, to capture the bitch-goddess by brute means of industrial
production. Somehow, he got his pecker up. In one way, Mrs. Bolton
made a man of him, as Connie never did. Connie kept him apart,
and made him sensitive and conscious of himself and his own
states. Mrs. Bolton made him aware only of outside things. Inwardly
he began to go soft as pulp. But outwardly he began to be effective.
He even roused himself to go to the mines once more: and when he
was there, he went down in a tub, and in a tub he was hauled out
into the workings. Things he had learned before the war, and
seemed utterly to have forgotten, now came back to him. He sat
there, crippled, in a tub, with the underground manager showing him
the seam with a powerful torch. And he said little. But his mind
began to work.
He began to read again his technical works on the coal-mining
industry, he studied the Government reports, and he read with care
the latest things on mining and the chemistry of coal and of shale
which were written in German. Of course the most valuable
discoveries were kept secret as far as possible. But once you started
a sort of research in the field of coal-mining, a study of methods and
means, a study of by-products and the chemical possibilities of coal,
it was astounding, the ingenuity and the almost uncanny cleverness
of the modern technical mind, as if really the devil himself had lent
fiend's wits to the technical scientists of industry. It was far more
interesting than art, than literature, poor emotional half-witted stuff,
was this technical science of industry. In this field, men were like
gods, or demons, inspired to discoveries, and fighting to carry them
out. In this activity, men were beyond any mental age calculable. But
Clifford knew that when it did come to the emotional and human life,
these self-made men were of a mental age of about thirteen, feeble
boys. The discrepancy was enormous and appalling.
But let that be. Let man slide down to general idiocy in the emotional
and "human" mind, Clifford did not care. Let all that go hang. He was
interested in the technicalities of modern coal-mining, and in pulling
Tevershall out of the hole.
He went down to the pit day after day, he studied, he put the general
manager, and the overhead manager, and the underground
manager, and the engineers through a mill they had never dreamed
of. Power! He felt a new sense of power flowing through him: power
over all these men, over the hundreds and hundreds of colliers. He
was finding out: and he was getting things into his grip.
And he seemed verily to be reborn. Now life came into him! He had
been gradually dying, with Connie, in the isolated private life of the
artist and the conscious being. Now let all that go. Let it sleep. He
simply felt life rush into him out of the coal, out of the pit. The very
stale air of the colliery was better than oxygen to him. It gave him a
sense of power, power. He was doing something: and he was going
to do something. He was going to win, to win: not as he had won
with his stories, mere publicity, amid a whole sapping of energy and
malice. But a man's victory.
At first he thought the solution lay in electricity: convert the coal into
electric power. Then a new idea came. The Germans invented a new
locomotive engine with a self-feeder, that did not need a fireman.
And it was to be fed with a new fuel, that burnt in small quantities at
a great heat, under peculiar conditions.
The idea of a new concentrated fuel that burnt with a hard slowness
at a fierce heat was what first attracted Clifford. There must be some
sort of external stimulus to the burning of such fuel, not merely air
supply. He began to experiment, and got a clever young fellow who
had proved brilliant in chemistry, to help him.
And he felt triumphant. He had at last got out of himself. He had
fulfilled his life-long secret yearning to get out of himself. Art had not
done it for him. Art had only made it worse. But now, now he had
done it.
He was not aware how much Mrs. Bolton was behind him. He did not
know how much he depended on her. But for all that, it was evident
that when he was with her his voice dropped to an easy rhythm of
intimacy, almost a trifle vulgar.
With Connie, he was a little stiff. He felt he owed her everything,
everything, and he showed her the utmost respect and
consideration, so long as she gave him mere outward respect. But it
was obvious he had a secret dread of her. The new Achilles in him
had a heel, and in this heel the woman, the woman like Connie his
wife, could lame him fatally. He went in a certain half-subservient
dread of her, and was extremely nice to her. But his voice was a little
tense when he spoke to her, and he began to be silent whenever she
was present.
Only when he was alone with Mrs. Bolton did he really feel a lord
and a master, and his voice ran on with her almost as easily and
garrulously as her own could run. And he let her shave him and
sponge all his body as if he were a child, really as if he were a child.

CHAPTER X
Connie was a good deal alone now, fewer people came to Wragby.
Clifford no longer wanted them. He had turned against even the
cronies. He was queer. He preferred the radio, which he had
installed at some expense, with a good deal of success at last. He
could sometimes get Madrid or Frankfurt, even there in the uneasy
Midlands.
And he would sit alone for hours listening to the loud-speaker
bellowing forth. It amazed and stunned Connie. But there he would
sit, with a blank entranced expression on his face, like a person
losing his mind, and listen, or seem to listen, to the unspeakable
thing.
Was he really listening? Or was it a sort of soporific he took, whilst
something else worked on underneath in him? Connie did not know.
She fled up to her room, or out of doors to the wood. A kind of terror
filled her sometimes, a terror of the incipient insanity of the whole
civilised species.
But now that Clifford was drifting off to this other weirdness of
industrial activity, becoming almost a creature, with a hard, efficient
shell of an exterior and a pulpy interior, one of the amazing crabs
and lobsters of the modern, industrial and financial world,
invertebrates of the crustacean order, with shells of steel, like
machines, and inner bodies of soft pulp, Connie herself was really
completely stranded.
She was not even free, for Clifford must have her there. He seemed
to have a nervous terror that she should leave him. The curious
pulpy part of him, the emotional and humanly-individual part,
depended on her with terror, like a child, almost like an idiot. She
must be there, there at Wragby, a Lady Chatterley, his wife.
Otherwise he would be lost like an idiot on a moor.
This amazing dependence Connie realised with a sort of horror. She
heard him with his pit managers, with the members of his Board, with
young scientists, and she was amazed at his shrewd insight into
things, his power, his uncanny material power over what is called
practical men. He had become a practical man himself, and an
amazingly astute and powerful one, a master. Connie attributed it to
Mrs. Bolton's influence upon him, just at the crisis in his life.
But this astute and practical man was almost an idiot when left alone
to his own emotional life. He worshipped Connie, she was his wife, a
higher being, and he worshipped her with a queer, craven idolatry,
like a savage, a worship based on enormous fear, and even hate of
the power of the idol, the dread idol. All he wanted was for Connie to
swear, to swear not to leave him, not to give him away.
"Clifford," she said to him—but this was after she had the key to the
hut—"Would you really like me to have a child one day?"
He looked at her with a furtive apprehension in his rather prominent
pale eyes.
"I shouldn't mind, if it made no difference between us," he said.
"No difference to what?" she asked.
"To you and me; to our love for one another. If it's going to affect that,
then I'm all against it. Why, I might even one day have a child of my
own!"
She looked at him in amazement.
"I mean, it might come back to me one of these days."
She still stared in amazement, and he was uncomfortable.
"So you would not like it if I had a child?" she said.
"I tell you," he replied quickly, like a cornered dog, "I am quite willing,
provided it doesn't touch your love for me. If it would touch that, I am
dead against it."
Connie could only be silent in cold fear and contempt. Such talk was
really the gabbling of an idiot. He no longer knew what he was
talking about.
"Oh, it wouldn't make any difference to my feeling for you," she said,
with a certain sarcasm.
"There!" he said. "That is the point! In that case I don't mind in the
least. I mean it would be awfully nice to have a child running about
the house, and feel one was building up a future for it, I should have
something to strive for then, and I should know it was your child,
shouldn't I, dear? And it would seem just the same as my own.
Because it is you who count in these matters. You know that, don't
you, dear? I don't enter, I am a cipher. You are the great I-am! as far
as life goes. You know that, don't you? I mean, as far as I am
concerned. I mean, but for you I am absolutely nothing. I live for your
sake and your future. I am nothing to myself."
Connie heard it all with deepening dismay and repulsion. It was one
of the ghastly half-truths that poison human existence. What man in
his senses would say such things to a woman! But men aren't in
their senses. What man with a spark of honour would put this ghastly
burden of life-responsibility upon a woman, and leave her there, in
the void?
Moreover, in half an hour's time, Connie heard Clifford talking to Mrs.
Bolton, in a hot, impulsive voice, revealing himself in a sort of
passionless passion to the woman, as if she were half mistress, half
foster-mother to him. And Mrs. Bolton was carefully dressing him in
evening clothes, for there were important business guests in the
house.
Connie really sometimes felt she would die at this time. She felt she
was being crushed to death by weird lies, and by the amazing cruelty
of idiocy. Clifford's strange business efficiency in a way over-awed
her, and his declaration of private worship put her into a panic. There
was nothing between them. She never even touched him nowadays,
and he never touched her. He never even took her hand and held it
kindly. No, and because they were so utterly out of touch, he tortured
her with his declaration of idolatry. It was the cruelty of utter
impotence. And she felt her reason would give way, or she would
die.
She fled as much as possible to the wood. One afternoon, as she sat
brooding, watching the water bubbling coldly in John's Well, the
keeper had strode up to her.
"I got you a key made, my Lady!" he said, saluting, and he offered
her the key.
"Thank you so much!" she said, startled.
"The hut's not very tidy, if you don't mind," he said. "I cleared it what I
could."
"But I didn't want you to trouble!" she said.
"Oh, it wasn't any trouble. I am setting the hens in about a week. But
they won't be scared of you. I s'll have to see to them morning and
night, but I shan't bother you any more than I can help."
"But you wouldn't bother me," she pleaded. "I'd rather not go to the
hut at all, if I am going to be in the way."
He looked at her with his keen blue eyes. He seemed kindly, but
distant. But at least he was sane, and wholesome, if even he looked
thin and ill. A cough troubled him.
"You have a cough," she said.
"Nothing—a cold! The last pneumonia left me with a cough, but it's
nothing."
He kept distant from her, and would not come any nearer.
She went fairly often to the hut, in the morning or in the afternoon,
but he was never there. No doubt he avoided her on purpose. He
wanted to keep his own privacy.
He had made the hut tidy, put the little table and chair near the
fireplace, left a little pile of kindling and small logs, and put the tools
and traps away as far as possible, effacing himself. Outside, by the
clearing, he had built a low little roof of boughs and straw, a shelter
for the birds, and under it stood the five coops. And, one day when
she came, she found two brown hens sitting alert and fierce in the
coops, sitting on pheasants' eggs, and fluffed out so proud and deep
in all the heat of the pondering female blood. This almost broke
Connie's heart. She, herself, was so forlorn and unused, not a
female at all, just a mere thing of terrors.
Then all the five coops were occupied by hens, three brown and a
gray and a black. All alike, they clustered themselves down on the
eggs in the soft nestling ponderosity of the female urge, the female
nature, fluffing out feathers. And with brilliant eyes they watched
Connie, as she crouched before them, and they gave short sharp
clucks of anger and alarm, but chiefly of female anger at being
approached.
Connie found corn in the corn-bin in the hut. She offered it to the
hens in her hand. They would not eat it. Only one hen pecked at her
hand with a fierce little jab, so Connie was frightened. But she was
pining to give them something, the brooding mothers who neither fed
themselves nor drank. She brought water in a little tin, and was
delighted when one of the hens drank.
Now she came every day to the hens, they were the only things in
the world that warmed her heart. Clifford's protestations made her go
cold from head to foot. Mrs. Bolton's voice made her go cold, and the
sound of the business men who came. An occasional letter from
Michaelis affected her with the same sense of chill. She felt she
would surely die if it lasted much longer.
Yet it was spring, and the bluebells were coming in the wood, and
the leaf-buds on the hazels were opening like the spatter of green
rain. How terrible it was that it should be spring, and everything cold-
hearted, cold-hearted. Only the hens, fluffed so wonderfully on the
eggs, were warm with their hot, brooding female bodies! Connie felt
herself living on the brink of fainting all the time.
Then, one day, a lovely sunny day with great tufts of primroses under
the hazels, and many violets dotting the paths, she came in the
afternoon to the coops and there was one tiny, tiny perky chicken
tinily prancing round in front of a coop, and the mother hen clucking
in terror. The slim little chick was greyish-brown with dark markings,
and it was the most alive little spark of a creature in seven kingdoms
at that moment. Connie crouched to watch in a sort of ecstacy. Life,
life! Pure, sparky, fearless new life! New life! So tiny and so utterly
without fear! Even when it scampered a little scramblingly into the
coop again, and disappeared under the hen's feathers in answer to
the mother hen's wild alarm-cries, it was not really frightened, it took
it as a game, the game of living. For in a moment a tiny sharp head
was poking through the gold-brown feathers of the hen, and eyeing
the Cosmos.
Connie was fascinated. And at the same time, never had she felt so
acutely the agony of her own female forlornness. It was becoming
unbearable.
She had only one desire now, to go to the clearing in the wood. The
rest was a kind of painful dream. But sometimes she was kept all
day at Wragby, by her duties as hostess. And then she felt as if she
too were going blank, just blank and insane.
One evening, guests or no guests, she escaped after tea. It was late,
and she fled across the park like one who fears to be called back.
The sun was setting rosy as she entered the wood, but she pressed
on among the flowers. The light would last long overhead.
She arrived at the clearing flushed and semi-conscious. The keeper
was there, in his shirtsleeves, just closing up the coops for the night,
so the little occupants would be safe. But still one little trio was
pattering about on tiny feet, alert drab mites, under the straw shelter,
refusing to be called in by the anxious mother.
"I had to come and see the chickens!" she said, panting, glancing
shyly at the keeper, almost unaware of him. "Are there any more?"
"Thurty-six so far!" he said. "Not bad!"
He too took a curious pleasure in watching the young things come
out.
Connie crouched in front of the last coop. The three chicks had run
in. But still their cheeky heads came poking sharply through the
yellow feathers, then withdrawing, then only one beady little head
eyeing forth from the vast mother-body.
"I'd love to touch them," she said, putting her fingers gingerly through
the bars of the coop. But the mother hen pecked at her hand fiercely,
and Connie drew back startled and frightened.
"How she pecks at me! She hates me!" she said in a wondering
voice. "But I wouldn't hurt them!"
The man standing above her laughed, and crouched down beside
her, knees apart, and put his hand with quiet confidence slowly into
the coop. The old hen pecked at him, but not so savagely. And
slowly, softly, with sure gentle fingers, he felt among the old bird's
feathers and drew out a faintly-peeping chick in his closed hand.
"There!" he said, holding out his hand to her. She took the little drab
thing between her hands, and there it stood, on its impossible little
stalks of legs, its atom of balancing life trembling through its almost
weightless feet into Connie's hands. But it lifted its handsome, clean-
shaped little head boldly, and looked sharply round, and gave a little
"peep." "So adorable! So cheeky!" she said softly.
The keeper squatting beside her, was also watching with an amused
face the bold little bird in her hands. Suddenly he saw a tear fall on
to her wrist.
And he stood up, and stood away, moving to the other coop. For
suddenly he was aware of the old flame shooting and leaping up in
his loins, that he had hoped was quiescent for ever. He fought
against it, turning his back to her. But it leapt, and leapt downwards,
circling in his knees.
He turned again to look at her. She was kneeling and holding her two
hands slowly forward, blindly, so that the chicken should run in to the
mother hen again. And there was something so mute and forlorn in
her, compassion flamed in his bowels for her.
Without knowing, he came quickly towards her and crouched beside
her again, taking the chick from her hands, because she was afraid
of the hen, and putting it back in the coop. At the back of his loins the
fire suddenly darted stronger.
He glanced apprehensively at her. Her face was averted, and she
was crying blindly, in all the anguish of her generation's forlornness.
His heart melted suddenly, like a drop of fire, and he put out his hand
and laid his fingers on her knee.
"You shouldn't cry," he said softly.
But then she put her hands over her face and felt that really her
heart was broken and nothing mattered any more.
He laid his hand on her shoulder, and softly, gently, it began to travel
down the curve of her back, blindly, with a blind stroking motion, to
the curve of her crouching loins. And there his hand softly, softly,
stroked the curve of her flank, in the blind instinctive caress.
She had found her scrap of handkerchief and was blindly trying to
dry her face.
"Shall you come to the hut?" he said, in a quiet, neutral voice.
And closing his hand softly on her upper arm, he drew her up and
led her slowly to the hut, not letting go of her till she was inside. Then
he cleared aside the chair and table, and took a brown soldier's
blanket from the tool chest, spreading it slowly. She glanced at his
face, as she stood motionless.
His face was pale and without expression, like that of a man
submitting to fate.
"You lie there," he said softly, and he shut the door, so that it was
dark, quite dark.
With a queer obedience, she lay down on the blanket. Then she felt
the soft, groping, helplessly desirous hand touching her body, feeling
for her face. The hand stroked her face softly, softly, with infinite
soothing and assurance, and at last there was the soft touch of a
kiss on her cheek.
She lay quite still, in a sort of sleep, in a sort of dream. Then she
quivered as she felt his hand groping softly, yet with queer thwarted
clumsiness among her clothing. Yet the hand knew, too, how to
unclothe her where it wanted. He drew down the thin silk sheath,
slowly, carefully, right down and over her feet. Then with a quiver of
exquisite pleasure he touched the warm soft body, and touched her
navel for a moment in a kiss. And he had to come in to her at once,
to enter the peace on earth of her soft, quiescent body. It was the
moment of pure peace for him, the entry into the body of the woman.
She lay still, in a kind of sleep, always in a kind of sleep. The activity,
the orgasm was his, all his; she could strive for herself no more.
Even the tightness of his arms round her, even the intense
movement of his body, and the springing of his seed in her, was a
kind of sleep, from which she did not begin to rouse till he had
finished and lay softly panting against her breast.
Then she wondered, just dimly wondered, why? Why was this
necessary? Why had it lifted a great cloud from her and given her
peace? Was it real? Was it real?
Her tormented modern-woman's brain still had no rest. Was it real?
And she knew, if she gave herself to the man, it was real. But if she
kept herself for herself, it was nothing. She was old; millions of years
old, she felt. And at last, she could bear the burden of herself no
more. She was to be had for the taking. To be had for the taking.
The man lay in a mysterious stillness. What was he feeling? What
was he thinking? She did not know. He was a strange man to her,
she did not know him. She must only wait, for she did not dare to
break his mysterious stillness. He lay there with his arms round her,
his body on hers, his wet body touching hers, so close. And
completely unknown. Yet not unpeaceful. His very stillness was
peaceful.
She knew that, when at last he roused and drew away from her. It
was like an abandonment. He drew her dress in the darkness down
over her knees and stood a few moments, apparently adjusting his
own clothing. Then he quietly opened the door and went out.
She saw a very brilliant little moon shining above the afterglow over
the oaks. Quickly she got up and arranged herself; she was tidy.
Then she went to the door of the hut.
All the lower wood was in shadow, almost darkness. Yet the sky
overhead was crystal. But it shed hardly any light. He came through
the lower shadow towards her, his face lifted like a pale blotch.
"Shall we go, then?" he said.
"Where?"
"I'll go with you to the gate."
He arranged things his own way. He locked the door of the hut and
came after her.
"You aren't sorry, are you?" he asked, as he went at her side.
"No! No! Are you?" she said.
"For that! No!" he said. Then after a while he added: "But there's the
rest of things."
"What rest of things?" she said.
"Sir Clifford. Other folks. All the complications."
"Why complications?" she said, disappointed.
"It's always so. For you as well as for me. There's always
complications." He walked on steadily in the dark.
"And are you sorry?" she said.
"In a way!" he replied, looking up at the sky. "I thought I'd done with it
all. Now I've begun again."
"Begun what?"
"Life."
"Life!" she re-echoed, with a queer thrill.
"It's life," he said. "There's no keeping clear. And if you do keep clear
you might almost as well die. So if I've got to be broken open again, I
have."
She did not quite see it that way, but still....
"It's just love," she said cheerfully.
"Whatever that may be," he replied.
They went on through the darkening wood in silence, till they were
almost at the gate.
"But you don't hate me, do you?" she said wistfully.
"Nay, nay," he replied. And suddenly he held her fast against his
breast again, with the old connecting passion. "Nay, for me it was
good, it was good. Was it for you?"
"Yes, for me too," she answered, a little untruthfully, for she had not
been conscious of much.
He kissed her softly, softly, with the kisses of warmth.
"If only there weren't so many other people in the world," he said
lugubriously.
She laughed. They were at the gate to the park. He opened for her.
"I won't come any further," he said.
"No!" And she held out her hand, as if to shake hands. But he took it
in both his.
"Shall I come again?" she asked wistfully.
"Yes! Yes!"
She left him and went across the park.
He stood back and watched her going into the dark, against the
pallor of the horizon. Almost with bitterness he watched her go. She
had connected him up again, when he had wanted to be alone. She
had cost him that bitter privacy of a man who at last wants only to be
alone.
He turned into the dark of the wood. All was still, the moon had set.
But he was aware of the noises of the night, the engines at Stacks
Gate, the traffic on the main road. Slowly he climbed the denuded
knoll. And from the top he could see the country, bright rows of lights
at Stacks Gate, smaller lights at Tevershall pit, the yellow lights of
Tevershall and lights everywhere, here and there, on the dark
country, with the distant blush of furnaces, faint and rosy, since the
night was clear, the rosiness of the outpouring of white-hot metal.
Sharp, wicked electric lights at Stacks Gate! An undefinable quick of
evil in them! And all the unease, the ever-shifting dread of the
industrial night in the Midlands. He could hear the winding-engines at
Stacks Gate turning down the seven-o'clock miners. The pit worked
three shifts.
He went down again into the darkness and seclusion of the wood.
But he knew that the seclusion of the wood was illusory. The
industrial noises broke the solitude, the sharp lights, though unseen,
mocked it. A man could no longer be private and withdrawn. The
world allows no hermits. And now he had taken the woman, and
brought on himself a new cycle of pain and doom. For he knew by
experience what it meant.
It was not woman's fault, nor even love's fault, nor the fault of sex.
The fault lay there, out there, in those evil electric lights and
diabolical rattlings of engines. There, in the world of the mechanical
greedy, greedy mechanism and mechanised greed, sparkling with
lights and gushing hot metal and roaring with traffic, there lay the
vast evil thing, ready to destroy whatever did not conform. Soon it
would destroy the wood, and the bluebells would spring no more. All
vulnerable things must perish under the rolling and running of iron.
He thought with infinite tenderness of the woman. Poor forlorn thing,
she was nicer than she knew, and oh! so much too nice for the tough
lot she was in contact with. Poor thing, she too had some of the
vulnerability of the wild hyacinths, she wasn't all tough rubber-goods
and platinum, like the modern girl. And they would do her in! As sure
as life, they would do her in, as they do in all naturally tender life.
Tender! Somewhere she was tender, tender with a tenderness of the
growing hyacinths, something that has gone out of the celluloid
women of today. But he would protect her with his heart for a little
while. For a little while, before the insentient iron world and the
Mammon of mechanised greed did them both in, her as well as him.
He went home with his gun and his dog, to the dark cottage, lit the
lamp, started the fire, and ate his supper of bread and cheese,
young onions and beer. He was alone, in a silence he loved. His
room was clean and tidy, but rather stark. Yet the fire was bright, the
hearth white, the petroleum lamp hung bright over the table, with its
white oil-cloth. He tried to read a book about India, but tonight he
could not read. He sat by the fire in his shirtsleeves, not smoking, but
with a mug of beer in reach. And he thought about Connie.
To tell the truth, he was sorry for what had happened, perhaps most
for her sake. He had a sense of foreboding. No sense of wrong or
sin; he was troubled by no conscience in that respect. He knew that
conscience was chiefly fear of society, or fear of oneself. He was not
afraid of himself. But he was quite consciously afraid of society,
which he knew by instinct to be a malevolent, partly-insane beast.
The woman! If she could be there with him, and there were nobody
else in the world! The desire rose again, his penis began to stir like a
live bird. At the same time an oppression, a dread of exposing
himself and her to that outside Thing that sparkled viciously in the
electric lights, weighed down his shoulders. She, poor young thing,
was just a young female creature to him; but a young female
creature whom he had gone into and whom he desired again.
Stretching with the curious yawn of desire, for he had been alone
and apart from man or woman for four years, he rose and took his
coat again, and his gun, lowered the lamp and went out into the
starry night, with the dog. Driven by desire and by dread of the
malevolent Thing outside, he made his round in the wood, slowly,
softly. He loved the darkness and folded himself into it. It fitted the
turgidity of his desire which, in spite of all, was like riches; the stirring
restlessness of his penis, the stirring fire in his loins! Oh, if only there
were other men to be with, to fight that sparkling electric Thing
outside there, to preserve the tenderness of life, the tenderness of
women, and the natural riches of desire. If only there were men to
fight side by side with! But the men were all outside there, glorying in
the Thing, triumphing or being trodden down in the rush of
mechanised greed or of greedy mechanism.
Constance, for her part, had hurried across the park, home, almost
without thinking. As yet she had no after-thought. She would be in
time for dinner.
She was annoyed to find the doors fastened, however, so that she
had to ring. Mrs. Bolton opened.
"Why there you are, your Ladyship! I was beginning to wonder if
you'd gone lost!" she said a little roguishly. "Sir Clifford hasn't asked
for you, though; he's got Mr. Linley in with him, talking over
something. It looks as if he'd stay to dinner, doesn't it my Lady?"
"It does rather," said Connie.
"Shall I put dinner back a quarter of an hour? That would give you
time to dress in comfort."
"Perhaps you'd better."
Mr. Linley was the general manager of the collieries, an elderly man
from the north, with not quite enough punch to suit Clifford; not up to
post-war conditions, nor post-war colliers either, with their "ca'
canny" creed. But Connie liked Mr. Linley, though she was glad to be
spared the toadying of his wife.
Linley stayed to dinner, and Connie was the hostess men liked so
much, so modest, yet so attentive and aware, with big, wide blue
eyes and a soft repose that sufficiently hid what she was really
thinking. Connie had played this woman so much, it was almost
second nature to her; but still, decidedly second. Yet it was curious
how everything disappeared from her consciousness while she
played it.
She waited patiently till she could go upstairs and think her own
thoughts. She was always waiting, it seemed to be her forte.
Once in her room, however, she felt still vague and confused. She
didn't know what to think. What sort of a man was he, really? Did he
really like her? Not much, she felt. Yet he was kind. There was
something, a sort of warm naive kindness, curious and sudden, that
almost opened her womb to him. But she felt he might be kind like
that to any woman. Though even so, it was curiously soothing,
comforting. And he was a passionate man, wholesome and
passionate. But perhaps he wasn't quite individual enough; he might
be the same with any woman as he had been with her. It really
wasn't personal. She was only really a female to him.
But perhaps that was better. And after all, he was kind to the female
in her, which no man had ever been. Men were very kind to the
person she was, but rather cruel to the female, despising her or
ignoring her altogether. Men were awfully kind to Constance Reid or
to Lady Chatterley; but not to her womb they weren't kind. And he
took no notice of Constance or of Lady Chatterley; he just softly
stroked her loins or her breasts.
She went to the wood next day. It was a grey, still afternoon, with the
dark-green dogs'-mercury spreading under the hazel copse, and all
the trees making a silent effort to open their buds. Today she could
almost feel it in her own body, the huge heave of the sap in the
massive trees, upwards, up, up to the bud-tips, there to push into
little flamey oak-leaves, bronze as blood. It was like a tide running
turgid upward, and spreading on the sky.
She came to the clearing, but he was not there. She had only half
expected him. The pheasant chicks were running lightly abroad, light
as insects, from the coops where the yellow hens clucked anxiously.
Connie sat and watched them, and waited. She only waited. Even
the chicks she hardly saw. She waited.
The time passed with dream-like slowness, and he did not come.
She had only half expected him. He never came in the afternoon.
She must go home to tea. But she had to force herself to leave.
As she went home, a fine drizzle of rain fell.
"Is it raining again?" said Clifford, seeing her shake her hat.
"Just drizzle."
She poured tea in silence, absorbed in a sort of obstinacy. She did
want to see the keeper today, to see if it were really real. If it were
really real.
"Shall I read a little to you afterwards?" said Clifford.
She looked at him. Had he sensed something?
"The spring makes me feel queer—I thought I might rest a little," she
said.
"Just as you like. Not feeling really unwell, are you?"
"No! Only rather tired—with the spring. Will you have Mrs. Bolton to
play something with you?"
"No! I think I'll listen in."
She heard the curious satisfaction in his voice. She went upstairs to
her bedroom. There she heard the loud-speaker begin to bellow, in
an idiotically velveteen-genteel sort of voice, something about a
series of street-cries, the very cream of genteel affectation imitating
old criers. She pulled on her old violet-coloured mackintosh, and
slipped out of the house at the side door.
The drizzle of rain was like a veil over the world, mysterious, hushed,
not cold. She got very warm as she hurried across the park. She had
to open her light waterproof.
The wood was silent, still and secret in the evening drizzle of rain,
full of the mystery of eggs and half-open buds, half-unsheathed
flowers. In the dimness of it all trees glistened naked and dark as if
they had unclothed themselves, and the green things on earth
seemed to hum with greenness.